Category: Not My Poetry

Caveat: Aesthetica in vivo

Background Noise / Banalities & Journaling / Found Online / Media (Texts/Music/Movies etc) / Not My Poetry / Quotable / Science & SciFi

What I’m listening to right now.

A Capella Science, “Evo-Devo (Despacito Biology Parody).” This song is truly awesome. It’s evolutionary biology. It’s poetry. It’s music. It’s all in a package, like the miracle of life, itself. For the prototype of which this song is a “parody,” see here.
Lyrics.

EVO-DEVO
Huxley
B. Mac.
Oh Carroll, Carroll
Gould, Stephen Jay yeah
D-D-D-D-Davidson and Peter

See
One cell divide and decide on a thousand fates
Did you ever figure how they know?
B. Mac.
We
Are built of modules combined in a planned out way
Each new piece must be told where to go
Oh

Now there’s a science helping us to understand
How our cells encode this architectural plan
Signalling each other with genetic tools oh
Oh yeah

Wow
Phenotype the interface for mouse and man
Genotype the files and the subprograms
What then are the switches, circuit boards and boot code?

Evo-Devo
Looking at the logic in the ways that we grow
Every gene directed by a signal key code
Proteins that can activate, enhance or veto
Evo-Devo
Signals are controlled by other genes that signal
Calculating in a network labyrinthal
Where the heart and liver and the hands and feet go

Signal mapping tells each region what it ought to be yo
With circuits so deeply built upon
They’re older than the Paleo
The Paleozoic Era baby
In a crucial pathway changes tend to get torpedoed
Where they go calamity goes
As this cyclopic sheep knows..

See down they cascade like a domino
Like you and I drosophila
The path that makes us optical
Was laid a long long time ago
Back before we blew up the cambrian like a bomb bomb
Now my eye protein can make you see out of your bom bom
And Hedgehog and its relatives like Indian and Sonic
Set up set up in a gradient on segments embryonic
Split forebrains and asymmetric parts depend upon it
Flipping on genetic switches and logic
From devo to evo
Adult and embryo
Mostly don’t evolve in the genes of the genome
Safer the mutation aimed at regulation
Keep the building blocks and swap their activation
From devo to evo
Parts have alter egos
Homologs evolved from repeats in the schema
Switch a couple bases in the proper places
You’ll be watching flies grow legs out of their faces oh yeah

Evo-Devo
Stick around for Modern Synthesis the sequel
Only by combining can a new theory grow
Evolution and development amigos
Evo-Devo
Signals trigger patterns of complexity so
Switching up the switches of a signalling node
Gives a modular and simple way to evolve

Look at how our spinal segments generate a neat row
Built on a molecular clock
One cycle, one vertebra
One vertebra one vertebra baby
Speeding up its rate is snakes’ developmental cheat code
That and where a lizard’s feet grow
They turn off distal aminos

Evo-Devo
This is how we go from single cells to people
Every generation and in life primeval
Life in variations endless and beautiful

Badaboom

From devo to evo
Larva to mosquito
Patterns are resolved as the signals proceed yo
Map out a gene with a glow tag
Kill it with a morpholino
Short oligo morpholino baby

From devo to evo
Voyage of the Beagle
Body plans evolve when proteins steer the genome
In this manner life’s beauty grows
Aesthetica in vivo

Evo-Devo

picture[daily log: walking, 7km]

Caveat: not subject to our stiff geometries

Not My Poetry

In trackless woods, it puzzled me to find
Four great rock maples seemingly aligned,
As if they had been set out in a row
Before some house a century ago,
To edge the property and lend some shade.
I looked to see if ancient wheels had made
Old ruts to which the trees ran parallel,
But there were none, so far as I could tell –
There’d been no roadway. Nor could I find the square
Depression of a cellar anywhere,
And so I tramped on further, to survey
Amazing patterns in a hornbeam spray
Or spirals in a pine-cone, under trees
Not subject to our stiff geometries.

– Richard Wilbur (American poet, b 1921)

[daily log: walking, 6.5km]

Caveat: Siniestro delirio amar una sombra

Español Aleatorio (Random Spanish) / Not My Poetry

EXILIO

a Raúl Gustavo Aguirre

Esta manía de saberme ángel,
sin edad,
sin muerte en qué vivirme,
sin piedad por mi nombre
ni por mis huesos que lloran vagando.

¿Y quién no tiene un amor?
¿Y quién no goza entre amapolas?
¿Y quién no posee un fuego, una muerte,
un miedo, algo horrible,
aunque fuere con plumas
aunque fuere con sonrisas?

Siniestro delirio amar una sombra.
La sombra no muere.
Y mi amor
sólo abraza a lo que fluye
como lava del infierno:
una logia callada,
fantasmas en dulce erección,
sacerdotes de espuma,
y sobre todo ángeles,
ámgeles bellos como cuchillos
que se elevan en la noche
y devastan la esperanza.

– Alejandra Pizarnik (poeta argentina, 1936-1972)

[daily log: walking, 6.5km]

Caveat: incorporated

Background Noise / Not My Poetry

What I'm listening to right now.

The Wheel Workers, "Citizen Incorporated."

Lyrics

I am a person incorporated,
yes I rule the world.
I built it all so keep your hands off,
it’s my oyster and my pearls.

I am the heartbeat of America,
can’t leave home without me.
double your pleasure double your fun,
I’m everywhere you want to be.

I fight your wars and I start them too,
got religion as a hobby,
when you die there'll be pie in the sky,
sell you a plastic toy to pray.

what I tell you is fair and balanced,
it fits inside my frame.
can’t you see that it’s better for me
to do the thinking, so go play.

so you’re feeling
alone now
like you got no one who can relate.
just turn on your TV,
or go shopping, that’s liberty!

yes buy buy now,
buy buy now,
bye now.

so bye bye now,
bye bye now
buy now!

you believe we should slow down
think about the world that we make?
pat your head, here’s a medal,
ain’t nobody here gonna wait.

so bye bye now,
bye bye now,
buy now!

I own your seed and I sue your farmers,
I’m finger lickin’ good.
democracy is my employee,
I’ve got a quarterly report to fake.

I’m a citizen of the world,
mailbox in a tax haven.
I’m buying off those who write the laws,
yes you gotta pay to play.

[daily log: walking, 6.5km]

Caveat: Hallucinatory

Background Noise / Not My Poetry

I enjoy finding very weird music videos sometimes.

What I'm listening to right now.

Fever The Ghost, "((SOURCE))."

Lyrics – I'm extremely skeptical about the accuracy of these. I found them online. They look like some kind of automated transcription such as is common these days, but it doesn't really scan right. I didn't take the time to try to improve them, though. I guess we could just say they're hallucinatory, which matches the video.

Run run, ditto moon
Pullin' back, shape up to. The know?
High street, pushing steam
Rolling eye, is forced to dream
You go
All I want to know is how to start over again
You want it?
All I need to know is how to gain control
But the shameless soul
Oh, your sitting amongst yourselves
Soon, you lie under ecstasy
Your eye has stolen me
Oh, you sit amongst yourselves
Soon, you lie under ecstasy
Your eye is swichin' with it
Run run, ditto moon
Pullin' back, shape up to
You know?
High street, pushing steam
Rolling eye, is forced to dream
You go
All I want to know is how to start over again
You want it?
All I need to know is how is how you start to control
But the shameless soul
Oh, your sitting beside of me
Soon, you lie under ecstasy
Your eye has switched away
Oh, you sit amongst yourselves
Soon, you lie under ecstasy
But I have source it means,
Every wish you go in, every wish you go in,
I will see you sitting here
Every wish you sold it out, every wish you sold it out
In the silence
In the silence
Oh, your sitting amongst yourselves
Soon, you lie under ecstasies
In our mysteries
Oh, you sit amongst yourselves
Soon, you lie under ecstasies
In our mysteries
I await, no rise
Everywhere you goin', stop the city.
Oh, no
I'll know
Let's sail go go
You, I don't need ascension

[daily log: walking, 6.5km]

Caveat: Thou needstna frae thy perch retire

Not My Poetry

TO A NESTLING GREEN LINNET

Cease, infant songster! why complain?
Nae school-boy rude wi’ heart o’ stane,
Or vagrant herd o’ rougher mein,
                            Thus gars thee mourn;
Come wi’ the bard and be his ain,
                            An’ leave the thorn.

