Friday, August 30, 2024

Poem: No

 

No

 

a lifetime of smiles

couldn’t take this away,

as if an atom had exploded

under a jacket of fluff.

 

it didn’t matter anymore,

the obedience

that had left wrinkles under eyes,

 

or the stone-cold anger

that had laid down the law

with the wrath of blame-fisted meteors.

 

once heavy,

a heart pummeled into scars

shone with the lux of a lantern

cutting through its cage.

 

it were as if the moon’s silvery sickle

had reaped a bouquet of wishes,

collecting the stems of fallen stars

to shapechange the world--

 

so much--

farther than dancing footsteps

ever thought could be, leaping,

leaping as they were

in this brilliant earthquake.

 

 


=====================











8/30  ... mods to last stanza

Monday, August 26, 2024

Poem: Swallow a Camel

 

Swallow a Camel

 

god warped a knothole

while sitting in a nebula, disguised it

as the face of an owl who ferries us;

for we are mice

threading icicles which pierce sunflowers

and vines laden with grapes of tomorrows

bursting into rain,

blossoms of leapfrogging flips,

heat and hurt and cold and laughter,

seasons of eggs and graves and sorrows;

for we are mice who eat ants

and grow their hives into our havens,

where we hide and toil in dull deceitful brutal games;

and we never find the sweet truth, for we are mice,

that beauty costs nothing:


joy wrote love into the fabric of things.

 

for we are mice,

and the owl is what we feed.

 

 

===================================















'you have filtered the gnat and swallowed a camel'

Saturday, August 24, 2024

Poem: Flies Hitting Glass

 

Flies Hitting Glass

 

knocks and knocks

as futile as they are puny

from tiny varicose eyes

against the window.

 

has the noon sun hidden a hook

which the bluebottles chomp like fish

to spark this mean diorama,

faint echoes of the plight of Tantalus?

 

no angel will argue, come judgement day,

that the illusory hope foisted on the flies

by the human invention of a pane

matters.

 

and, too, God will laugh

just before damming us humans,

saying that all would have been forgiven

if only we had not magnified

the plight of the flies a billion times,

inflicting it upon our neighbors.

 

==============














8/25  "spark" replaces "create"

8/24 ... some mods, fairly light 






personally I think it does matter

Wednesday, August 21, 2024

Essay: Keep Your Goodness

Keep Your Goodness


The very last time I talked to my father, he ended the call with, “Keep your goodness.”   Since his death in 2023, I’ve had time to meditate on this.  A simple take is that we humans face key crossroads in our lives, forks of momentous import that alter our intimate souls, and yet also those around us, our environment, and sometimes greater scenarios.  In part, our self-identity is defined by our relationships.  Both to ourselves and others.   Do we or don’t we act with virtue? 

Sometimes a choice is especially urgent and vital.  Exigent moral options delineate lives and fates, branching outward to combine with the decisions of many other people, changing the topology and morphology of Earth.

I am going to focus on an application of this sort of “Keep your goodness.”  The American people hold a current privilege, which is also a grave responsibility and weight:  whether each of us will fight against or instead bow down to the fascist candidate for president of our country, Donald Trump. 

Will we vote and vocalize against him?  Or wither in the silence of acquiescence, or as an outright accomplice to darkness?  

Kit's wisdom will accompany us on this philosophical journey.

 

My father’s background and perspective

My father had a nickname that he always preferred and that was Kit.  As a teenager in the 1940’s,  Kit read Plato’s Dialogues and The Republic.  It sparked in him so much interest that philosophy became his love and vocation.  A graduate of Cornell and tenured professor, he published many articles, as well as two books:  “Unreality: The Metaphysics of Fictional Objects” and “Language, Reality and Mind.”  The cover art for the latter is a 14th century engraving by Andrea Pisano, part of the external wall of the Florence Cathedral.  It depicts Plato and Aristotle in spirited argument.

My father eventually sided with Aristotle, agreeing with him that reality is grounded in the physical though intricate:  embodied in that fusion of matter and mind that we, simply enough, refer to as a person.  Persons (which might include some animals) are the center of things, where it all comes together. 

Plato, unlike Aristotle, did not involve the physical dimension.  He famously likened our existence to that prisoners in a cave, hostages to illusions, who could only see shadows of the true reality outside our grim encasement. 

