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February 26, 2003
Shhh.
Snow seems to serve to make everything quieter.
Keeping Quiet
by Pablo Neruda (translated by Alastair Reid)
And now we will count to twelve
and we will all keep still.
For once on the face of the earth
let’s not speak in any language,
let’s stop for one second,
and not move our arms so much.
It would be an exotic moment
without rush, without engines,
we would all be together
in a sudden strangeness.
Fisherman in the cold sea
would not harm whales
and the man gathering salt
would not look at his hurt hands.
Those who prepare green wars,
wars with gas, wars with fire,
victory with no survivors,
would put on clean clothes
and walk about with their brothers
in the shade, doing nothing.
What I want should not be confused
with total inactivity.
Life is what it is about,
I want no truck with death.
If we were not so single-minded
about keeping our lives moving,
and for once could do nothing,
perhaps a huge silence
might interrupt this sadness
of never understanding ourselves
and of threatening ourselves with death.
Perhaps the earth can teach us
as when everything seems dead
and later proves to be alive.
Now I’ll count up to twelve,
and you keep quiet and I will go.
Posted by pogo at 12:43 PM | Comments (1) | TrackBack
February 24, 2003
The Beach Be One of the Best Things There Be
Yesterday I went to the beach and acquired a sunburn. It was a beautiful, if overly windy, day in south Texas. Now I’m home and it’s 36 bloody degrees (and, according to those in the know, feels like 30.) Somehow it’s more depressing with my face all sunburned. I’m sure I’ll get over it. At least there was beach in my weekend, right?
Right.
Posted by pogo at 10:09 AM | TrackBack
February 21, 2003
You Came A Long Way From St. Louis
Hooray for U. City. It’s the home of Vintage Vinyl (best record store, ever, or at least it used to be. Lots have things have changed in the old hometown, so I won’t vouch for anything that’s happened in the last ten years), former home of Burrito Brothers (r.i.p.) and the place where I spent a lot of my formative years, skipping school and worse. I saw my first punk rock show (7 Seconds and Agent Orange, circa 1988) there in Cicero’s Basement Bar (maximum occupancy: 42. And if you really need proof that things have changed, and definitely not for the better, I offer you the current incarnation of said bar, the Cicero’s Entertainment Complex, complete with Jam Basement. Shudder.) It used to be one of my favorite places to just hang out, sit, drink beer or coffee, watch people. Anyway…
This was in this week’s Post-Dispatch.
In a nutshell, the City Council just passed a resolution expressing concern that recent federal actions - including the adoption of the Homeland Security and USA Patriot acts - could infringe on Americans’ civil rights. The resolution directs city employees to refrain from taking part in activities they believe may violate constitutionally protected civil liberties. So, yay!
But then they were reprimanded by U.S. Attorney Ray Gruender. So, boo.
This is probably not of any interest to anyone but me. Or any St. Louisans who happen to be popping in. It just pleases me to see that not everyone is sitting idly by letting the, ahem, Patriot Act, become accepted.
Posted by pogo at 12:22 PM | TrackBack
February 19, 2003
I Can’t Stop the Rain
Tired of being bogged down in politics. Time for another silly list.
Top Five Favorite Rainy Day Songs
5. Bob Dylan “Buckets of Rain”
Got all them buckets coming out of my ears
4. Irma Thomas “It’s Raining”
Drip Drop Drip Drop… I guess I’ll just go crazy tonight
3. Buddy Holly “Raining in My Heart”
Oh misery, misery
2. Lou Reed “City Lights”
Charlie Chaplin’s cane, well it flicked away the rain
1. The Fall “I’m Going to Spain”
I think it’s time I saw the world ‘cause I hate the cold and rain and grey
So now you know.
Posted by pogo at 05:05 PM | Comments (7) | TrackBack
February 17, 2003
Palabras
I’ve just learned a new word. It’s “treppworter.” I’m told the meaning is similar to the French “esprit d’escalier.” It’s Yiddish, and it means “stairwords,” as in the words you wish you’d said at the party, but are only able to think of on the stairs, going home.
I’m going to get a lot of usage out of that.
Posted by pogo at 12:10 PM | Comments (1) | TrackBack
February 14, 2003
Love
from Genesis
Memory of Fire
by Edward Galeano
In the Amazonian jungle, the first woman and the first man looked at each other with curiosity. It was odd what they had between their legs.
“Did they cut yours off?” asked the man?
“No,” she said, “I’ve always been like that.”
He examined her up close. He scratched his head. There was an open wound there. He said: “Better not eat any cassava or banans or any fruit that splits when it ripens. I’ll cure you. Get in the hammock and rest.”
She obeyed. Patiently she swallowed herb teas and let him rub on pomades and unguents. She had to grit her teeth to keep from laughing when he said to her, “Don’t worry.”
She enjoyed the game, although she was beginning to tire of fasting in a hammock. The memory of fruit made her mouth water.
One evening the man came running through the glade. He jumped with excitement and cried, “I found it!”
He had just seen the male monkey curing the female monkey in the arm of a tree.
“That’s how it’s done,” said the man, approaching the woman.
When the long embrace ended, a dense aroma of flowers and fruit filled the air. From the bodies lying together came unheard of vapors and glowings, and it was all so beautiful that the suns and the gods died of embarrassment.
Posted by pogo at 11:37 AM | Comments (1) | TrackBack
February 12, 2003
We Don’t Want No Fucking War
Today is the National Day of Poetry Against the War. As always with poetry, there’s some good, some bad, but what’s most stunning is that there is such an overwhelming outpouring. I hardly know where to begin. So I begin at A. There is so much. Go. Read. Contribute.
Posted by pogo at 04:48 PM | Comments (4) | TrackBack
February 08, 2003
from The Book of Disquiet
by Fernando Pessoa
23
Absurdity
Let’s act like sphinxes, however falsely, until we reach the point of no longer knowing who we are. For we are, in fact, false sphinxes, with no idea of what we are in reality. The only way to be in agreement with life is to disagree with ourselves. Absurdity is divine.
Let’s develop theories, patiently and honestly thinking them out, in order to promptly act against them—acting and justifying our actions with new theories that condemn them. Let’s cut a path in life and then go immediately against that path. Let’s adopt all the poses and gestures of something we aren’t and don’t wish to be, and don’t even wish to be taken for being.
Let’s buy books so as not to read them; let’s go to concerts without caring to hear the music or see who’s there; let’s take long walks because we’re sick of walking; and let’s spend whole days in the country, just because it bores us.
Posted by pogo at 03:48 PM | TrackBack
February 03, 2003
Coffee and a Piece of Pie
Oh dear. I mean, shit. Really.
I’ve just logged on to the American Pie Council’s web site and discovered that I’ve missed National Pie Day, which was on January 23.
This year’s just going from bad to worse.
I declare it the Year of the Pie. Just one day is not nearly enough. And maybe some more pies in it will help redeem this year. It can’t hurt.
Posted by pogo at 08:22 PM | Comments (6) | TrackBack