Thy flow’ry hame thus to forego,
’Tis true is surely cause of woe:
An anxious mother’s soothing throe,
                            An’ tender father:
But yet, thou lovely pris’ner, know,
                            The bard has neither.

For hawk’s, or pie’s, or eagle’s ire,
Thou needstna frae thy perch retire:
Or should grimalkin at thy wire
                            Her visage offer:
Her lives, until the nine expire,
                            Shall sprawling suffer.

They sweet retreat shall stinted be,
In nought save love an’ libertie:
Frae a’ extremes they’re wisely free,
                            That quietly want them:
An’ gude for mony mair than thee,
                            They ne’er had kent them.
– George Dugall (Ulster poet, 1790-1855)

[daily log: walking, 4km]

Caveat: his that enjoys it

Background Noise / Banalities & Journaling / Not My Poetry / Quotable / Teaching & Methodology

"Wealth is not his that has it, but his that enjoys it." – Benjamin Franklin.

So there's that.

What I'm listening to right now.

Kelly Clarkson, "Stronger." This is one of the songs we've done for the "CC" class (lyrics listening / dictation). I like this song, because it's empowering for girls, in a fairly innocuous, pop-culture way. And girls need that kind of thing. Yesterday, I had a rather serious discussion about ambition and lowered self-expectation with one of the girls from my painfully unambitious but talented HS1-T cohort (because she was the only one that showed up for class). After explaining the idiom, I kept asking her, "Why do you sell yourself short?" Of course, these things don't have a clean resolution, in real life, but I hope what I said made sense.

Lyrics.

You know the bed feels warmer
Sleeping here alone
You know I dream in colour
And do the things I want

You think you got the best of me
Think you've had the last laugh
Bet you think that everything good is gone
Think you left me broken down
Think that I'd come running back
Baby you don't know me, cause you're dead wrong

What doesn't kill you makes you stronger
Stand a little taller
Doesn't mean I'm lonely when I'm alone
What doesn't kill you makes a fighter
Footsteps even lighter
Doesn't mean I'm over cause you're gone

What doesn't kill you makes you stronger, stronger
Just me, myself and I
What doesn't kill you makes you stronger
Stand a little taller
Doesn't mean I'm lonely when I'm alone

You heard that I was starting over with someone new
They told you I was moving on over you

You didn't think that I'd come back
I'd come back swinging
You try to break me, but you see

What doesn't kill you makes you stronger
Stand a little taller
Doesn't mean I'm lonely when I'm alone
What doesn't kill you makes a fighter
Footsteps even lighter
Doesn't mean I'm over cause you're gone

What doesn't kill you makes you stronger, stronger
Just me, myself and I
What doesn't kill you makes you stronger
Stand a little taller
Doesn't mean I'm lonely when I'm alone

Thanks to you I got a new thing started
Thanks to you I'm not the broken-hearted
Thanks to you I'm finally thinking about me
You know in the end the day you left was just my beginning
In the end…

What doesn't kill you makes you stronger
Stand a little taller
Doesn't mean I'm lonely when I'm alone
What doesn't kill you makes a fighter
Footsteps even lighter
Doesn't mean I'm over cause you're gone

[2x]
What doesn't kill you makes you stronger, stronger
Just me, myself and I
What doesn't kill you makes you stronger
Stand a little taller
Doesn't mean I'm lonely when I'm alone

(When I'm alone)

[daily log: walking, 7km]

Caveat: Te perdono …/… Thank you

Español Aleatorio (Random Spanish) / Found Online / Not My Poetry

La sirana y el pescador

La sirena se levantó del mar
para verl el mundo seco.
Ella encontró a un pescador en la playa,
esta pez guapa sin red.
Ella tenía la cola reluciente; las escamas
que cubrieron el pecho, los brazos, la cara;
la estala de las olas contruidas de encaja.

El pescador agarró la cola de sirena
y la cortó por la mitad.
"Ahora," él le dijo a ella, "tienes piernas.
¿Por qué no caminas?"

La sirena empezó a cantar al mar
para ayuda, su sangre transformando
la arena de la playa en los arcoiris.

Ella cantó al pescador, "Te perdono,
te perdono, te perdono."

– — –

The mermaid fled the ocean
searching for a better world.
A fisherman found her on the beach,
this pretty fish with no home.
He noted her oily tail; the scales
that covered her breasts, arms, and face;
the frothing waves in her wake.

The fisherman was seized with pity,
and made the mermaid a pair of legs.
"Now," he told her, "you have legs.
Will you walk with me?"

The mermaid began to sing, telling the sea
of her good fortune, transforming
the sand of the beach into rainbows.

She sang to the fisherman, "Thank you,
thank you, thank you."

– Elisa Chavez  (American poet, b. ?)

It was posted at a blog by someone who only goes by the online identity "featherquillpen." I don't know much about the poet, and was unable to find much online.

This poem, and its "translation" by the same author, are, together, actually a single poem, because the translation is a painfully inaccurate, deliberate mistranslation. The Spanish part is quite sad, and is essentially the description of a brutal assault by the fisherman on the mermaid. The English part makes it seem like a voluntary experience for which the mermaid is grateful. As others commented (here), the poem is thus a kind of portrayal of the cultural disconnect between Latin American perceptions of Anglo-neocolonialism and the Anglo world's own perception of what they've done. It also is a kind of representation of the ways that American culture (broadly) is currently quite unable to grapple with sexual violence – people can't even agree on the terms of the discussion (i.e. there's mistranslation going on).

[daily log: walking, 7km]

Caveat: It’s the same in the whole wide world

Background Noise / Not My Poetry

What I'm listening to right now.

Ministry, "(Everyday Is) Halloween."

Lyrics

Well I live with snakes and lizards
And other things that go bump in the night.
Cuz to me everyday is Halloween.
I have given up hiding and started to fight.
I have started to fight.

Well any time, any place, anywhere that I go
All the people seem to stop and stare.
They say "why are you dressed like it's Halloween?
You look so absurd, you look so obscene."

Oh, why can't I live a life for me?
Why should I take the abuse that's served?
Why can't they see they're just like me?
It's the same… it's the same in the whole wide world.

Well I let their teeny minds think
That they're dealing with someone who is over the brink
And I dress this way just to keep them at bay,
Cuz Halloween is everyday…
It's everyday.

Oh, why can't I live a life for me?
Why should I take the abuse that's served?
Why can't they see they're just like me?
It's the same… it's the same in the whole wide world.

Oh, why can't I live a life for me?
Why should I take the abuse that's served?
Why can't they see they're just like me?
I'm not the one that's so absurd.

Why hide it?
Why fight it?
Hurt feelings…
Best to stop feeling hurt
From denials, reprisals.
It's the same… it's the same in the whole wide world.

[daily log: walking, 7km]

Caveat: Solving Supernatural Problems

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

As I said I would do a few days ago, here are revisions of my ED1M cohort's Halloween stories. These are entirely the students' writing, but I have made sometimes rather substantial revisions of grammar or vocabulary to make them more "native sounding" – I don't want the students memorizing speeches with bad grammar, as it only serves to reinforce or "fossilize" bad habits. I have not altered the plots as created by the students, although in a few cases I had to fill in some elisions with guesses as to the writer's intent. These plots are mostly quite a bit "darker" than the one I created. This is pretty developmentally appropriate for 4th-5th graders, I think. Death and gore are abstractions, but compelling ones from a story-telling standpoint.

