IN MEMORIAM

What a long strange week it’s been, to paraphrase our old friend Charles Perry, able chronicler of the Sixties back when his nickname was "Smoke.”

Fame and life being less than smoke, we were saddened when our idealized world of illusion and intelligence visibly shrank this cold and ruthless week.

It began with a large implosion on February 7, when arguably the greatest artist ever to fling a finger passed into the unknown. Using only one hand, Rene Lavand was able to synthesize a teacup and three little dough-balls with the Chinese master poet Li Po, in presentation so breathtaking in simplicity it stunned you with beauty.

Both fabricated art from emptiness and nothings - a shadow, the moon, a cup. We fantasize that, like Li Po himself, Lavand went out tipsily, seeing the reflection of the moon in the ocean and drowning trying to embrace it. Like Li Po, his work will live for a thousand years, always as fresh and beautiful as a plum blossom.

Drinking Alone with the Moon 

A pot of wine among the flowers.  

I drink alone, no friend with me. 

I raise my cup to invite the moon. 

He and my shadow and I make three. 

The moon does not know how to drink; 

My shadow mimes my capering;

But I’ll make merry with them both–
And soon enough it will be Spring.
I sing–the moon moves to and fro.
I dance–my shadow leaps and sways.
Still sober, we exchange our joys.
Drunk–and we’ll go our separate ways.
Let’s pledge–beyond human ties–to be friends,
And meet where the Silver River ends.
                                                                                       -- Li Po (tr. Vikram Seth)

So later in this rough week we learned of the sudden death of our old CBS News colleague Bob Simon, a brilliant and hard-driving gentleman scholar who had survived being held prisoner in Iraq but couldn't survive a car crash on the West Side Highway. RIP, good sir - you tried to make the world better, and smarter.

Then today we awoke to headlines that David Carr, the only guy in the media you could really trust, had suddenly dropped dead in the New York Times newsroom. His life had been a long, strange and difficult struggle which he managed, at last, with panache. He cannot be replaced.

"Being a journalist, I never feel bad talking to journalism students because it's a grand, grand caper. You get to leave, go talk to strangers, ask them anything, come back, type up their stories, edit the tape. That's not gonna retire your loans as quickly as it should, and it's not going to turn you into a person who's worried about what kind of car they should buy, but that's kind of as it should be. I mean, it beats working."

                                                                       -- David Carr 

To prove that the universe always tries to play a little bit fair, these irreparable losses were somewhat offset by darkly-tinged comic relief midweek with the Brian Williams fabrication scandal removing a serious oil spill from the troubled waters at NBC. But yin and yang work together, as Li Po reminds us, so then came Jon Stewart’s surprise announcement that he was putting the blinkers on his bright little beacon of sanity. But at least he’s still with us, the moon reflects upon the waters and hope, eternal hope, abides.

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