Sunday, December 31, 2017
Saturday, December 30, 2017
Reading Finnegan's Wake
What’s the best news this morning?
Somebody in Joyce says that, I’ll find out who.
Think of James Joyce, dictating
Finnegan’s Wake to Samuel Becket.
“Come in,” said Joyce to whomever was
at the door, and Becket wrote it down.
Somebody in Joyce says that, I’ll find out who.
Think of James Joyce, dictating
Finnegan’s Wake to Samuel Becket.
“Come in,” said Joyce to whomever was
at the door, and Becket wrote it down.
Joyce ended up liking “Come in,” so they kept it.
What a chuckle sandwich it must have been for them,
day after day! But now the only way to read Finnegan’s Wake
is to have it on your computer and do searches on it.
Even better: a Finnegan’s Wake concordance!
Of course, there are several on the internet.
What a chuckle sandwich it must have been for them,
day after day! But now the only way to read Finnegan’s Wake
is to have it on your computer and do searches on it.
Even better: a Finnegan’s Wake concordance!
Of course, there are several on the internet.
I want to look up “Milton,” because he dictated
his works too. Bingo! I get—
Finnegan’s Wake lines: 1 Elucidations found: 2;
096.19 four of them, in Milton’s Park
under lovely Father Whisperer;
the elucidations being—
his works too. Bingo! I get—
Finnegan’s Wake lines: 1 Elucidations found: 2;
096.19 four of them, in Milton’s Park
under lovely Father Whisperer;
the elucidations being—
-096.10+ ing jackass.
Harick! Harick! The rose is white in the darick!;
-096.02+ And Sunfella’s nose
has got rhinocertitis from haunting the roes.
And now I’m on a dead-end page
titled Fweets of Fin (milton) with FW text.
Harick! Harick! The rose is white in the darick!;
-096.02+ And Sunfella’s nose
has got rhinocertitis from haunting the roes.
And now I’m on a dead-end page
titled Fweets of Fin (milton) with FW text.
I can click [Search Engine]
to go to the Search Engine Room.
Then I can search on the string, “milton”—
Finnegan’s Wake lines found: 42, including—
Her rash hand in evil hour Forth reaching
for the fruit, she pluck’d, she eat.
Coded 052.25, and when I click, I get—to go to the Search Engine Room.
Then I can search on the string, “milton”—
Finnegan’s Wake lines found: 42, including—
Her rash hand in evil hour Forth reaching
for the fruit, she pluck’d, she eat.
(shooting at empty stout bottles
Annie Oakley: American sharpshooter Nice!!!
So, without my typography, would you know whether “Nice!!!”
is part of Finnegan’s Wake, or just my interjection?
No you wouldn’t.
Friday, December 29, 2017
Three Poems Mostly About My Mother and My Sister Emily
Radical Surgery
Before
her final
cancer came to light, my mother
took my sister Emily to the
clinic
several times
to have ear wax removed. Not long before my friend
Dave got sick,
his wife Gerri underwent a preventative mastectomy, with a
cruelly slow recovery.
When Dave became faint for no apparent reason,
playing racquetball with
me at the Y, I had the front desk call 911.
The paramedics came,
but found no sign of the expected heart attack.
Gerri arrived and
drove Dave to the VA. As I watched them leave, Dave shouted,
”John, if we
never see each other again, I want you to know,
I love you.”
By the next day, an MRI had detected an
inoperable brain tumor.
I did see Dave again several times, played
golf with him,
and during the final vigil held his hand for
half an hour.
As for my mother, about a year before she died, the surgeon
removed a grapefruit-
sized tumor from her chest (she must have lived
with the knowledge
of that tumor for years before she finally went in).
During my visit,
she gave me the job of digging out masses of
root-bound iris
from an eight-by-twenty-four-foot flower bed. I worked
for hours with
a garden spade, chopping out the putrid, pulpy tubers,
slicing them small,
and heaving them into the compost –
clumps of curly
tendrils, some harboring tiny clutches of writhing
snow-white maggots
to have ear wax removed. Not long before my friend
Dave got sick,
his wife Gerri underwent a preventative mastectomy, with a
cruelly slow recovery.
When Dave became faint for no apparent reason,
playing racquetball with
me at the Y, I had the front desk call 911.
The paramedics came,
but found no sign of the expected heart attack.
Gerri arrived and
drove Dave to the VA. As I watched them leave, Dave shouted,
”John, if we
never see each other again, I want you to know,
I love you.”
By the next day, an MRI had detected an
inoperable brain tumor.
I did see Dave again several times, played
golf with him,
and during the final vigil held his hand for
half an hour.
As for my mother, about a year before she died, the surgeon
removed a grapefruit-
sized tumor from her chest (she must have lived
with the knowledge
of that tumor for years before she finally went in).
During my visit,
she gave me the job of digging out masses of
root-bound iris
from an eight-by-twenty-four-foot flower bed. I worked
for hours with
a garden spade, chopping out the putrid, pulpy tubers,
slicing them small,
and heaving them into the compost –
clumps of curly
tendrils, some harboring tiny clutches of writhing
snow-white maggots
Summer in Gunnison
1.
Summer
in Gunnison ,
about the time
I began to know there was something wrong with my sister Emily –
the dream in
which I watched her shrink and shrink
down and down,
until she was a pirate stamp on the inside of a glass fish bowl.
Approached by way
of
banks of snow,
and snow falling, coating the road my father navigated,
white-knuckled in
the blue Nash Rambler – my mother
impatient – we kids
sensing our parents’ least emotion with our fine antennae
2.