Lucy

One day, there was a lonely ghost, named Nina. The ghost had died with a lot of tension, so Nina wanted to meet other ghost friends and she wanted to try to resolve her depression. Nina was reading a book about a call. Finally a friend called Nina and she was so excited to meet the new friend. This friend's name was Lum. Lum said, "I want to meet you." Nina said, "Sure, let's meet at the playground. Okay?" Lum said, "Okay. Good idea." Nina went to the playground and met Lum. Nina said, "Hello. I'm Nina. Let's be friends!" Lum said, "Good, I want to be your friend too." Then Nina said, "What should we do?" Lum said, "Let's go play with the other living people. It'll be fun to meet living people and they'll be happy to meet us. Let's go down to the ground." Nina said, "Sure, I want to meet these living people too. Let's go!" Nina and Lum floated down to the ground, and went to a school, and saw the students studying. When the bell rang, Nina and Lum met a girl named Sarah. She was very embarrassed to meet a ghost. Sarah could only be friends if she became a ghost. The next day Lum said, "I want to kill Sarah. Will you help me?" "Sure," Nina said. "I want to take Sarah." Thus Nina and Lum killed Sarah with an invisible sword.

Julia

One day, there was a lonely zombie. He wanted some friends, so he went to an amusement park. There were so many people there. He saw he could make many friends. First, he met a doctor, and killed her. She became a zombie. They became friends. The two zombies now wanted many friends. They walked across the street and met many people, all of whom became zombies too. The government gave a public warning: "In the amusement park, there are zombies! Please escape as soon as possible. Hurry!" Then, night fell. The zombies became angry. "Why are there not so many people, now?" The zombies went downtown. There were people shopping. playing, and then screaming. They killed and made friends with so many. The zombies had come quickly, but were dispersed when the government made a vaccine and gave it to people. The vaccine was great, but the zombies didn't want to normal people again. The zombies went to a market. They were hungry and wanted to eat fresh brains. There were many people. "Let's eat and make friends," they said. But one zombie had the vaccine."I can be a good person. I want to take the vaccine." She took the medicine and ran away from the other zombies. She said to the people, "Zombies! Run away!" The zombies were angry. One of the zombies ate her brain and she became a zombie again. She thought, "I don't have to be a good person. Let's find fresh brains." This earth became a zombie world.

Gina

One day, there was a lonely skeleton. This skeleton woke up only on Halloween. The skeleton waits until a child says, "Trick or treat?" Then it grabs the child and eats it. So one day, a child came and said, "Treat or trick?" The skeleton did not hear, because the skeleton could only hear "Trick or treat?" The child had said it backwards. Regrettably, then the child said again, "Trick or Treat?" The skeleton heard that, of course, and chased after him. The boy saw the skeleton and ran. The boy ran to his home and put a human doll in front of the door. The skeleton saw the doll and attacked it and ate it. The next day, the boy saw the skeleton was gone. He was shocked. He went to the hospital. There he dreamed about the skeleton. In the dream, the skeleton came and started eating his head. Then his mom came, and the skeleton hid. After his mom went out, the skeleton started eating his brain. Next the skeleton ate his foot, and his stomach. The boy woke up and was surprised to see he didn't have part of his brain and he didn't have part of his foot or stomach either. For five minutes he did nothing, he was so tired, and he slept again. In a dream, the skeleton returned and at his arm and one of his ears. The boy woke up again, and he was missing an arm and an ear. He looked around and saw the skeleton one more time. The skeleton ate the rest of the boy's body.

Amy

One day, there was a lonely mummy. That night, the mummy wanted to eat some people. Then a woman discovered the mummy, and she was not afraid. The mummy wanted to be friends with her, and she wanted to, too. So she and the mummy became friends. However, she left the mummy finally, because they didn't get along. She hated the mummy. So then the mummy was sad again. She was angry. The mummy started eating people. She ate many people. People tried avoiding the mummies. But the lone mummy got worse. People tried to kill the lone mummy that ate people, but it was not easy. This was because the mummy was eating the police, too. The people still didn't give up. Finally, the police injured the mummy. Unfortunately, because the zombie had been eating them, the police became zombies. Then the police ate people, too. This was terrible. As a result, the village gradually changed into a zombie community. It was a zombie village where only zombies lived. The zombies in the zombie village went to another village, and another. The zombies spread, causing the entire country to be overtaken by the zombie virus. The world was full of zombies, then. After a few more years, it was full of mummies too. In the end, it was full of ghosts. The world has changed strangely.

Luna

One day, there was a lonely devil. The devil liked to play. So the devil would take children's shoes. One day a girl named Elizabeth was crying. She had lost her shoes. That was what the devil had done. All of the kids were crying, and the devil was so happy. The devil also ate people's blood. "Today," Elizabeth said, "I will get my shoes!" That night she didn't sleep. She just hid in the tree. She said, "I'm sleepy, now." She decided nothing would happen, so she went to her room. At that time the devil came to Elizabeth's house. Elizabeth saw the devil, and said, "You are taking my shoes!" The devil was so surprised. The Devil ran away. He said, "I will take children's clothes and things." Elizabeth thought that finally the devil would not take children's shoes. But then one day the kids were crying again. Elizabeth knew this was the devil's work. So she said to all of the kids, "Now let's catch that bad devil." They waited for the devil. At that time, the devil came. Elizabeth said, "One, two, three, catch him!" So they caught the bad devil. The devil said, "What is going on? Hey! Hey! What are you doing to such as fantastic devil as me?" Elizabeth said, "Give us our shoes and clothes!" The devil was so scared, so he said, "Yes! Yes, I will do it." Elizabeth and her friends said, "This devil is so bad. They clapped and said, "Yeah! We caught that devil." Now they were happy.

Sean

One day, there was a lonely werewolf, named WW. WW wanted to eat guts. WW went to the mountains to hunt animals. He ate a lot of animals, but he was still very hungry. The police came and tried to catch WW, so he ran away. Finally WW was caught and put in jail. After 10 years, WW wanted to get revenge. He went to a village and killed all the people and ate their guts. The police came to the village to fight against WW. The fight lasted two years and the police shot many guns. The werewolf was badly hurt but killed all of the police. Finally WW became a kind of werewolf ghost that eats children's guts. The children screamed, "Ahhh!"

A saint came and hit the werewolf ghost, cutting through his body. WW was angry and this, and became a zombie. He was hungry, then, and ate many people's brains. He went to the city and many people became zombies. They ate each other's brains and even ate each other's bodies. Obama saw this problem and sent some soldiers to come and kill the zombies. But the werewolf-ghost-zombie WW couldn't be killed, so Obama himself came and fought WW. It was Obama versus WW. Obama shot the legs on the creature so he couldn't walk. Then Obama sent a missile and destroyed the earth. This solved the problem.

 

[daily log: walking, 7km]

Caveat: No reason to get excited

Background Noise / Not My Poetry

What I'm listening to right now.

Jimi Hendrix, "All Along The Watchtower." The song is originally by Bob Dylan, of course, but Hendrix's performance is the iconic one, a least for this song. Neil Young also has a striking version.

Lyrics.

"There must be some kind of way out of here,"
Said the joker to the thief,
"There's too much confusion.
I can't get no relief.

Businessmen – they drink my wine,
Plowmen dig my earth.
None will level on the line,
Nobody of it is worth.
Hey!"

"No reason to get excited,"
The thief – he kindly spoke,
"There are many here among us
Who feel that life is but a joke.

But you and I – we've been through that.
And this is not our fate.
So let us not talk falsely now.
The hour's getting late.
Hey!"

All along the watchtower
Princes kept the view
While all the women came and went.
Barefoot servants too.

Outside in the cold distance
A wildcat did growl.
Two riders were approaching,
And the wind began to howl, hey.

All along the watchtower
All along the watchtower

[daily log: walking, 7.5km]

Caveat: Some vague Utopia

Not My Poetry

In Memory of Eva Gore-Booth and Con Markievicz

The light of evening, Lissadell,
Great windows open to the south,
Two girls in silk kimonos, both
Beautiful, one a gazelle.
But a raving autumn shears
Blossom from the summer's wreath;
The older is condemned to death,
Pardoned, drags out lonely years
Conspiring among the ignorant.
I know not what the younger dreams –
Some vague Utopia – and she seems,
When withered old and skeleton-gaunt,
An image of such politics.
Many a time I think to seek
One or the other out and speak
Of that old Georgian mansion, mix
Pictures of the mind, recall
That table and the talk of youth,
Two girls in silk kimonos, both
Beautiful, one a gazelle.

