(Poem #256 on new numbering scheme)
A moon's orangeness scaled the night and trailed the mere dark disks of recollected memories and contemplated risks.
– a quatrain in ballad meter.
Month: April 2017
Caveat: respect and brotherly love
I learned that the essential character of a nation is determined not by the upper classes, but by the common people, and that the common people of all nations are truly brothers in the great family of mankind. … And even as I grew to feel more Negro in spirit, or African as a I put it then, I also came to feel a sense of oneness with the white working people whom I came to know and love.
This belief in the oneness of humankind, about which I have often spoken in concerts and elsewhere, has existed within me side by side with my deep attachment to the cause of my own race. Some people have seen a contradiction in this duality. … I do not think however, that my sentiments are contradictory. … I learned that there truly is a kinship among us all, a basis for mutual respect and brotherly love. - Paul Robeson
What I'm listening to right now.
Paul Robeson, "Joe Hill." Song by Phil Ochs.
Lyrics.
I dreamed I saw Joe Hill last night,
Alive as you and me
Says I But Joe, you're ten years dead
I never died said he,
I never died said he.
The Copper Bosses killed you Joe,
They shot you Joe says I
Takes more than guns to kill a man
Says Joe I didn't die
Says Joe I didn't die
And standing there as big as life
And smiling with his eyes
Says Joe What they can never kill
Went on to organize,
Went on to organize
From San Diego up to Maine,
In every mine and mill,
Where working-men defend there rights,
It's there you find Joe Hill,
It's there you find Joe Hill
I dreamed I saw Joe Hill last night,
Alive as you and me.
Says I But Joe, you're ten years dead
I never died said he,
I never died said he
I think the Joan Baez rendition of this song is the one I heard in childhood.
[daily log: walking, 6.5km]
Caveat: Quatrain #59
(Poem #255 on new numbering scheme)
The trees are all in blossom now - it seems that spring's arrived. Each year the best I'll say for spring: "At least I have survived."
– a quatrain in ballad meter.
Caveat: Two quotes for Saint Zeno’s day
Two quotes. Their only relation is that of propinquity.
"The silent wilderness surrounding this cleared speck on the Earth struck me as something great and invincible, like evil or truth, waiting patiently for the passing away of this fantastic invasion." – Joseph Conrad
"I do not understand the squeamishness about the use of gas. I am strongly in favor of using poison gas against uncivilized tribes. It would spread a lively terror." – Winston Churchill
I guess I've posted the Churchill quote before – I only realized that after I prepared this blog entry, but I have decided not to let that prevent me from posting it again, as it seems, still, sadly relevant.
Saint Zeno is the patron saint of children learning to talk.
[daily log: walking, 7km]
Caveat: Quatrain #58
(Poem #254 on new numbering scheme)
The space just at the edges, where my vision shades to blue, there dwell the ghosts of angels, who attempt to speak what's true.
– a quatrain in ballad meter.
Caveat: the indistinct quality of being alive
MONKEYHOOD
I am observing the world
whose very act of existing
has made us claim
that it is the only world to exist.
I am observing
the shadows of the sun
when suddenly the monkey
appears again, opening
that window
below my language.
It picks up all my words
and chews them, only to spit
them out while producing
a grotesque sound of pleasure.
I’ve seen this monkey many times,
he comes from the world within
that is populated by innumerable monkeys.
They all seek the only thing
they claim is real: monkeyhood.
Monkeyhood is hidden
deep in their jungle,
it can be eaten, soft caramel-like
substance that it is.
But only a few monkeys are able
to reach this sacred core.
The monkeys that visit me
are those that for whatever reason
have stopped seeking monkeyhood.
They would rather appear
unannounced in this world,
to taste a few fragments of illusion –
as I believe they once called it.
I sit watching the shadows of the sun,
here below the clouds while I describe
the indistinct quality of being alive.
– Pablo Saborío (Costa Rican-Danish Poet and Artist, b 1982)
A few days ago, I put a poem of his in Spanish. I guess he writes in English, too.
