This. Story. Wow. “Where We Leave Ourselves.”

Okay, Barry and I are newly back from Paris, and there is so much I want to write about, but I’m catching up on life first.

In the meantime, you must read this odd and powerful, evocative and curiosity-stirring story by my friend, poet Andrew Najberg. We have had meaningful conversations in several countries and airports on group trips, and that’s not something you can say about just anyone. He showed me a glorious patch of night sky and stars in Argentina unlike anything I’d ever seen.

I’ve spoken before of how I couldn’t breathe at a poetry reading he did and how I rose to escape only to discover I was in a long, long row, so I covered my ears, sat back down, and waited for him to be done. (It was just that moving! He knows how to clip close to human crucialities.)

Anyway, I have another, equally moving experience involving a concert Barry and I attended at Saint-Chapelle while in Paris to relay, but duty calls. And also, I have been chasing how the hell to explain what happened.

In the meantime, do read Andrew’s story. He has also recorded it. When I’m feeling braver, I’ll listen to it as well — his voice is beautifully intense.

I have a list of people whose writing I would publish were Barry and I ever to start a press. I don’t know if he would do us the honor (someone tell me emphatically NO if I ever say I want to start a press), but he’s on the list for sure.

P.S. It’s unfair (but also wonderful) that he’s both a talented poet and now fiction writer — his first novel is forthcoming.



Copyright Drēma Drudge, 2022. All rights reserved.

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