Both Plato and Aristotle, however, saw humanity’s highest purpose as the pursuit of the Good, and both emphasized the advancement of virtue in the sense of a harmony, whether intrapsychic or social, to cultivate the flourishing of soul and society. 

Compare these views, steeped in ethics, with today’s political and economic zeitgeist, which embraces self-interest in pursuit of power and profit.  The Good is entirely secondary, if not tertiary or non-existent, to this hunger of egoism, in which the modus operandi is to expropriate, dominate, exploit and consume in a theater of ruthless competition. 

My father, following the classic Greek philosophers, believed that our highest purpose was not money or power, but to advance our understanding of the Good.  Always the assiduous scholar, he wrote every day, morning and night.  For the last decade and a half of his life, he strove to finish a book that laid out what he believed to be the best form of government.  In its scope, the project was a grand task, similar to Plato’s The Republic [1]. 

With the Good serving as a strategic sextant, the best government in my father’s estimationis this:  a full-throated democracy that embraces empathy and compassion for each and every person.  In the spirit of Rationalism, the innate dignity of the human condition necessitates an array of benefits, including free healthcare and college, as well as a universal basic income (UBI). 

Many would consider Kit, as many do Plato, an ‘idealist.’  His head in a cloud of lovely ideas and yet oblivious to daily toil, travail, and strife.  In rebuttal, note that free healthcare and college already exist in some countries.  UBI is being tested as I write this, in the United States and elsewhere.  It is not myopic but prescient to seek a better, plausible way of living.  Given the threat of fascism today, it is not only laudable but crucial for the continuance of civilization.

Far too often, cynics, who are both myopic and fallacious, dismiss the possibility of progress, waving the red herring of ‘human nature'--as if this mysterious term consigned us to automatic damnation.

 

Democracy or Fascism

Kit was troubled by the rise of fascism, especially here in the United States, spearheaded by one Donald Trump.  As I write this, Trump could win the Presidency in November, which I believe will destroy our republic, and along with it the establishment of human rights that my father cherished. 

At the moment, however, social momentum is with his challenger, Kamala Harris, who if elected will be the first woman and also South Asian President.  The USA has had a Black President before (Barack Obama) and so Harris, who is also Black, would be the second. 

Her victory would indicate that Obama was no fluke.  It would lay a second steppingstone of precedent, thereby forming a trendline into the future, heading away from White patriarchy.  It would, furthermore, demonstrate that the racist backlash to Obama’s victory in 2008 was not a death knell for progressive freedoms.

A Harris victory would reinvigorate and re-establish the foundation of the United States as a democracy; and thereby lead the world forward ethically.  We are in desperate need of moral maturity.  It is our only way to manage the hydra necks of technology, which elongate and branch, year by year, to break new barriers in wondrous yet fretsome sectors:  robotics, genetics, nanotech, artificial intelligence, hypersonic nukes, and more.

Imagine this hydra of technology in the hands of someone like Donald Trump, a narcissistic dictator whose only loyalty is to his own malignant, disordered ego; whose ignorant modus operandi is might-makes-right, schoolyard bullying, and quid-pro-quo nihilism.

I have witnessed how quickly and fecklessly the leaders of the Republican Party succumbed to the threat and the seduction of fascism.  Fascism offers them status in a corrupt hierarchy, if they bootlick the ‘messianic’ leader.  It threatens them with violent expulsion, if they dare protest even a scintilla.  I have witnessed the metastasis of Evil in our country over a ten-year span:  the hate- and fear-mongering that spurs invidious ‘otherisms’:  the rhetorical reduction of human beings to “animals,” “vermin” and “poisons.” 

This evil rhetoric encourages and fosters violence through what is now commonly called “stochastic terrorism.”   When you rave in animosity to an audience of tens of millions of fanatic followers, decreeing that certain sorts of people deserve to die, a small yet very real percentage of those followers will take hateful action, whether to harass, assault or murder.

 

The Good

I believe that a significant part of what Kit meant by “Keep your Goodness” concerned democracy.  Furthermore, he would approve of the capital letter in “Good.”   Both Plato and Aristotle believed in a rational Good, which is to say an optimal situation of flourishing, one approachable through a universal language of science, critical thinking and moral emotion.