I
don’t recall
a thing about the campus dorm apartment we lived in
a thing about the campus dorm apartment we lived in
or
my room.
I’m sure Emily did her usual trick of screaming for hours at
night – I imagined,
lying with her mouth up against the crack of her bedroom door, deliberately to
make the noise
as nerve-wracking as possible – it seemed to me that she screamed
with an impish,
perverse intent, but I’m sure I realized how incapable she was of
I’m sure Emily did her usual trick of screaming for hours at
night – I imagined,
lying with her mouth up against the crack of her bedroom door, deliberately to
make the noise
as nerve-wracking as possible – it seemed to me that she screamed
with an impish,
perverse intent, but I’m sure I realized how incapable she was of
meaning
any harm.
She lay screaming, completely oblivious of me or anyone
She lay screaming, completely oblivious of me or anyone
3.
smelling of pine, leaf rot, and mosquito fog –
acrid mists drifting
down from the mountains in the late afternoons,
prompting some to
call their kids indoors.
Wide, sandy ditches
ran down each street – I guess to
channel snow melt
in the early summer. Beside these ditches grew
the biggest dandelions
I’ve ever seen. By joining
their stems together
and sucking to start the flow, we could dry
a small puddle,
draining it into another lower
down. – I
4.
remember
little else,
except the climbing rope in the gymnasium, and some kind of running
game with balls,
which I was hesitant to join at first, but in which I soon found myself
completely enjoyably absorbed,
and our futile fishing forays on the Gunnison River
except the climbing rope in the gymnasium, and some kind of running
game with balls,
which I was hesitant to join at first, but in which I soon found myself
completely enjoyably absorbed,
and our futile fishing forays on the Gunnison River
5.
At
the end
of the summer, my Evans cousins came and
spent a week.
I think we left Gunnison with them, driving
toColorado Springs ,
where we all went swimming in a big lake.
I fell desperately
in love with my cousin Terry, who was two or three years older –
tall, with auburn
hair – I remember her beige swimming suit and her
thin, uncanny feet.
I longed to put my arms around her and kiss her face, as
we rode together
in the back of my uncle’s green station wagon, and she
read with me
the Golden Books story of Scuppers
the Sailor Dog
of the summer, my Evans cousins came and
spent a week.
I think we left Gunnison with them, driving
to
where we all went swimming in a big lake.
I fell desperately
in love with my cousin Terry, who was two or three years older –
tall, with auburn
hair – I remember her beige swimming suit and her
thin, uncanny feet.
I longed to put my arms around her and kiss her face, as
we rode together
in the back of my uncle’s green station wagon, and she
read with me
the Golden Books story of Scuppers
the Sailor Dog
Mama’s Death
In the weeks
surrounding Mama’s death, I made several trips toDenver . It’s hard
to remember now
what happened on which trip. My time was mostly taken
up with business:
getting a bank to collect on years of social security and stock dividend
checks that Mama
had thrown on the laundry room floor; trying to grasp the pieces of her
not-unsubstantial estate;
getting the cats removed from the house when I realized Mama was afraid
surrounding Mama’s death, I made several trips to
to remember now
what happened on which trip. My time was mostly taken
up with business:
getting a bank to collect on years of social security and stock dividend
checks that Mama
had thrown on the laundry room floor; trying to grasp the pieces of her
not-unsubstantial estate;
getting the cats removed from the house when I realized Mama was afraid
she might suffocate
if one of them sat on her chest and she couldn’t
push him off
if one of them sat on her chest and she couldn’t
push him off
The biggest concern
was to get Emily settled in a group home situation of some kind.
was to get Emily settled in a group home situation of some kind.
Because her mother
was dying, Emily’s case was treated as urgent, and she soon moved
to an establishment
called the Jewish Group Home, near Mama’s house. The only possible
objection was Emily’s
devout Baptist faith, but I assured the director that my mother was
not a Christian,
and that for Emily to enter the group home was
Mama’s greatest wish
was dying, Emily’s case was treated as urgent, and she soon moved
to an establishment
called the Jewish Group Home, near Mama’s house. The only possible
objection was Emily’s
devout Baptist faith, but I assured the director that my mother was
not a Christian,
and that for Emily to enter the group home was
Mama’s greatest wish
One morning, when
Mary Catherine was in town, we got a call from Robin back in
Minnesota . The hospice
had phoned there to let us know that Mama was doing poorly.
When we called
back, the nurse told us (a little sheepishly) that Mama had already died.
I suppose we
drove to the hospice to pick up whatever Mama had brought
with her there.
Mama herself had arranged for the cremation long before,
and her body
was already gone. There was nothing to do and nowhere to go, so Mary
Catherine and I
organized a small memorial service. We both bought clothes
for the occasion,
and we bought an outfit for Emily. Pastor Fredrick of Emily’s
Galilee Baptist
Church
conducted the ceremony. He seemed slightly embarrassed, or
Mary Catherine was in town, we got a call from Robin back in
had phoned there to let us know that Mama was doing poorly.
When we called
back, the nurse told us (a little sheepishly) that Mama had already died.
I suppose we
drove to the hospice to pick up whatever Mama had brought
with her there.
