Category: Not My Poetry

Caveat: ella me llamó pa tras

Background Noise / Language & Linguistics / Not My Poetry

What I’m listening to right now.

Proyecto Uno, “Te dejaron flat.” I like this song so much. I’ve posted it before (about 7 years ago, here). It’s not that I like it in thematic terms, per se – it’s pretty typical of a certain genre of Dominican-American music, called merengue-house. Rather, I like it because of what’s going on in it linguistically. Constant code-switching, not just between Spanish and English, but between different registers and dialects within each language, too, including all kinds of non-standard calques going on, such as in the title of this blog post. It’s the sort of revelatory text that can reveal how new languages suddenly emerge out of the interaction of existing ones.
Letra.

Primera noche, recibí una llamada, aha
Fue mi exnovia, sorpresa en mi cara, aha
Ella me llamó pa decirme, negrito me haces falta, aha
Yo la quiero sacar a bailar pero yo no tengo plata, a.

So what’s up baby, echa pa acá y yo cocino, aha
Es una mentira, sin embargo es mi estilo, aha
Ella dijo sí, en una hora estoy ahí, aha
Me quedé esperando hasta que me dormí (you tell me)

Uh, ya tú sae, oh, te dejaron flat
Uh, embarcao, he, plantao
Say word, (word…) oh, te dejaron flat
Uh, embarcao, he, bajo ya

Que lo que, que lo que sube
Que lo que, que lo que sube
Que lo que, que lo que sube
Que lo que, que lo que sube

Segunda noche, ella me llamó pa tras, aha
Pero como Robelto Durán, yo dije no más, aha
Ella lloró y me dijo discúlpame por favor, aha
Si vienes a casa te demostraré amor, aha.

Me tardé pero arranqué y yo llegué, aha
Pa la casa de la chama, le toque y timbré, aha
Ella contestó con una cara asustada, aha
Dijo que su novio vino sin decirle nada (damn!)

Uh, ya tú sae, oh, te dejaron flat
Uh, embarcao, he, plantao
Say word, (word…) oh te dejaron flat
Uh, ya tú sae, hey
(Alrigh’, y’all sing wi’ me now)
Eo, eo, eeo, eeo, eieio, eieio
Eo, eo, eeo, eeo, eiooo, eiooo

Sigue

Think you gonna play me out this time? (this time)
Think you gonna leave me stinkin?
Think you gonna hurt me?
Think I had what you been drinkin?

Hey mami no te cruces porque no soy tu jueguito
No me llames por teléfono si tú no quieres dar
Con mala fama y yo te lo confirmo
No quiero problema, tú así conmigo
No vale la pena, ay negra, ay negra
(ay negra, ay negra)
Por qué me trata así, no me digas que me quieres
Si yo sé que tú no tienes tiempo para mí (you tell me)

Mami menéalo, mami menea, nea
Mami menéalo, mami menea, nea
(Break it down)
Dale pa bajo baby, dale pa bajo así
Dale pa bajo baby (pick it up, pick it up, pick it up)

… con Proyecto… Uno!

Y la gente dice

Uh, ya tú sae, oh, te dejaron flat
Uh, embarcao, he, plantao
Say word, (word…) oh, te dejaron flat
Uh, embarcao, he… (break it down)

Así, así, así, así, así, así
Así, así, así

Que lo que, que lo que sube
Que lo que, que lo que sube
Que lo que, que lo que sube
Que lo que, que lo que sube

Caveat: your legacy, written in blood and dead magic

Background Noise / Found Online / Not My Poetry

What I’m listening to right now.

Xiuhtezcatl, “Magic”
Lyrics.

ISA:
Magic and song and the sound of a drum
From the sea to the sky to the land
Feel the sun on my skin
I'm at one with the wind
Elements in the palm of my hand (x2)
Xiuhtezcatl:
I feel this change, where has the magic gone
I feel it less and less with each breath I draw
No longer taste it in the water, or hear it in the wind
It's fading like the music as the record stops spinning
It's no longer in your eyes, hoping it's only in disguise
Replaced by hunger for everything I despise
Tipping the scales, we losing balance, we moving mountains
Drillin the shale we're choosing profit we soak the canvas
Taste the poison whenever the wind blows
Wage war people suffering while we kill the planet
I lost my innocence sooner than most
Watching our world die something I couldn't control
And I couldn't have known, that I'd never turn back
Now what I carry is something that no one could understand
My generation's losing sight of the magic I feel
Plagued by insecurities, slit wrists, bottles of pills
Forgot the beauty of life, tell yourselves you'd rather die
Then use every time you fell as a step towards the sky
I took all of my tears, I took all of my pain
Turned it into poetry and lyrics that gave me my name
With Every battle I fight
And every song that I write
Every time my ego collides with the passion inside
Every star on the canvas every word every line
Is in hope to restore magic I can no longer find
ISA:
Magic and song and the sound of a drum
From the sea to the sky to the land
Feel the sun on my skin
I'm at one with the wind
Elements in the palm of my hand (x2)
TRU:
It's all in the trees
All in the wind
Reaching the seas
Washing my sins away
Change within
I feel
I know myself
But now these days are strange and nights are cold
And people afraid to move forward
Deliver the truth in your word
When you grab the moment
Grab the mic, they all gon' listen, homie
Seeing the vision
Slowly with consistence things prevail
A Shovel and pail, I'm digging a well
If you couldn't tell, I'm talking for real
I know you feel, that's never a fail
Only the pen
You just need the peace
It's all in-your G
Just focus your Chi
If we can just focus then we can control it
Don't come from the lotus than I won't condone it
Magic is secret, and mine's on the lowest
My keys are sacred so I cannot show ‘em
I'm growin'
I'm glowin'
I'm all the way (all the way)
Up in the atmosphere far away (far away)
Land that I walk on a part of me
Master had once ripped my ancestor's hearts away
So I love properly
Magic in the motherland, I been havin' fun with then
Elevating with my friends: Legacy
I just hope that all these pages make it through the phases
All these changes coming got me going crazy (crazy)
Got to hold on to my magic that's what made me (x2)
Can't you see that this is magic in the making
Got to hold on to my magic that's what made me
ISA:
Magic and song and the sound of a drum
From the sea to the sky to the land
Feel the sun on my skin
I'm at one with the wind
Elements in the palm of my hand (x2)
Xiuhtezcatl:
This is your legacy, written in blood and dead magic
You want it all, but you know that you can't have it
All that you have was stolen from someone else
From a future generation that's inheriting hell
This is your legacy, written in tears and lost magic
In pursuit of knowledge we've lost understanding
You see great cities I see empires falling
Our hearts encased in glass caskets of concrete
We build machines that explore what the stars mean
But nothing digital will ever match a heartbeat
We take it back
Repair a broken legacy
Return this magic determine our own destiny

Caveat: So glad I’m not in school

Background Noise / Kids / Not My Poetry

I like this song, sorta, but mostly I like the video. It’s cute and well-done and matches the song well.
What I’m listening to right now.