Dear shadows, now you know it all,
All the folly of a fight
With a common wrong or right.
The innocent and the beautiful
Have no enemy but time;
Arise and bid me strike a match
And strike another till time catch;
Should the conflagration climb,
Run till all the sages know.
We the great gazebo built,
They convicted us of guilt;
Bid me strike a match and blow.

– William Butler Yeats (Irish poet, 1865-1939)

[daily log: walking, 1km]

Caveat: Safe as the endless ocean that climbs our cliff

Not My Poetry

Carmel Point

The extraordinary patience of things!
This beautiful place defaced with a crop of surburban houses –
How beautiful when we first beheld it,
Unbroken field of poppy and lupin walled with clean cliffs;
No intrusion but two or three horses pasturing,
Or a few milch cows rubbing their flanks on the outcrop rockheads –
Now the spoiler has come: does it care?
Not faintly. It has all time. It knows the people are a tide
That swells and in time will ebb, and all
Their works dissolve. Meanwhile the image of the pristine beauty
Lives in the very grain of the granite,
Safe as the endless ocean that climbs our cliff. – As for us:
We must uncenter our minds from ourselves;
We must unhumanize our views a little, and become confident
As the rock and ocean that we were made from.

– Robinson Jeffers (American poet, 1887-1962)

[daily log: walking, 6.5km]

Caveat: Confused Poemifying

Found Online / Not My Poetry / Quotable

There was a young man
From Cork who got limericks
And haikus confused

I don't know the origin of this… poem… but it's circulating on the internet. I found it quite funny.

Another unattributable internet-sourced quote, somewhat humorous:

"I have a computer in my pocket that lets me instantly access the entirety of human knowledge. I use it to look at pictures of cats."

[daily log: walking, 7km]

Caveat: sic a principiis ascendit motus

Media (Texts/Music/Movies etc) / Not My Poetry / Philosophy & Cultural Criticism / Science & SciFi

Hoc etiam magis haec animum te advertere par est
corpora quae in solis radiis turbare videntur,
quod tales turbae motus quoque materiai
significant clandestinos caecosque subesse.
multa videbis enim plagis ibi percita caecis
commutare viam retroque repulsa reverti
nunc huc nunc illuc in cunctas undique partis.
scilicet hic a principiis est omnibus error.
prima moventur enim per se primordia rerum,
inde ea quae parvo sunt corpora conciliatu
et quasi proxima sunt ad viris principiorum,
ictibus illorum caecis inpulsa cientur,
ipsaque proporro paulo maiora lacessunt.
sic a principiis ascendit motus et exit
paulatim nostros ad sensus, ut moveantur
illa quoque, in solis quae lumine cernere quimus
nec quibus id faciant plagis apparet aperte.

– Titus Lucretius Carus (Roman poet, 99BC-55BC),

The above are lines from Book II, lines 125-141, in Lucretius' De Rerum Natura.

Here is a prose translation to English, by John Selby Watson, 1851.

For you will see there, among those atoms in the sun-beam, many, struck with imperceptible forces, change their course, and turn back, being repelled sometimes this way, and sometimes that, every where, and in all directions. And doubtless this errant-motion in all these atoms proceeds from the primary elements of matter; for the first primordial-atoms of things are moved of themselves; and then those bodies which are of light texture, and are, as it were, nearest to the nature of the primary elements, are put into motion, and these latter themselves, moreover, agitate others which are somewhat larger. Thus motion ascends from the first principles, and spreads forth by degrees, so as to be apparent to our senses, and so that those atoms are moved before us, which we can see in the light of the sun; though it is not clearly evident by what impulses they are thus moved.

This is about Brownian motion. It was written a bit less than 2100 years ago.

[daily log: walking, 1km]

Caveat: dactylic noise

Background Noise / Not My Poetry

What I'm listening to right now.

Public Enemy, "Bring The Noise." This song is 30 years old. The video is dated, but the sound works, still, I think. Actually I went and listened this because it was mentioned in a discussion of dactylic hexameter, the meter of classical epic poetry (Greek and Latin, notably Virgil's Aeneid). I tried to scan a few lines and find the dactyls, but to be honest my skills are limited. I have always felt that rap and hiphop are genres wherein poetry most convincingly persists as a truly popular artform in our modern era. 

Lyrics.

Too black, too strong
Too black, too strong

[Intro: Flava Flav]
Yo Chuck, these honey drippers are still fronting on us
Show 'em that we can do this, cause we always knew this
Haha, yeah boy!

[Verse 1: Chuck D]
Bass! How low can you go?
Death row, what a brother know
Once again, back is the incredible rhyme animal
The uncannable D, Public Enemy Number One
Five-O said, "Freeze!" and I got numb
Can I tell 'em that I really never had a gun?
But it's the wax that the Terminator X spun
Now they got me in a cell cause my records, they sell
Cause a brother like me said, "Well
Farrakhan's a prophet and I think you ought to listen to
What he can say to you, what you wanna do is follow for now"
Power of the people, say
"Make a miracle, D, pump the lyrical"
Black is back, all in, we're gonna win
Check it out, yeah y'all, come on, here we go again

[Hook:]
Turn it up! Bring the noise!

[Bridge: Flava Flav]
Ayo Chuck, they're saying we're too black, man
Yo, I don't understand what they're saying
But little do they know they can get a smack for that, man

[Verse 2]
Never badder than bad cause the brother is madder than mad
At the fact that's corrupt like a senator
Soul on a roll, but you treat it like soap on a rope
Cause the beats and the lines are so dope
Listen for lessons I'm saying inside music that the critics are blasting me for
They'll never care for the brothers and sisters now, cause the country has us up for the war
We got to demonstrate, come on now
They're gonna have to wait till we get it right
Radio stations I question their blackness
They call themselves black, but we'll see if they'll play this

[Hook:]
Turn it up! Bring the noise!

[Bridge: Flava Flav]
Ayo Chuck, they illin', we chillin'
Yo PE in the house, top billin'
Yo Chuck, show em what you can do, boy

[Verse 3:]
Get from in front of me, the crowd runs to me
My deejay is warm, he's X, I call him Norm, ya know
He can cut a record from side to side
So what, the ride, the glide should be much safer than a suicide
Soul control, beat is the father of your rock'n'roll
Music for whatcha, for whichin', you call a band, man
Making a music, abuse it, but you can't do it, ya know
You call 'em demos, (but we ride limos, too)
Whatcha gonna do? Rap is not afraid of you
Beat is for Sonny Bono, (beat is for Yoko Ono)
Run-DMC first said a deejay could be a band
Stand on its feet, get you out your seat
Beat is for Eric B. and LL as well, hell
Wax is for Anthrax, still it can rock bells
Ever forever, universal, it will sell
Time for me to exit, Terminator X-it

[Hook:]
Turn it up! Bring the noise!

[Bridge: Flava Flav]
Yo, they should know by now that they can't stop this bum rush
Word up, better keep tellin' me to turn it down
But yo, Flavor Flav ain't going out like that

[Verse 4]
From coast to coast, so you can stop being like a comatose
"Stand, my man? The beat's the same with a boast toast"
Rock with some pizzazz, it will last. Why you ask?
Roll with the rock stars, still never get accepted as
We got to plead the Fifth, we can investigate
Don't need to wait, get the record straight
Hey, posse's in effect, got the Flavor, Terminator
X to sign checks, play to get paid
We got to check it out down on the avenue
A magazine or two is dissing me and dissing you
Yeah, I'm telling you

[Outro: Flava Flav]
Hey yo, Griff, get thirty S1W, we got to handle this
We ain't goin' out like that
Yo man, straight up on the Columbo tip
We can do this, like Buddhists
Cause we always knew this
You know what I'm sayin'
There's just one thing that puzzles me, my brother
What's wrong with all these people around here, man
Is they clocking? Is they rocking? Is they shocking?…

[daily log: walking, 7km]

Caveat: Here is reality

Not My Poetry

Hooded Night

At night, toward dawn, all the lights of the shore have died,
And the wind moves. Moves in the dark
The sleeping power of the ocean, no more beastlike than manlike,
Not to be compared; itself and itself.
Its breath blown shoreward huddles the world with a fog; no stars
Dance in heaven; no ship's light glances.
I see the heavy granite bodies of the rocks of the headland,
That were ancient here before Egypt had pyramids,
Bulk on the gray of the sky, and beyond them the jets of young trees
I planted the year of the Versailles peace.
But here is the final unridiculous peace. Before the first man
Here were the stones, the ocean, the cypresses,
And the pallid region in the stone-rough dome of fog where the moon
Falls on the west. Here is reality.
The other is a spectral episode: after the inquisitive animal's
Amusements are quiet: the dark glory.

