Don't read too much into this. I just like the poem; not planning to go anywhere soon.
My Cup
Robert Friend
They tell me I am going to die.
Why don't I seem to care?
My cup is full. Let it spill.
Last Poem
Ted Berrigan
(Last line only)
"...Let none regret my end who called me friend."
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
Big noise from Winnetka...Big news from Eugene
Yes, the Ducks are No. 1 (at least in the human polls), but that is OLD news, no longer BIG news. The BIG news is that Pete and Tracy are expecting their third child, our fifth grandchild. Congratulations, you two, and stay healthy, T!
Good poems for hard times (5,6)
The Benefits of Ignorance
Hal Sirowitz
If ignorance is bliss, Father said,
shouldn't you be looking blissful?
You should check to see if you have
the right kind of ignorance. If you're
not getting the benefits that most people
get from acting stupid, then you should
go back to what you always were---
being too smart for your own good.
Dawn Revisited
Rita Dove
Imagine you wake up
with a second chance: The blue jay
hawks his pretty wares
and the oak still stands, spreading
glorious shade. If you don't look back,
the future never happens.
How good to rise in sunlight,
in the prodigal smell of biscuits---
eggs and sausage on the grill.
The whole sky is yours
to write on, blown open
to a blank page. Come on,
shake a leg! You'll never know
who's down there, frying those eggs,
if you don't get up and see.
Hal Sirowitz
If ignorance is bliss, Father said,
shouldn't you be looking blissful?
You should check to see if you have
the right kind of ignorance. If you're
not getting the benefits that most people
get from acting stupid, then you should
go back to what you always were---
being too smart for your own good.
Dawn Revisited
Rita Dove
Imagine you wake up
with a second chance: The blue jay
hawks his pretty wares
and the oak still stands, spreading
glorious shade. If you don't look back,
the future never happens.
How good to rise in sunlight,
in the prodigal smell of biscuits---
eggs and sausage on the grill.
The whole sky is yours
to write on, blown open
to a blank page. Come on,
shake a leg! You'll never know
who's down there, frying those eggs,
if you don't get up and see.
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
Mission Accomplished
It was 70 degrees here today, warm, dry, and sunny. Not too bad for October 19, to say the least. My gutters needed cleaning, I had a ladder, and I had the time. Larue was outside on her leash serving as my spotter. It took me a couple of hours, but I finished the job without falling off the ladder and cracking my melon. I used to get up on the roof with the leaf blower, but those days are in the past.
Good poems for hard times (3,4)
The State of the Economy
Louis Jenkins
There might be some change on top of the dresser at the back, and
we should check the washer and the dryer. Check under the floor
mats of the car. The couch cushions. I have some books and CDs
I could sell, and there are a couple of big bags of aluminum cans in
the basement, only trouble is that there isn't enough gas in the car
to get around the block. I'm expecting a check sometime next
week, which, if we are careful, will get us through to payday. In
the meantime with your one-dollar rebate check and a few coins
we have enough to walk to the store and buy a quart of milk and a
newspaper. On second thought, forget the newspaper.
the con job
Charles Bukowski
the ground war began today
at dawn
in a desert land
far from here.
the U.S. ground troops were
largely
made up of
Blacks, Mexicans and poor
whites
most of whom had joined
the military
because it was the only job
they could find.
the ground war began today
at dawn
in a desert land
far from here
and the Blacks, Mexicans
and poor whites
were sent there
to fight and win
as on tv
and on the radio
the fat white rich newscasters
first told us all about
it
and then the fat rich white
analysts
told us
why
again
and again
and again
on almost every
tv and radio station
almost every minute
day and night
because
the Blacks, Mexicans
and poor whites
were sent there
to fight and win
at dawn
in a desert land
far enough away from
here.
Louis Jenkins
There might be some change on top of the dresser at the back, and
we should check the washer and the dryer. Check under the floor
mats of the car. The couch cushions. I have some books and CDs
I could sell, and there are a couple of big bags of aluminum cans in
the basement, only trouble is that there isn't enough gas in the car
to get around the block. I'm expecting a check sometime next
week, which, if we are careful, will get us through to payday. In
the meantime with your one-dollar rebate check and a few coins
we have enough to walk to the store and buy a quart of milk and a
newspaper. On second thought, forget the newspaper.
the con job
Charles Bukowski
the ground war began today
at dawn
in a desert land
far from here.
the U.S. ground troops were
largely
made up of
Blacks, Mexicans and poor
whites
most of whom had joined
the military
because it was the only job
they could find.
the ground war began today
at dawn
in a desert land
far from here
and the Blacks, Mexicans
and poor whites
were sent there
to fight and win
as on tv
and on the radio
the fat white rich newscasters
first told us all about
it
and then the fat rich white
analysts
told us
why
again
and again
and again
on almost every
tv and radio station
almost every minute
day and night
because
the Blacks, Mexicans
and poor whites
were sent there
to fight and win
at dawn
in a desert land
far enough away from
here.
Monday, October 18, 2010
Two from Neil Young
When God Made Me
Was He thinking about my country
Or the color of my skin?
Was He thinking 'bout my religion
And the way I worshiped Him?
Did He create just me in His Image
Or every living thing?
When God made me, when God made me.
Was He planning only for believers
Or for those who just had faith?
