There, there, said the parent to the anguished child whose ice cream fell to the gutter. There! There! said the whale watcher pointing at the spout on the horizon. There’s no there there, said Gertrude Stein when she visited Oakland in 1934 and found her childhood home razed to the ground. In what they called an experiment, Stamp and Rave…
May the tide carry you out beyond the face of fear. Three poems for Sunday. Yesterday it snowed and I made tartar sauce – just mayonnaise, lemon juice, mustard and a chopped pickle – to go with the cubes of frozen fish. And today they say the temperature will rise into the 60s F. We have moved from an abundance…
Politics without mercy, demonic world events, power without responsibility, nature takes flight. National Insecurity The Under Secretary leans forward and draws an X and her ear-drops dangle like swords of Damocles. As a mottled butterfly is invisible against the ground so the demon merges with the opened newspaper. A helmet worn by no one has taken power. The mother-turtle flees…
My uncle Lawrence Holford was killed by a Bristol Beaufighter. Maybe two. My father worshipped his older brother Laurie, and growing up my brother and I heard the story that he was killed in the Brighton Blitz while serving as a special reserve constable with the Brighton police. I imagined a lone policeman on dark streets, German bombers overhead, searchlights…
In an abundance of caution, Density reducing, I stay at home. I keep my social distance Leave bleach and hand sanitizer on the shelves of the supermarket so others can keep virus free and not infect me via the shopping cart, the self-serve checkout line and card reader. I am lucky I do not need to venture out to meet…
One thing always leads to another on the intertubes and this particular ravel started with my friend David Nice. David is a cultural critic and musicologist who maintains a wonderful blog – I’ll Think of Something Later – where he writes about music and travel and culture and all the life in between. In response to my last post he…
These days find me busy clearing and chucking, sorting and sifting, storing and saving. Three truck loads of stuff cleared by the junk removers, hundreds of books donated to the Poughkeepsie Library and wardrobes full of clothing to the Salvation Army. And still there’s more. As I clear out the clutter and crap and treasure and trove of decades, I…
Yeats wrote the poem “The Wild Swans at Coole” (see Game of Swans) in 1916 /17 when he was staying with Lady Gregory at her home in Coole Park, Galway and feeling lovelorn. In 1919 he used the title for a collection of poems that he dedicated to her son – Major Robert Gregory – the Royal Flying Corps fighter…
Decomposition I have a picture I took in Bombay of a beggar asleep on the pavement: grey-haired, wearing shorts and a dirty shirt, his shadow thrown aside like a blanket. His arms and legs could be cracks in the stone, routes for the ants’ journeys, the flies’ descents, Brain-washed by the sun into exhaustion, he lies veined into stone, a…
A group of swans is a wedge when they’re in flight, likely because of the shape a group of swans takes in flight. And while we can call a group of swans a bevy, a herd, a game, or a flight, they can only be a bank when they’re on the ground. Merriam-Webster But there’s more: a gaggle of swans a whiteness of swans a herd of swans…
I love this poem by Hans Magnus Enzensberger. It’s a commentary on the fact that – even in the darkest times – simple acts of unexpected generosity and kindness have the capacity to remind us that not everything is bleak and hopeless even in a nasty, brutish, trumpian world. Optimistic Little Poem Now and then it happens that somebody shouts…
Mustn’t Grumble We mustn’t grumble We have wireless and cable And there’s food in the shops. Beyoncé had a birthday and the game is on tonight. We have work to do. And all the really bad things like weather and politics are a long way away so we don’t have to worry. And there’s always pizza delivery. We can still walk…
There’s a drainage ditch runs alongside the rail trail where we often take our morning stroll. It runs with water after rain and provides an excellent damp environment for the cardinal flower (lobelia cardinalis). It’s a showy deep red spiky flower native to the US. Apparently most insects find it difficult to navigate the long tubular flowers so the cardinal…
Amazing how hard it sometimes can be to find things on the intertubes. There was a poem I remembered from my London teaching days and I tried every which way to find it. It was about fruit piled up in a market so I tried all kinds of variations on a search theme and came up with nothing. I even…
Two quite different wartime farewells at Charing Cross Station: The first is from Vera Brittain on the eve of 1915: At Charing Cross, with half an hour to wait for the last train to Purley, we walked together up and down the platform. It was New Year’s Eve, a bright night with infinities of stars and a cold, brilliant moon;…