5.31.2022 – as mysterious

as mysterious
as great the perpetual
rhythm of the tides

In “Notes for a Preface“, an essay written by Carl Sandburg for the the book “Complete Poems of Carl Sandburg“, Mr. Sandburg wrote, “The Spanish poet Lorca saw one plain apple infinite as the sea. “The life of an apple when it is a delicate flower to the moment when, golden russet, it drops from the tree into the grass is as mysterious and as great as the perpetual rhythm of the tides . . .“

According to Wikipedia: Federico del Sagrado Corazón de Jesús García Lorca (5 June 1898 – 19 August 1936), known as Federico García Lorca was a Spanish poet, playwright, and theatre director.

García Lorca achieved international recognition as an emblematic member of the Generation of ’27, a group consisting of mostly poets who introduced the tenets of European movements (such as symbolism, futurism, and surrealism) into Spanish literature. He was murdered by Nationalist forces at the beginning of the Spanish Civil War. His remains have never been found.

In the poem, Ballad of the Water of the Sea, Lorca writes:

The sea
smiles from far off.
Teeth of foam,
lips of sky.

Folly Field Beach at high tide – Hilton Head Island May 30, 2022

Murdered by the nationalistic or Franco’s forces during the Spanish Civil War, those types of fellers have always had it for the poets and artists and such.

The smart people I guess.

I am reminded of the story of the Pol Pot regime in Cambodia.

When they took over Cambodia they knew they had to cut off opposition and the best way to do that was get rid of the smart people, the people who could think, the people who would ask questions and start other people asking questions.

And so they did.

They soldiers of Pol Pot went from town to town and executed all the smart people.

They knew who to get.

They started with anyone wearing glasses.

5.30.2022 – piece of cloth, a sound

piece of cloth, a sound
make something not cloth nor sound
totems of love, hate

Adapted from the passage:

A flag is a piece of cloth and a word is a sound,
But we make them something neither cloth nor a sound,
Totems of love and hate

From the poem, John Brown’s Body by Stephen Vincent Benét.

According to Wikipedia

, John Brown’s Body (1928) is an epic American poem written by Stephen Vincent Benét. Its title references the radical abolitionist John Brown, who raided the federal armory at Harpers Ferry in Virginia in October 1859. He was captured and hanged later that year. Benét’s poem covers the history of the American Civil War. It won the Pulitzer Prize for Poetry in 1929.

The photo is of my Great Great Grand Fathers grave.

When he was 18, he joined the 16th Michigan Volunteer Infantry and later fought in Virginia and wounded in action at the Battle of Gaines Mill on June 27, 1862.

Here is a larger extract from the poem.

One cannot balance tragedy in the scales
Unless one weighs it with the tragic heart.
The other man’s tragedy was the greater one
Since the blind fury tore the huger heart,
But this man’s tragedy is the more pitiful.
Thus the Eastern board and the two defended kings.
But why is the game so ordered, what crowns the kings?
They are cities of streets and houses like other cities.
Baltimore might be taken, and war go on,
Atlanta will be taken and war go on,
Why should these two near cities be otherwise?
We do not fight for the real but for shadows we make.
A flag is a piece of cloth and a word is a sound,
But we make them something neither cloth nor a sound,
Totems of love and hate, black sorcery-stones,
So with these cities.

Even today, We do not fight for the real but for shadows we make.

A flag is a piece of cloth and a word is a sound.

But we make them something neither cloth nor a sound, Totems of love and hate.

5.29.2022 – bastardization

bastardization
of the promise – Merced to
Bakersfield – who cares?

Reading the article, Train to nowhere: can California’s high-speed rail project ever get back on track?, I could not help but laugh out loud over a comment about the once $9 Billion Dollar high speed train from Los Angeles to San Francisco that was funded in 2008 and planned to open in 2020 has so far cost $5Billions, might get a stretch of railroad (normal non-high speed railroad) open between the California cities of Merced and Bakersfield by 2030.

I am ignorant of much California geography without looking at a map but those two connections didn’t make much of impact on me.

The comment that made me laugh was made by an early advocate and cheer leader of the Cal High Speed Rail, Mr. Quentin Kopp, a retired former legislator and judge, who also felt that connecting Merced and Bakersfield did not make much sense.

Mr. Kopp said, ““Who cares about going from Merced to Bakersfield? I am appalled and angry over the bastardization of the promise to taxpayers … It’s a stupid waste of money. All this is doing is making contractors and engineers and bureaucrats fat and happy.”

