hanif, bill vincent put me onto your blog, and i started to read it. i have pancreatic cancer, and am dealing with this condition in ways that remind me a lot of what you've just be writing, like seeing through the window and seeing the world out there. it reminds me of camus's l'etranger, where meursault, condemned to death, looks up at the sky and says its enough to see the clouds passing. i felt that way the other day with the bright sun finally shining through here in michigan. you will be coming back to yourself over time, i feel sure, meanwhile i am glad to be a bit in touch with you, old friend, and especially to read your thoughts and words.
I love this post. What you had to say to the young doctor-pianist is so inspiring. I was a scientist before I turned to writing, and after I finish this comment, I'm going to print up these words from your post and put them by my desk:
"There are many interpreters of the classical repertoire, but for me, as an artist, one should try and make something new every day, something one has never done before.
So I said to him, every morning if he has time, when he is practising, if he could make a sound that came from himself that was new, he might begin to find a new self. This sounded frightening to him. I said fear is the engine of art, the engine of conversation and love. You may be afraid of saying something, but you can never anticipate how the other will receive it."
Thank you, from this drab Amsterdam winter's day, to you in Rome. Hoping for your continued improvement and recovery.
New insight as to why I come to these dispatches with both trepidation and the solemnity of entering a house of worship. I recently learned of the death of the poet Charles Simic. I have loved him since I was 18. Then I discovered he had been in an assisted living center with dementia, which led to his death. And the assisted living center is close to me (in New Hampshire, the US). I could have been driving there regularly, visiting him, just sitting with him (if he were alone). And I didn't. So part of my "visits" here are an attempt to connect where I can, with whom I can (in this case, you, Hanif). You are not lost, not gone. And for this I am grateful. I extend a hand across space, in gratitude for your words.
I read about you in the New York Times this morning, and passed the link on to a friend of mine who is a writer also and who was a college room mate with Salman Rushdie. Just wanted to add to the chorus of encouragement, and also appreciation for these entries. And to say that some 20 years ago my father had an operation for spinal stenosis by a well known surgeon who was also a very good concert pianist. The doctor practiced his musical art every day, and said it helped to keep his fingers sensitive and nimble.
By the way, I was once in love with a doctor who was also a pianist. This was a long time ago. I remember him playing Dvořák and I walked out of his house because I couldn't bear it. Must quote a translation of Rilke here (and in another entry I believe you talk about fear): "“Who, if I cried out, would hear me among the angels' hierarchies? and even if one of them pressed me against his heart: I would be consumed in that overwhelming existence. For beauty is nothing but the beginning of terror, which we still are just able to endure, and we are so awed because it serenely disdains to annihilate us. Every angel is terrifying.” Thank you, Hanif Kureishi.
Catching up with earlier ones, had to take more of a moment with this one, and then salman rushdie walks in, wow what a world, do you remember Bill Maynard in oh no its selwyn gummer, two thumbs up "magic"!
When I read about your accident and found your posts on this newsletter I was struck by your bravery and honesty. I am a writer past middle age and was feeling a bit sorry for myself for not being successful enough and here, you are fighting this terrible battle. You reminded me why I chose writing: "Like many artists, I consider my work not a past time, not an employment or job, but a form of integration in the world of others."
It means so much to me that you have written these passages now, at this time of angst and difficulty and that you've shared them with us. I hope and and pray for your continued recovery and now will go and read your other work. Amelie Prusik
I wish the writing is helping you as much as our reading of your pieces. Very touching, insightful, challenging, soothing and despite it all hopeful. Courage.
Thank you for your beautiful and strong words, your encouragement to us all, your positivity despite the insane difficulty.. the lessons we are all learning through you/ with you. Turning poison into medicine..
Thank you Carlo for your dedication in supporting your father get his message out.
Sending strength and positivity from Whitstable. Xx
hanif, bill vincent put me onto your blog, and i started to read it. i have pancreatic cancer, and am dealing with this condition in ways that remind me a lot of what you've just be writing, like seeing through the window and seeing the world out there. it reminds me of camus's l'etranger, where meursault, condemned to death, looks up at the sky and says its enough to see the clouds passing. i felt that way the other day with the bright sun finally shining through here in michigan. you will be coming back to yourself over time, i feel sure, meanwhile i am glad to be a bit in touch with you, old friend, and especially to read your thoughts and words.