[daily log: walking, 7km]
Caveat: Quatrain #57
(Poem #253 on new numbering scheme)
Two stones sat down with plans to talk beside a path. The grass tried listening and bent its blades alert like kids in class.
– a quatrain in ballad meter.
Caveat: seasonal drift…
I don't have much to share. I've been a bit out of sorts and disgruntled, lately, and it would be hard to pinpoint a single, specific reason.
Partly, I'm feeling a bit stale with work – I need to do something innovative, but in the current class schedule, I feel I have quite limited oportunities for that. Because of changes in the way the 7th grade (1st year middle school) exams are set up in the public schools, Karma has adapted by NOT offering a special exam prep schedule for 7th graders. The consequence of that is that I no longer see much of a "Naesin vacation" as I used to call it: that is, a seasonal slowdown of the teaching schedule, including Saturdays off, during the test-prep period. Now, instead, it's just the same-old same-old. So it leads to a feeling of burn-out with respect to work.
I have a certain hobby I don't post very often about: the geofiction thing. I've shared it a few times here – it's not top secret, it's just something I figure most people don't find particularly relatable. Mostly, it involves drawing fictional maps in a digital environment. However, as I mention in the lefthand column of this here blog thingy™, I also have taken on a certain level of administrative responsibility for the website, on a volunteer basis. Lately, that has been profoundly unrewarding, due to some unpleasant personalities on the website. The consequence is that I have scaled back my participation in the website, and I suppose that "loss" is also contributing to my current sense of disgruntlement.
Of course, I always get a bit melancholy around the equinoxes, too. That's an inexplicable and perhaps untypical manifestation of some kind of seasonal affective affliction. It's as if it's not the presence or absence of daylight that gets me gloomy, but rather periods when the amount of daylight is shifting rapidly, in either direction.
Anyway.
[daily log: walking, 7km]
Caveat: Quatrain #56
(Poem #252 on new numbering scheme)
The surreptitious movements made by mice in windblown leaves reveal the clockwork of the world to passing birds, like thieves.
– a quatrain in ballad meter.
[daily log: walking, 1.5km]
Caveat: Quatrain #55
(Poem #251 on new numbering scheme)
Can madness be a game we play? At first we dance and shout. The moon might help us find a style; we'll let our crazies out.
– a quatrain in ballad meter.
Caveat: the one the battles always choose
What I'm listening to right now.
Linkin Park, "Breaking The Habit."
Lyrics.
Memories consume like opening the wounds
I'm picking me apart again
You all assume
I'm safe here in my room
Unless I try to start again
I don't want to be the one the battles always choose
'cause inside I realize that I'm the one confused
I don't know what's worth fighting for
Or why I have to scream
I don't know why I instigate
And say what I don't mean
I don't know how I got this way
I know it's not alright
So I'm breaking the habit
I'm breaking the habit tonight
Clutching my cure
I tightly lock the door
I try to catch my breath again
I hurt much more than any time before
I have no options left again
I don't want to be the one the battles always choose
'cause inside I realize that I'm the one confused
I don't know what's worth fighting for
Or why I have to scream
I don't know why I instigate
And say what I don't mean
I don't know how I got this way
I'll never be alright
So I'm breaking the habit
I'm breaking the habit tonight
I'll paint it on the walls
'cause I'm the one at fault
I'll never fight again
And this is how it ends
I don't know what's worth fighting for
Or why I have to scream
But now I have some clarity to show you what I mean
I don't know how I got this way
I'll never be alright
So I'm breaking the habit
I'm breaking the habit
I'm breaking the habit tonight
[daily log: walking, 6.5km]
Caveat: Quatrain #54
(Poem #250 on new numbering scheme)
The emperor stepped out one day to meet his citizens; they pointed and they laughed at him; he couldn't trust his friends.
– a quatrain in ballad meter.
Caveat: Wasting time…
Last night in the HS1-T cohort, Dayeon was getting annoyed and jealous because her classmate Hyein was being very diligent and was giving excellent, well-prepared answers.