The article goes on to explain that while other countries have implemented high speed rail, The United States, by contrast, has a highly decentralized system of government, with multiple competing jurisdictions jostling over land, water, electricity and other vital resources, and a political tradition, especially in the west, that celebrates personal freedom and private property over collective enterprises in the public interest.

In the words of Charlie Brown, “THAT’S IT!”

I propose that the United States Mint add something to our coins.

Where a coin is stamped, “E Pluribus Unum” I want an * added so it reads, “E Pluribus Unum*”.

E Pluribus Unum?

You remember that one don’t you?

One, out of many.

Then on the bottom of the coin, I want it to say, *The United States has a highly decentralized system of government, with multiple competing jurisdictions jostling over land, water, electricity and other vital resources, and a political tradition, that celebrates personal freedom and private property over collective enterprises in the public interest.

Should the word money be added so that it reads, money, land, water …

Or is money understood to be included in that less vulgar term, vital resources?

It works either way and it seems to answer a whole lot of questions today about the United States of America.

Talk about a the bastardization of a promise.

What promise?

The promise that we WERE one out of many.

The promise the we were something new.

Novus ordo seclorum it says on the One Dollar bill.

The New Order of the Age!

The New Order of the Age?

Maybe that’s why it ended up on the $1.

All in all, it comes to Mr. Lincoln’s warning in his Dec 1, 1862 annual message to Congress when he said, “We shall nobly save, or meanly lose, the last best hope of earth.”

5.28.2022 – that means a firm grasp

that means a firm grasp
of what does and doesn’t work
how can be improved

Based on the amalgamation of words in the article, Hillary Clinton is right: the age of the showman leader has damaged politics, by Will Hutton in the Guardian on Sunday, June 5, 2022.

Mr. Hutton, in a commentary on politics in the United States, uses combinations of multi-syllable words and sentence construction makes me take my hat off and yell, SALUTE!

The paragraphs of the article in questions read thusly:

Political leadership in the 2020s needs to be recast, but old truths will out. Alternative reality may have allowed performative politics to trump content for a period, but for all the collective appetite to be entertained, citizens also want to be governed well. That means a firm grasp of what does and doesn’t work and how matters can be improved.

That in turn requires a viable political philosophy backed by evidence and turned into a programme that can be consistently applied across government, taking on power, privilege and vested interest where it is plainly necessary.

It’s palpably not what we have, but it’s obviously what we need and the wheels are already spinning to deliver it

And, readers of this blog will know that from time to time I struggle with the weight of effort of producing a daily Haiku and any thoughts I may have about the words and time that went in the Haiku that day.

This daily schedule of missing a day can bring on a personal mental paralysis wherein writing these entries becomes impossible.

I learned to deal with this by not dealing with it and let it go.

Then when I look at my register of entries and see blank days with no post, I will grab a topic or book or poem for a source and produce a series of Haiku to fill in those blank dates.

This is one of the great benefits of this effort being my blog and my blog, my rules.

It IS cricket because I say it is.

It is ‘according to Hoyle’ because I say it is.

Thus I have this series of haiku based on this article and the Mr. Hutton’s word choices.

I should also mention that this ‘lack of output’ coincided with a trip up to see our son and being away from a computer keyboard for a long weekend and I am playing catch-up.

Other haiku from this passage include:

avalanche of hype

that means a firm grasp

require viable

taking on power

reality for all

but old truths will out

5.27.2022 – I can find my name

I can find my name
tell me who I am, it don’t
tell me where I am

Sorry but I am all over the place this morning and find it difficult to focus on just any one thing.

The haiku is adapted from Robert Frost’s poem, “Snow”

I guess I know my way,
I guess I know where I can find my name
Carved in the shed to tell me who I am
If it don’t tell me where I am. I used
To play”

Through everything and all the news, one question does seem to cut through the clutter.

What the hell is going on here?

Where are we?

Where are we going?

In conversation with one of my brothers last year, he pointed out that when he was just out of college, the late 60’s and into the early 70’s, the hippie era, students were shot on a college campus. drug use was rampant, a US President resigned in disgrace and the war in Vietnam went on and on and the end of the world was predicted every other day.

To tell the truth, I was releived.

The current year, I guess, has always looked worse than last year.

And next year will probably be worse than this year.

Of late though I have to reconsider.

Nope, these past years have been really, significantly worse.

I would point to the turn of the century.