Scientific claims are both verifiable and falsifiable.  Critical thinking eliminates fallacies and fosters adaptive, meticulous argument.  Moral emotion wields the wisdom of the humanities, speaking from the heart as well as the head.

Kit was a practical philosopher.   He layered his Aristotelian foundation with common-sense pragmatism (Dewey) and language use (Wittgenstein).  Given these frameworks, it is safe to assume that Kit envisioned change as gradual yet cumulative, an ongoing transformation of our collective consciousness, coupled with concomitant improvements in the quality of governance.    

If this sounds grandiose, it is actually nothing new.  Our collective consciousness has been evolving for thousands of years.  As technology advances, human awareness leaps.  The more powerful we become, the more our attitudes craft the very nature of the Earth.  Our thoughts become self-fulfilling prophesies.  We instantiate our greatest hopes or, sadly, our worst fears. 

Will we create demonic-looking robots that cow citizens to bow at the feet of a ‘divine’ dictator?  Or will we design AI that helps us approach more mature ways of living, perhaps through computer simulations of various approachable utopias?

My father’s advice, if honored, can save us from fascism and what will follow.  If enough of us in America 'keep our goodness,' we and our posterity are on the path toward a brighter future.  Conversely, if we vote a fascist onto a newly minted throne, all of humanity trembles, in no small part because America has the world's strongest military.  

Dictator Trump will summon and effectuate what he always has:  corruption, chaos, division, cruelty and avarice.

For my father, though, the reason to choose the Good was not about personal benefit.  An idealist looks beyond ego.  To choose the Good speaks to the very nature of reality, of what we want the fabric of things to be.  A choice of Good speaks to the planet, the galaxy, and the universe.  We celebrate and seek the Good because it is where ethics, beauty, health, joy and courage converge toward a singularity:  a lovely harmony which marries passion and reason within the sublime.

 

=====================





8/22 eds



8/21 ... Needs more work but I wanted to get this up on my bd


Saturday, August 17, 2024

Tired .. On and on

 What a journey, this odyssey of life, huh?


One Soul

Thursday, August 15, 2024

Poem: Ex Cult

 

Ex Cult

 

there was too much pain at the time and

who wouldn’t have wanted to

but

i doubt i doubt i doubt

i or anyone could have,

or that there were lessons in the lessons

or any other way to get so great.

to worship

was to go into a pool that was a loop,

the deeper the shallower,

the more the need to swim not to drown;

but no one was,

except what they needed to believe.

everyone drank the hug, his embrace

as soft as a web as strong as a lasso.

it was what his touch was all about,

what his words predicated,

until it got harder and harder

to find the pulse

of the innocence of the flight

of the transcendent angel,

always running running

as taken as a rabbit.

 

 

====================

Monday, August 12, 2024

Poem: Lubec Channel

 

Lubec Channel

 

mist drizzles

over clapboards

under black gulls on roofs

stoic as finials.

 

scows mope

to tug their tethers

when the Fundy Tide

gulps stories of water,

exposing The Narrows:

 

all those plaits and pleats

of mussel and seaweed beds;

and the welters of legions of

barnacles embossed on half-gone bricks.

 

seals laze in gyres,

and far behind and under them

lay the carcasses of ships

dogged by The Wolves,

 

dozens of ships,

sunken planks enslimed,

the rinds of wooden watermelons

split and torn,

 

and sprinkled in the deeps.

 

 

========================













The draft of this poem, which I am just editing now, was written circa 2005.  Things have changed since then.  Gentrification coming back.  Bourgeoisie buying stuff up.  The unique character of the town dissipating into national consumerism.  There are far less seals.  Who knows why, but I think part of it is that there are more sharks, due to warmer waters from human-caused climate change. 

Saturday, August 10, 2024

Friday, August 9, 2024

Poem: Butterfly Dreaming

 

Butterfly Dreaming

 

sextants and chandelles

frolic in my head,

a romp costumed by petals and

festoons of pollens,

on a lark through slight frilly planets,

each equator breathed in

blossoming toward the next.

 

i straddle the aerial world

serpentine of reel,

lost in one romance

only to cartwheel-flutter toward its mate.

my senses so blurry,

nag champa vermillion cavatina pachbel guitar bouquets.

