Saturday, April 29, 2006

p

In memory of George Lewis, Great Jazzman

 by Lou Lipsitz

1

 

Man is the animal that knows

the clarinet

 

     makes his living

on the docks, a stevedore,

110 lbs., carrying what loads

he can

 

the Depression comes along,

his teeth rot, no money, and

he has to accept silence

 

2

 

Thirteen years

later

     they put the instrument

back together

     with rubber bands

bought him

new teeth

     and then he began

 

          I    C    E

       E               I

     C                   C

   I                       E

     C                   C

       E                I

          I    C    E

  C-------------------C

 

     R              R

 

        E          E

 

           A      A

 

             M  M

 

              E    R                        A    V

       V                T              W              E

 O                           H    E                        S

 

  M------------------------------T

   Y                            I

    B                          N

     U                        I

      C                      E

       K                    L

        E                  O

         T'               H

          S G O T       A

 

One song they say

 

     was pure

uninhibited joy

words

     cannot tell you

 

     survived so long

in those empty jaws

 

3

 

He lived and died

there.

Had a New Orleans funeral.

 

Leading the mourners

his old friends' band

trudged

     to the cemetery, heads

down, trombones scraping

the ground, slow tones of

"Just a Closer Walk..."

helping to carry

     the solemn mud

of their steps.

 

Graveside,

     words said, tears fallen,

they turned

     to walk back;

a few beats on the big

drum, then soft plucking

of a banjo string--

     in another block

the clarinet wailed

and then suddenly they were

playing

     "The Saints..." full blast

and people jumped

and shouted and danced

just as he'd known they would.

 

4

 

Alright.  There is a frailness

in all our music.

Sometimes we're broken

and it's lost.

Sometimes we forget

for years it's even in us, heads

filled with burdens and smoke.

And sometimes we've held

to it and it's there,

waiting to break out

walking back from the end.

 

Thursday, April 27, 2006

q

Beyond happiness and unhappiness, though it is both things, love is intensity:  it does not give us eternity, but life, that second in which the doors of time and space open just a crack:  here is there and now is always.
     Octavio Paz

Sunday, April 23, 2006

p

A bonus poem this week - the lilacs are just beginning to open here and I was reminded of this poem, among other things...
 
City of My Youth
 
It would be more decorous not to live.  To live is not decorous,
Says he who after many years
Returned to the city of his youth.  There was no one left
Of those who once walked these streets.
And now they had nothing, except his eyes.
Stumbling, he walked and looked, instead of them,
On the light they had loved, on the lilacs again in bloom.
His legs were, after all, more perfect
Than nonexistent legs.  His lungs breathed in air
As is usual with the living.  His heart was beating,
Surprising him with its beating, in his body
Their blood flowed, his arteries fed them with oxygen.
He felt, inside, their livers, spleens, intestines.
Masculinity and femininity, elapsed, met in him
And every shame, every grief, every love.
If ever we accede to enlightenment,
He thought, it is in one compassionate moment
When what separated them from me vanishes
And a shower of drops from a bunch of lilacs
Pours on my face, and hers, and his, at the same time.
     
            Czeslaw Milosz  (trans. by the Author and Robert Hass)
 

Saturday, April 22, 2006

p

In a single cry
     the pheasant has swallowed
          the fields of spring.
                     Yamei

Wednesday, April 19, 2006

q

Life isn't a matter of milestones, but of moments.
     Rose Kennedy

Sunday, April 16, 2006

p

Easter Morning 

On Easter morning all over America
the peasants are frying potatoes in bacon grease.

We're not supposed to have "peasants"
but there are tens of millions of them
frying potatoes on Easter morning,
cheap and delicious with catsup.

If Jesus were here this morning he might
be eating fried potatoes with my friend
who has a '51 Dodge and a '72 Pontiac.

When his kids ask why they don't have
a new car he says, "these cars were new once
and now they are experienced."

He can fix anything and when rich folks
call to get a toilet repaired he pauses
extra hours so that they can further
learn what we're made of.

I told him that in Mexico the poor say
that when there's lightning the rich
think that God is taking their picture.
He laughed.

Like peasants everywhere in the history
of the world ours can't figure out why
they're getting poorer. Their sons join
the army to get work being shot at.

Your ideals are invisible clouds
so try not to suffocate the poor,
the peasants, with your sympathies.
They know that you're staring at them.

 

            Jim Harrison

Thursday, April 06, 2006

eliminating excess electron excitation

Recent studies have shown that the electricity required to power household appliances when they are in a stand-by mode accounts for approximately 5% of total annual residential electricity consumption. Using DOE data from 2004, this means that 64 million MWh of electricity goes to stand-by power, equivalent to the output of 18 typical power stations. A significant contribution to global warming!!
 
So don't leave that computer in stand-by mode - turn it off when you are not using it.
Your children will be glad you did!