I would point to the internet and the world wide web.

I would point to the focus of the world on the word I.

My news is catered to me.

My day is curated by my actions and my phone to me.

I used an Ipod and an Imac.

I use an Iphone and an Ipad.

I can carry a gun if I want to.

I can wear a mask if I want to.

I won’t wear a mask if I don’t want to.

I watch what I want to when I want to on TV.

I listen to the music I want to when I want to.

(I am reminded of the story that when the manuscript of “The Autobiography of Theodore Roosevelt” arrived at the publisher, Scribner had to send out for more boxes of Upper Case I’s)

I want to do what I want to do when I want to do it and nobody BUT nobody is going to to tell me I can not do what I want to do when I want to do it!

I am in control.

I AM the master of my fate, I AM the captain of my soul!

I grew up on the University of Michigan football team under Bo Schembecler.

Schembecler had a saying about the three most important things in sport.

“The Team, The Team, The Team.”

Michael Jordan was told by his coach, “There is no I in Team.”

Jordon replied, “There is in win.”

I think back to another era or trial and tribulation.

I think of this poster of Rosie the Riverter.

Notice there is no I in WE.

Still don’t know where we are but it’s not a good place.

And I am pretty sure, there is no going back.

5.26.2022 – avalanche of hype

avalanche of hype
trolling misinformation
in which we now live

Based on the amalgamation of words in the article, Hillary Clinton is right: the age of the showman leader has damaged politics, by Will Hutton in the Guardian on Sunday, June 5, 2022.

Mr. Hutton, in a commentary on politics in the United States, uses combinations of multi-syllable words and sentence construction makes me take my hat off and yell, SALUTE!

The paragraphs of the article in questions read thusly:

It’s palpably not what we have, but it’s obviously what we need and the wheels are already spinning to deliver it

This daily schedule of missing a day can bring on a personal mental paralysis wherein writing these entries becomes impossible.

I learned to deal with this by not dealing with it and let it go.

Then when I look at my register of entries and see blank days with no post, I will grab a topic or book or poem for a source and produce a series of Haiku to fill in those blank dates.

This is one of the great benefits of this effort being my blog and my blog, my rules.

It IS cricket because I say it is.

It is ‘according to Hoyle’ because I say it is.

Thus I have this series of haiku based on this article and the Mr. Hutton’s word choices.

I should also mention that this ‘lack of output’ coincided with a trip up to see our son and being away from a computer keyboard for a long weekend and I am playing catch-up.

Other haiku from this passage include:

avalanche of hype

that means a firm grasp

require viable

taking on power

reality for all

but old truths will out

5.25.2022 – time of shame, sorrow

time of shame, sorrow
some senseless act of bloodshed,
yet it goes on … why?

Back on April 5, 1968, then Senator Bobby Kennedy said in a speech at the Cleveland Club:

This is a time of shame and sorrow. It is not a day for politics. I have saved this one opportunity to speak briefly to you about this mindless menace of violence in America which again stains our land and every one of our lives.

It is not the concern of any one race. The victims of the violence are black and white, rich and poor, young and old, famous and unknown. They are, most important of all, human beings whom other human beings loved and needed. No one – no matter where he lives or what he does – can be certain who will suffer from some senseless act of bloodshed. And yet it goes on and on.

Then the Senator asked a question.

Why?

He then asked, “What has violence ever accomplished? What has it ever created? “

Whenever any American’s life is taken by another American unnecessarily – whether it is done in the name of the law or in the defiance of law, by one man or a gang, in cold blood or in passion, in an attack of violence or in response to violence – whenever we tear at the fabric of life which another man has painfully and clumsily woven for himself and his children, the whole nation is degraded.

Yet we seemingly tolerate a rising level of violence that ignores our common humanity and our claims to civilization alike. We calmly accept newspaper reports of civilian slaughter in far off lands. We glorify killing on movie and television screens and call it entertainment. We make it easy for men of all shades of sanity to acquire weapons and ammunition they desire.

Two months later on June 6, 1968, Senator Kennedy was gunned down in Los Angeles.

Whenever we tear at the fabric of life the whole nation is degraded.

It would be great to think that since we created this mess, we can fix this mess.

Too many people with too many guns.

I am reminded of the story of the founding of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police.

In the 1870’s, as the Canadian Pacific Railroad was being built, the folks who ran Canada were aware of the colorful stories of the lawless American west.

Dodge City and Tombstone.