Nizlopi, “JCB Song.”
Lyrics.

Well, I'm rumblin' in this JCB
I'm 5 years old and my dad's giant sitting beside me
And the engine rattles my bum like berserk
While we're singin, "Don't forget your shovel if you want to go to work!"
My dad's totally had a bloody hard day
But he's been good fun and bubblin and jokin' away
And the procession of cars stuck behind
Are gettin all impatient and angry, but we dont mind
An' we're holdin up the bypass
Oh
Me and my dad havin a top laugh
Oh woah
Sittin on the toolbox
Oh
And I'm so glad I'm not in school, boss
So glad I'm not in school
Oh no...
And we pull over to let the cars pass
And pull off again, speedin by the summer green grass
And we're like giants up here in our big yellow digger
Like zoids, or transformers, or maybe even bigger
And I wanna transform into a Tyrannosaurus Rex!
And eat up all the bullies and the teachers and their pets
And I'll tell em I'm 8, my dad's ba barakas
Only with a JCB and Bruce Lee's nunchuckas
And we're holdin up the bypass
Oh
Me and my dad havin' a top laugh
Oh woah
Sittin' on the toolbox
Oh
And I'm so glad I'm not in school, boss
So glad I'm not in school
And we're holdin' up the bypass
Oh oh
Me and my dad havin' a top laugh
Oh woah
I'm sittin on the toolbox
Oh oh
And I'm so glad I'm not in school box
So glad I'm not in school
-
Said I'm Luke, I'm five, and my dad's Bruce Lee. Drives me round in his JCB.
I'm Luke, I'm five, and my dad's Bruce Lee. Drives me round in his JCB.
I'm Luke, I'm five, and my dad's Bruce Lee. Drives me round in his JCB.
I'm Luke, I'm five, and my dad's Bruce Lee. Drives me round
And we're holdin' up the bypass
Woah
Me and my dad havin' a top laugh
Oh woah
And I'm sittin' on the toolbox
Oh
And I'm so glad I'm not in school box
So glad I'm not in school
Aw, said
I'm Luke, I'm five, and my dad's Bruce Lee. Drives me round in his JCB.
I'm Luke, I'm five, and my dad's Bruce Lee. Drives me round in his
Aw, I'm Luke, I'm five, and my dad's Bruce Lee. Drives me round in his JCB.
I'm Luke, I'm five, and my dad's Bruce Lee. Drives me round in his JCB.

Caveat: 배치기

Background Noise / Not My Poetry

I had forgotten about this song. But it came around on a random play on my music player.
I blogged it a few years ago (um, 7?). However, the video there has disappeared – “link rot.”  I couldn’t find an official version, but here’s a performance of the song from the Korean TV show “쇼미더머니” which is a musical competition for amateurs where they  perform famous musical bits. I decided to do a rare “re-posting” of some music rather than go back and repair the old blog entry.

배치기, “콩깍지.”
가사.

B.A.E.C.H.I.G.I 이제 나왔으니
모두 친구들에게 전하기
하던 일들 전부 stop 모두 집중 여기 spot
들어볼까 기묘한 그 이야기

뭉탁!

탁>
그 꼬라지로 나와 너네가 얼마나 버티겠냐고
그냥 하던 대로 가라고
가만히 서서 중간이라도 가는 게
두말하면 입 아프다라고 말하는데
배치기 배엔 기름이 꼈네
믿음 따윈 져버리고 지네끼리 건배
그리고 나선 도망가네 조만간에 절망감이란
포만감으로 휩싸여야 정신 차리겠네

무웅>
어떤 인간들은 내게 말하겠지
너 얼마나 잘되나 두고 보자고
완전히 Reset 된 배치기
이제 누가 아냐고 물어보라고
그나마 누렸던 인기의 맛만
본걸로 만족해 알잖아 만만
치 않은 이곳에 이미 한물간
니들이 발 붙일 곳 없을 거라고

무웅>
이거 정말 난리나 버렸지
아무런 생각 없이 전부 내쳐 버렸지
모든 게 다 뒤바뀌어 버렸지
배치기 인생살이 제 눈에 낀 콩깍지

무웅>
뜻대로 되지만은 않을 거다
그러다가 망한 애들 여럿 봤다
새로운 변화에 신이 났겠지만
장담하건대 넌 예전이 낫다
제풀에 꺽일 네 모습이 선해
반전은 기대마 알잖아 뻔해
더 신 나게 떠들어라 웃고는 있지만
초조함 숨기려 내 맘은 탄다

탁>
겁을 먹었냐고 천만의 말씀
거품 빼고 우리만의 길을 가고픈 것뿐
당차게 박차고 나와서
난 바로 이 네 박자에 몸을 실었음
내 길에 내기를 걸어봐라
내 미래엔 배짱부리며 배 내미네 째봐라 그래
내가 쓰러지나 봐라 부러지나 봐라
날이 지나 봐라 끝내 누가 남았나

이거 정말 난리나 버렸지
아무런 생각 없이 전부 내쳐 버렸지
모든 게 다 뒤바뀌어 버렸지
배치기 인생살이 제 눈에 낀 콩깍지

B.A.E.C.H.I.G.I 이제 나왔으니
모두 친구들에게 전하기
하던 일들 전부 stop 모두 집중 여기 spot
들어볼까 기묘한 그 이야기

탁>
서로 머리 맞대면서 많은 날을 고민했지
배부르면 봄날이냐고
까놓고 말해보자 우리들의 전성기는
언제부터 언제였냐고
몇 번의 박수로 우쭐거리며
살아나간 지난날의 우릴 반성하자고
죽이 되든 밥이 되든 피래미 시절
기억하며 아둥바둥 살아보자고

이거 정말 난리나 버렸지
아무런 생각 없이 전부 내쳐 버렸지
모든 게 다 뒤바뀌어 버렸지
배치기 인생살이 제 눈에 낀 콩깍지 예

B.A.E.C.H.I.G.I
B.A.E.C.H.I.G.I 예

Caveat: There, in the calm of some Platonic dream

Databases, Smartphones & Computers / Found Online / Language & Linguistics / Not My Poetry / Philosophy & Cultural Criticism

This poem, below, was not written by a human being, as best I understand. It was written by one of those new “learning algorithm” AIs (Artificial Intelligences), where you give the AI a large pile of “training data” (i.e. in this case, a vast corpus of human-written poetry) and then say, more or less, “OK, give me a new one like that.” It works similarly to the way google-translate manages to make sense out of changing one language to another, without actually understanding a damn thing. It’s statistics, writ large.

