March 7, 2011
In the library
even when I write bright
the intensity of the light
is subjective in fact
comparatively dim
when I stare down the stacks
and see the glow
that still escapes
from row upon row
of closed volumes
some ignited centuries ago
from this week in March, 1976 (I was 31)
That classic sidestep by the matador
that en passant of the bull ring
what’s that called?
It’s the basic deception
the stare over the cape
then the move upon the toes
looking right and going left
What is this, longing for Hemingway
or for Death in the Afternoon?
No it’s for that clean break
befuddlement of the opposition
without a blinking compromise
The arrogant and the dumbfounded
together on the floor of the arena
March 5, 2006 (I was 61)
At one time a line of words
would come to my attention
in a tone of potential importance
and I would immediately write it raw
record it where I would encounter it again
or as often examine it then
listening to it
to think of what it might say next
or of what was said before
and to consider how those sounds sounded
Now after many a line of words
potential importance seems to be relative
Words that would not save the world
are relegated to the memory file
where they are easily forgotten or obscured
or absorbed by resounding sounds
and it is the consideration that is lost
the expressive struggle to say what it was
in such a way that another might believe it
or might offer an irresistible revision
February 23, 2018 (I was 73)
How did grammatical aspects come to be
so long and effectively unbeknownst to me
Perfective verbs express completion of action
and of course the imperfective verbs…
express the incompletion of an action
or the completion of an inaction
In iterative I reiterate the repetitive
continuous action signified by the single act
Frequentatives are habitual actions I inhabit
Desiring to be desiderative
one verb derives from another
indicating my wish to perform the action
expressed in the original verb
which I so often do
February 22, 2009 (I was 64)
The sights are so easily lost
the eternity of the universe
disappears in the details of days
less than a week in the man-made world
diminishes the being of world-made man
walk in the dirt and on leaves under trees
breathe in wind blown miles to your lungs
acknowledge the calls of birds
position the web of the spider
between the eye and the sky
The sight of then and that of when
transports thou out of now
the this of this to the wish of that
reading the log or plotting a course
when you could be navigating
February 21, 2014 (I was 69)
Postcards from Hell
You never know exactly where you are
A lot of mirrors and in each a different appearance
yet every one a recognizable reflection
Went to the portrait gallery
Nothing but mug shots
There is a distinction made between
those here for what they did
and those here for what they thought
but no difference is made by that distinction
We hear Oh go to Hell
is a favorite expression among the angels
Sometimes letters get through from above
mostly looking for drugs and alcohol
Finally saw some blue devils
They used to be Eskimos
Darwin used to be here
but he evolved
Things can get out if you can find the border
Thing is there are no definable borders
Screw up here
and you’re born again
Here we know
we all shared all guilt
a knowledge of which
those in heaven are ignorant
From this week in February 2012 (I was 67)
Roethke wrote
great first lines
but like a fiddle
he put it in the middle
good place for that sound
if first can be found
First lines I intend to steal as he is not looking:
-I know it’s an owl. He’s making it darker.
-A sneeze can’t sleep
-scratched the wind with a stick / the leaves liked it
-when you plant, spit in the pot
-A pick likes to hit ice
-who stands in a hole never spills
from this week in February 2008 (I was 63)
Every decision to read something
is a decision not to read something else
It is what makes books a wonder
or such a waste of time
what makes short stories or essays
economical investments
and some poems polished stones
Some readers are sprinters
words and phrases no more than cinders underfoot
ideas finish tapes to be broken through
records smashed into generalization
They think the author’s nuance
is their own deduction
Elementary my dear Watson a veritable primer
from this week in February 2018 (I was 73)
Some words sound better than they mean:
Disdain is sworn to scorn but falls gentle as rain
Rebuff merely needs a hyphen to provide a slight polish
The music of odium too lovely to be malevolent
Taking umbrage might be carrying too much luggage
Antipathy a balletic step backward in courtesy
Maniacal a Broadway hit with dancing mannequins
February 17, 2018 (I was 73)
It’s a passageway like a tunnel through a mountain
as on highway 50 when you break through
the darkness within the granite to the light
blue and the spectacle of Yosemite Valley
around you and below you welcoming your descent
beside falling water under bright sun
through bracing air to settle and walk
the floor of the earth connected again
The boring through that stone night
is a mediation a liaison a brush with the eternal
juxtaposed with the brilliant fleeting relevance to come
February 16, 2014 (I was 69)
The squeaky wheel:
a) is a CFO
b) eventually grinds to a halt
c) ran over a mouse
d) is a bar
A leopard cannot change:
a) a flat
b) the actions of an ant