– Robinson Jeffers (American poet, 1887-1962)

[daily log: walking, 6.5km]

Caveat: one aberrant onward-gliding mystery

Not My Poetry

That This

Day is a type when visible
objects change then put

on form but the anti-type
That thing not shadowed

The way music is formed of
cloud and fire once actually

concrete now accidental as
half truth or as whole truth

Is light anything like this
stray pencil commonplace

copy as to one aberrant
onward-gliding mystery

A secular arietta variation
Grass angels perish in this

harmonic collision because
non-being cannot be ‘this'

Not spirit not space finite
Not infinite to those fixed—

That this millstone as such
Quiet which side on which—

Is one mind put into another
in us unknown to ourselves
by going about among trees
and fields in moonlight or in
a garden to ease distance to
fetch home spiritual things

That a solitary person bears
witness to law in the ark to

an altar of snow and every
age or century for a day is

– Susan Howe (American poet, b 1937)

[daily log: walking, 7km]

Caveat: I come alive in the fall time

Background Noise / Banalities & Journaling / Not My Poetry

I had a plan to do some things to get ready for the fact I'm going to Australia next weekend: various projects, hovering in the wings. But after making it to the store yesterday, I got absolutely nothing done. I just lost momentum – last week was a hard week and I just needed the downtime, I think.

I listened to random new music in pop and rap genres.

So now I'm going to have a pretty hectic week, I think. More later.

What I'm listening to right now.

The Weeknd, "Starboy feat. Daft Punk." This song intrigues me: the kind of sweet, ballad-like production and melody contrasting with the hardcore street-culture braggadocio lyrics. That makes it a more introspective effort than either genre in isolation. 

Lyrics (NSFW).

[Verse 1]
I'm tryna put you in the worst mood, ah
P1 cleaner than your church shoes, ah
Milli point two just to hurt you, ah
All red Lamb’ just to tease you, ah
None of these toys on lease too, ah
Made your whole year in a week too, yah
Main bitch out your league too, ah
Side bitch out of your league too, ah

[Pre-Chorus]
House so empty, need a centerpiece
20 racks a table cut from ebony
Cut that ivory into skinny pieces
Then she clean it with her face man I love my baby
You talking money, need a hearing aid
You talking bout me, I don't see the shade
Switch up my style, I take any lane
I switch up my cup, I kill any pain
[Chorus]
Look what you've done
I’m a motherfuckin' starboy
Look what you've done
I'm a motherfuckin' starboy

[Verse 2]
Every day a nigga try to test me, ah
Every day a nigga try to end me, ah
Pull off in that Roadster SV, ah
Pockets overweight, gettin' hefty, ah
Coming for the king, that's a far cry, ah
I come alive in the fall time, I
No competition, I don't really listen
I’m in the blue Mulsanne bumping New Edition

[Pre-Chorus]
House so empty, need a centerpiece
20 racks a table cut from ebony
Cut that ivory into skinny pieces
Then she clean it with her face man I love my baby
You talking money, need a hearing aid
You talking bout me, I don’t see the shade
Switch up my style, I take any lane
I switch up my cup, I kill any pain

[Chorus]
Look what you've done
I’m a motherfuckin' starboy
Look what you've done
I'm a motherfuckin’ starboy

[Verse 3]
Let a nigga Brad Pitt
Legend of the Fall took the year like a bandit
Bought mama a crib and a brand new wagon
Now she hit the grocery shop looking lavish
Star Trek roof in that Wraith of Khan
Girls get loose when they hear this song
100 on the dash get me close to God
We don't pray for love, we just pray for cars

[Pre-Chorus]
House so empty, need a centerpiece
20 racks a table cut from ebony
Cut that ivory into skinny pieces
Then she clean it with her face man I love my baby
You talking money, need a hearing aid
You talking 'bout me, I don't see the shade
Switch up my style, I take any lane
I switch up my cup, I kill any pain

[Chorus]
Look what you've done
I'm a motherfuckin' starboy
Look what you've done
I'm a motherfuckin' starboy
Look what you've done
I'm a motherfuckin' starboy
Look what you've done
I'm a motherfuckin' starboy

[daily log: walking, 7km]

Caveat: fiesta criolla

Background Noise / Banalities & Journaling / Español Aleatorio (Random Spanish) / Language & Linguistics / Not My Poetry / Philosophy & Cultural Criticism

Sometimes my friend Bob, an academic professor of music and conductor in Wisconsin, sends me snippets of Spanish song lyrics to translate, because he actually needs them for his work. He knows I don't mind this, and even enjoy it.

Perhaps I should add to my blog's various tag-lines, at left, the phrase "The Only Spanish-to-English translation service operating in the Korean Peninsula!" I would be pretty confident this is true, though who really knows what Kim Jeong-eun is up to in his secret cultural propaganda factories in the basements of Pyeongyang.

Yesterday, Bob sent me a song in the genre of candombe (see the wiki thing).  He was hoping I could translate it and/or offer some cultural observations. Here's what I sent back to him this morning.

Here's an in-line translation, mostly "on the fly" with a few checks with the RAE (Royal academy of Spanish Dictionary website). There are a few disorganized notes below the translation.

Candombe del seis de enero

Verse 1

Es por todos sabido que el 6 de enero
    Everyone knows that January 6th
es el dia de los Reyes Magos
    is the day of the Three Magi [Epiphany]
y en honor de uno de ellos, el más negro
    and to honor one of them, the darkest,
se programa una fiesta en el barrio.
    a party is arranged in the neighborhood

Es por todos sabido que es el más negro
    Everyone knows that the darkest,
el rey de los santos candomberos
    the king of the candombe saints
San Baltasar es un santo muy alegre
    Saint Balthazar is a very happy saint
dice la mama Inés y mueve los pies.
    that's what Mama Inés says, and she moves her feet

Refrain

Listos corazones
    Ready hearts
van con el candombe
    come with candombe
y con este ritmo a profesar,
    and with this rhythm, to show
los rojos colores
    the bright colors
con festón dorado,
    with golden edging
le gustan al rey San Baltasar.
    they love Saint Balthazar

Verse 2

La comuna convoca y lo venera
    The troupe gathers and venerates
por la estrella lucero que el ciclo espera
    under the Wandering Star that the calendar will bring
San Baltasar se hamaca sobre las aguas
    Saint Balthazar rocks over the waters
de un mar de promesantes que canta y baila.
    of a sea of worshippers who sing and dance

Conversa el ronco bombo mientras avanza
    the husky drum speaks as it moves forward
repican tamboriles en las comparsas
    tambourines sing out in the dance-lines
fiesta criolla de negros y blanqueados
    a high-caste party of blacks and whites together
cuando cambian de toque cambian de estado.
    when the rhythm changes, the whole mood changes

Refrain

– by Yábor (Uruguayan folk singer, b 1950) – in-line translation is mine

Possibly controversial translations:

* criollo as high-caste – normally criollo is translated as "Creole" but that, in colloquial English, is tightly associated with Franco-Carribean culture, which obviously is something different than what we have here. So I went back to the original Spanish meaning (actually originally Portuguese), which is a reference to a specific rank within the complex caste system that existed in Spanish colonial America – the criollos were the locally born white folk, thus at the top of the caste system. But criollo also developed a broader meaning of "locally born" as opposed to "foreigner" (immigrants and "peninsulares" i.e. Spaniards) – especially during the 19th century. So in that sense, the "fiesta criollo" might just mean "a party for and by locals". In the first half of the 20th century, it even became a kind of term of pride that was essentially unifying as opposed to divisive. Probably that's what's intended, here, but by using the term "high caste" I'm getting at the word's problematic roots.