Methinks I see her in her blissful dreams:
Or, fancy-like, in some mirage she lies,
Majestic yet majestic, and of seems
The image of the unconquerable skies.
Methinks I see her in her blissful dreams:
—Or, fancy-like, in some majestic cell,
Where lordly seraphs strew their balmy dreams
On the still night, or in their golden shell.
There, in the calm of some Platonic dream,
Sits she, and views the unclouded moon arise
Like a fair lady full of realms divine;
And, all at once, a stony face and bright
Glittering in moonlight, like the noon-tints of a night.

I found it, and other AI-generated poetry, on the slatestarcodex blog.
All very interesting.
 

Caveat: Art should be arcane

Background Noise / Banalities & Journaling / Not My Poetry

Two musical threads of my life have finally been knit together in an unexpected way. I found this entertaining, two ways to Tuesday.
What I’m listening to right now.

Merle Hazard, “Ol’ Atonal Music.”
Lyrics.

I dedicate this song to my father.

My dad was a composer,
Modern was his style.
His music always made you think,
It never made you smile.
He wrote for chamber orchestra,
Now and then, for voice
Tonality, in Daddy’s world, was just another choice.
Yeah, Poppa’s compositions came in rigid, twelve-tone rows,
There was no tonal center to the music he’d compose.
He was a lover of complexity;
Some have said pretense.
His music wasn’t joyful,
It was just abstract and dense.

Gimme some of that ol’ atonal music.
It lingers in my ears!
Schoenberg and Alban Berg were the genre’s pioneers.
You can keep yoru Bach and Chopin,
They’re melodic and passe.
Gimme some of that ol’ atonal music,
Like Daddy used to play.

Give ’em some, Alison!

[Banjo solo]

Aha!
That’s right.

Since dear ol’ Daddy left us,
Life has been so hard.
There aren’t enough musicians
Who embrace the avant-garde.
No one plays atonally at their home or on the stage.
I miss Igor Stravinsky, my Dad, and ol’ John Cage.

[“Piano solo”]

Gimme some of that ol’ atonal music.
Like my Daddy used to write.
It was hard sing if you rehearsed,
Impossible by sight.
Emotion is for simple folk.
Art should be arcane.
Some compositions feed the heart;
My Daddy’s fed the brain.

Gimme some of that ol’ atonal music.
How I love those random hops!
I’ve tried to write that way myself,
But I’m not as skilled as Pops.
You can keep your Brahms and Chopin,
They’re melodic and passe
Gimme some of that ol’ atonal music,
Like Daddy used to play.
Like Daddy used to play.
Like Daddy used to play.

I miss you, Daddy!

Caveat: a human snow

Not My Poetry

Occupation
The soldiers are
hard at work,
building a house.
They hammer
bodies into the earth
like nails,
they paint the walls
with blood.
Inside, the doors
are locked, shut
like eyes of stone.
And the stairs
are icy, all flights
go down.
There is no floor,
only a roof,
where ash is falling —
dark snow,
a human snow,
thickly, blackly
falling.
Come, they say.
This house will
last forever.
You shall occupy it.
And you, and you —
Come, they say.
There is room
for everyone.
– Suji Kwock Kim (American poet, b 1969)
[daily log: walking, 4km; driving, 500km]

Caveat: después de muchos años

Español Aleatorio (Random Spanish) / Not My Poetry

EL INVENTOR DE LAS METÁFORAS…
El inventor de las metáforas
se parece al duende de los gatos
metiéndose a media noche
por la boca abierta de los niños
para fabricar sus sueños con pesadillas.
El inventor de las metáforas
saborea con su lengua pegajosa
cada llanto infantil
arañando las sábanas.
Y los niños sudorosos
se abrazan a la almohada
e intentan descifrar
la forma de su angustia.
El inventor de las metáforas
siembra una semilla venenosa
que germina en poema
o agoniza en locura después de muchos años.
– Ana Merino (poeta española, n. 1971)
[daily log: walking, 2.5km]

Caveat: 보았던 거니까 like dejavu

Background Noise / Not My Poetry

지금 듣고있는 것.

보이콜드, “Youth!” This song is the most completely, fully bilingual bit of Khiphop (Korean hip hop) that I’ve run across. Completely at ease in both languages, with constant code-switching.
가사.

Yeah, alright, I’ll go…

I’m trynna keep it fresh like
헤엄치는 lil fish life
바다엔 없지 no finish line
구르다가 이제야 나 쉬는 time

그림을 그리려 해
어두운 도화지 위에
when I draw some milky way
아른대지 이리저리
어지러운 팔레트 위에

봐 무슨 일이 벌어지는지
따라 하진 말아 거울 보듯이
사랑하면 사랑을 줘야지
다 너인 듯이 대해줘 please

왜냐 finally 만물이
너와 같다는 걸 알게 될 터이니
we livin’ livin’ but ain’t dead fool
보았던 거니까 like dejavu

삶이란 건 쩔어 있기 너무 쉬워
눈 풀어 버리고 다시 함
swerve
썼던 거 꺼내서 다시 써
다시금 씹어 줬으면 해서

성원이 형처럼
boy and cold
내 목 풀어야해 또
on and on
큼큼 아아 음음 음음
let’s get it on

alright 몰라
that’s fine 정말
good life good life
높아 진짜
livin my life we’ll be so fine
tv sofa on my life

얼마 안남았지
전국에 발자국 마킹
옆엔 섭이 파피
toys-r-us 쓸어 담지
내 인생 life so flip

탈출했지 찐찌
rich kid like i’m franky
ocean
눈치보던 나를 모셔
이젠 보여 내 몸 보석

내 친구들 모여 light it up
hive so high 내 사비로
다 쏠게 있는 일 다 미뤄
질투 시샘들은 다 뒤로

이젠 살지 않아 간 보며
living good times like 팔로형
좋은 일밖에 난 안보여
계속 난 달리지 만보 yuh

imma go do that right
바뀌지 switching side
imma go do that right
바뀌지 switching side