Did He envision all the wars
That were fought in His name?
Did He think there was only one way
To be close to Him?
When God made me, when God made me.
Did He give us the gift of love
To say who we could choose?
When God made me, when God made me.
When God made me, when God made me.
Did He give me the gift of voice
So some could silence me?
Did He give me the gift of vision
Not knowing what I might see?
Did He give me the gift of compassion
To help my fellow man?
When God made me, when God made me.
When God made me, when God made me.
Falling Off the Face of the Earth
I'd just like to thank you
For all the things you've done
I been thinkin' about you
I just want to send my love
I send my best to you
That's my message of love
For all the things you did
I can never thank you enough
Feel like I'm falling
Falling off the face of the earth
Feel like I'm falling
Falling off the face of the earth
I just want to tell you
You sure mean a lot to me
It may sound simple
But you are the world to me
It's such a precious thing
The time we share together
I must apologize
For all the troubled times
Feel like I'm falling
Falling off the face of the earth
Feel like I'm falling
Falling off the face of the earth
Feel like I'm falling
Falling off the face of the earth
Feel like I'm falling
Falling off the face of the earth
Was He thinking about my country
Or the color of my skin?
Was He thinking 'bout my religion
And the way I worshiped Him?
Did He create just me in His Image
Or every living thing?
When God made me, when God made me.
Was He planning only for believers
Or for those who just had faith?
Did He envision all the wars
That were fought in His name?
Did He think there was only one way
To be close to Him?
When God made me, when God made me.
Did He give us the gift of love
To say who we could choose?
When God made me, when God made me.
When God made me, when God made me.
Did He give me the gift of voice
So some could silence me?
Did He give me the gift of vision
Not knowing what I might see?
Did He give me the gift of compassion
To help my fellow man?
When God made me, when God made me.
When God made me, when God made me.
Falling Off the Face of the Earth
I'd just like to thank you
For all the things you've done
I been thinkin' about you
I just want to send my love
I send my best to you
That's my message of love
For all the things you did
I can never thank you enough
Feel like I'm falling
Falling off the face of the earth
Feel like I'm falling
Falling off the face of the earth
I just want to tell you
You sure mean a lot to me
It may sound simple
But you are the world to me
It's such a precious thing
The time we share together
I must apologize
For all the troubled times
Feel like I'm falling
Falling off the face of the earth
Feel like I'm falling
Falling off the face of the earth
Feel like I'm falling
Falling off the face of the earth
Feel like I'm falling
Falling off the face of the earth
Good poems for hard times (1,2)
My sister Marilyn, the English professor, and BIL Stu, sent me a book of poetry, "Good Poems for Hard Times," selected and introduced by Garrison Keillor. The dedication:
"To the English teachers of America,
doing good work every day,
with admiration and affection
from an old student."
I've never been a lover of poetry, but I have been enjoying this selection, so much so, in fact, that I'm going to reproduce some in my blog, without permission. (What are they going to do to me?)
First two, one by Robert Bly, a Minnesota native, second by Raymond Carver, an Oregon native.
Driving to Town Late to Mail a Letter
Robert Bly
It is a cold and snowy night. The main street is deserted.
The only things moving are swirls of snow.
As I lift the mailbox door, I feel its cold iron.
There is a privacy I love in this snowy night.
Driving around, I will waste more time.
Happiness
Raymond Carver
So early it's still almost dark out.
I'm near the window with coffee,
and the usual early morning stuff
that passes for thought.
When I see the boy and his friend
walking up the road
to deliver the newspaper.
They wear caps and sweaters,
and one boy has a bag over his shoulder.
They are so happy
they aren't saying anything, these boys.
I think if they could, they would take
each other's arm.
It's early in the morning,
and they are doing this thing together.
They come on, slowly.
The sky is taking on light,
though the moon still hangs pale over the water.
Such beauty that for a minute
death and ambition, even love,
doesn't enter into this.
Happiness. It comes on
unexpectedly. And goes beyond, really,
any early morning talk about it.
"To the English teachers of America,
doing good work every day,
with admiration and affection
from an old student."
I've never been a lover of poetry, but I have been enjoying this selection, so much so, in fact, that I'm going to reproduce some in my blog, without permission. (What are they going to do to me?)
First two, one by Robert Bly, a Minnesota native, second by Raymond Carver, an Oregon native.
Driving to Town Late to Mail a Letter
Robert Bly
It is a cold and snowy night. The main street is deserted.
The only things moving are swirls of snow.
As I lift the mailbox door, I feel its cold iron.
There is a privacy I love in this snowy night.
Driving around, I will waste more time.
Happiness
Raymond Carver
So early it's still almost dark out.
I'm near the window with coffee,
and the usual early morning stuff
that passes for thought.
When I see the boy and his friend
walking up the road
to deliver the newspaper.
They wear caps and sweaters,
and one boy has a bag over his shoulder.
They are so happy
they aren't saying anything, these boys.
I think if they could, they would take
each other's arm.
It's early in the morning,
and they are doing this thing together.
They come on, slowly.
The sky is taking on light,
though the moon still hangs pale over the water.
Such beauty that for a minute
death and ambition, even love,
doesn't enter into this.
Happiness. It comes on
unexpectedly. And goes beyond, really,
any early morning talk about it.
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