Patti Smith

Hello Everyone,

And so this is Christmas and I am sitting at my worktable considering the various meanings of the holiday, whether spiritual, traditional or commercial. The aspect of giving, which is symbolized by the Three Wise Men’s offerings to the infant Jesus, the aspect of hope, personified by the Christ child, the light of the world. There are varying traditions, ranging from acts of charity, caroling, family dinners, listening for Santa’s reindeer, trimming the tree, and night walking in the falling snow. But of all things, when I was young, Christmas was a time of peace, humanitarian truce; a time of reflecting on the value of human life.

We are living in times when so many people are suffering, where there are no Christmas truces, and the way of the pilgrim has been denied. We feel helpless, but must maintain our concern for humanity, that is crying out. Cries that I can hear in my heart, even as I cross the street, safe and sound, on my way home.

P.S….The video is a snippet from our concert in Sienna, Italy, taken by Janine Bub. Hoping you and your loved ones are safe and happy. If you are able look up at the night sky to say hello to the last full moon of 2023. In New York it is obscured by a strange night fog, but can be felt. So many feelings, everywhere from every direction.

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This morning I had coffee and a light breakfast, took a few pictures in the magnificent lobby, then got in the van to drive to Sienna. Last night we played in the Modena Duoma, a 12th century Romanesque cathedral. . Above is a snippet taken by Janine Bub, of a version of Beneath the Southern Cross dedicated to Shane MacGowan.

Tomorrow I will give a Sienna report, the ancient captivating city of Simone Martini. Sending everyone all good wishes as we remember those less fortunate.

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Today we have arrived in Modena. I am just saying hello and will be preparing a few little travelogues. I promised to tell you of Robert’s ring, so I am telling you now. Then I must go to soundcheck. I will send pictures of the Basilica, where we are performing, a bit later. Below is a picture of the very interesting curtains in my hotel room, and the few from my shuttered windows.

So, I will see you later, with many many images of a handful of Italian cities…

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This morning we left Isernia and headed to Naples by van in the pouring rain. Our hotel overlooks the Bay of Naples that empties into the Mediterranean Sea. I love Naples and am always happy to return. Tonight our job is in a small church and we will be performing in honor of Maria Callas’s 100th birthday.

She has always been a great source of inspiration. She was not thought to be a perfect singer, but her depth of feeling, the way she expressed the inner narrative of an exquisite aria, was unique to her.

Having suffered much, she drew from her infinite well, conveying ecstatic heights to the abyss. Yet all the heartbreak of her heroines had not prepared her for her own.  Betrayed, forsaken, she was left without love, her voice, or hopes of a child, and was condemned to live out her life in solitude. I picture her wearing pearls. The light flooding her Paris apartment as she reaches for a small leather casket. Love is the most precious jewel of all, she whispers, unclasping the pearls that drop from her throat, as if scales of sorrow that soar and diminish.

The weather has cleared. Watching the white gulls fly above me I think of her. Happy 100th birthday dear Maria. As you sing in the beautiful aria Vissi d’Arte, truly you lived for love, you lived for art.

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Hello everyone

We are in a van driving from the sea in Pescara to the mountains. I made a little video for you at the ocean I wasn’t certain that I could figure out how to send it while literally on the road but I did. I can’t write anymore as it’s making me carsick

But here’s mountains from my window with all good wishes to all.

This is a passage from The Waves, my favorite work by Virginia Woolf

The sun had not yet risen. The sea was indistinguishable from the sky, except that the sea was slightly creased as if a cloth had wrinkles in it. Gradually as the sky whitened a dark line lay on the horizon dividing the sea from the sky and the grey cloth became barred with thick strokes moving, one after another, beneath the surface, following each other, pursuing each other, perpetually.

All achieved from the traveling van! I will report again tomorrow

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Tonight is the new moon, invisible to us yet somewhere hidden it exists, a lone and cratered silver disc. How sad our beloved moon must be at the state of our world, of man’s inhumanity to the mirror of himself. It suspends in darkness this night to mourn the children of the earth and will return to us, sliver by sliver.

Below is a fragment to the moon by the poet Shelley. I have a concert tonight in Berlin. In such complex times the songs will speak for me.

Art thou pale for weariness

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Here are two photographs I took recently in Charleville, his birth place. It is just as he would have seen it in early Spring. Also Arthur at sixteen and a translation of the poem.In the future I will scan them in the original French for those that wish it.

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Today is the anniversary of Virginia Woolf’s passing day. A day she chose for herself. In remembrance here are words from The Waves. Below is a Polaroid of her cane, which was found by the River Ouse where she took her life. It is a simple yet sturdy cane, that no doubt had served her well. I am also including the song Elegy from the 1975 album Horses. A song I wrote in memory of artists and loved ones we had lost. I have always believed that it is important that we the living honor the departed.

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Happy first day of Spring. Here is a little poem by Emily Dickinson. She seems to be heralding then mourning the rare and precious light of spring itself. May we all look toward renewal, and find joy in the small things, a blade of grass, a chirping bird.

A Light exists in SpringNot present on the YearAt any other period —When March is scarcely hereA Color stands abroadOn Solitary FieldsThat Science cannot overtakeBut Human Nature feels.It waits upon the Lawn,It shows the furthest TreeUpon the furthest Slope you knowIt almost speaks to you.Then as Horizons stepOr Noons report awayWithout the Formula of soundIt passes and we stay —A quality of lossAffecting our ContentAs Trade had suddenly encroachedUpon a Sacrament.

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Thank you everyone for your comments yesterday and welcome new subscribers… Here is the picture taken in Coney Island on September 1,1969. Notice Robert’s anniversary hat!

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