Wyatt Earp and Wild Bill Hickcock.

Billy the Kid and Jesse James.

The folks saw the possibility of such an environment taking root as the the Canadian West began to be populated once the CPR was in service.

Their answer was to beat lawlessness with the law and the RCMP was created and in place once the railroad was completed.

When the trains started to run and the desperadoes showed up to rob the trains and the banks and fight in the barrooms, they found that in the trains and in the banks and in the barrooms the Mounties were already there.

For us?

No one – no matter where he lives or what he does – can be certain who will suffer from some senseless act of bloodshed.

Why?

Too many people with too many guns and it is too late.

That train left some time ago.

5.24.2022 – caring deeply and

caring deeply and
passionately, really, has
gone out of our lives

Roger Angell has died.

Born in 1920 and the son of Katherine Angell White (which made him the step son of EB White), Roger Angell wrote about baseball for the New Yorker Magazine for as long as I can remember.

To say, though, that Roger Angell wrote about baseball is much like saying Michelangelo painted ceilings.

There was so much more than that to what Mr. Angell wrote.

The focus, the reason for the writing was baseball, but the words were brought together in ways that were magical and poetry.

It was after the 1975 World Series, the famous game six that was won by the Red Sox on a home run in the bottom of the 12th inning, late, late at night in Fenway Park, that Mr. Angell wrote:

What I do know is that this belonging and caring is what our games are all about: this is what we come for.

It is foolish and childish, on the face of it, to affiliate ourselves with anything so insignificant and patently contrived and commercially exploitative as a professional sports team, and the amused superiority and icy scorn that the non-fan directs at the sports nut (I know this look — I know it by heart) is understandable and almost unanswerable.

Almost.

What is left out of this calculation, it seems to me, is the business of caring — caring deeply and passionately, really caring — which is a capacity or an emotion that has almost gone out of our lives.

And so it seems possible that we have come to a time when it no longer matters so much what the caring is about, how frail or foolish is the object of that concern, as long as the feeling itself can be saved.

Naïveté — the infantile and ignoble joy that sends a grown man or woman to dancing and shouting with joy in the middle of the night over the haphazardous flight of a distant ball — seems a small price to pay for such a gift.

Mr. Angell was a not so much a sports reporter but a baseball commentator.

Each year, it seems to me now, he would write an essay that previewed the upcoming season, then an essay or too on the season so far and then an essay recapping the season just finished.

These 4 or 5 essays over the course of a year all appeared in the New Yorker Magazine.

Written a leisure with thoughtfulness beyond anything but appreciation, Mr. Angell could bring each and every game he covered to life though it had been over for some time.

I was 8 years old when the Detroit Tigers won the World Series in 1968.

It wasn’t until years later that I was able to understand and appreciate what when on in that World Series, the dual between Denny McCain and Bob Gibson and the slow turtle-and-the-hare story Mickey Lolich pitching his way to 3 World Series wins, and I got those stories from reading Roger Angell’s account in an essay titled, “A LITTLE NOISE AT TWILIGHT.”

But like the Persian Rug with the missing knot so it wouldn’t be perfect, Mr. Angell did make mistakes.

I always felt somehow privileged that I caught one.

But to this day, I am not sure if the error was Mr. White’s or his editor.

Here is the passage in question?

Can you find the mistake?

The scene is late in Game 7 of the ’68 Series between the Cardinals and Tigers.

The game is in St. Louis and the series is tied 3-3.

Mr. White wrote: Still no score. Summer and the Series were running out. Gibson had permitted only one base-runner in the game, and here were the Tigers down to their last seventh inning of the year. Gibson fanned Stanley, for his thirty-fourth strikeout of the Series, and Kaline grounded out. At three and two, Cash singled to right. Horton hit to the left side, and the ball went through for a single. Northrup lined the first pitch high and deep, but straight to center, where Curt Flood started in, reversed abruptly, and then stumbled, kicking up a divot of grass. He recovered in an instant and raced toward the fence, but the ball bounced beyond him, a good four hundred feet out; Northrup had a triple, and two runs were in. Freehan doubled past Brock in left, for the third.

It is right there in plain sight.

For me, it made Mr. Angell more human and that much more great.

Roger Angell has died.

This is when I quote John O`Hara on the death of George Gershwin.

I don’t have to believe it if I don’t want to.

5.23.2022 – the sky and the sea

the sky and the sea
put on a show, every day
they put on a show

Adapted from Carl Sandburg’s, Thimble Islands, which was published in “Good morning, America” by New York, Harcourt, Brace and Company, 1928.