여전해 한 손에는 글라스에
만드네 좋은 track
boycold가 callin 해
공을 채워 통장에
계속 ballin 해

alright 몰라
that’s fine 정말
good life good life
높아 진짜
livin my life we’ll be so fine
tv sofa on my life

boy cold boycold on a beat
쩌는게 들리는데 넌 어디
내 인천 동생 성원이와
퍼즐 히트 칠 땐 넘 어렸지

친구들과 다른 길을 걸었지
보란 듯이 증명해 버렸지
목표에 닿긴 아직 멀었지
헛되 보이는 꿈을 꾸자 철없이

꿈은 이뤄져
근데 왜 친구는 잃어져
요즘은 이런 일이 잦고 잘 지내냐는
질문은 싫어졌다가도
다시 듣고 싶어져
뻔한 물음이어도

구름이 어둡게 해도
그저 어린 내가 나는 좋대도
오늘이 내 남은 날의 첫day고
부디 넌 내 목소릴 기억해줘

삶이란 건 너무 엄청나
허나 고생은 다 거쳐가
그래서 축복이 넘쳐나지 우린
하늘이 될 거야 거처가

that’s right goes
around comes around
축복하며 살자 하온아 성원아
성원하자 모두 서로가 서로와
잊어버려 지나가버린
summer night

alright 몰라
that’s fine 정말
good life good life
높아 진짜
livin my life we’ll be so fine
tv sofa on my life

[daily log: walking, 4km]

Caveat: Slow advancing, halting, creeping

Not My Poetry

She Walketh Veiled and Sleeping
She walketh veiled and sleeping,
For she knoweth not her power;
She obeyeth but the pleading
Of her heart, and the high leading
Of her soul, unto this hour.
Slow advancing, halting, creeping,
Comes the Woman to the hour!—
She walketh veiled and sleeping,
For she knoweth not her power.
– Charlotte Perkins Gilman (American poet, 1860-1935)
[daily log: walking, 4km]

Caveat: thy greatness and thy coldness too

Not My Poetry

A Hymn to the Moon

Thou silver deity of secret night,
Direct my footsteps through the woodland shade;
Thou conscious witness of unknown delight,
The Lover’s guardian, and the Muse’s aid!
By thy pale beams I solitary rove,
To thee my tender grief confide;
Serenely sweet you gild the silent grove,
My friend, my goddess, and my guide.
E’en thee, fair queen, from thy amazing height,
The charms of young Endymion drew;
Veil’d with the mantle of concealing night;
With all thy greatness and thy coldness too.

– Mary Wortley Montagu (English poet, 1689-1762)

[daily log: walking, ]

Caveat: blind, we follow / rain slant

Not My Poetry

Coda

A strong song tows
us, long earsick.
Blind, we follow
rain slant, spray flick
to fields we do not know.

Night, float us.
Offshore wind, shout,
ask the sea
what’s lost, what’s left,
what horn sunk,
what crown adrift.

Where we are who knows
of kings who sup
while day fails? Who,
swinging his axe
to fell kings, guesses
where we go?

– Basil Bunting (British poet, 1900-1985)

[daily log: walking, 2km]

Caveat: Finaliza septiembre

Not My Poetry

Hora de la ceniza

Finaliza septiembre. Es hora de decirte
lo difícil que ha sido no morir.

Por ejemplo, esta tarde
tengo en las manos grises
libros hermosos que no entiendo,
no podría cantar aunque ha cesado ya la lluvia
y me cae sin motivo el recuerdo
del primer perro a quien amé cuando niño.

Desde ayer que te fuiste
hay humedad y frío hasta en la música.
Cuando yo muera,
sólo recordarán mi júbilo matutino y palpable,
mi bandera sin derecho a cansarse,
la concreta verdad que repartí desde el fuego,
el puño que hice unánime
con el clamor de piedra que exigió la esperanza.

Hace frío sin ti. Cuando yo muera,
cuando yo muera
dirán con buenas intenciones
que no supe llorar.
Ahora llueve de nuevo.
Nunca ha sido tan tarde a las siete menos cuarto
como hoy.

Siento deseos de reír
o de matarme.

– Roque Dalton (poeta salvadoreño, 1935-1975)

[daily log: walking, 4km; tromping, 300m]

Caveat: me queda la palabra

Español Aleatorio (Random Spanish) / Not My Poetry

EN EL PRINCIPIO

Si he perdido la vida, el tiempo, todo
lo que tiré, como un anillo, al agua,
si he perdido la voz en la maleza,
me queda la palabra.

Si he sufrido la sed, el hambre, todo
lo que era mío y resultó ser nada,
si he segado las sombras en silencio,
me queda la palabra.

Si abrí los labios para ver el rostro
puro y terrible de mi patria,
si abrí los labios hasta desgarrármelos,
me queda la palabra.

– Blas de Otero Muñoz (poeta español, 1916-1979)

[daily log: walking, 3km; tromping, 300m]

Caveat: stony hearts will bleed

Not My Poetry

Discipline

Throw away thy rod,
Throw away thy wrath:
O my God,
Take the gentle path.
For my heart’s desire
Unto thine is bent:
I aspire
To a full consent.
Not a word or look
I affect to own,
But by book,
And thy book alone.
Though I fail, I weep:
Though I halt in pace,
Yet I creep
To the throne of grace.
Then let wrath remove;
Love will do the deed:
For with love
Stony hearts will bleed.
Love is swift of foot;
Love’s a man of war,
And can shoot,
And can hit from far.
Who can ’scape his bow?
That which wrought on thee,
Brought thee low,
Needs must work on me.
Throw away thy rod;
Though man frailties hath,
Thou art God:
Throw away thy wrath.
- George Herbert (English poet, 1593-1633)

[daily log: walking, 4km]

Caveat: he ahí los tatuajes de mi castillo

Español Aleatorio (Random Spanish) / Not My Poetry

Fatiga

Marcho día y noche
como un parque desolado.
Marcho día y noche entre esfinges caídas de mis ojos;
miro el cielo y su hierba que aprende a cantar;
miro el campo herido a grandes gritos,
y el sol en medio del viento.

Acaricio mi sombrero lleno de luz especial;
paso la mano sobre el lomo del viento;
los vientos, que pasan como las semanas;
los vientos y las luces con gestos de fruta y sed de sangre;
las luces, que pasan como los meses;
cuando la noche se apoya sobre las casas,
y el perfume de los claveles gira en torno de su eje.

Tomo asiento, como el canto de los pájaros;
es la fatiga lejana y la neblina;
caigo como el viento sobre la luz.

Caigo sobre mi alma.
He ahí el pájaro de los milagros;
he ahí los tatuajes de mi castillo;
he ahí mis plumas sobre el mar, que grita adiós.