Mama herself had arranged for the cremation long before,
and her body
was already gone. There was nothing to do and nowhere to go, so Mary
Catherine and I
organized a small memorial service. We both bought clothes
for the occasion,
and we bought an outfit for Emily. Pastor Fredrick of Emily’s
conducted the ceremony. He seemed slightly embarrassed, or
troubled – possibly
because,
by his way of thinking, my poor mother was
probably in Hell
by his way of thinking, my poor mother was
probably in Hell
At the end
of my last visit while she was still in the house, Mama asked me to
arrange that she
be moved to the hospice
before I left. During the last evening, I of my last visit while she was still in the house, Mama asked me to
arrange that she
think we finally
spent some meaningful time together. We listened to a Beethoven
quartet on the
record player – not one of the late ones – I think it was the Opus 95
in F minor.
Mama listened attentively, with obvious enjoyment (I remember
her saying once
that she believed she had a musical gift, even though she never chose or
had the opportunity
to sing or play). The next day, when it was almost time for my flight home, I
called the ambulance
for Mama’s trip to the hospice. It arrived in a flash, before we
were really ready.
I told Mama that she had been a good mother. She told me that I had been
a good son
The day before
she died, the three of us – Mary Catherine, Emily, and I – came to the hospice
to visit Mama.
We didn’t know that this would be the last time we would ever see her.
She was annoyed
that we had all come at once – it seemed somehow
wasteful to her.
As we were leaving, Emily said, “I love you, Mama,”
and Mama said,
“I love you, Emily,” and then
she was gone
Thursday, December 28, 2017
Sublimation (Will You Miss Me?)
I walked through life in tighty-pants.
Never took my pecker out.
Well, what happened then?
Did you get converted?
Never took my pecker out.
Well, what happened then?
Did you get converted?
I
found a sweet haven of sunshine at last.
Will you miss me when I’m gone?
Will you miss me when I’m gone?
I met some cool cats.
Learned how to play country music.
Bought a Magic Theater ticket.
Johanna was in it.
Learned how to play country music.
Bought a Magic Theater ticket.
Johanna was in it.
I
found a sweet haven of sunshine at last.
Will you miss me when I’m gone?
Will you miss me when I’m gone?
The bookstore cats were in it too.
They had marvelous stamina for literature!
Johanna was my fem-gendered self.
I loved her beyond measure.
They had marvelous stamina for literature!
Johanna was my fem-gendered self.
I loved her beyond measure.
I
found a sweet haven of sunshine at last.
Will you miss me when I’m gone?
Will you miss me when I’m gone?
Johanna had another lover named Lucifer.
I was jealous, but she said keep it cosmic.
I still didn’t take my pecker out.
We were chaste as the heart of Beatrice.
I was jealous, but she said keep it cosmic.
I still didn’t take my pecker out.
We were chaste as the heart of Beatrice.
I
found a sweet haven of sunshine at last
Will you miss me when I’m gone?
Will you miss me when I’m gone?
Then Johanna had to go.
Worlds separated us, but the illusion lived.
Johanna’s a bright star in the firmament now,
a special magnet drawing my spaceship to her.
Worlds separated us, but the illusion lived.
Johanna’s a bright star in the firmament now,
a special magnet drawing my spaceship to her.
I
found a sweet haven of sunshine at last
Will you miss me when I’m gone?
Will you miss me when I’m gone?
Wednesday, December 27, 2017
Angels on Pinterest
7 8 9 3 7 8 4
I woke up a lot last night
and really wanted to get up.
I feel like I have tendinitis
in my thumb—
much writing with a pencil
and playing my stringed intruments
with a plectrum.
and really wanted to get up.
I feel like I have tendinitis
in my thumb—
much writing with a pencil
and playing my stringed intruments
with a plectrum.
There’s an angel image that
comes to mind—why can’t I find it?
The angels were playing big round lutes—
I’m thinking
of that Manet painting of
well-dressed lute-playing men with their
naked girlfriends.
comes to mind—why can’t I find it?
The angels were playing big round lutes—
I’m thinking
of that Manet painting of
well-dressed lute-playing men with their
naked girlfriends.
But there’s another very
sexy image, a mixed-gender
lute-playing foursome—fleshy-chested
woman in
the foreground—fat, hovering
putti babies with cute testes
and penises.
sexy image, a mixed-gender
lute-playing foursome—fleshy-chested
woman in
the foreground—fat, hovering
putti babies with cute testes
and penises.
Often the lutes are large—they
needed to be big to be loud.
So charming that the paintings often
portray jams
or rehearsals!—boy holding
cello, lutanist woman, eyes
under his wing.
needed to be big to be loud.
So charming that the paintings often
portray jams
or rehearsals!—boy holding
cello, lutanist woman, eyes
under his wing.
Or just people practicing—
barefoot young red-haired girl or boy
looking intently at the fingers of
their left hand,
while their right testingly strums,
intent eyes showing: that angel
means business.
I’m no angel, but I playedbarefoot young red-haired girl or boy
looking intently at the fingers of
their left hand,
while their right testingly strums,
intent eyes showing: that angel
means business.
my mandolin and fiddle
with friends last night—my bouzouki too—
Come on, boys
let’s go to hunting—and a
rooster crow, see-line, and she go
back home see-line.
with friends last night—my bouzouki too—
Come on, boys
let’s go to hunting—and a
rooster crow, see-line, and she go
back home see-line.
Monday, December 25, 2017
Vielleicht
(United
States Holocaust Memorial Museum)
Apple corers—at least two with
copper handles.
Small knives. Can openers.
A couple of objects that appear to be
some kind of metal clamp.
A great many tea strainers (aluminum?—no, tin).
Potato peelers. Graters.
What a lot of apple corers! (Poland today is Europe’s
largest producer of apples.)
A big pile of glasses cases.
Razor parts, hair clipper parts.
Keys, thermos bottles, coffee cups.