* toque as rhythm – that's not a dictionary translation, but it seems to fit the context. It really might be wrong, but "when the touch changes" feels meaningless to me, so I made a guess based on my feel for broader semantics of the word toque – much wider than English "touch" – and my vague recollections of interactions with Spanish-speaking folk musicians (a few in the 1980s, and one, a close friend of my dad's, in the 2000s).

The most notable thing about this song, to me, is the clear implication that whites participate and enjoy, too ("a high-caste party of blacks and whites together"). This is underscored by the insistence that Saint Balthazar is the "darkest" – it's announcing a kind of "Africa Day" for the whole community, which is unifying in a pre-PC way. That's how I read it, anyway. Cynically, if Yábor is the author (and I think he is), as a white Uruguayan folk singer, he would naturally want to emphasize this aspect if he decided to author a candombe. In that sense, this song most definitely is a bit of cultural appropriation, but perhaps no less authentic or meaningful for that – it represents a genuine if somewhat starry-eyed effort at racial unity in the complex landscape of Latin American racial politics (which, we must always remember, work differently than US racial politics, as much as we want to notice the obvious parallels and similarities).

What I'm listening to right now.

Yábor, "Candombe del 6 de enero."

Letra (above).

[daily log: walking, 7km]

Caveat: a real high art

Background Noise / Not My Poetry

The poem's themes are quite dark, but they are depressingly apropos considering it's 2017.

What I'm listening to right now.

Oscar Brown, Jr., "Bid 'Em In."

Lyrics.

Bid 'em in! Get 'em in!
That sun is hot and plenty bright.
Let's get down to business and get home tonight.
Bid 'em in!
Auctioning slaves is a real high art.
Bring that young gal, Roy. She's good for a start.
Bid 'em in! Get 'em in!
Now here's a real good buy only about 15.
Her great grandmammy was a Dahomey queen.
Just look at her face, she sure ain't homely.
Like Sheba in the Bible, she's black but comely.
Bid 'em in!
Gonna start her at three. Can I hear three?
Step up gents. Take a good look see.
Cause I know you'll want her once you've seen her.
She's young and ripe. Make a darn good breeder.
Bid 'em in!
She's good in the fields. She can sew and cook.
Strip her down Roy, let the gentlemen look.
She's full up front and ample behind.
Examine her teeth if you've got a mind.
Bid 'em in! Get 'em in!
Here's a bid of three from a man who's thrifty.
Three twenty five! Can I hear three fifty?
Your money ain't earning you much in the banks.
Turn her around Roy, let 'em look at her flanks.
Bid 'em in!
Three fifty's bid. I'm looking for four.
At four hundred dollars she's a bargain sure.
Four is the bid. Four fifty. Five!
Five hundred dollars. Now look alive!
Bid 'em in! Get 'em in!
Don't mind them tears, that's one of her tricks.
Five fifty's bid and who'll say six?
She's healthy and strong and well equipped.
Make a fine lady's maid when she's properly whipped.
Bid 'em in!
Six! Six fifty! Don't be slow.
Seven is the bid. Gonna let her go.
At seven she's going!
Going!
Gone!
Pull her down Roy, bring the next one on.
Bid 'em in! Get 'em in! Bid 'em in!

– Oscar Brown, Jr. (American poet, 1926-2005)

[daily log: walking, 6.5km]

Caveat: hacer de tu cuerpo todo un manuscrito

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

Lo que estoy escuchando en este momento.

Luis Fonsi (feat. Daddy Yankee), "Despacito." Acerca del video, pido disculpas. Casi aproxima lo llamado "NSFW", pero me defiendo con que es culturalmente apropriado. De hecho, incluso la letra es mas o menos igual de NSFW. Cierto que no intentaría enseñar esta canción a mis alumnos en unas de mis clases "CC." Bueno, ni se presenta como posibilidad, dado el idioma.

Observación lingüística: cuando se anuncia "DY" (Daddy Yankee), el nombre se deletrea en inglés (o sea, "dihuay", y no, digamos, "deígriega"). Esto me interesa.

Letra.

Ay
Fonsi
DY
Oh, oh no, oh no
Oh, yeah
Diridiri, dirididi Daddy
Go

Sí, sabes que ya llevo un rato mirándote
Tengo que bailar contigo hoy (DY)
Vi que tu mirada ya estaba llamándome
Muéstrame el camino que yo voy (oh)

Tú, tú eres el imán y yo soy el metal
Me voy acercando y voy armando el plan
Solo con pensarlo se acelera el pulso (oh, yeah)

Ya, ya me está gustando más de lo normal
Todos mis sentidos van pidiendo más
Esto hay que tomarlo sin ningún apuro

Despacito
Quiero respirar tu cuello despacito
Deja que te diga cosas al oído
Para que te acuerdes si no estás conmigo

Despacito
Quiero desnudarte a besos despacito
Firmar las paredes de tu laberinto
Y hacer de tu cuerpo todo un manuscrito

Sube, sube, sube
Sube, sube

Quiero ver bailar tu pelo
Quiero ser tu ritmo
Que le enseñes a mi boca
Tus lugares favoritos (favoritos, favoritos, baby)

Déjame sobrepasar tus zonas de peligro
Hasta provocar tus gritos
Y que olvides tu apellido

Si te pido un beso, ven dámelo
Yo sé que estás pensándolo
Llevo tiempo intentándolo
Mami, esto es dando y dándolo
Sabes que tu corazón conmigo te hace bom-bom
Sabes que esa beba está buscando de mi bom-bom
Ven prueba de mi boca para ver como te sabe
Quiero, quiero, quiero ver cuanto amor a ti te cabe
Yo no tengo prisa yo me quiero dar el viaje
Empezamos lento, después salvaje

Pasito a pasito, suave suavecito
Nos vamos pegando, poquito a poquito
Cuando tú me besas con esa destreza
Veo que eres malicia con delicadeza

Pasito a pasito, suave suavecito
Nos vamos pegando, poquito a poquito
Y es que esa belleza es un rompecabezas
Pero pa montarlo aquí tengo la pieza

Despacito
Quiero respirar tu cuello despacito
Deja que te diga cosas al oído
Para que te acuerdes si no estás conmigo

Despacito
Quiero desnudarte a besos despacito
Firmar las paredes de tu laberinto
Y hacer de tu cuerpo todo un manuscrito

Sube, sube, sube
Sube, sube

Quiero ver bailar tu pelo
Quiero ser tu ritmo
Que le enseñes a mi boca
Tus lugares favoritos (favoritos, favoritos, baby)

Déjame sobrepasar tus zonas de peligro
Hasta provocar tus gritos
Y que olvides tu apellido

Despacito
Vamos a hacerlo en una playa en Puerto Rico
Hasta que las olas griten: ¡Ay, bendito!
Para que mi sello se quede contigo

Pasito a pasito, suave suavecito
Nos vamos pegando, poquito a poquito
Que le enseñes a mi boca
Tus lugares favoritos (favorito, favorito, baby)

Pasito a pasito, suave suavecito
Nos vamos pegando, poquito a poquito
Hasta provocar tus gritos (Fonsi)
Y que olvides tu apellido (DY)
Despacito

[daily log: walking, 7.5km]

Caveat: Blood on the White House carpet

Background Noise / Banalities & Journaling / Not My Poetry / Politics, Economics & Current Affairs

The below was written by Roger Fisher, in The Bulletin of the Atomic Scientists, in 1981.

My favourite activity is inventing. An early arms control proposal dealt with the problem of distancing that the President would have in the circumstances of facing a decision about nuclear war. There is a young man, probably a Navy officer, who accompanies the President. This young man has a black attache case which contains the codes that are needed to fire nuclear weapons. I could see the President at a staff meeting considering nuclear war as an abstract question. He might conclude: "On SIOP Plan One, the decision is affirmative. Communicate the Alpha line XYZ.." Such jargon holds what is involved at a distance.