Caigo de mi alma.
Y me rompo en pedazos de alma sobre el invierno;
caigo del viento sobre la luz;
caigo de la paloma sobre el viento.

– Vicente Huidobro (poeta chileno, 1893-1948)

[daily log: walking, 3km]

Caveat: the twilight of such day

Not My Poetry

Sonnet 73

That time of year thou may'st in me behold
When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,
Bare ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.
In me thou see'st the twilight of such day,
As after sunset fadeth in the west,
Which by-and-by black night doth take away,
Death's second self, that seals up all in rest.
In me thou see'st the glowing of such fire
That on the ashes of his youth doth lie,
As the death-bed whereon it must expire
Consum'd with that which it was nourish'd by.
This thou perceivest, which makes thy love more strong,
To love that well which thou must leave ere long.

– William Shakespeare (English writer, 1564-1616)

[daily log: walking, 4km]

Caveat: This ain’t for the best

Background Noise / Banalities & Journaling / Not My Poetry

Being in the US again is weird, sometimes. I have a bit of reverse culture shock. Seeing US television and flipping through radio stations as I drive my rental car can be slightly disorienting.

This song was on a radio station as a I drove around Eagan, today. It's a song one of my students found and prepared for one of my "CC" classes, at Karma. Is it possible to feel nostalgic even though I'm only two weeks removed from being there?

What I'm listening to right now.

Taylor Swift, "Delicate."

Lyrics.

This ain't for the best
My reputation's never been worse, so
You must like me for me
We can't make
Any promises now, can we, babe?
But you can make me a drink
Dive bar on the East Side, where you at?
Phone lights up my nightstand in the black
Come here, you can meet me in the back
Dark jeans and your Nikes, look at you
Oh damn, never seen that color blue
Just think of the fun things we could do
'Cause I like you
This ain't for the best
My reputation's never been worse, so
You must like me for me
Yeah, I want you
We can't make
Any promises now, can we, babe?
But you can make me a drink
Is it cool that I said all that?
Is it chill that you're in my head?
'Cause I know that it's delicate (delicate)
Is it cool that I said all that
Is it too soon to do this yet?
'Cause I know that it's delicate
Isn't it? Isn't it? Isn't it? Isn't it?
Isn't it? Isn't it? Isn't it? Isn't it?
Delicate
Third floor on the West Side, me and you
Handsome, your mansion with a view
Do the girls back home touch you like I do?
Long night, with your hands up in my hair
Echoes of your footsteps on the stairs
Stay here, honey, I don't wanna share
'Cause I like you
This ain't for the best
My reputation's never been worse, so
You must like me for me
Yeah, I want you
We can't make
Any promises now, can we, babe?
But you can make me a drink
Is it cool that I said all that?
Is it chill that you're in my head?
'Cause I know that it's delicate (delicate)
Is it cool that I said all that
Is it too soon to do this yet?
'Cause I know that it's delicate
Isn't it? Isn't it? Isn't it? Isn't it?
Isn't it? Isn't it? Isn't it? Isn't it?
Delicate
Sometimes I wonder when you sleep
Are you ever dreaming of me?
Sometimes when I look into your eyes
I pretend you're mine, all the damn time
'Cause I like you
Is it cool that I said all that?
Is it chill that you're in my head?
'Cause I know that it's delicate (delicate)
Yeah, I want you
Is it cool that I said all that
Is it too soon to do this yet?
'Cause I know that it's delicate (delicate)
'Cause I like you
Is it cool that I said all that?
Is it chill that you're in my head?
'Cause I know that it's delicate (delicate)
Yeah, I want you
Is it cool that I said all that
Is it too soon to do this yet?
'Cause I know that it's delicate
Delicate

[daily log: walking, 2km; moving stuff around, a lot]

Caveat: de qué sirvió mi fuerte sombra mía

Español Aleatorio (Random Spanish) / Not My Poetry

RETROSPECTIVA EXISTENTE

Me registro los bolsillos desiertos
para saber dónde fueron aquellos sueños.
Invado las estancias vacías
para recoger mis palabras tan lejanamente idas.
Saqueo aparadores antiguos,
viejos zapatos, amarillentas fotografías tiernas,
estilográficas desusadas y textos desgajados del Bachillerato,
pero nadie me dice quién fui yo.

Aquellas canciones que tanto amaba
no me explican dónde fueron mis minutos,
y aunque torturo los espejos
con peinados de quince años,
con miradas podridas de cinco años
o quizá de muerto,
nadie, nadie me dice dónde estuvo mi voz
ni de qué sirvió mi fuerte sombra mía
esculpida en presurosos desayunos,
en jolgorios de aulas y pelotas de trapo,
mientras los otoños sedimentaban
de pálidas sangres
las bodegas del Ebro.

¿En qué escondidos armarios
guardan los subterráneos ángeles
nuestros restos de nieve nocturna atormentada?
¿Por qué vertientes terribles se despeñan
los corazones de los viejos relojes parados?
¿Dónde encontraremos todo aquello
que éramos en las tardes de los sábados,
cuando el violento secreto de la Vida
era tan sólo
una dulce campana enamorada?
Pues yo registro los bolsillos desiertos
y no encuentro ni un solo minuto mío,
ni una sola mirada en los espejos
que me diga quién fui yo.

– Miguel Labordeta (poeta español, 1921-1969)

[daily log: walking, 7.5km; carrying heavy box to post office, 0.5km]

Caveat: Sometimes I lay Under the moon

Background Noise / Banalities & Journaling / Found Online / Not My Poetry

This heartwarming little video appeared in my facebook feed the other day (h/t my own dad – heh). Given that I'm recently returned to facebookland, despite ambivalences, right?

I was curious about the song's provenance, because it seemed a good, positive song for my CC classes at Karma. So I did some google-fu, and found it.

What I'm listening to right now.

Matisyahu, "One Day."

Lyrics.