One big red bowl with a handle.
A really large quantity of tin tea strainers!
Small knives. Can openers.
A couple of objects that appear to be
some kind of metal clamp.
A great many tea strainers (aluminum?—no, tin).
Potato peelers. Graters.
What a lot of apple corers! (Poland today is Europe’s
largest producer of apples.)
A big pile of glasses cases.
Razor parts, hair clipper parts.
Keys, thermos bottles, coffee cups.
One big red bowl with a handle.
A really large quantity of tin tea strainers!
Small items, small enough
to be brought on board the wooden railroad cars
under a woman’s skirt.
Vielleicht, somewhere she would find some tea.
Vielleicht, her captors,
not, vielleicht, entirely
cruel after all, might give her some.
And, vielleicht, there would be a way to heat water,
or at worst the water would remain cold,
and she would pour the water
through the tea in the strainer,
vielleicht, into the tin cup,
and the remnants of her family would squat in a circle
and drink the tea together.
Or, vielleicht, somewhere on their journey she would find
an apple, carrot, or turnip,
and she would use the corer, the peeler,
and, vielleicht, the little knife
to prepare a modest meal.
Then she would put a bit of nourishing peeled apple
into the child’s mouth
as they rested together
on the floor of a house, vielleicht,
or, vielleicht, on the ground in the woods.
to be brought on board the wooden railroad cars
under a woman’s skirt.
Vielleicht, somewhere she would find some tea.
Vielleicht, her captors,
not, vielleicht, entirely
cruel after all, might give her some.
And, vielleicht, there would be a way to heat water,
or at worst the water would remain cold,
and she would pour the water
through the tea in the strainer,
vielleicht, into the tin cup,
and the remnants of her family would squat in a circle
and drink the tea together.
Or, vielleicht, somewhere on their journey she would find
an apple, carrot, or turnip,
and she would use the corer, the peeler,
and, vielleicht, the little knife
to prepare a modest meal.
Then she would put a bit of nourishing peeled apple
into the child’s mouth
as they rested together
on the floor of a house, vielleicht,
or, vielleicht, on the ground in the woods.
These few helpful implements
she’d saved—
small items, small enough
to pack in her small cloth purse—only to learn
when she had reached her journey’s end
that she would not be allowed to keep even these.
small items, small enough
to pack in her small cloth purse—only to learn
when she had reached her journey’s end
that she would not be allowed to keep even these.
Such small hopes—
so light
behind the dog-irons of history.
so light
behind the dog-irons of history.
May-September, 2014
Shout for Joy
On this Christmas day,
we are given to wonder and amazement
as we contemplate
the days remaining.
we are given to wonder and amazement
as we contemplate
the days remaining.
It’s been decided
that the job creators need a tax break and
the job holders don’t.
The poor and abject
that the job creators need a tax break and
the job holders don’t.
The poor and abject
in our great cities
will be given little and then less, or else
lie by millions
in expensive prisons.
will be given little and then less, or else
lie by millions
in expensive prisons.
They have few options
besides crime. Inhabiting a machine designed
to eliminate
them, they slowly rot,
besides crime. Inhabiting a machine designed
to eliminate
them, they slowly rot,
while we choose a few
to shine our light upon so that no one can
stop witnessing their
rich, beautiful lives.
to shine our light upon so that no one can
stop witnessing their
rich, beautiful lives.
God has given us
authority over nature, so we may
take whatever we
want and leave nothing.
authority over nature, so we may
take whatever we
want and leave nothing.
Out of many, one
is now All for me—an undeserving few,
fattening on the
bodies of the rest.
is now All for me—an undeserving few,
fattening on the
bodies of the rest.
It is being made
fair and lawful to steal from the poor and give
all they have to the
rich. And only when
fair and lawful to steal from the poor and give
all they have to the
rich. And only when
every hard dollar,
every last drop of blood has been sucked from us
will they die at last,
their evil reign end.
every last drop of blood has been sucked from us
will they die at last,
their evil reign end.
What will then remain?
A wasted, abused world, bathed in excrement,
its jewels extracted,
its gold exhausted.
A wasted, abused world, bathed in excrement,
its jewels extracted,
its gold exhausted.
So what is there to
celebrate this Christmas day? The Christ child is
born again, away
in an oxe’s stall.
celebrate this Christmas day? The Christ child is
born again, away
in an oxe’s stall.
Herod heard the news
(Shout for joy!) He sent some soldiers (Shout for joy!)
but the soldiers couldn’t
find them (Shout for joy!)
(Shout for joy!) He sent some soldiers (Shout for joy!)
but the soldiers couldn’t
find them (Shout for joy!)
‘cause they ran away
to Egypt (Shout for joy!) And there were angels
watching over them.
(Shout! Shout for the Lamb!
Shout for joy!) We’ll haveto Egypt (Shout for joy!) And there were angels
watching over them.
(Shout! Shout for the Lamb!
our Christmas today and we will be joyful,
even though it’s hard
to think we have long.
Poems for Advent 2017
Sunday, December 24, 2017
Believe (Children, Go Where I Send Thee)
It is time to consider the grounds of belief.
OK, say that belief must be in a fiction. It is time to
choose.
By your leave.
Who said that?
Who wrote the wikipedia article? Belief is the
state of mind in which a person thinks something to be the case with or without
empirical evidence of factual certainty.
(All real evidence must be empirical; revelation ain’t evidence.)
Two belief notions in ancient Greek thought:
pistis—trust-confidence—pistrusfidence
doxa—opinion-acceptance—doxeptance
Jonathan Leicester: belief has the purpose of guiding action
rather than indicating truth. Who is this Jonathan Leicester guy?
