Conrad Black has been released (for now) from prison after a Supreme Court ruling that the law under which he was charged was vague. Black is the most infamous, and controversial, Canadian of the 21st century - and arguably the last as well. Although I often disagree with his views, we both share a few things: being Montrealers; being debaters when young; and having an interest in Nixon. Indeed, after I wrote a positive review of his Nixon biography, Black sent an email saying no other reviewer had understood the book as well. I though the book brilliantly stylish. Hopefully Black will write more.
A poem for my mother, July 15 When she was dying And I was in a different country I dreamt I was there with her Flying over the ocean very quickly, And arriving in the room like a dream And I was a dream, but the meaning was more Than a dream has – it was a moving over time And land, over water, to get love across Fast enough, to be there, before she died, To lean over the small, huddled figure, In the dark, and without bothering her Even with apologies, and be a kiss in the air, A dream of a kiss, or even less, the thought of one, And when I woke, none of this had happened, She was still far distant, and we had not spoken.
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