So I said to Dayeon, "You could be doing the same. Why don't you focus, and do the same?" Dayeon is quite smart, but she lacks the singular focus that Hyein has.
Dayeon surprised me with her very straightforward and self-aware answer to my suggestion.
"I can't," she said. "Because I am a person who likes to waste time."
I was impressed by the precision and correctness of her English, too. And how could I argue with that?
I let her waste some time. At the end of class, Dayeon had homework, but Hyein had none.
Nevertheless, I have sympathy for Dayeon – I too, am a person who likes to waste time.
[daily log: walking, 7km]
Caveat: Quatrains #52-53
(Poem #249 on new numbering scheme)
The hungry alligator sat. He looked at many things: a tree, a boy, a dog, a boat, a famished bat with wings. "What shall I eat?" he wondered. "Boys. can be delicious, true.... and dogs in boats have lousy taste, and trees are hard to chew."
– two quatrains in ballad meter.
Caveat: todo tanto terrestre como transcendental
SOBREVUELO
Damas demos además de danzas
hondura hasta la hora del hombre,
niño: nada ni nadie es necesario
al fin fuimos fatídicas figuras finalmente
todo tanto terrestre como transcendental
es idea idioma intelecto invento o instante
lástima la lengua tan lógica y locuaz
cuenta casos, crónicas, calambres pero calla
al viajar en vastas vibraciones v vacíos
mira mujer mira hombre mira niño
algo anda arriba abajo alrededor
sucediendo algo sombra algo
sencillo algo sagrado algo
suave sin sangre sin sal
tal vez luz tal
vez nocturna tal
vez umbral.
– Pablo Saborío (poeta y artista costarricense-danés, n 1982)
[daily log: walking, 7km]
Caveat: Quatrain #51
(Poem #248 on new numbering scheme)
Just take a moment to reflect on what a monkey be: a human with a smaller brain, a spirit brutish, free.
– a quatrain in ballad meter.
Caveat: Амьдрал гэдэг там л байна
Mongolian hip-hop is a real thing.
What I'm listening to right now.
Дайн ба энх, "76." Although my Mongolian-language googling skills are quite poor, I even managed to find the lyrics.
Lyrics.
Зөөлөн суудлаасаа тэд *** өндийлгүй өдөржин хэлэлцэж
Зөв буруу хууль дүрэм баахан юм баталцгааж
Цөөхөн хэдэн ард бидэндээ зурагтаар л бараагаа харуулж
Хийж бүтээх нь багадсан
Хэлэх амлалт нь ихэдсэн 76-д зориуллаа
Тэд өөрсдөө Монгол хүн чи хүн би хүн бид адил хүмүүс
Эртнээс эхэлсэн энэ цус Монгол цус
Халуун биеэр минь халх цус
Эрэлхэг хүчирхэг Монгол түмний дуу хоолойг ойлгож сонс одоо цагт
Төрийн суудалд үхэн хатан мөнгө цацан хаян тэмцэхийг бодоход
Түүнээс илүү ашиг хонжоог хайж байна гэсэн үг биш үү
Үүнээс цаашгүй түүнээс цаашгүй
Хэрэлдэж уралдсан 76
Үнэндээ чанартай маньдаа хамаагүй хий дэмий амны зугаа
Ууж идэж хахаж цацаж бүгдийг авлаа болоо юм биш үү
Улсаа хөгжүүлэхийн төлөө та нар одоо юм хийх болсон юм биш үү
Хүний төлөө энэ нийгмийн бохирдлыг устгая
Улс орны сайхны төлөө санаа тавь тавь тавь
Тавьсан санаа хаана л байна л гэж л хэлмээр байна л
Ард л олон л тэр л амла мөр л хөтөлбөр л гэдэг үлгэр домог болдог