Wittgenstein asked: If my friend says to me, “After I die
there will be a judgement in which my soul is weighed,” and I say, “No, I don’t
think there will be,” are we disagreeing? My friend’s belief in a final judgement may
count for their whole life.
Mostly, I’m scared of belief. I don’t want to be touched.
Here’s a synopsis of Pascal’s wager.
Pascal starts by thinking about infinity. We can’t understand
its nature (it’s a number, but it’s neither even nor odd).
I may blame the religious for their belief in an Infinite Providence for which they have no evidence, and which they cannot even imagine.
But Pascal says, do not condemn as wrong those who have made a choice, for you
know nothing about it. But you can blame them for not remaining agnostic. But
Pascal says, No, you must choose: You are already committed.
There is an infinity of infinitely happy life to be won, one
chance of winning against a finite number of chances of losing, and what you
are staking is finite—or is it?—your life.
It has to come down to desire. How can you not WANT there to
be an infinitely loving presence?
blind confidence of an iddy-biddy baby
wrapped in swaddling clothing
lying in a manger
mother’s presence filling all space
her never-failing care.
So there’s no choice after all, no room for hesitation.
Poems for Advent 2017
Saturday, December 23, 2017
Madona and Child (Robert Southwell, "The Burning Babe")
The babe, the burning babe.
What does the baby have other
than the mother?
What does the baby have other
than the mother?
The babe in arms, the burning babe.
A baby never comes
without its mother.
A baby never comes
without its mother.
But there’s no mother
in “The Burning Babe”—
Surprised I was with sudden heat,
in “The Burning Babe”—
Surprised I was with sudden heat,
Which made my heart to glow.
. . .
A pretty babe all buring bright
Did in the air appear.
A pretty babe all buring bright
Did in the air appear.
The babe is crying as it burns—
Such floods of tears did shed,
As though its flood should quench its flames—
Such floods of tears did shed,
As though its flood should quench its flames—
It’s as if the babe is in some kind of hell,
or is itself hell—
My faultless breast the furnace is—
or is itself hell—
My faultless breast the furnace is—
The babe’s heart is hell,
but Love is the fire, and sighs the smoke,
The ashes shames and scorns. —
but Love is the fire, and sighs the smoke,
The ashes shames and scorns.
A crying baby without a mother.
What a hot potato
that baby is!
What a hot potato
that baby is!
Not the usual babe-in-the-manger image.
The babe in a manger wakes to the cattle lowing
but makes no crying.
The babe in a manger wakes to the cattle lowing
but makes no crying.
I love thee, Lord Jesus,
look down from the sky
And stay by my cradle til morning is nigh.
That baby
is happy and quiet in its mother’s sight.And stay by my cradle til morning is nigh.
That baby
Friday, December 22, 2017
Hello! (Catullus, 101)
I don't know why you say Goodbye, I say Hello. Paul McCartney
Ave atque vale.
You greet me,
you say farewell.
How poignant is that?—
a grief sandwich!
Ave atque vale.
You greet me,
you say farewell.
How poignant is that?—
a grief sandwich!
I greet you at the threshold of a brilliant
career!—
Emerson to Whitman.
That would have sounded different
if he’d said edge—I greet you at the
edge of a brilliant career.
Emerson to Whitman.
That would have sounded different
if he’d said edge—I greet you at the
edge of a brilliant career.
Doomed
to be a star!—
Calvin Griffith
greeting
Jim Eisenreich.
to be a star!—
Calvin Griffith
greeting
Jim Eisenreich.
But there’s a
typo in adventword.org.
Today’s Avent word (Dec 22)
is Getting.—Damn, I looked at a related page yesterday
and I thought I saw Greeting.
So now is all my Greeting homework invalid?
Today’s Avent word (Dec 22)
is Getting.—Damn, I looked at a related page yesterday
and I thought I saw Greeting.
So now is all my Greeting homework invalid?
No, just a typo:
adventword.org/greeting says
22 December 2017—As part of the Holy Baptism celebration
the community enthusiastically greets the newest member
of Christ’s family.
adventword.org/greeting says
22 December 2017—As part of the Holy Baptism celebration
the community enthusiastically greets the newest member
of Christ’s family.
When I get up there and settle down
And I step inside those gates and look around,
I’ll want at least a million years to view the throne,
So many friends I’ll want to greet
when I get home!
And I step inside those gates and look around,
I’ll want at least a million years to view the throne,
So many friends I’ll want to greet
when I get home!
But I want to
give Catullus
the last word,
with his pagan Fortune goddess.
He doesn’t believe in heaven
or even karma.
the last word,
with his pagan Fortune goddess.
He doesn’t believe in heaven
or even karma.
That’s the beauty
of the Roman
attitude toward death, the stoicism
that lets me slash through my guts
and spread my entrails
all over the forum. Hello!
attitude toward death, the stoicism
that lets me slash through my guts
and spread my entrails
all over the forum. Hello!
for your sad funeral rites, brother,
to give you the final gift of death
and vainly address your ashes
since it be that fortune has removed from me yourself,
Oh, poor unhappy brother, snatched from me!
Now, however, so that ancestral precedent and custom
may be fulfilled, as a sad funeral gift,
accept a brother’s bitterly flowing tears,
Thursday, December 21, 2017
Early Crossroads
My mother’s rage was my name for fear
when I would come in from the back yard
with a caterpillar in my hair.