Sometimes I lay
Under the moon
And thank God I'm breathing
Then I pray
Don't take me soon
'Cause I am here for a reason

Sometimes in my tears I drown
But I never let it get me down
So when negativity surrounds
I know some day it'll all turn around

Because
All my life I've been waiting for
I've been praying for
For the people to say
That we don't wanna fight no more
There will be no more wars
And our children will play
One day (one day), One day (one day)
One day (one day), One day (one day)
One day (one day), One day (one day)

It's not about
Win or lose
'Cause we all lose
When they feed on the souls of the innocent
Blood-drenched pavement
Keep on moving though the waters stay raging

In this maze you can lose your way (your way)
It might drive you crazy but don't let it faze you, no way (no way)

Sometimes in my tears I drown
But I never let it get me down
So when negativity surrounds
I know some day it'll all turn around

Because
All my life I've been waiting for
I've been praying for
For the people to say
That we don't wanna fight no more
They'll be no more wars
And our children will play
One day (one day), One day (one day)
One day (one day), One day (one day)
One day (one day), One day (one day)

One day this all will change
Treat people the same
Stop with the violence
Down with the hate
One day we'll all be free
And proud to be
Under the same sun
Singing songs of freedom like

One day (one day), One day (one day)
One day (one day), One day (one day)

All my life I've been waiting for
I've been praying for
For the people to say
That we don't wanna fight no more
They'll be no more wars
And our children will play
One day (one day), One day (one day)
One day (one day), One day (one day)
One day (one day), One day (one day)

[daily log: walking, 7.5km; carrying heavy box to post office, 0.5km]

Caveat: I’m an apostrophe

Background Noise / Banalities & Journaling / Kids / Not My Poetry / Teaching & Methodology / The Wonders of Work

As mentioned before, we have this thing at Karma called "CC" class – a somewhat opaque name for what are essentially focused listening exercises using English-language pop songs. Mostly, these days, I can proudly say that my initiative to have the students prepare and present their own choices of songs has gone quite well, and 90% of the time, the students do their homework and they lead the class. I love sitting in a class where the students are leading, and even using English fairly successfully to manage the class.

But sometimes a student forgets his or her homework, or some miscommunication causes there not to be a prepared song for a given class. So I have some "backup" songs prepared. One of the "CC" songs that I've been using for this is "Whatever It Takes," by the group Imagine Dragons. Like many of the CC pop songs, I was fairly neutral about the song at first, but with repeated careful listenings and presentations of the song, it's grown on me.

Last Saturday, I presented the song to my HS2-T cohort, because they were returning from their month-long "naesin" hiatus and the song that the student had prepared was one it turned out we'd done before. As usual, I was deeply impressed with these students' amazing listening skills, quickly identifying missing words in the Cloze passage of the song that even I struggled to hear. So we made our way through the song.

As we wrapped up the class, I told the students that I'd grown to like the song. 

One of the girls asked, "Why do you like it?"

In fact, I couldn't think of a reason. But I always have to say something, right? That's what I'm known for, and that's my reputation: Jared always has some opinion on anything, and he'll present his reasons in little coherent, organized paragraphs, like a good debate teacher should, right?

So I had to think fast on my feet. Offhandedly, I said, "Because the song has lots of long words in it." This is more or less true. It does have some unexpectedly sesquipedalian vocabulary, which the singer rattles off in rock-rap style quite amazingly.

"For example," I added, spontaneously, "it has the word apostrophe.  I never heard a song with the word apostrophe in it, before." This is true, as far as it goes. But then I elaborated, "'Apostrophe' is one of my favorite words." That was pure confabulation, but it supported my argument with a subjective, emotional appeal. Anyway, it satisfied the girl's request for a reason why I liked the song. 

But then the girls started saying, "Apostrophe, apostrophe," over and over. "Is that good entertainment for you?" one asked.

Indeed. Good entertainment.

What I'm listening to right now.

Imagine Dragons, "Whatever It Takes."

Lyrics.

Falling too fast to prepare for this
Tripping in the world could be dangerous
Everybody circling, it's vulturous
Negative, nepotist
Everybody waiting for the fall of man
Everybody praying for the end of times
Everybody hoping they could be the one
I was born to run, I was born for this
Whip, whip
Run me like a racehorse
Pull me like a ripcord
Break me down and build me up
I wanna be the slip, slip
Word upon your lip, lip
Letter that you rip, rip
Break me down and build me up
Whatever it takes
'Cause I love the adrenaline in my veins
I do whatever it takes
'Cause I love how it feels when I break the chains
Whatever it takes
You take me to the top I'm ready for
Whatever it takes
'Cause I love the adrenaline in my veins
I do what it takes
Always had a fear of being typical
Looking at my body feeling miserable
Always hanging on to the visual
I wanna be invisible
Looking at my years like a martyrdom
Everybody needs to be a part of 'em
Never be enough, I'm the prodigal son
I was born to run, I was born for this
Whip, whip
Run me like a racehorse
Pull me like a ripcord
Break me down and build me up
I wanna be the slip, slip
Word upon your lip, lip
Letter that you rip, rip
Break me down and build me up
Whatever it takes
'Cause I love the adrenaline in my veins
I do whatever it takes
'Cause I love how it feels when I break the chains
Whatever it takes
You take me to the top, I'm ready for
Whatever it takes
'Cause I love the adrenaline in my veins
I do what it takes
Hypocritical, egotistical
Don't wanna be the parenthetical, hypothetical
Working onto something that I'm proud of, out of the box
An epoxy to the world and the vision we've lost
I'm an apostrophe
I'm just a symbol to remind you that there's more to see
I'm just a product of the system, a catastrophe
And yet a masterpiece, and yet I'm half-diseased
And when I am deceased
At least I go down to the grave and die happily
Leave the body and my soul to be a part of thee
I do what it takes
Whatever it takes
'Cause I love the adrenaline in my veins
I do whatever it takes
'Cause I love how it feels when I break the chains
Whatever it takes
You take me to the top, I'm ready for
Whatever it takes
'Cause I love the adrenaline in my veins
I do what it takes

[daily log: walking, 7.5km; carrying heavy box to post office, 0.5km]

Caveat: a high-end graveyard

Not My Poetry 
          Untitled
Dear Empire, I am confused each time I wake inside you.
You invent addictions.
Are you a high-end graveyard or a child?
I see your children dragging their brains along.
Why not a god who loves water and dancing
instead of mirrors that recite your pretty features only?
You wear a different face to each atrocity.
You are un-unified and tangled.
Are you just gluttony?
Are you civilization’s slow grenade?
I am confused each time I’m swallowed by your doors.
- Jesús Castillo (American-Mexican poet, born 1986)

[daily log: walking, 1km]

Caveat: Poem in which…

Not My Poetry

Poem in Which I Only Use Vowels

Poem in which I have wisdom.
Poem in which I have a father.
Poem in which I care.
Poem in which I am from another country.
Poem in which I Spanish.
Poem in which flowers are important.
Poem in which I make pretty gestures.
Poem in which I am a Deceptacon.
Poem in which I am a novelist.
Poem in which I use trash.
Poem in which I am a baby.
Poem in which I swaddle.
Poem in which I bathe.
Poem in which I am a box.
Poem in which its face is everything.
Poem in which faces are everywhere.
Poem in which I swear.
Poem in which I take an oath.
Poem in which I make a joke.
Poem in which I can’t move.
– Paola Capó-García (American poet)

[daily log: walking, 4km, plus flying, 8380km]

Caveat: Mi vida empieza desde adentro

Background Noise / Banalities & Journaling / Español Aleatorio (Random Spanish) / Not My Poetry

This is a scheduled (automated) blog post, which will go through in the event I'm lacking an internet connection tomorrow when I might normally post.