My suggestion was quite simple: Put that needed code number in a little capsule, and then implant that capsule right next to the heart of a volunteer. The volunteer would carry with him a big, heavy butcher knife as he accompanied the President. If ever the President wanted to fire nuclear weapons, the only way he could do so would be for him first, with his own hands, to kill one human being. The President says, "George, I’m sorry but tens of millions must die." He has to look at someone and realize what death is – what an innocent death is. Blood on the White House carpet. It’s reality brought home.

"When I suggested this to friends in the Pentagon they said, "My God, that’s terrible. Having to kill someone would distort the President’s judgement. He might never push the button."

Unrelatedly (except for maybe the vague atmospherics of 1980s-era nuclear angst), what I'm listening to right now.

New Order, "True Faith."

In 1991, I was a US Army soldier, stationed at Camp Edwards, Paju, Korea – a few kilometers from the DMZ and a few kilometers (5 subway stations) from where I live now. I had a Laotian-American barracksmate, with the euphonious surname Inthalangsy, who was a gangbanger from Houston who'd been offered one of those "join the Army or go to jail" options that judges seem to used to have had the option of offering. Inthalangsy was a die-hard New Order fan, and so this song was on very heavy rotation in our barracks room. The Korean soldiers (KATUSAs) didn't like it, and I think Inthalangsy played it partly because he knew it annoyed them. It grew on me.

Lyrics.

I feel so extraordinary
Something's got a hold on me
I get this feeling I'm in motion
A sudden sense of liberty
I don't care 'cause I'm not there
And I don't care if I'm here tomorrow
Again and again I've taken too much
Of the things that cost you too much

I used to think that the day would never come
I'd see delight in the shade of the morning sun
My morning sun is the drug that brings me near
To the childhood I lost, replaced by fear
I used to think that the day would never come
That my life would depend on the morning sun…

When I was a very small boy,
Very small boys talked to me
Now that we've grown up together
They're afraid of what they see
That's the price that we all pay
Our valued destiny comes to nothing
I can't tell you where we're going
I guess there was just no way of knowing

I used to think that the day would never come
I'd see delight in the shade of the morning sun
My morning sun is the drug that brings me near
To the childhood I lost, replaced by fear
I used to think that the day would never come
That my life would depend on the morning sun…

I feel so extraordinary
Something's got a hold on me
I get this feeling I'm in motion
A sudden sense of liberty
The chances are we've gone too far
You took my time and you took my money
Now I fear you've left me standing
In a world that's so demanding

I used to think that the day would never come
I'd see delight in the shade of the morning sun
My morning sun is the drug that brings me near
To the childhood I lost, replaced by fear
I used to think that the day would never come
That my life would depend on the morning sun…

[daily log: walking, 7km]

Caveat: And I the while, the sole unbusy thing

Not My Poetry

Work without Hope

Lines Composed 21st February 1825

All Nature seems at work. Slugs leave their lair—
The bees are stirring—birds are on the wing—
And Winter slumbering in the open air,
Wears on his smiling face a dream of Spring!
And I the while, the sole unbusy thing,
Nor honey make, nor pair, nor build, nor sing.

Yet well I ken the banks where amaranths blow,
Have traced the fount whence streams of nectar flow.
Bloom, O ye amaranths! bloom for whom ye may,
For me ye bloom not! Glide, rich streams, away!
With lips unbrightened, wreathless brow, I stroll:
And would you learn the spells that drowse my soul?
Work without Hope draws nectar in a sieve,
And Hope without an object cannot live.

– Samuel Taylor Coleridge (English poet, 1772-1834)

[daily log: walking, 6.5km]

Caveat: this citadel of dampness

Not My Poetry

Mean Particles

Sometimes something like a second
washes the base of this street.
The father and his two assistants
are given permission to go.
One of them, a woman, asks, “Why
did we come here in the first place,
to this citadel of dampness?”

Some days are worse than others,
even if we can’t believe in them.
But that was never a concern of mine,
reasoned the patient.

Sing, scroll, or never be blasted by us
into marmoreal meaning, or the fist for it.
Kudos to the prince who journeyed here
to negotiate our release, if you can believe it.

You’re right. The ballads are retreating
back into the atmosphere.
They won’t be coming round again.
Make your peace.

– John Ashbery (American poet, b. 1927)

[daily log: walking, 6.5km]

Caveat: contra el dorado pájaro latente

Español Aleatorio (Random Spanish) / Not My Poetry

Penumbra

Nunca podrás ver nada claramente:
todo es zarzal, espinas y maraña.
En vano gastarás toda tu maña
contra el dorado pájaro latente.

Errado el tiro, vuelves bruscamente
el arma hacia otro lado, mas te engaña
la jugada de sol que el árbol baña.
Te vuelves loco y lloras tristemente.

Todo del tonel sale de la vida
tosco, deforme y dando tropezones.
Dejas pasar los años y su herida,

y cuando quieras darte explicaciones
ni te sirvió la espuela ni la brida:
un pétalo fue más que tus razones.

– Baldomero Fernández Moreno (poeta argentino, 1886-1950)

[daily log: walking, 7km]

Caveat: I can read you like a banana

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

Today in my "CC" listening class, we were listening to the American pop song "Blank Space," by Taylor Swift. The students' job is to listen to the song (line by line and over and over, if necessary), and fill in a cloze version of the lyrics (i.e. words missing). So we were filling in the blank spaces in the song "Blank Space.

One student, Kevin, when confronted with the line "I can read you like a magazine," decided, confidently, that it was "I can read you like a banana." For whatever reason, I started trying to explain how this might work. I held up an imaginary banana, and pretended to "read" it. I looked at Kevin, and tried to "read" him in the same way. The students understood the absurdity of the interpretation. Anyway, I found it entertaining, as often happens with absurdity.

What I'm listening to right now.

Taylor Swift, "Blank Space."

Lyrics.

Nice to meet you, where you been?
I could show you incredible things
Magic, madness, heaven, sin
Saw you there and I thought
Oh my God, look at that face
You look like my next mistake
Love's a game, wanna play?

New money, suit and tie
I can read you like a magazine
Ain't it funny, rumors fly
And I know you heard about me
So hey, let's be friends
I'm dying to see how this one ends
Grab your passport and my hand
I can make the bad guys good for a weekend

So it's gonna be forever
Or it's gonna go down in flames
You can tell me when it's over
If the high was worth the pain
Got a long list of ex-lovers
They'll tell you I'm insane
'Cause you know I love the players
And you love the game

'Cause we're young and we're reckless
We'll take this way too far
It'll leave you breathless
Or with a nasty scar
Got a long list of ex-lovers
They'll tell you I'm insane
But I've got a blank space, baby
And I'll write your name

Cherry lips, crystal skies
I could show you incredible things
Stolen kisses, pretty lies
You're the King, baby, I'm your Queen
Find out what you want
Be that girl for a month
Wait, the worst is yet to come, oh no

Screaming, crying, perfect storms
I can make all the tables turn
Rose garden filled with thorns
Keep you second guessing like
"Oh my God, who is she?"
I get drunk on jealousy
But you'll come back each time you leave
'Cause, darling, I'm a nightmare dressed like a daydream

So it's gonna be forever
Or it's gonna go down in flames
You can tell me when it's over
If the high was worth the pain
Got a long list of ex-lovers
They'll tell you I'm insane
'Cause you know I love the players
And you love the game

'Cause we're young and we're reckless
We'll take this way too far
It'll leave you breathless
Or with a nasty scar
Got a long list of ex-lovers
They'll tell you I'm insane
But I've got a blank space, baby
And I'll write your name

Boys only want love if it's torture
Don't say I didn't say, I didn't warn ya
Boys only want love if it's torture
Don't say I didn't say, I didn't warn ya

So it's gonna be forever
Or it's gonna go down in flames
You can tell me when it's over
If the high was worth the pain
Got a long list of ex-lovers
They'll tell you I'm insane
'Cause you know I love the players
And you love the game

'Cause we're young and we're reckless
We'll take this way too far
It'll leave you breathless
Or with a nasty scar
Got a long list of ex-lovers
They'll tell you I'm insane
But I've got a blank space, baby
And I'll write your name

[daily log: walking, 5km]

Caveat: While there is still time

Not My Poetry

The Mower

The mower stalled, twice; kneeling, I found
A hedgehog jammed up against the blades,
Killed. It had been in the long grass.

