In Praise of English Breakfast
Here’s to the English breakfast, dears,
That’s brought, for lo these many years
Sustenance to both health and heart
To give the day a proper start,
The source of warmth and vital grace
Beginning the day with our needs in place:
A rasher of bacon, an egg or two,
Some toast, some tea, some tomatoes; who
Wouldn’t love some beans, some mushrooms? Nay,
Don’t start without English breakfast, pray!
Restoration Drama
Give me dreams, but let me sleep,
In peaceful rest to lie—
Haul off the tossing, counting sheep,
The nightmares passing by—
Yes, make the most of forty winks,
A hundred, if I may;
Remove insomnia and keep
Harsh wakefulness at bay—
No more foul nights as hostage to
Psychosis’ nasty knife—
Now, make a truce and make it true,
Right through eternal life!
The lovely lady Alexandra wears a perfect pair of gleaming white kid gloves; for tea, we all sit in perfect posture and pose with poise, making our astute and marvelous and dreamlike commentary, our remarks about seemingly innocuous and polite ideas and topics far above reproach; the lady Alexandra is so ideal and beautiful and perfectly correct and her kid gloves so white, her manner of nibbling on the fresh strawberries so flawless, her tea so perfectly hot and sweet, I’d like to lean across the lace tablecloth and smash her like a roach.
Coal & Diamonds
Strangely enough, the bond of sleep, that weight of Lethe sitting on my soul,
Reminds me constantly to keep from letting diamond days turn back to coal,
For stillness rejuvenates bone and blood and sinew strong enough to bring me on,
And sleep is a portal through which a flood of musings sweep me forward to the dawn,
So rest is essential, and there I lie, seeming immobile while I dance at speed,
Or mounting on magical wings to the sky, to soar as sweetly high as I should need
To see in sleep, in my mind’s eye, new ways to spring from dark to day’s desire,
To find in the darkness of night what I love most amid the constellations’ fire
And planets and comets’ tails’ dross and stone what I can reinvent as suns for day,
My own coal-diamonds, blood and bone and sinew turned to chasing night away.
Light Armor
Not everything that’s fierce is cause for fear,
for strength in a good cause is great indeed,
but not intended to make others bleed;
rather, to shield the weak and persevere
Against all odds, to seek the distant grail,
to lead the way when battle’s all around,
and when it’s won, to hold the conquered ground,
protecting treasures fragile, sweet and pale;
For guardian angels, pioneering, brave
adventurers and stalwart friends in stress,
must keep their fiercest watch and always dress
full-armored, so prepared to shield and save
Us humbler beings and what we hold dear;
Not everything that’s fierce is cause for fear!
See? I told you they show up unexpectedly; just after I gave you this messenger in another post, I got the idea for today’s sonnet.
I admire real journalists and documentarians. Now, I do think that they are a very rare breed among news-people, the rest of whom are too driven by their corporate sponsors’ and their own biases by a long shot, no matter where on the spectrum of politics, religion, personal philosophy or other conviction they fall, but there are those honest characters who, if they do consistently let their beliefs steer their messages, at least recognize those prejudices and are quite open about them and still manage to give air time to opposing or differing points of view.
Still, the ones I really find compelling are a different sort of message bearers. They are harder to recognize, because they can be quite ordinary seeming mortals or wholly incorporeal, quotidian or fantastical, intentional or entirely, serendipitously accidental in their delivery of important news in our lives. Are they strangers we meet by happenstance and happy crossing of paths, like the townspeople in Germany who saw my older sister and me debarking a train after dark and looking around to orient ourselves? The kind couple approached us, told us that Celle (however lovely) was a very small town indeed and that there were few places for visitors to stop overnight but they’d help us find one, gave us directions and set us on the path to a very cozy little bed and breakfast before disappearing into the dark like a mist.
Are the messengers those outstanding teachers who have acted not only as educators in our lives but also as inspiration, as mentors, counselors, guides and friends? Mrs. Willis, Mr. Cunningham, Prof. Keyes: I salute you! Teachers have done as much to bring light to my life as to the dim corners of my mind over the years, and I am grateful for the news and stories and messages they bring. Are there other beings among us able to protect and direct us without our even being aware of it? Of course there are. Some of them are simply gracious fellow humans whose good deeds and kindness will never be seen or fully known and recognized in our lifetimes, either because we are too dim-witted and self-involved to notice as we should or because they merely do their mitzvahs without fanfare, without expecting or needing any recognition and recompense. These we should imitate and their message should be spread further by our going out in turn to do kindnesses for others and requiring no attention or glory.
And I think that–given how beautiful and rich life can be when we do pay attention–there must be others in our midst too; angels or aliens, I don’t much care what we name them, but there must be Love looking out for us to make even the tiniest good possible, let alone the many graces that fill our days if we only look. Their message, I suspect, is nothing more or less than that we are being well looked after, and our little lives recorded no matter how small they may seem to us.
In honor of International Talk Like a Pirate Day, I humbly make my contribution:
How d’ye like the swash o’ my buckle?
(and If You Ain’t Got Both of Yourn, Git Along Up There Anyhow!)
Methinks the parley perilous with pirates gaudy, garrulous,
spectacularly scare-ulous, with too much time to spare;
That’s when the day gets dicier, the swordplay sharply spicier,
and nastily not-nicier linguistics fill the air,
For pirates, though a jolly sort, think keelhauling the keenest sport,
‘n’ walkin’ the plank, starboard or port, a fine means to such ends;
So watch your tongue (and your nose ‘n’ ears) when a peg-legged, cutlassed cur appears
and he with his Hook-fist henchmen nears, for they are risk-fraught friends
Who’ll trim the hedges about your garden without so much as a beg-yer-pardon,
then trim you to size without regardin’ your nat’ral breadth or height;
So parley with care, and watch your purses, as well as the strength of your pirate curses,
or fall beyond reach of the leech‘s nurses ere day drops into night.