Тэр л том том дарга руу байгаа чиглүүлэв үгээр чичрүүлэв би
Дахилт:
тэнгэрт найдахаас Монголчууд аа
Тэдэнд найдаж болохгүй шүү молигодуулваа
Чааваас даа миний цөөхөн халх ардаа
Хаанаас даа ийм зүйл байж боломгүй юм даа
Тэд бол их л хуурдаг ардад бурдаг худлаа бурдаг
Нөхөд л гардаг хуралдаж хуралдаж хувьдаа ашигласан
Зүйлээ хуваалцаж байж л тардаг явдаг даа
Санаа нь амарч харьдаг даа 76 нь ийм юм бол Монгол улс мөхжээ
Монголд төрсөн хүн л мөн болдоо
Мангар тэнэг биш л байх боддоо өө
Улс орноо гэдэг бодол байдаг юмуу даа
Амьдрал ер нь тамуу даа сүйрэлд хүрэх замууд
Энэ л олон намууд аа тэд нийлээд чадах уу даа
Ээ хар малнуудаа рад түмэнлүүгээ эргэн нэг хараач
Тэр олон гахайд найдаад хэрэг байхгүй за байз яая даа
Хараал идэг чөтгөр аваг
Энэ муу новшийн нийгмийг хар хар
Хар дарсан зүүднээсээ тэр сэр сэр сэр
Ертөнц хорвоод баян ядуу баян ядуу
Мөнгөтэй төгрөгтэй мөнгөгүй төгрөггүй
Мэдэлтэй мэдэлгүй нь хосолсоор хосолсоор
Хэн нь сайтар хэн нь муутар амьдрах хүн бүрээс хамаарах болж
Энэ л үед ийм үед мөрөн дээрхээ тэр толгойгоо
Энэ нийгмийн толгойлогчдод буруу бий буруу бий
Хямралд оруулж байгаа хүмүүс эд нар мөн эд нар мөн
Дахилт:
Чи бол Монгол би бол Монгол хүн
Бидэнд бие биенээ харйлах сэтгэл зүрх байх л ёстой гэж л бодно
Миний бодсон нэг л худлаа бас л худлаа болоод байх шиг байдаг
Ер нь яадаг тэнэг нөхөд гэхээр улс төр л мөр л гэж явдаг байна л
Ард л олон яана л шал худлаа
Тэр л сайхан нам л байна
Амьдрал гэдэг там л байна
Тэр л 76- гаа л сандал суудал зулгаа л
Энэ л төрийн нүүр л царай л гэвэл энэ ээ
Нэг хоёр гурван жил 76 нам жим
Ингэсээр сүүлийн дөрвөн жил гэнэт гарч ирэн намайг дэмж
Энэ миний мөрийн хөтөлбөр энэ чиний сургалтын төлбөр
Энэ бүгдийг чиний төлө харин чи тууштай миний төлөө
Гэж хэлээд суудалд суухдаа тэр маш их мөнгө зарсан
Тэр гарсан зарсан мөнгөө хэд хэд нугалж олсон
Ард бид чинь та нарт итгэн суудалд суулган залсан
Ахисан даварсан тэд нар харин гарсан хойноо мартсан
[daily log: walking, 7km]
Caveat: Quatrain #50
(Poem #247 on new numbering scheme)
The truth, enclosed in shells of myth, like stones unbreakable, we craft in order to survive, but sense, unknowable.
– a quatrain in ballad meter.
Caveat: Meow meow, I’m a cow
I found this song online. I find its simplicity and humor appealing, but my students were unimpressed when I showed it to them. Finding things that appeal to kids among the detritus of pop culture is very much a hit-or-miss proposition.
What I'm listening to right now.
LilDeuceDeuce, "Beep Beep I'm A Sheep."
Lyrics.
Beep beep, I'm a sheep.
I said …
Beep beep, I'm a sheep.
Yeah. Now some of you might be wondering
How exactly does one beep beep like a sheep?
Take it away, Gabe.
Step One.
Throw your hands up,
Then point them to the floor.
Step Two.
Here's what to do,
Now get down on the floor
Step Three.
Just bounce around,
It's easy, follow me.
Step Four.
Go crazy now, and
Beep beep like a sheep.
Beep beep, I'm a sheep.
I said …
Beep beep, I'm a sheep.