In searching for the full text of this poem to copy and paste into this essay, I came across a 269 page document from the Office of Education in Washington, DC that had been written by the University of Oregon, titled The Whole Poem Teacher.

The document was identified as a Poetry: Literature Curriculum – Teacher’s Guide.

Printed in 1971, the first two paragraphs of the introduction state:

In the lessons preceding this one, your class has concentrated on various poetic techniques, isolating them more or less from the total fabric of the poem for the purposes of examination and identification. Such a process is necessary, but it is a rather sterile exercise if it stops there. For the goal of all this investigation has been not the ability to identify poetic devices, but to enjoy more fully the experience of reading a poem. To achieve this goal, it is necessary to “put back” all the isolated elements into the whole poem.

To borrow a useful distinction made by the poet:-critic John Ciardi, we want our students to be able to answer not only the question, “What does this poem mean?” but also the question, “How does this poem mean?” Answering the first question only leads to bad paraphrase and moral- abstracting. Answering the first question in terms of the second, on the other hand, leads to close and intelligent reading, to appreciation of the internal dynamics of the poem, and consequently to a far more sensitive perception of the poem’s “meaning.” For in poetry the way something is said is part of what is being said.

Wanting to avoid the introduction tearing out scene of Dead Poets Society, I think this is rather good as it does not impose a scale but plays on the readers interpretation.

“How does this poem mean?” and “… in poetry the way something is said is part of what is being said.” is good even as it brackets that oh so ponderous statement, “leads to close and intelligent reading, to appreciation of the internal dynamics of the poem, and consequently to a far more sensitive perception of the poem’s ‘meaning.‘”

The document was part of the Oregon Elementary English Project and according to the first line of the abstract, This curriculum guide is intended to introduce fifth and sixth grade children to the study of poetry.

Fifth and sixth grade children?

All I can say about that is to paraphrase the Book of Psalms, Lord Byron and Stephen Vincent Benét (all at the same time!), By the rivers of Babylon, There I sat down and wept, When I remembered Zion.

Here is the Sandburg poem:

THIMBLE ISLANDS

The sky and the sea put on a show
Every day they put on a show
There are dawn dress rehearsals
There are sweet monotonous evening monologues
The acrobatic lights of sunsets dwindle and darken
The stars step out one by one with a bimbo, bimbo.

The red ball of the sun hung a balloon in the west.
And there was half a balloon, then no balloon at all,
And ten stars marched out and ten thousand more,
And the fathoms of the sky far over met the fathoms of the sea far
under, among the thimble islands

In the clear green water of dawn came a float of silver filaments, feelers
circling a pink polyp’s mouth.
The feelers ran out, opened and closed, opened and closed, hungry and
searching, soft and incessant, floating the salt sea inlets sucking the
green sea water as land roses suck the land air

Frozen rock humps, smooth fire-rock humps –
Thimbles on the thumbs of the wives of prostrate sunken
giants –
God only knows how many sleep in the slack of the
seven seas

There in those places
under the sun balloons,
and fathoms, filaments, feelers –

The wind and the rain
sew the years
stitching one year into another

5.22.2022 – our shared values

our shared values
fairness and opportunity
kindness those in need

I am, of course, referring to the self-proclaimed ‘Greatest Country on Earth.’

Australia!

After winning the recent election, new Australian Prime Minister Anthony Albanese said that as leader he would respect all Australians, including those who had not voted for him, saying he would “seek to get your vote next time”.

Mr. Albanese also said:

“We are the greatest country on Earth, but we can have an even better future if we seize the opportunities that are right there in front of us,” Albanese said.

“I want to seek our common purpose and promote unity and not fear. Optimism, not fear and division.

“It is what I have sought to do throughout my political life and what I will bring to the leadership of our country.

“I want to find that common ground where together we can plant our dreams, to unite around our shared love of this country, our shared faith in Australia’s future, our shared values of fairness and opportunity and hard work, and kindness to those in need.”

There was a time …

Mr. Lincoln, back in 1855, wrote in a letter to Mr. George Robertson:

On the question of liberty, as a principle, we are not what we have been.

When we were the political slaves of King George, and wanted to be free, we called the maxim that “all men are created equal” a self evident truth;

but now when we have grown fat, and have lost all dread of being slaves ourselves, we have become so greedy to be masters that we call the same maxim “a self evident lie.”