Crane's Neck is a place both psychological and physical, a mapping of the author's life and a solid point of land that reaches out into the deeper water of Long Island Sound. In the words of the author, "It's not that I write with symbols, symbolism, etc., as much as I am writing of the natural world; and isn't this the world we all live in, come to and came from? When one says "I have cold in my bones" one is not being symbolic but colloquial, that is, speaking in the world of nature, the world one knows because it is the only world one lives in, regardless if one is in red-brick city or green country woods. We may sometimes navigate life by symbols but we live in the real world. The metaphorical, though evident, is secondary here; and if my work has come through as intended, you are among a real world in these pages. The writings are, mostly, though not all, of the not-too-faraway past; when I traveled in search of what I once thought was always out there, somewhere beyond windows; when I saw people die, when I saw the mad rage and later sleep. Of course there are others, some more now than then, and, yes, these are more than writings after all. And here too as in the outside world, love is of the heart as well as the loins. In the end, these are mappings of a world I knew and know."
Crane's Neck is a place both psychological and physical, a mapping of the author's life and a solid point of land that reaches out into the deeper water of Long Island Sound. In the words of the author, "It's not that I write with symbols, symbolism, etc., as much as I am writing of the natural world; and isn't this the world we all live in, come to and came from? When one says "I have cold in my bones" one is not being symbolic but colloquial, that is, speaking in the world of nature, the world one knows because it is the only world one lives in, regardless if one is in red-brick city or green country woods. We may sometimes navigate life by symbols but we live in the real world. The metaphorical, though evident, is secondary here; and if my work has come through as intended, you are among a real world in these pages. The writings are, mostly, though not all, of the not-too-faraway past; when I traveled in search of what I once thought was always out there, somewhere beyond windows; when I saw people die, when I saw the mad rage and later sleep. Of course there are others, some more now than then, and, yes, these are more than writings after all. And here too as in the outside world, love is of the heart as well as the loins. In the end, these are mappings of a world I knew and know."