Ray Bradbury

 How can he be gone? Yes, I do understand that he was as human as the rest of us, supposedly, but as another writer I know said, I never imagined my living without him in the world. He was my first true love when it comes to reading. He gave my imagination permission to stretch out beyond the boundaries I lived in. He scared me. He made me think. He painted pictures with his words and ideas. I could always visualize what I was reading about and that sometimes made it more than scary, more than real; more than wonderful. He inspired me.

It’s hard to think that perhaps a world might exist like the one he painted in Fahrenheit 451, but in truth, we’ve already seen this and worse. I think the melancholy thread that ran through so much of his work brought those works home to my heart. I could sympathize, I could relate, I could live and breathe in the stories he told. I sit here now crying as if I’d actually known Ray Bradbury as a friend. I can imagine that, to an extent, because that is the kind of writer he was. He brought you into his world (s).This is the legacy he left to me and to everyone else. 

I’ve always wanted to be a writer because I so loved stories. My dad wrote. And I read Ray Bradbury and others in my forming years to distraction. I don’t know how old I was when I read my first Ray Bradbury, but I stood beside that little boy at the fence watching rocket ships take off, dreaming of reaching into the stars and finding adventure and wonder there.

So, I will stop writing this now or I’ll go on all day. I am grieving that I never met him in person, that I didn’t take the time to write to him and tell him how he touched me, but that is my own grief. He had no need of knowing that from me. I will treasure him, and the gifts he left for us, forever in my heart. And later, when my grief is muted to sadness, the true test I face will be to once again tap on these keys and try to do justice to the wonder he gave my soul permission to feel.

Good bye Ray Bradbury. I hope you are on Mars looking back at us and laughing.

Images from:

hereandnow.wbur.org

imgace.com

fishink.us

Firsts…

 Blogging about firsts sure takes one on a ride. Wow, talk about walking in the past through the halls of the future.  I remember so many things, and not necessarily all of my “firsts”. 

I do, however, remember my first true love. I met him when I was twelve, was “dating” him when I was fourteen and broke up with him when I was nineteen. I wore him like a second skin most of my life. I, because of this experience, completely understand Romeo and Juliet and the passion they shared. I totally understand teenage angst and how it feels like the beginning or end of the world. He was a part of what shaped me. Those years formed who we became. He took me for a ride I’ll never forget. I hope he won’t either! There is a French song, “Une Lettre” by Jean Jacques Goldman which is about a man writing a letter to his first love and in it he asks; did we live the same story? I asked myself this many times and found my answer to be that even if we didn’t, whatever story we lived was amazing, frightening, painful and full of life. Isn’t that what it’s all about?

 

The first song that I remember loving, listening to until I knew all the words, and then still trying to understand them, was “Suzanne” by Leonard Cohen. The album which carried this song was played in my home from the time I can remember, and the woman in chains among the flames on the back of the album only increased my interest in it. My mother’s name is Sue. I equated the mystery of this song to the beauty and mystery of my mother. The song talked about Suzanne as if from a distance and how magic she made one feel. It seemed to fit my mother. I still LOVE this song. I still think of my mother as a mystery.

The first “movie”/piece de theatre that I fell in love with, that marked me, that I went right out and bought the soundtrack to was “Hair!” I saw it on stage when but a youngster, and then saw the movie in 1979 when it came out.  I’d seen “Woodstock”, but Hair took me to places I’d never known were possible. I really fell for the story, the music, and the characters. I couldn’t get enough of it.

The first story/book that made an impression on me was a short story in Ray Bradbury’s “R is for Rocket” or “S is for Space.” The image of a young boy standing at the fence looking through it to see the rockets blasting off and dreaming of being an astronaut haunted me for a very long time. I read everything Ray Bradbury wrote for years. He has a way of telling a story that I would bleed to be able to, not copy him, but write as well and distinctly as he does in my own way. His words, his narrative has punch and it got me in the gut all the time. Still does.

What were your firsts?