All this aside, and despite the urge a pirate may feel as a dramaturg,
he might invite you to join the surge toward a pleasanter thing to do:
Join with his crew, ye smirkin’ smarty, drink and be merry and join the party,
and dance and laugh like a loon most hearty, and talk like a pirate too!
Our summer road trip afforded me a few good opportunities for one of my favorite activities: listening during great music rehearsals while drawing and writing. Part of me is fully engaged in the music-making, wanting not to miss a single note or nuance even when it’s truly a working bash through sort of session for the musicians. I learn so much about the pieces in hand, their histories, contexts, technical challenges and all that sort of thing as well as what to expect and what might happen in performance that I always enjoy concerts more deeply after hearing them being developed for the performances. At the same time, if the work in hand is sans text or in a language so unknown to me that I can’t get wrapped up in that aspect beyond whether the ensembles’ vowels and consonants, attacks and diminuendos and cutoffs are, well, ensemble, then I can focus my language centers on writing, sometimes blog post essays and sometimes poetry.
When the text is too enthralling or at least too present in my attentions, I can still indulge in drawing. Either way, it’s not so much dividing my attention as letting one kind of artistry inspire and guide another one. One enriches the other. Especially when the music rolling around me is as rich as, say, that being prepared for performances at the Vancouver Early Music Festival in August. I only wish that the products of my sessions were always as inspired as the music undergirding their inception. But my only chance of getting any better is to keep practicing, isn’t it. And I’m lucky that I like the process more and more as I go along, and yes, the better the music is, the more I enjoy my learning curve. That’s inspiring enough.
I’m not here a second time today to announce I’ve discovered the cure for halitosis, let alone cancer. But I’m back simply to share a link with you because another blogger’s words for today had such a thought-provoking effect on me and I figured you might find them equally intriguing. Jen, the smart and compassionate translator/interpreter for her charming and handsome malamute Rumpy over at Rumpydog, is a committed animal activist. My friends, you know that it’s more likely I should be committed [IYKWIM] than true that I am disciplined, self-confident or wise enough to be an active advocate for much of anything. But today Jen addressed a topic that’s long been nagging at me, to the extent that I know I’ve actually mentioned it to you: it’s not that we as humans are incapable of caring about things enough, too stupid to figure out some solutions, or unwilling to do the hard work to enact them–it’s that we are too self-centered to do so together with anyone who fails to think and care about, and approach, those problems in precisely the way we personally approve.
I’m absolutely certain that no matter how much I liked or admired Jen it would be impossible for me to agree 100% with her on everything, or her with me. But I’m also sure that I do deeply respect her commitment and willingness to act on it and speak her mind. So I encourage you to go and visit her to read her most sensible, cogent piece I’ve seen in ages about what does and doesn’t work in discussing, promoting, advocating for or acting in *any* good cause. I don’t know a solution, because I suspect it’s such a universal ill among humans that it would require Nobel Peace Prize brilliance *plus*. But if we gather around the conference table determined to listen, learn and share the best of ourselves, there just might be some hope for us. The very thought cheers me.Happy days to all of you, and many thanks to Jen for sharing. (Click on the word ‘sharing’ to go to her blog.)
I’m one of those people whose life has put me in circumstances and company well beyond my training and capabilities, let alone deserts. Meaning, I get to hang with the Cool Kids despite being a doofus, dork and/or nerd. Yes, I do know I’m out of my depth 99% of the time. I’m just incredibly lucky that others don’t seem to begrudge me the privilege. It’s amazing, really.
I’ve gotten to taste recipes being beta-tested for an international cooking publisher’s latest cookbook, go bass fishing on a Texas ranch that predates statehood, been coached by a team from the US Secret Service, stage-managed the live broadcast of a major political figure’s keynote speech at a national convention, and had a photograph I shot featured on the cover of a multinational European magazine. I’ve spent a few days on a fully rigged tall ship, written thousands of poems, designed theatrical sets and costumes, and played on a cathedral carillon. Ice skated on a lake, dined with royalty, and sung in a quartet. Did I do all of this because I was specially qualified? Don’t be silly! What utter nonsense.
We all know that most of us Ordinary Folk find our way into any sort of distinguished company or notable situations only by stumbling into them or having them handed to (if not thrust upon) us. The truly remarkable thing is if and when we manage to rise to the occasion–or at least not fall down all over ourselves and our betters in the attempt. Me, I seem to find that quite often I’ve genuinely tried to prepare for the event so that I could almost fool some people that I look prepared, so perhaps it’s not entirely shocking that someone might tap me for the honor while under the misapprehension that I am prepared. Of course, there remains that delicately sad moment of revelation when I prove that it was in fact strictly an appearance and I am completely and absolutely not capable of anything spectacular, but fortunately for me that nearly always happens too late and I’ve already sneaked in on the honor.
I don’t know why I’m admitting all of this in front of you except that I’m not naturally a big liar, only incapable of recognizing my own limitations fully until I’m standing in that spotlight revealing them to all the world at the same second. Just consider yourselves politely forewarned that, no matter how well I might have polished up for the occasion, underneath it all still lurks the same cheerful incompetent, secretly knowing that I will be outed as such yet again but happy to be allowed into polite company in the meantime. Pipe down, Your Majesty, I’m enjoying my moment.
Art-Colored Glasses 