Saturday, February 29, 2020

PTSD on the Promenade Deck - doggerel

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

PTSD on the Promenade Deck

“We cannot go to heaven in featherbeds.” 1

-Saint Thomas More

Some are quarantined upon the ocean’s foam
Aboard a luxury ship trimmed all in chrome
The steward brings their meals (his name is Guillaume) –

The rest of us must die humbly, at home


1 https://thomasmorestudies.org/quotes.html

Friday, February 28, 2020

Coronavirus, and Yet... - poem in the virus-time

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

Coronavirus, and Yet…

Coronavirus - and yet the azaleas
Appear to leap into the morning light
Laughing against the latest northern winds
Who drive the cold and the shoaling liveoak leaves

Coronavirus - and yet the azaleas
Merrily prophesy the coming spring
For even now the naughty bees seek out
Soft open petals for their rites of love

Coronavirus - and yet when I die
I will live, and the azaleas will leap

Thursday, February 27, 2020

Absolute Complete Dumpster Fire Clown Show and Some Russians - Weekly Column

Lawrence Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
27 February 2020

Absolute Complete Dumpster Fire Clown Show and Some Russians

Almost as illogical as the debates are some of the comments on the InterGossip:

1. Complete / total / absolute dumpster fire – “Dumpster fire” was a fresh, effective metaphor decades ago; it’s tired now, so let it go to its reward. Further, a dumpster fire cannot be complete, total, or absolute. Some events need no modifiers.

2. Complete / absolute clown show – First, what is a clown show? When we visit the circus there are clowns, but is there an entertainment featuring only clowns? If so, it can be said to be complete when it is finished, but how can it be absolute or not absolute?

3. DemonCrats and variants – neither original, amusing, nor useful.

4. RepubliCraps and variants – neither original, amusing, nor useful.

5. The third-rail of politics – what are the first and second rails? The metaphor is based on electrified underground railways, which applies to very few Americans. No one in Texas takes a subway to work. A Massey-Ferguson tractor, yep.

6. Trumpf, Dumpf, Trumpsuxx, Killary, JoeBiteMe, crudities re the mayor of South Bend, Burnie, Fauxahontas, and all the other silly, sarcastic misspellings of names are counter-productive. And, anyway, we the people should be more mature than the candidates.

7. A rhetorical question followed by a pause and then “Oh, wait…” No. Please. No.

8. Hermione Grangering – now that is a fresh new metaphor. In ten years it won’t be, but people will still use it.

9. ROFLMAO – yeah, well, so’s your dog.

10. The Russians – Always the Russians. The Russians control the Democrats. The Russians control the Republicans. A cabal of Russian oligarchs control all the casinos in Dime Box, Texas. The Russians ate my homework. The Russians left the refrigerator door open last night. The Russians stole the tv remote control. The Russians are responsible for that one sock lost in the laundry cycle. I’m late for work because the Russians hacked my alarm clock. The radio mast at the big truck stop down the road is part of a Russian spy ring sending all our truck secrets to Russian albino monks in an underground bunker in the woods near Ekaterinburg. Yevtushenko’s poems are coded messages for taking down all our Ford Trimotor airplanes through modified AppleWorks programming. Vladimir Putin and the boys at the Moscow Kremlin monitor your doorbell cameras for laughs. The Russian navy sent a bunch of commandos ashore at Sabine Pass last week but they were all eaten by Texas Department of Public Safety attack alligators. Dostoyevsky was not a Methodist. Russians are infiltrating our school boards so that they can sneakily replace Hank the Cow Dog with Ruslan and Ludmilla. Only half the American electorate vote in presidential elections and somehow that’s the Russians’ fault. Moles that dig up the lawn because, hey, Russian moles, right? Boris and Natasha were looking over my shoulder and bullying me when I voted and the election judge wouldn’t do anything about them when I held up my hand like the presidential candidates. Sniff.

The Russians aren’t the problem. As Pogo said (does anyone remember Pogo?), riffing off Commodore Perry, “We have met the enemy, and he is us.”