But it was my father not me she
hated. I won the Oedipal war
without a fight, and possessed my stern
Jocasta without guilt, without cause
to stab my eyes dark with her brooch pins.
What could be so terrifying as
a victory so clear? Boney in
the Kremlin, pacing. No one arriving
to sign his treaties. Only villains
and whores still at large in the city.
And now the great houses start burning.
when I would come in from the back yard
with a caterpillar in my hair.
But it was my father not me she
hated. I won the Oedipal war
without a fight, and possessed my stern
Jocasta without guilt, without cause
to stab my eyes dark with her brooch pins.
What could be so terrifying as
a victory so clear? Boney in
the Kremlin, pacing. No one arriving
to sign his treaties. Only villains
and whores still at large in the city.
And now the great houses start burning.
Revolt (What I Typed on a Facebook Thread Yesterday)
“I was brought
up without God.
Atheism is the most natural point of view for me.
The God assumption isn't the least bit plausible to me.
Atheism is the most natural point of view for me.
The God assumption isn't the least bit plausible to me.
There is a God if it's useful for us that there be.”
—What did I mean
by “useful, ” I wonder?
—I think I just meant that there can be a God if we want there to be.
—I think I just meant that there can be a God if we want there to be.
Jesus, won’t you come by here
Jesus, won’t you come by here
Jesus, won’t you come by here
Jesus, won’t you come by here
Jesus, won’t you come by here
The usual view is that God is a Higher Power, external to us.
God created us, and is waiting somewhere we don’t know where
to see what we will do.
God created us, and is waiting somewhere we don’t know where
to see what we will do.
But He already knows, of course—
knew from the very first moment of creation
whether I would be saved or not.
whether I would be saved or not.
Now is the needed time
Now is the needed time
Now is the needed time
Now is the needed time
Now is the needed time
But what is God, or what can God be for me—for us?
God is the everyday excitement of my life.
God is the emotion, the gladness, the inspiration,
God is the everyday excitement of my life.
God is the emotion, the gladness, the inspiration,
the spark I feel in my heart for another.
No need to call this stuff by the name God,
but not a bad thing to have a Name for it either.
but not a bad thing to have a Name for it either.
Jesus, won’t you answer prayer
Jesus, won’t you answer prayer
Jesus, won’t you answer prayer
Jesus, won’t you answer prayer
Jesus, won’t you answer prayer
Adam walked in Eden, naming everything.
God was there too, walking in the cool of the day.
When Adam was naming the animals, did he name God too?
God was there too, walking in the cool of the day.
When Adam was naming the animals, did he name God too?
But God wanted to test us—it’s the oldest
story,
so He told us not to eat the apple.
The “Great Forbidder,” Satan called him.
The “Great Forbidder,” Satan called him.
Daniel in the lion’s den
Daniel in the lion’s den
Daniel in the lion’s den
Daniel in the lion’s den
Daniel in the lion’s den
So we ate the apple, of course. When somebody tells you
not to do something, sooner or later you’re going to do it,
like a child being told, “Don’t spill the salt.”
not to do something, sooner or later you’re going to do it,
like a child being told, “Don’t spill the salt.”
Then we had to
be banished from Paradise,
and women would now have to bear their children in pain,
and have an eternal enmity toward snakes.
and have an eternal enmity toward snakes.
The angel locked the lion’s jaw
The angel locked the lion’s jaw
The angel locked the lion’s jaw
The angel locked the lion’s jaw
The angel locked the lion’s jaw
It’s easy to be
cynical about Christianity—
all we have inherited from our ancestors’ understanding
of their spiritual situation,
all we have inherited from our ancestors’ understanding
of their spiritual situation,
but I’ve gotten
to the place
where I can’t remember any more
why I felt I needed to reject it.
why I felt I needed to reject it.
I’m down on my knees and prayin’
I'm down on my knees and prayin’
I’m down on my knees and prayin'
I'm down on my knees and prayin’
I’m down on my knees and prayin'
Saying, Lord, have mercy on me
Lord, have mercy on me
Lord, have mercy on me
on me
Poems for Advent 2017
Lord, have mercy on me
Lord, have mercy on me
on me
Poems for Advent 2017
Wednesday, December 20, 2017
More Than a Hug, or What Jesus Needed Most (Ecclesiastes 3:5)
Mary’s EMBRACE of her Son in
Michelangelo’s Pieta is cold marble but living, warm and true. Mary was giving
Jesus what he needed most. As Advent people, we encounter people every day who
need more than a hug or a handshake at the Peace in Church. EMBRACE a beloved
child of God. Virgina Theological Seminary.
I wonder if someone at the Virgina
Theological Seminary
will point out that Jesus in the Pieta is dead. Too late for hugs.
will point out that Jesus in the Pieta is dead. Too late for hugs.
A time to embrace and a time
to refrain
(it may be too late) from embracing.
(it may be too late) from embracing.
But it’s also not proper to
embrace during menstruation,
but when did that ever stop us in our raunchy, randy days?
but when did that ever stop us in our raunchy, randy days?
But this rule no longer needs
to be obeyed,
now that Jesus has freed us from the Law.
now that Jesus has freed us from the Law.
Before Jesus, people were
originally sinful;
only by obeying the Law could they not be bad.
only by obeying the Law could they not be bad.
But Jesus’s blood has now
redeemed us;
we can be good by following our hearts.
we can be good by following our hearts.
So, in that case, why can’t we have free sexual pleasure
at will? The answer is, we constrain ourselves
at will? The answer is, we constrain ourselves
for the
sake of a sublimated pleasure that is greater
and more sustainable than physical pleasure.
and more sustainable than physical pleasure.