What I might be hypothetically listening to – I'm really into that oldschool Mexican hip-hop lately, especially Control Machete, so this is a good guess, and a really amazing song, with a lot going on in it, from jazz riffs to Cuban politics, and a nice collaboration with the Mexican alt rock group Cafe Tacvba.

Control Machete, "Danzón -  (feat. Café Tacuba)."

Letra.

Si crees que se le está acabando el vuelo, no
Esto está comenzando
El danzón ya empezó a tocar (pararara)
y no ha terminado, no
El paso del tiempo va imponiendo el respeto
y la calidad va mano a mano con la cantidad, viene
(Viene) viene marcando la pauta y el sentimiento
Mi vida empieza desde adentro
Siempre brota lo que siento
Es verdad lo digo y me comprometo
Responsable soy y lo lamento
Pero creo que es el crecimiento
Por ahora está en el mejor momento
El amanecer siempre aparece corrigiendo al anochecer
y las cosas que se ven nacer
Hay que verlas madurar y crecer
Viviendo por suerte y clandestinamente
Más no estaba muerto solamente ausente
Si paré de pronto, nunca indiferente
No acabó el danzón y sigue igual que siempre
Si continúa el corazón
Ritmos unidos sobre ilusión
Noche a noche se escucha la voz
Los de tambores, acordes y son
Mandar obedeciendo en el danzón
Songoro cosongo songe be
Songoro cosongo de mamey
Que se está bailando en cada rincón
Que está sonando en tu corazón
Suena que suena las cartas sobre la mesa
No hay quien detenga esto nadie se mueva
Así es, todo tiene su tiempo y si estás dispuesto
A sembrar y cultivar hay que ver el fruto madurar
Hasta donde puede llegar sólo hay que desarrollar
Ampliar, solamente crear es inmenso el lugar
Espacio suficiente como para cohabitar
Escucha mi tierra hare eco
Entre las montañas se hare camino el concreto
Señales de humo que van creciendo cada día más
Tratando de comunicar
Exponiendo los adentros a la luz como van
Sin borrar nada sin tapar nada sin ocultar nada
Se presentan testimonios reales
El sentimiento no es más que puras verdades
Reuniendo por suerte y discretamente
Más no estaba lejos respectivamente
Si lo que se mueve proviene del vientre
No acabó el danzón y ha de seguir pa' siempre
Si se ha dado la ocasión
Ciertos sonidos de imaginación
Día a día que visita el sol
Los de tambores, acordes y son
Mandar obedeciendo en el danzón
Songoro cosongo songe be
Songoro cosongo de mamey
Es guardar silencio de movimiento
Ayunar de color y sonido
Ser mujer viejo y niño
y dejarse llevar…

[daily log: flying, 8380km]

Caveat: harta de sentir

Background Noise / Media (Texts/Music/Movies etc) / Not My Poetry

Lo que estoy escuchando en este momento.

Control Machete – De Perros Amores. The video is weird, creepy, and borderline NSFW. That said, it's a scene from the eponymous movie for which this song is the title track.

La calidad de las letras disponibles en línea no es muy buena, e hice varios cambios y ajustes, pero todavía no son exactos. Parece que probablemente había mal entendido por lo menos algunas palabras. Específicamente, yo siempre he oído la línea del coro "atardece en ti" como "harta de sentir" – frase que igual incluso tiene su propio sentido dentro de la lógica de la canción. Tal vez la ambigüidad es intencional.

Letras.

Suficientes son los problemas de un solo día
Como para preocuparse del futuro (¿Cual?)
Olvidamos que para poder llegar al otro lado
Hay que empezar derribando el primero de los muros
Nos pasamos la vida viendo triunfos y fracasos
Conseguidos en tiempo pretérito
¿Cuantas veces se ha detenido el sol a mediodía? (¿Cuantas?)
¿Por que ya no quiere vivir más atardeceres? (¿Cuantas veces?)

El negro dejara de ser negro sin el blanco
El bueno dejara de ser bueno sin el malo

Rutina repetitiva que constantemente termina
Puede empezar de nuevo da fruto la semilla
¿Por que envejece por que tu piel se va arrugando?
El paso del tiempo una broma te está jugando
¿Sabes que la codicia puede dejarte en la ruina?
¿Quieres solucionarlo?
¡borrarlo de tu vida!
de perros amores
¡borrarlo de tu vida!
de perros amores
¡borrarlo de tu vida!

si alguna vez
si alguna vez
si alguna vez
si alguna vez

Amanece el alma
atardece en ti

Amanece el alma
atardece en ti

acción es en real voluntad
sensación, la velocidad
fé e ilusión orgánica
coincidencia armónica

No existe ningún borrador mágico
para borrar todos los errores cometidos
¿Que pasaría si las flores solo se marchitaran?
¿O solo se quedaran como botones?
Duele la realidad, duele
la fantasía solo se queda en los sueños
¿Que pasaría si nunca muero?
¿y no tuviera la oportunidad de nacer de nuevo?

Amanece el alma
(vuelve otra vez, aparece)
atardece en ti
(desapareces, te vas y vuelves)

Amanece el alma
(vuelve otra vez, aparece)
atardece en ti
(desapareces, te vas y vuelves)

Amanece el alma
(vuelve otra vez, aparece)
atardece en ti
(desapareces, te vas y vuelves)

Amanece el alma
(vuelve otra vez, aparece)
atardece en ti
(desapareces, te vas y vuelves)

[daily log: walking, 1km]

Caveat: The best part of my family is…

Background Noise / Banalities & Journaling / Kids / Not My Poetry / Teaching & Methodology / The Wonders of Work

We were doing short-speech responses to speaking questions. The question was, "Do you like your family, or not? What are the best and worst parts of your family?"

6th grader Jaehyeon, incorporating a very long pause as he groped for a possible answer, said, "The best part of my family is… me!"

"I see," I said, mildly amused. "So, what's the worst part of your family, then?" I prompted.

"The worst part is… not me. The other ones."

At that, I laughed. At least he was being consistent.

What I'm listening to right now.