-30-

Azaleas, February 2020 - MePhone Photograph


Macbeth and His Lawnmower - poem (of a sort)

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

Macbeth and His Lawnmower

My day of mowing has fallen into the sere
The yellow leaf, the brown leaf, still more leaves
Leaves, leaves, leaves, heaps of leaves, Birnam leaves - aaaaargh!
I look toward Birnam – weeds begin to move!

And that mowing which should accompany old age
I must not look to have; the mower won’t start -
Curses, both loud and deep, against false starts
The carburetor-breath which mocketh me

My day of mowing has fallen into the sere –
Methinks – methinks me’ll haveth another beer

Wednesday, February 26, 2020

Dusk, Ash Wednesday 2020 - MePhone Photograph of Luna, Venus, and a Satellite Dish


Giving Up Catholics for Lent - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

Giving up Catholics for Lent

He(ck) hath no fury like a Catholic with an InterGossip site

Every Lent of our lives we have been told
That Lent is not about giving up things
That instead of giving up things we should
Give away love, especially for some cause de jour

Every Lent of our lives we have been told
That we’re doing Lent wrong, whatever we’re doing
That what we did last year is wrong this year
We have always been wrong, but now we’re right

Oh, let us ignore the whine of Catholics online

And

Focus on penance and prayer, Host and Cup
(And may all us Catholics just shut up)

Tuesday, February 25, 2020

The Fifth Luminous Mystery - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com


The Fifth Luminous Mystery
 
Passover. Romans patrol all the streets
But we are invited to a rented hall
And who paid for the cleaning deposit?
I’m a little nervous; do I look okay?

This is a big deal. I’m not even Jewish
But I’m honored to have been invited
Because I’m not anybody special
But the Host makes everyone feel welcome

I know that no one is worthy of this
But still I ask myself – am I Judas?

Monday, February 24, 2020

The Amazing Accidental Spy State - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

The Amazing Accidental Spy State

The Famous Doorbell Cameras
Which are Sometimes Found in Doorbells

There are precedents: Orwell’s Airstrip One
Zamyatin’s One State, Jonestown in Guyana
Rand’s Council of Vocations, Spectre, Smersh
And of course Patrick McGoohan’s The Village

(Six of one, half a dozen of the other)

Mass Surveillance, OGPU, SMERSH, KGB
MI6, Gestapo, Bundeswehr, Red Guard
Abwehr, Stasi, DGI, SS, Cheka, COINTELPRO
FBI, Cheka, Special Branch, Okhrana

(and a spy drone in a pear tree)

But the spy cameras looking in on me
I installed myself - my idea, you see!

Sunday, February 23, 2020

The Broom That Stood by Itself When the Moon was Just Right - Doggerel

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

The Broom That Stood by Itself When the Moon was Just Right

I raised a broom up – and it stood alone!
But then I realized, with a gasp and a groan
There would be big trouble; it wasn’t my own -
‘Twas the broom my teacher rode to school on!

Saturday, February 22, 2020

Just Put "Sapphic" in the Title - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

Just Put “Sapphic” in the Title

Erinna popped over for a cup of tea
With Sappho, maybe a cigarette or two
And a chat about hendecasyllables
Then she walked home


Please forgive my poor attempt at a Sapphic stanza, but that’s part of my equally poor joke about expectations.

Friday, February 21, 2020

"Your Guys Were Chained Out This Week" - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com


“Your Guys Were Chained Out This Week”

Prison Volunteer

Even under the lowering overcast
The perimeter’s razor wire shines bright
While the headlights of the roving patrol
Search carefully across the parking lot

I show my driving license and my face
To a camera, and pass the clicks and clanks
Of gates and bolts – but no further this day:
“The last of your guys were chained 1 out this week”

May God watch over them, wherever they are –
They know the lessons far better than I


1 “Chained” is the in-house pronunciation of “changed,” meaning transferred. No one is in fact chained.

This poem is not a criticism of anyone; prisoners are frequently transferred for reasons of education, health care, therapy, pre-discharge services, and in this instance the conversion of the facility from a general population unit to a drug-rehab program.

Thursday, February 20, 2020

But Who Makes the Candidates' Beds? - Weekly Column 20 February 2020

Lawrence Hall, HSG
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com




But Who Makes The Candidates’ Beds?

Once upon a time there was, and presumably still is, a retired admiral who wrote a book telling us to make our beds. The book apparently sells well, for it is still on display in the bookstores.