c) into a leotard
d) but it sure can run
The bigger they are:
a) the looser the fit
b) the more likely to be named Goliath
c) the fewer to the barrel
d) the smaller we seem
If you don’t like the way the table is set:
a) set it yourself
b) fire the maid (in Spanish)
c) eat in the living room
d) overturn the table
from this week in February 2013 (I was 68)
It is the imp in the bottle the embrace of leprosy
Empathy is to fade upon seeing the faded
an ability to hear the words of the dumb
It is to choke on the gasps of the dying
to smell the funeral in a bouquet of flowers
to taste the taint of mother’s milk gone sour
the regret in the burning of a flag
to disintegrate in the corruption of an idea
Obviously empathy goes a bit too far for me
from this week in February, 1974 (I was 29)
During Lent, Gas Line
I’ve exhausted my supply
my energy’s been drained
my engine stands cold
there’s no gas in the tank
a procession of autos
kneels at each station
Supplication
February 6, 2011 (I was 66)
It doesn’t surprise me
you were the one to become a soldier
and there are a dozen more
my mind would place in uniform
You never expressed the wish nor willingness
but I would have guessed you sensed aroma
in the stench of heroism and duty
Now you’ve lived long enough to taste the rust
from the rotten iron of irony
I understand the choices were few
for all of us in the cold
We took hold of the life lies in front of us
pulled and were pulled in return
Some got the short string
others tangled in the knots
A few untied a packaged gift
they assumed they deserved from birth
with that bow around their little finger
February 5, 1970 (I was 25)
There was this guy who had a card table
set up in the mall of a shopping center. He had a cardboard
box with some kittens in it. A marking pen sign said
FREE KITTEN –If you promise to give it a good home.
Another guy with a little girl asked about a kitten. The
first guy asked if he gave his word of honor to give the
kitten a good home, so the other guy says, yes. Well the
first guy just holds the kitten and says, “Say it.” The second
guy turns red. Then he smiles and says, “I give you my
word of honor, the kitten will have a good home. He took
the kitten and kept on smiling as he left with the little girl
holding his hand.
February 4, 2014 (I was 69)
The Doubt of the Benefit
Sometimes you just put one in for the system
You spend the entire day mopping up
The only other people I see mop just as much as me
It aint no thrill to find I’m the one caused the spill
Understand I do it in belief I affect the system
or in the same way I still pray long after
I quit believing in religion
Harder to do each day
Each day the system has another way to explain
the role of those who serve the system
out of love out of duty out of belief they are valued
not only for their ability to mop but for their knowledge
of where exactly to mop on any given day
from this week in February 2012 (I was 67)
Not so much in the doing
as in the having done
nor in the making compared
to having made the grade
Between the conception and accomplishment
lie the discouraging details
assumed as debt to establish the worth
The art within the finished product
from this week in February 1975 (I was 30)
Every tender sparrow…
those final flutterings
where hopes are denied
dreams resolved
the day is brightest
the air is clear
the stone will not fly
it wants the soft earth
the warm sun
the seed left in the clay
*
The ceiling of the Sistine Chapel is small
Hell my Uncle Nick could have painted it
It would then of course be entirely green
and up close smell of alcohol
from this week in February, 2020 (I was 75)
What became of the social contract
I remember when I first came to live here
in the fall of 1966 When all was so new for us
driving the Nimitz freeway to the Bay Bridge
when the traffic moved both fast and smooth
in time to the music on the radio
Cars signaling changing lanes even trucks
in mutual trust and respect for right of way
It inspired confidence in the grandeur
of civic behavior and cooperative effort
to attentively assure we all got to our destinations
in that alluring city on the Hill above the blue and windy sea
Moving smoothly through the tunnel of Treasure Island
to emerge into the loveliness of accessible possibility
Just another manifesto now lost to the worm of cynicism
and recalled only in fictional idealism of old lyrics
from this week in January, 1976 (I was 31)
There are worse virtues than courtesy
even for the revolutionary.
In fact, identifying the proper enemy
before opening fire
becomes an essential weapon
to insure sympathy for the cause.
How often failure to exercise this mere gesture
is read in the biographies of dead soldiers
January 30, 2014 (I was 69)
I have never had a human Master
or I have had a failure of recognition
I have had inspiring teachers of particular knowledge
None with an overall conceptual guidance
to which I could commit adherence
Any who assumed that elevation soured within me
The submission was distasteful the creed questionable
I have found serene paths among masterful trees
stone thrones from which to contemplate
Wind fills and drums the lungs
gives voice to tree and every aspect of geography
Birds offer the element of inquiry
The message is of the moment and present situation
The promise is of continuance but not of eternity
