#gerald locklin

The Iceberg Theory

all the food critics hate iceberg lettuce. you'd think romaine was descended from opheus's laurel wreath, you'd think raw spinach had all the nutritional benefits attributed to it by popeye, not to mention aesthetic subtleties worthy of verlaine and debussy. they'll even salivate over chopped red cabbage just to disparage poor old mr. iceberg lettuce. I guess the problem is it's just too common for them. it doesn't matter that it tastes good, has a satisfying crunchy texture, holds  its freshness, and has crevices for the dressing, whereas the darker, leafier varieties are often bitter, gritty, and flat. it just isn't different enough, and it's too goddamn american. of course a critic has to criticize: a critic has to have something to say. perhaps that's why literary critics purport to find interesting so much contemporary poetry that just bores the shit out of me. at any rate, I really enjoy a salad with plenty of chunky iceberg lettuce, the more the merrier, drenched in an italian or roquefort dressing. and the poems I enjoy are those I don't have to pretend that I'm enjoying.

Gerald Locklin

Where We Are ~ Gerald Locklin

i envy those who live in two places: new york, say, and london; wales and spain; l.a. and paris; hawaii and switzerland.

my daughter, who turns twenty tomorrow, has become truly independent. she doesn’t need her father to help her deal with the bureaucracies of schools, hmo’s, insurance, the dmv. she is quite capable of handling landlords, bosses, and auto repair shops. also boyfriends and roommates. and her mother.

frankly it’s been a big relief. the teenage years were often stressful. sometimes, though, i feel a little useless.

but when she drove down from northern California to visit us for a couple of days, she came through the door with the biggest, warmest hug in the world for me. and when we all went out for lunch, she said, affecting a little girl’s voice, “i’m going to sit next to my daddy,” and she did, and slid over close to me so i could put my arm around her shoulder until the food arrived.

i’ve been keeping busy since she’s been gone, mainly with my teaching and writing, a little travel connected with both, but i realized now how long it had been since i had felt deep emotion.

when she left i said, simply, “i love you,” and she replied, quietly, “i love you too.” you know it isn’t always easy for a twenty-year-old to say that; it isn’t always easy for a father.