Imagine Dragons, "Believer." This was a song recently chosen by one of my students for a CC class. It's grown on me, as tends to happen when I teach a song to several classes over as many days. I like how it's structured like a good debate speech: "First things first… second things second," etc. I pointed this out to the students and they just groaned. 

Lyrics.

First things first
I'ma say all the words inside my head
I'm fired up and tired of the way that things have been, oh ooh
The way that things have been, oh ooh
Second thing second
Don't you tell me what you think that I can be
I'm the one at the sail, I'm the master of my sea, oh ooh
The master of my sea, oh ooh
I was broken from a young age
Taking my sulking to the masses
Write down my poems for the few
That looked at me, took to me, shook to me, feeling me
Singing from heartache from the pain
Taking my message from the veins
Speaking my lesson from the brain
Seeing the beauty through the … pain
You made me a, you made me a believer, believer
(Pain, pain)
You break me down, you build me up, believer, believer
(Pain)
Oh let the bullets fly, oh let them rain
My life, my love, my drive, it came from
(Pain)
You made me a, you made me a believer, believer
Third things third
Send a prayer to the ones up above
All the hate that you've heard has turned your spirit to a dove, oh ooh
Your spirit up above, oh ooh
I was choking in the crowd
Building my rain up in the cloud
Falling like ashes to the ground
Hoping my feelings, they would drown
But they never did, ever lived, ebbing and flowing
Inhibited, limited
'Til it broke up and it rained down
It rained down, like … pain
You made me a, you made me a believer, believer
(Pain, pain)
You break me down, you built me up, believer, believer
(Pain)
I let the bullets fly, oh let them rain
My life, my love, my drive, it came from
(Pain)
You made me a, you made me a believer, believer
Last things last
By the grace of the fire and the flames
You're the face of the future, the blood in my veins, oh ooh
The blood in my veins, oh ooh
But they never did, ever lived, ebbing and flowing
Inhibited, limited
'Til it broke up and it rained down
It rained down, like … pain
You made me a, you made me a believer, believer
(Pain, pain)
You break me down, you built me up, believer, believer
(Pain)
I let the bullets fly, oh let them rain
My life, my love, my drive, it came from
(Pain)
You made me a, you made me a believer, believer

[daily log: walking, 7.5km]

Caveat: para llevarme lejos

Español Aleatorio (Random Spanish) / Media (Texts/Music/Movies etc) / Not My Poetry / Quotable

El viento en la isla

El viento es un caballo:
óyelo cómo corre
por el mar, por el cielo.

Quiere llevarme: escucha
cómo recorre el mundo
para llevarme lejos.

Escóndeme en tus brazos
por esta noche sola,
mientras la lluvia rompe
contra el mar y la tierra
su boca innumerable.

Escucha como el viento
me llama galopando
para llevarme lejos.

Con tu frente en mi frente,
con tu boca en mi boca,
atados nuestros cuerpos
al amor que nos quema,
deja que el viento pase
sin que pueda llevarme.

Deja que el viento corra
coronado de espuma,
que me llame y me busque
galopando en la sombra,
mientras yo, sumergido
bajo tus grandes ojos,
por esta noche sola
descansaré, amor mío.

– Pablo Neruda (poeta chileno, 1904-1973)

[daily log: walking, 7.5km]

Caveat: and the stern winds brood

Not My Poetry / Quotable

The Vast Hour

All essences of sweetness from the white
Warm day go up in vapor, when the dark
Comes down. Ascends the tune of meadow-lark,
Ascends the noon-time smell of grass, when night
Takes sunlight from the world, and gives it ease.
Mysterious wings have brushed the air; and light
Float all the ghosts of sense and sound and sight;
The silent hive is echoing the bees.
So stir my thoughts at this slow, solemn time.
Now only is there certainty for me
When all the day's distilled and understood.
Now light meets darkness: now my tendrils climb
In this vast hour, up the living tree,
Where gloom foregathers, and the stern winds brood.

– Genevieve Taggard (American poet, 1894-1948)

[daily log: walking, 7.5km]

Caveat: the ponderous deflations of distance

Not My Poetry

The Curtains in the House of the Metaphysician

It comes about that the drifting of these curtains
Is full of long motions, as the ponderous
Deflations of distance; or as clouds
Inseparable from their afternoons;
Or the changing of light, the dropping
Of the silence, wide sleep and solitude
Of night, in which all motion
Is beyond us, as the firmament,
Up-rising and down-falling, bares
The last largeness, bold to see.
– Wallace Stevens (American poet, 1879-1955)

[daily log: walking, 7.5km]

Caveat: We all came out to Montreux

Background Noise / Found Online / Media (Texts/Music/Movies etc) / Not My Poetry / Philosophy & Cultural Criticism

I recently learned that the famous classic rock song, "Smoke On The Water," by British rockers Deep Purple, was written about events at Montreux, Switzerland, which took place there in 1971 at the same time that the famous Russian-American author Vladimir Nabokov was resident there. It's interesting to imagine Nabokov and the members of Deep Purple interacting in a small French-Swiss town. Nabokov was of a different generation, but he might have been interested in rock music, given his fascination with other aspects of emergent pop culture.

What I'm listening to right now.

Deep Purple, "Smoke On The Water."

We all came out to Montreux
On the Lake Geneva shoreline
To make records with a mobile
We didn't have much time
Frank Zappa and the Mothers
Were at the best place around
But some stupid with a flare gun
Burned the place to the ground

Smoke on the water, fire in the sky
Smoke on the water

They burned down the gambling house
It died with an awful sound
Funky Claude was running in and out
Pulling kids out the ground
When it all was over
We had to find another place
But Swiss time was running out
It seemed that we would lose the race

Smoke on the water, fire in the sky
Smoke on the water

We ended up at the Grand Hotel
It was empty cold and bare
But with the Rolling truck Stones thing just outside
Making our music there
With a few red lights and a few old beds
We make a place to sweat
No matter what we get out of this
I know, I know we'll never forget

Smoke on the water, fire in the sky
Smoke on the water

[daily log: walking, 7km]

Caveat: It made the slovenly wilderness / Surround that hill.

Not My Poetry

Anecdote of the Jar

I placed a jar in Tennessee,
And round it was, upon a hill.
It made the slovenly wilderness
Surround that hill.

The wilderness rose up to it,
And sprawled around, no longer wild.
The jar was round upon the ground
And tall and of a port in air.

It took dominion everywhere.
The jar was gray and bare.
It did not give of bird or bush,
Like nothing else in Tennessee.

– Wallace Stevens (American poet, 1879-1955)

[daily log: walking, 1km]

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