Posts Tagged ‘being present’

William Haefeli uses humor to deal with the pitfalls of old age in this New Yorker cartoon

February 9, 2024

When I saw this clever New Yorker cartoon by William Haefeli it reminded me of the one by Karl Stevens. Both humorously emphasize the need to be present—to learn to live in the moment, in the now.

Karl’s cartoon deals with the existential angst of dandelions in their fluffy white seed head phase, where the wiser one advises the worried one: “The wind, the wind, that’s all you think about—you gotta learn to live in the moment.”

William’s cartoon shows a wife’s frustration with her husband’s memory loss, and his clever way of dealing with it: “I’m not losing my memory. I’m living in the now.”

In a way, when it comes to dementia, the present moment is all some afflicted seniors are eventually left with as they forget the wounds from their past and stop worrying about an unknown future. A welcome relief. But the present moment is all that the rest of us have as well. It all comes down to how much of it are we aware of, and actually, happily, living.

To see more of William Haefeli’s cartoon art, visit the Condé Nast Store. He also has cartoons posted on the Punch Magazine website in the UK. William Haefeli was interviewed for A Case For Pencils. He was also featured in a more personal article at the Advocate: Drawing on life.

New Yorker cartoon editor Bob Mankoff is quoted in the Advocate article talking about seeing a cartoonist’s comic style and a personality. “Sometimes it’s commentary, sometimes satire, sometimes absurdity, sometimes what I call ludic, a mind play. It’s someone communicating his ideas through the medium of humor. Bill is one of the best examples of it—his cartoons are social commentary.”

It took Bill Haefeli 19 years of failed submissions to the New Yorker, until Mankoff became cartoon editor, when he received his first acceptance. “Bill is an interesting cartoonist because he thinks of a broad range of issues—gay and straight,” explains Mankoff. “He has a world that’s not just a joke. It’s bigger than a stereotype.”

This related post—Funny cartoons make us laugh ‘cuz they’re true.—opens with a very funny and observant Bob Mankoff cartoon.

— Written and compiled (citing sources) by Ken Chawkin for The Uncarved Blog.

On Old Congress Run Road, a hauntingly beautiful poem by Susan F. Glassmeyer

August 20, 2013

ON OLD CONGRESS RUN ROAD

Susan F. Glassmeyer

A lost Lab running inside her own black shadow,
sideswiped by a car going north on the pike,
then struck by a driver heading south.

I’m an accidental witness on this no-moon night,
busy with my own troubles, like anyone else.
I don’t want to hear the dog’s pinched howl
or her fitful whimpering after she drops
like fallen cargo in the middle of the road.

I want to turn away, but a pressing thought
pulls me over—Don’t be afraid of the suffering.
So I give up, sit down in the street, stopping traffic.
Wrap myself around the furry clock of the dog’s life
as if to stop the stream pouring out of her head.

Not dead, but dying, I tell the onlookers.
I say, Touch her. I say, Don’t be afraid.
A few hands join mine as we follow the rise
and fall of the animal body, the warm belly growing
cooler with each exhalation. Pain appears to be lifting.

Now, under the village lamplight, a stunning
pink foam, almost iridescent, spilling
from dog lungs to dog mouth. Spilling a still life
of wet roses on the dark pavement: blood petals
on our hands, wrists, boots and ankles.

In a slow (call it reverential) movement, Bailey
(her collar says Bailey) arches her spine in an asana
of surrender. Musically sighs. Now dies.

from Rattle #37, Summer 2012

This reminds me of William Stafford’s poem, Traveling through the Dark, but Susan F. Glassmeyer’s poem takes the reader into the fearless heart of compassion. Profoundly beautiful!

Also see I Tell You, a poem by Susan F. Glassmeyer, from The Incomplete Litany of Untold Stories

Read more of her poems in Sixfold Journal’s Poetry Winter 2015.

On April 16, 2018, Susan Glassmeyer published Invisible Fish, a collection of new and previously published selected poems. In March 2019, I purchased a signed copy directly from Susan. So glad I did.

Visit the new website of this Ohio Poet of the Year 2018.