2007-07-09: Frederick Reid passed away
At the age of 93, Fred has left us for good. He died at home, as was his wish.
In the last five months he was not able to get up anymore, and taken good care of by his wife.
We will miss his kindness, his talent, his sharp wit and his humor. And may his work receive the high esteem it deserves! Good bye, Fred, and thank you ...
2005-04-22: New Calligraphy page
A feature intended to be included from the start, it took me not even 19 months to set it up. And now that I have my hand on my father's copy of "Sixty-Four Poems", there will be more poems to come soon.
But first I have a plane to catch. Yes, I'm actually leaving for San Francisco tomorrow morning. See you soon, Fred!
2004-01-22: The great day - Fred Reid is turning 90 !
The very best wishes from the "old" side of the Atlantic Ocean; all friends and relatives in Europe are celebrating him, even though they can barely know how to enjoy his art without a proper dictionary ...
May he keep his bright mind and his unbeatable sense of humor for years to come. And I'm almost certain he is already working on a poem about that day.
2004-01-21: More poems
Thanks to the generosity of Arion Press I am now able to put more poems from "The Performing Word" online. I have added "Break the Mold" and "I Remember". See the Poetry pages ...
2004-01-20: The site is online
A small step for a true amateur in web design, and most certainly not a giant leap for mankind - just a humble effort to honor a gifted man (and a splendid uncle) and his work. If you wish, read more about the of these pages on the About page - that's what it's there for anyway ...
This site is obviously not intended to be a showcase of latest imaging and design technology; it is about carefully chosen words and pictures drawn in mind by language. To enjoy the sound of the poems the reader is challenged with the task of performing them him/herself. (Best results may be achieved by having somebody nice read the poems to you ...)
There are only three poems online up to this day; of course there is hope to extend the collection in time as long as the poet does not object.