Our embraces must be chaste
with those beloved with whom we most closely collaborate.
Poems for Advent 2017
with those beloved with whom we most closely collaborate.
Poems for Advent 2017
Tuesday, December 19, 2017
Essay on Suicide
The summer I was fourteen going into the ninth grade, I worked as janitor and ticket cashier in a bar-melodrama venue in Buckskin Joe, Colorado.
Buckskin Joe is a fake gold-mining ghost town a few miles west of Canyon City, in the mountains, near Royal Gorge.
I got the job because the kid who had it before me had told everyone he had to leave, no one knew why.
It turned out he left because he was planning to commit suicide.
He trained me in over a few evenings in his last week.
The news that he had killed himself was a shock, even though I hadn't liked him much—he seemed coldly arrogant and fastidious.
I’m sure that this was partly a self-defensive impulse on my part, but when people would talk about the “tragedy” of the loss (and I could see how devastating it was for his mom and brother, who immediately left the production), my strong reaction was that, in the broadest sense, there had been no loss at all.
The kid’s life was not less valuable for the fact that he had not lived to adulthood. And there was nothing further he could have gained in life that would have remained to him, anyhow.
This feeling has stayed with me to this day.
And it is a joyful feeling, too—a conviction of the unique and equal value of every life. The kid was himself, and that fact can never change, whatever his pain and maladaptation. (It was easy or me to feel this way, of course. I did not love him, and thus did not have the labor of re-assimilating the parts of myself that I had lost in him.)
Not long ago, I had a conversation about suicide with my younger daughter.
I said the only way I could survive the devastation would be to respect and accept the decision—scary, because it almost seemed like permission—but I as father have no power to forbid or permit such a thing.
As it turned out, I not only got the kid’s cashier job, but his brother’s role in the play as well.
I remember, I was talking about the suicide backstage with a high school girl from Canyon City I flirted with. She asked me if I would ever kill myself.
“Yes,” I said.
But (just me)
I’m pretty sure I never would.
Buckskin Joe is a fake gold-mining ghost town a few miles west of Canyon City, in the mountains, near Royal Gorge.
I got the job because the kid who had it before me had told everyone he had to leave, no one knew why.
It turned out he left because he was planning to commit suicide.
He trained me in over a few evenings in his last week.
The news that he had killed himself was a shock, even though I hadn't liked him much—he seemed coldly arrogant and fastidious.
I’m sure that this was partly a self-defensive impulse on my part, but when people would talk about the “tragedy” of the loss (and I could see how devastating it was for his mom and brother, who immediately left the production), my strong reaction was that, in the broadest sense, there had been no loss at all.
The kid’s life was not less valuable for the fact that he had not lived to adulthood. And there was nothing further he could have gained in life that would have remained to him, anyhow.
This feeling has stayed with me to this day.
And it is a joyful feeling, too—a conviction of the unique and equal value of every life. The kid was himself, and that fact can never change, whatever his pain and maladaptation. (It was easy or me to feel this way, of course. I did not love him, and thus did not have the labor of re-assimilating the parts of myself that I had lost in him.)
Not long ago, I had a conversation about suicide with my younger daughter.
I said the only way I could survive the devastation would be to respect and accept the decision—scary, because it almost seemed like permission—but I as father have no power to forbid or permit such a thing.
As it turned out, I not only got the kid’s cashier job, but his brother’s role in the play as well.
I remember, I was talking about the suicide backstage with a high school girl from Canyon City I flirted with. She asked me if I would ever kill myself.
“Yes,” I said.
But (just me)
I’m pretty sure I never would.
Open Wide (The Immaculate Conception)
(Luke, I:26-35;
David Bowie, “Golden Years”; Sonnets to Orpheus, Second Series, Sonnet 5)
1.
In the Book of Luke,
Gabriel visits Mary:
Blessed are you among women,
for you shall conceive in your womb,
and bring forth God!
Mary wonders: How can this be,
seeing I know not a man?—
meekly inquiring—and receives
the clear word:
The Holy Ghost shall come upon you,
and the power of the Highest
shall overshadow you.
Mary answers:
See the handmaid
of the Lord.
Gabriel visits Mary:
Blessed are you among women,
for you shall conceive in your womb,
and bring forth God!
Mary wonders: How can this be,
seeing I know not a man?—
meekly inquiring—and receives
the clear word:
The Holy Ghost shall come upon you,
and the power of the Highest
shall overshadow you.
Mary answers:
See the handmaid
of the Lord.
2.
We can have open season on elk.
We can have a spiritual opening like a Quaker.
We can open our hearts and minds.
We can have a spiritual opening like a Quaker.
We can open our hearts and minds.
“Open, Sesame!” we say,
and a door in the rock opens,
unless we forget the shibboleth—
and a door in the rock opens,
unless we forget the shibboleth—
“Open, Grape Seed!”
“Open, Poppy Seed!”
“Open, Carroway Seed!”
“Open, Poppy Seed!”
“Open, Carroway Seed!”
Linseed, flax, you name it!
We can keep our back door open
in our golden years.
Don't let me hear
you say life's taking you nowhere, angel
Golden years wop wop wop
Come get up my baby
Come get up my baby
Look at that sky,
life's begun
Nights are warm and the days are young
Nights are warm and the days are young
Golden years wop
wop wop
Come get up my baby
Come get up my baby
Some of these days, and it won't be long
Gonna drive back down where you once belonged
In the back of a dream car twenty foot long
Don't cry my sweet, don't break my heart
Doing all right, but you gotta get smart
Wish upon, wish upon, day upon day,
I believe, Oh Lord, I believe all the way.