You've got to, you've got to…
Beep beep like a sheep.
Beep beep, I'm a sheep.
I said …
Beep beep, I'm a sheep.
Yeah. So. You know how to
Beep beep like a sheep, I see.
But, is that all you can do?
Step One.
Throw your hands up,
Then point them to the sky.
Step Two.
Drop to the floor,
And move from side to side.
Step Three.
Just bounce around,
C'mon I'll show you how.
Step Four.
Go crazy now, and
Meow meow like a cow.
Meow meow, I'm a cow.
I said …
Meow meow, I'm a cow.
Beep beep, I'm a sheep.
I said …
Beep beep, I'm a sheep.
You've got to, you've got to…
Beep beep like a sheep.
Beep beep, I'm a sheep.
I said …
Beep beep, I'm a sheep.
[daily log: walking, 7km]
Caveat: Quatrain #49
(Poem #246 on new numbering scheme)
Imagination is no more than ways of seeing stuff as if you were a demiurge who's had it kind of rough.
– a quatrain in ballad meter.
Caveat: “Do you need a bean? Here.”
On Friday, as a special "last class before test-prep" with my 8th graders, we played a game called Bohnanza. I had played this game before, but I had forgotten the rules. Fellow teacher Grace was kind enough to visit my class for 15 minutes, since she had some free time, and she explained the basic rules. Since I only have four students in the class, currently, I joined as a player, too.
The basic idea is to plant "bean cards" and after collecting a certain number, you can "harvest" them for coins. The winner has the most coins at the end. The main attraction to playing the game in an English class is that the game requires the players to aggressively negotiate the trading of beans. This can be fun if you place a requirement that they do this negotiating in English.
The game can last for a pretty long time, so it went on for a while. The kids were having fun with it, but they weren't really negotiating that much – they were just going with the luck of the draw on each of their turns. And I was winning. Maybe they had been a bit slow on "getting" the game.
So on each of my turns, I kept lowering the terms of offered trades, against my own interest, until I was just giving away bean cards to other players. One student asked me why I was doing that, and I said, well, I was winning anyway and they weren't negotiating much.
But then a strange thing happened. All of the students started just giving beans to each other, wherever they perceived a need. Soon everyone was maximizing their harvests. There was no negotiation going on, really, but there were a lot of cards being passed around: "Do you need this coffee bean? OK, here."
It was as if the capitalist model that serves as the game's fundamental presupposition had broken down, being replaced by some weird communitarian model.
I've seen this before with my Korean students, as when they start to keep their Alligator Bucks in a common pool where they make withdrawals based on need, but I'd never seen it quite so explicitly and in such contrast to the intended model as during this game.
It was quite interesting.
In the end, I still won, but I shared the victory with another (in a tie), and the other students had caught up.
[daily log: walking, 7km]
Caveat: Quatrain #48
(Poem #245 on new numbering scheme)
Some people like to predict doom. They think there is no hope. But actually things aren't that bad. It's just... they tend to mope.
– a quatrain in ballad meter.
Caveat: Peace? Well, purity of essence
/POL/ITE SOCIETY
This is the future that liberals want: a cool
return to norms after the tan excrescence
is excised. Peace? Well, purity of essence.
Articulate. Harvard Law or a comparable school.
Personally dedicated to the rule
of law. A paragon. A recrudescence
in an empire seemingly sunk in convalescence.
Judicious. Stylish. Not a raving fool.
Across an ocean in a dusty town a boy
who’s barely past a cracking voice is set
to marry a girl he’s only recently met.
He vacillates from morbid fear to joy.
He’s droned and bleeds to death at evening prayer.
The liberal president pretends to care.
– Jacob Bacharach (American writer, b?-notdeadyet [i.e. google let me down])
[daily log: walking, 1km]
Caveat: Quatrain #47
(Poem #244 on new numbering scheme)
The sofa doesn't just get used - it gets abused instead: all beaten down by laundry, junk, and output from my head.
– a quatrain in ballad meter.
[daily log: walking, 7.5km]