 

a truth emerges, unbelievable, somehow,

in the aftermath of an orgy 

of ecstatic wavy fractals:

that we should wield butterfly cocoons

as agile lariats of love

and wrap them snugly around 

any glooming seed of war and hate.

 

 

=====================================









8/17/24   mods ... 

8/13/24 ... removed an "all"

Thursday, August 8, 2024

Poem: Hurricane

 

Hurricane

 

boiling grey cauldrons

fast as galleys on oars of electricity,

the fearsome force of waves to erupt.

 

the sky, no blue tongue, howls austral,

spitting and raving

across bellies of ships which sway sway sway

abused as the bells of buoys

wet from fire exploded cold to weep.

 

this tragedy of rainy fangs,

it stalks dock and town,

ravenous from celestial cuts.

the people cry out,

slathered in the telltale ichor,

chased into the gutters of their own hearts.

 

how they cry

... cry cry cry ... 


and cower beneath bellow and flash,

the pillage of their shivering penninsula,

destruction of every decision ever made.





=====================










8/30/24 ... changed an article to a pronoun

8/9/24 ... mods ... fixed grammar issue later... mods ... 

Wednesday, August 7, 2024

Poem: Death and Escape

 

Death and Escape

 

i drifted in a skiff

whittled to a coffin,

my memories dimmer fish

settling into the depths.

 

waves massaged me

with the sway of a crib.

moonlight tinkered down my spine,

as if to fix my skeleton silver.

 

i cried when pelicans

scudded in a chevron east,

above death’s choppy faces,

those ceaseless frothing mouths--

 

so puckered and quick,

unstable at their podiums,

caught up in the prayerful lust

of such lonely speeches.

 

 

=================================










8/8/24 ... added "so"










Fascism is here, but Kamala Harris has arrived


Will we ...  escape?

 

Saturday, August 3, 2024

Moving statement by Anne Lamott

 Anne Lamott:

Many elderly friends have what I call the chime. It is a vibrating energy that certain artistic and spiritual people exude, as do people with a basic spirit of generosity. Almost silent, the chime rings like a tiny triangle off in the expanse. The chime is life and is in all of us, but it tends to be muffled until much of the clamor and hustle of existence quiets down. I hear it most often in the elderly, whose days are quieter, who gladly ruminate and gaze out windows a lot. They may appear frail, but there is strength in this fragility.

 

https://www.washingtonpost.com/opinions/2024/08/01/old-people-fragility-strength


Lamott's article inspired me with its light.  Elderly people are incredibly strong and smart to survive--and find meaning and magic, joy and virtue, even amid their many physical pains and mental declines.

Lamott talks lovingly and edifyingly about her 'gang of grans,' her groups of friends, many of whom are elderly.  When reading her words, I realized that this probably won't be my path as I age.  I'm an isolated introvert with constant spikes of intense emotion, including rage (though Adrienne Rich has been called a poet "of towering rage."  Rage can be  a fantastic fuel for art and justice).   I do find meaning and stormy togetherness, with my muses and spirit guides.  They can put up with me.  I do my best to let them express, through my writing, in passion, love, outrage and beauty. 

But, yes, as I too start to grow old, I realize how difficult a journey it can be, the physical pain, mental decline, and psychological effects.  One has to actively focus on the miraculous side of things; to find the joy and purpose; to seek the Good, even as one's body becomes less active and able, more liable to suffer.  

It's a heroic journey.  One of the obstacles is loneliness.   

Lamott includes this quote from Ursula Le Guin:  


We are not great powers.  But we are the light.



===============

Friday, August 2, 2024

Poem: Event Horizon

 

Event Horizon

 

whatever pain

hurts exotic limbs, parsecs away,

it means nothing to us.

 

a single cut to a human child

looms larger than some puny nebula.

 

maybe aliens suffer

beyond vales of transgalactic cold;

and yet the form of outer space itself

means we should not bless them.

 

God all-knowing

can traverse the void,

so the Bible relays,

faster than any excuse of time;

 

and yet the Creation

is not an abacus.

credo quía absurdum.

the essence is Faith.

 

all around us, you and i,

louder than intangible stars,

unseen angels pray,

hovered above the desperate.

 

so many mouths, here and now,

unsaved and unfed.

 

 

===============================






8/2/24 ... changed title to Event Horizon





This is a sarcastic poem.  I don't agree with the view expressed.  I am mocking it.