Gonna drive back down where you once belonged
In the back of a dream car twenty foot long
Don't cry my sweet, don't break my heart
Doing all right, but you gotta get smart
Wish upon, wish upon, day upon day,
I believe, Oh Lord, I believe all the way.
Golden years wop wop wop
Come get up my baby
Come get up my baby
Run for the shadows, run for the shadows
Run for the shadows in these golden years
Wop wop wop
Wop wop wop
And, hell, this smarmy Rilke sonnet is clearly about conception,
immaculate or not:
immaculate or not:
3.
Flower-muscle, anemone,
gradually opening in the meadow morning,
as into you the many-toned
light of the bright heavens is poured,
gradually opening in the meadow morning,
as into you the many-toned
light of the bright heavens is poured,
into that tense but
quiet muscle
of infinite reception
sometimes so completely overpowered
that the resting posture of the downfall
of infinite reception
sometimes so completely overpowered
that the resting posture of the downfall
hardly allows the
hinged
petals to spring back and cover you:
you, decision and power of how many worlds!
petals to spring back and cover you:
you, decision and power of how many worlds!
Monday, December 18, 2017
Dazzle Eyes (Infancy Gospel of James)
When you look up the word
“dazzle,” you find
it means a kind of blindness.
You are drawn to the light,
you want to become one with the light,
but the light blinds you.
it means a kind of blindness.
You are drawn to the light,
you want to become one with the light,
but the light blinds you.
Her eyes looking into mine dazzled
me,
and I had to look away.
They were a brightness
that at its center seemed
an eclipse.
and I had to look away.
They were a brightness
that at its center seemed
an eclipse.
How annoying for my potential
lovers
that I could never look at them!
It’s a mixed bag for the woman
who must lead this dazzled male
through traffic.
that I could never look at them!
It’s a mixed bag for the woman
who must lead this dazzled male
through traffic.
The eyes are push-me-pull-you
organs,
able to convey and gauge the finest nuance,
or to turn black like drawn window shades.
And sometimes I’m a worm
between two robins’ beaks.
able to convey and gauge the finest nuance,
or to turn black like drawn window shades.
And sometimes I’m a worm
between two robins’ beaks.
The stars dazzle, but mostly in
the sense
that the Universe, with its galaxies,
its supernovae,
its dire black hole objects,
makes no moral sense at all.
that the Universe, with its galaxies,
its supernovae,
its dire black hole objects,
makes no moral sense at all.
And it's clear
that when God the Light does appear,
no one can see Them. Humankind cannot bear
very much reality, says You Know Who.
But they stood in the place of the cave.
that when God the Light does appear,
no one can see Them. Humankind cannot bear
very much reality, says You Know Who.
But they stood in the place of the cave.
And lo, a bright cloud overshadowing the cave.
And the midwife said: My soul is magnified this day,
for salvation is born unto Israel.
And immediately the cloud
withdrew itself out of the cave,
and a great light appeared in the cave, And the midwife said: My soul is magnified this day,
for salvation is born unto Israel.
And immediately the cloud
withdrew itself out of the cave,
so that our eyes could not endure it.
And little by little, that light withdrew itself,
until the young child appeared:
and it went and took the breast of its mother Mary.
Poems for Advent 2017
And little by little, that light withdrew itself,
until the young child appeared:
and it went and took the breast of its mother Mary.
Poems for Advent 2017
Sunday, December 17, 2017
Ooohhh, Pretty Little Baby (John I:4)
In him was
the life; and the life was the light of men
Light in the east—
Three Wise Men?—
The Sun, of course.
Three Wise Men?—
The Sun, of course.
Why do we have these ridiculous Wise Men, anyway?
Melchior, Caspar, and Balthazar.
Caspar was an old deaf king.
Melchior, Caspar, and Balthazar.
Caspar was an old deaf king.
I suppose the Kings were to signify
the universality of the world’s
accepance of Jesus.
the universality of the world’s
accepance of Jesus.
Black Balthazar,
worshipping the Christ Child
in his minstrel-show getup.
worshipping the Christ Child
in his minstrel-show getup.
The problem is, Jesus gets all twisted—
Platonized in the first place with all that
In the beginning was the Word stuff
Platonized in the first place with all that
In the beginning was the Word stuff
(Word, indeed—what word?
And the light shone in the darkness,
and the darkness comprehended it not),
And the light shone in the darkness,
and the darkness comprehended it not),
and in the second place installed
as a blood-sacrifice substitute
into a world-domination regime
as a blood-sacrifice substitute
into a world-domination regime
in which my own country is a principle player,
sending fighter planes in the shape of crosses
against the Paynim hordes.
sending fighter planes in the shape of crosses
against the Paynim hordes.
But the little boy Amahl is restored his feet,
after the startling Thief, thief! scene—
Good woman, you can keep the gold.
after the startling Thief, thief! scene—
Good woman, you can keep the gold.
The Littlest Angel gives their little box from
under their bed at home,
containing objects of no value, to the Holy Child.
under their bed at home,
containing objects of no value, to the Holy Child.
The Little Drummer Boy drums
pa rum pum pum pum.
Christina Rossetti gives my heart.
So much candid generosity in the world!pa rum pum pum pum.
Christina Rossetti gives my heart.
So many willing to offer their crutch
to the little baby come to be the light of the world.
Poems for Advent 2017
to the little baby come to be the light of the world.
Poems for Advent 2017
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