Dear Hanif
I love this post. What you had to say to the young doctor-pianist is so inspiring. I was a scientist before I turned to writing, and after I finish this comment, I'm going to print up these words from your post and put them by my desk:
"There are many interpreters of the classical repertoire, but for me, as an artist, one should try and make something new every day, something one has never done before.
So I said to him, every morning if he has time, when he is practising, if he could make a sound that came from himself that was new, he might begin to find a new self. This sounded frightening to him. I said fear is the engine of art, the engine of conversation and love. You may be afraid of saying something, but you can never anticipate how the other will receive it."
Thank you, from this drab Amsterdam winter's day, to you in Rome. Hoping for your continued improvement and recovery.
This is called 'I Will Rise' was written by a poet called Sagar Yadav, maybe you know of him? May it offer some inspiration in your struggles.
I will rise
After every fall.
I will rise
And stand tall.
I will rise
Over the wall.
I will rise
Above them all.
Like the sun,
Which never dies.
Though sets every night,
Every day it does rise.
Like the ocean
Whose tides
Many times they are down,
But invariably they rise.
Like the trees,
From seeds they arise,
And heights great
They rise and rise.
After falling once,
Twice and thrice,
Again and again
I will rise and rise.
I will rise
After every fall.
After every fall
I will rise.
Forza 👏
New insight as to why I come to these dispatches with both trepidation and the solemnity of entering a house of worship. I recently learned of the death of the poet Charles Simic. I have loved him since I was 18. Then I discovered he had been in an assisted living center with dementia, which led to his death. And the assisted living center is close to me (in New Hampshire, the US). I could have been driving there regularly, visiting him, just sitting with him (if he were alone). And I didn't. So part of my "visits" here are an attempt to connect where I can, with whom I can (in this case, you, Hanif). You are not lost, not gone. And for this I am grateful. I extend a hand across space, in gratitude for your words.
I read about you in the New York Times this morning, and passed the link on to a friend of mine who is a writer also and who was a college room mate with Salman Rushdie. Just wanted to add to the chorus of encouragement, and also appreciation for these entries. And to say that some 20 years ago my father had an operation for spinal stenosis by a well known surgeon who was also a very good concert pianist. The doctor practiced his musical art every day, and said it helped to keep his fingers sensitive and nimble.
I am so happy to hear this. It is a huge thing - being eye level.
By the way, I was once in love with a doctor who was also a pianist. This was a long time ago. I remember him playing Dvořák and I walked out of his house because I couldn't bear it. Must quote a translation of Rilke here (and in another entry I believe you talk about fear): "“Who, if I cried out, would hear me among the angels' hierarchies? and even if one of them pressed me against his heart: I would be consumed in that overwhelming existence. For beauty is nothing but the beginning of terror, which we still are just able to endure, and we are so awed because it serenely disdains to annihilate us. Every angel is terrifying.” Thank you, Hanif Kureishi.
Catching up with earlier ones, had to take more of a moment with this one, and then salman rushdie walks in, wow what a world, do you remember Bill Maynard in oh no its selwyn gummer, two thumbs up "magic"!
Gracias! Señor. I aspire to be a vocationist. Animo!
Dear Hanif,
When I read about your accident and found your posts on this newsletter I was struck by your bravery and honesty. I am a writer past middle age and was feeling a bit sorry for myself for not being successful enough and here, you are fighting this terrible battle. You reminded me why I chose writing: "Like many artists, I consider my work not a past time, not an employment or job, but a form of integration in the world of others."
It means so much to me that you have written these passages now, at this time of angst and difficulty and that you've shared them with us. I hope and and pray for your continued recovery and now will go and read your other work. Amelie Prusik
I love your writing and am amazed at the clarity and calm with which you do it. Does anxiety ever creep in?
Mimi
Hamid
Thank you this. I'm very interested in what you say about collaboration. I met you at a Lou Reed concert many years ago.
Music, light and shadows became very important when I was in hospital but I can also see them as collaborators.
Thank you
Jo
Well done you . For sitting up & for continuing to write , please continue to do so. For you and for all of us.
I wish the writing is helping you as much as our reading of your pieces. Very touching, insightful, challenging, soothing and despite it all hopeful. Courage.
Thank you for your beautiful and strong words, your encouragement to us all, your positivity despite the insane difficulty.. the lessons we are all learning through you/ with you. Turning poison into medicine..
Thank you Carlo for your dedication in supporting your father get his message out.
Sending strength and positivity from Whitstable. Xx