Make Your Bed – yeah, that’s a big seller among teenaged readers.

The irony is that admirals do not make their beds; they have servants – formerly called stewards but now folded with other service workers into the catch-all “culinary specialist” rating - to do that for them.

One wonders if the fellows who made the admiral’s beds for him have read the admiral’s book on the making of beds. Maybe they asked him to autograph their copies.

The matter of the making of beds connects with the presidential candidates we heard rattling their dentures, hearing aids, and outrage at each other in Las Vegas the other night.

Does Bernie (such a cozy, cuddly name) Sanders make his bed in the mornings? Does Amy Klobuchar? Does Senator Biden make his bed or does he just give it his patented weird stare? Does Senator Warren break into PTSD tears when she recalls once having seen a poor man making his bed?

Michael Bloomberg thinks farmers and plumbers are stupid, indicating both a lack of humility as well as of perception of reality, so one does not imagine him meditatively making his bed before toddling off to a day of wheelbarrowing his billions of dollars about like Donald Duck’s Uncle Scrooge.

Almost all presidential candidates babble patronizingly about The People, The Little People, The Working People, Les Deplorables, arrogantly stamping our lives with rows of adjectives: black, white, the cringe-worthy “people of color” thing, brown, working-class, female, Joe Sixpack, male, soccer mom, straight, LBGTQ-and-a-partridge-in-a-pear-tree, rednecks, young, middle-aged, old, evangelicals, and on and on.

When a presidential candidate looks at you and me, I don’t know that she or he (one candidate cannot be “they”) sees you and me; she or he sees a stereotype, a vague blur in a voting bloc that must be group-addressed from a catalogue of cliches. To the candidate class we are not individuals, but only cardboard figures that decorate the sets of the Potemkin Villages of their bubbled minds.

Consider the line-ups of presidential candidates in either of the dominant political parties: who makes their beds, drives their cars, makes their morning coffee, cleans their floors, screens their calls, repairs their plumbing, serves their meals, and carries their briefcases?

Will those who make the candidates’ beds vote for them?

Now about your bed: when the moon is aligned with Mars and the Secret Hidden Planet Cucucucu you can stand your mattress on end and it will make itself. Really! NASA said so! You can look it up on the InterGossip!

That’s about as believable as the fantasy that admirals make up their own beds.

-30-

"Inside Pentagon's Secret UFO Program" - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

“Inside Pentagon’s Secret UFO Program”

-Drudge

Speculation:

Heading the secret UFO program
Is a brittle colonel with crystals and spheres
Magic pyramids on a desk at home
And a diploma from M.I.T. on the wall

A Captain Picard doll, essential oils
Once posted an indiscretion to Afghanistan
Where it discreetly died, and blocks promotions
For the enlisted men who do the work

Plays Elvis at night to the Taos Hum
Begging the outer-space aliens to come

Wednesday, February 19, 2020

Diag | ramming / Sentences - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

Diag|ramming / Sentences

Indirect object dangling \ bicycles
Compound | subject predicate nominative
Simple state-of-bean / or linking herb
Simple object, simple subject, simple me

Understood you? No, I don’t understand
Direct obstacle simple predicate compound
Simple predicate compound predicate
Stupid stick figures appositive plop

| __________ //////// ----------__________ direct object simple subject simple object direct subject LePage’s Paste predicate adjective clause as direct object understood you appositivescomplexsentencesimplesentenceAaaaargh!

Principal’s claws!!!!!!!!!!


/----(phhhht!)-----|----\

Tuesday, February 18, 2020

An Irrefutable Bullet-Point to the Nape of the Neck - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

An Irrefutable Bullet-Point to the Nape of the Neck

The moon was full, the snow was deep, he died

He was pushed to his knees in the shadows
“Just for the sake of curiosity,”
He asked the cold, “How much did I get right?”
“Too much,” a supervisory voice replied

The moon was full, the snow was deep, he died

Monday, February 17, 2020

The Consolation of Poetry - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com


The Consolation of Poetry 1

Boethius found consolation through
The teachings of Lady Philosophy
Austere and beautiful, whose logic held
The prisoner’s hand to his execution

An unread poet finds consolation through
The teachings of Erato, Thalia,
And Calliope, austere and beautiful
(And in his collection of rejection notes)

Boethius and I together know
The Muses love us, wherever we go



1 I would be surprised if “The Consolation of Poetry” has not already been used as a title of a book or poem. If it has, please advise me so I can change the title of my little scribble. Life is good.