I had seen it before, and even fed it, once.
Now I had mauled its unobtrusive world
Unmendably. Burial was no help:

Next morning I got up and it did not.
The first day after a death, the new absence
Is always the same; we should be careful

Of each other, we should be kind
While there is still time.

– Philip Larkin (British poet, 1922-1985)

[daily log: walking, 7km]

Caveat: out of olde feldes

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

The lyf so short, the craft so long to lerne,
Thassay so hard, so sharp the conquering,
The dredful Ioy, that alwey slit so yerne,
Al this mene I by love, that my feling
Astonyeth with his wonderful worching
So sore y-wis, that whan I on him thinke,
Nat wot I wel wher that I wake or winke.

For al be that I knowe nat love in dede,
Ne wot how that he quyteth folk hir hyre,
Yet happeth me ful ofte in bokes rede
Of his miracles, and his cruel yre;
Ther rede I wel he wol be lord and syre,
I dar not seyn, his strokes been so sore,
But God save swich a lord! I can no more.

Of usage, what for luste what for lore,
On bokes rede I ofte, as I yow tolde.
But wherfor that I speke al this? not yore
Agon, hit happed me for to beholde
Upon a boke, was write with lettres olde;
And ther-upon, a certeyn thing to lerne,
The longe day ful faste I radde and yerne.

For out of olde feldes, as men seith,
Cometh al this newe corn fro yeer to yere;
And out of olde bokes, in good feith,
Cometh al this newe science that men lere.
But now to purpos as of this matere —
To rede forth hit gan me so delyte,
That al the day me thoughte but a lyte.

– first stanzas to long poem Parlement of Foules, by Geoffrey Chaucer (English poet, c 1343-1400)

[daily log: walking, 1km]

Caveat: triumph seasoned with agony

Not My Poetry

Of the Phoenix

Only the priest of the temple knows when it was born.
He has the date in a book, so he can be ready,
when its time has come, to build the fire on the altar:

cinnamon, cloves, nutmeg, twigs of balm, virgin sulphur.
It will be heaped up, unlit, when the bird blunders in,
faffing between the pillars like a panicked sparrow,

but the size of an eagle, its colours now tarnished
by five hundred years of sandstorms. Yet it remembers
at last what to do, and climbs on to its nest of spice,

lifting its neck and fanning with its wings till the sparks
wake in the dull feathers and catch in their own tinder.
Then it is sitting on flame, and the smell fills the air,

incense, banquet and bonfire in one. Its trumpetings
are triumph seasoned with agony. When they die down
there is nothing left but a puffy cushion of ash.

Next day the priest sifts through the coolness with his fingers
and finds a maggot no bigger than a nail paring,
which, by the next, has formed into a body and wings
.
And by the third morning it is a whole bird, preening
the last ash from its scarlet wings and indigo back.
It sputters once more round the tall spaces, and flies out.

There is only one in the world. If you should see it,
a dragonfly speck overhead as you cross the sand,
it is a sign of good luck. Your journey will prosper.

– Matthew Francis (British poet, b. 1956)

[daily log: walking, 7km]

Caveat: Lest by diminished vitality and abated / vigilance, I become food for crocodiles

Not My Poetry

Feed Me, Also, River God
   
Lest by diminished vitality and abated
   vigilance, I become food for crocodiles—for that quicksand
   of gluttony which is legion. It is there close at hand—
      on either side
      of me. You remember the Israelites who said in pride
   
and stoutness of heart: "The bricks are fallen down, we will
   build with hewn stone, the sycamores are cut down, we will
   change to cedars"? I am not ambitious to dress stones, to
      renew forts, nor to match
      my value in action, against their ability to catch
   
up with arrested prosperity. I am not like
   them, indefatigable, but if you are a god, you will
   not discriminate against me. Yet—if you may fulfill
      none but prayers dressed
      as gifts in return for your gifts—disregard the request.
   
– Marianne Moore (American poet 1887-1972)

[daily log: walking, 7km]

Caveat: 구렁이 담 넘어가듯 한다

Background Noise / Banalities & Journaling / Not My Poetry / 한국말을 배움 (Failing to Learn Korean) / 한국어 속담 (Aphorisms & Proverbs)

I learned this aphorism from my book of aphorisms.

구렁이 담 넘어가듯 한다
gu.reong.i dam neom.eo.ga.deut han.da
snake wall go-over-AS-IF do-PRES
[He/she/it] acts like a snake going over a wall.

I think this must be more or less the same as English’s “Like a snake in the grass”: sneaky behavior, creeping up on on a situation unnoticed.
This makes me think of Bob Dylan’s old song, “Man Gave Names To All The Animals,” which is my favorite song from Dylan’s “Christian period.”
I would like to include a youtube embed of Dylan’s song, but Dylan is one of those performing artists who is VERY aggressive in his takedowns of his work online. I personally consider this reprehensible, and combined with his assholery around his recent Nobel prize, that’s why he’s gone down substantially in my estimation as a human being, if remaining high in my estimation of him as an artist.
What I’m listening to right now.

Townes Van Zandt, covering “Man Gave Names To All The Animals,” by Bob Dylan. It’s perhaps a better rendition than the original, anyway. But regardless, Dylan is an amazing lyricist: the ending of the song is poetically brilliant.
Lyrics.

Man gave names to all the animals
In the beginning, in the beginning
Man gave names to all the animals
In the beginning, long time ago.

He saw an animal that liked to growl
Big furry paws and he liked to howl
Great big furry back and furry hair
“Ah, think I’ll call it a bear”.

Man gave names to all the animals
In the beginning, in the beginning
Man gave names to all the animals
In the beginning, long time ago.

He saw an animal up on a hill
Chewing up so much grass until she was filled
He saw milk coming out but he didn’t know how
“Ah, think I’ll call it a cow”.

Man gave names to all the animals
In the beginning, in the beginning
Man gave names to all the animals
In the beginning, long time ago.

He saw an animal that liked to snort
Horns on his head and they weren’t too short
It looked like there wasn’t nothing that he couldn’t pull
“Ah, I’ll think I’ll call it a bull”.

Man gave names to all the animals
In the beginning, in the beginning
Man gave names to all the animals
In the beginning, long time ago.

He saw an animal leaving a muddy trail
Real dirty face and a curly tail
He wasn’t too small and he wasn’t too big
“Ah, think I’ll call it a pig”.

Man gave names to all the animals
In the beginning, in the beginning
Man gave names to all the animals
In the beginning, long time ago.

Next animal that he did meet
Had wool on his back and hooves on his feet
Eating grass on a mountainside so steep
“Ah, think I’ll call it a sheep”.

Man gave names to all the animals
In the beginning, in the beginning
Man gave names to all the animals
In the beginning, long time ago.

He saw an animal as smooth as glass
Slithering his way through the grass
Saw him disappear by a tree near a lake ….

[daily log: walking, 7km]

Caveat: This sacred text has been brought to you by the letter ‘A’

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

Someone has created a version of the first part of the Biblical Book of Genesis using ONLY words that start with the letter 'A.'

1. An advent: ancient archangels architect abstract astronomy and arid asteroids.
2. All asteroids are amorphous and absent; And all asleep across aquatic anarchy. And astral angels advanced across area.
3. And Almighty asked," Appear." And all appeared aglow.
4. And Almighty approved. Aura and absence: an antagonistic arithmetic.
5. An afternoon and aurora, an aeon.
6.And atmosphere and all awash abscinded.
7. Astral air above; aquatic area abased. All as Almighty asserted.
8. Angel's abode appeared. Another afternoon, another aurora. Another aeon.
9. And Almighty authored aquatic archipelagos. Arable acreage appeared.
10. And Almighty approved.

In fact, it's quite poetic.

Alliteratively amazing, actually.

You can read the rest here.

[daily log: walking, 7km]

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