Sunday, February 16, 2020

Voicing my Voice for the Voiceless - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

Voicing My Voice for the Voiceless

You cannot take my voice from me, my voice
For the voiceless who have no voices to voice
I am taking my voice out to The People.
My message, and my message for The People

That The People may find their voice, their dreams
And their message and voice their message to
The world to those who have no voice so I
Must be the voice for those who have no voice

You cannot take my voice from me, my voice
My message my voice my message my voice

Winter Among the Alien Corn: Primary Elections - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
A variant appears in The Road to Magdalena, 2012

Winter Amid the Alien Corn: Primary Elections

Costumed in baseball caps to plagiarize
Plebeian brotherhood among the swains,
Beg-hopeful archons of The People pose
Occupy-smug among foam coffee cups

And this is said to be an apprenticeship
For sending planes to bomb some far-off land
And wisely for to rule a people lost
Among wide flat-screened images of porn

Now let us chant:

The whole world is laughing
The whole world is laughing
The whole world is laughing

Saturday, February 15, 2020

Finding That Smoking Gun Flying off the Shelves at the Epicenter of Ground Zero - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

Finding That Smoking Gun Flying off the Shelves at the Epicenter of Ground Zero

‘Twas a riveting tale, flying off the shelves
A must-read forging a road at ground zero
An epicenter unlocking a path
To where you found the smoking gun – one hopes

That the gun will break before the news does
Because news is always breaking, but not
The guns, which always seem to empower us all
In breaking a glass floor or ceiling or something

We love our guns we love our S.T.E.M. we call
Them green so learn to code the code

Friday, February 14, 2020

Why We Shouldn't Abandon the Faith - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

Why We Shouldn’t Abandon the Faith

Because the bishops already have
And someone’s got to tidy up this place
You wash; I’ll dry
I’ll sweep; you mop

They’ll despise us anyway, but so what

Thursday, February 13, 2020

Texas Rangers and a Nice Salad - weekly column

Lawrence Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

What, Indeed, is in a Name?

“Bill or George - anything but Sue!”

-Johnny Cash

Once upon a time most babies in our many American cultures were named from the Bible or from Christian or other heroes and role models. Frank Sinatra got a double from Francis of Assisi and Albertus Magnus. John Wayne’s birth names were for a revolutionary war hero and an Archangel. Tamzin, a ‘way cool name for English girls just now, is a derivation of Thomasina, for any of the many saints named Thomas, and Jude (a good disciple, not that other one) is a steady favorite.

From the formality of the birth certificate to the merriment of the playground names learned to run bases and sink baskets and win at hopscotch in truncated forms: Elizabeth won tennis matches as Liz or Libby, Joseph scored touchdowns as Joe, Matthew won the science fair (and kept the peace in Dodge City) as Matt, Katherine ran track as Kat or Katie, and so on.

In the 1960s parents more and more began naming their children after movie stars and geographical features.

And now we are in an era when parents name their children not for biblical figures, saints, or honored ancestors, but to appeal to anti-social media mobs (https://www.studyfinds.org/many-parents-giving-their-babies-outlandish-names-to-stand-out-on-social-media/).

I dunno; maybe they could name the kid Google or Verizon.

Among the trendy names mentioned are Tovin, Cedar, Maevery, Faelina, Idalia, Anaveah, Sylvalie, Sophiel, Jasping, Wrenlow, Eastley, Graylen, and Albion.

There are few certainties in life, but one is that no child in Ireland has ever or will ever be named Albion.

And will little Cedar be prone to allergies?

The concept is that one’s child should have a name that is unique – okay, name him Unique.

The article mentioned the name Hunter as an example of a scary name, and so instead of naming a boy Hunter try Ranger instead because it is as outdoorsy as Hunter but is “plant-based.” That is a direct quotation from the article: “plant-based.”

When one thinks of Texas Rangers and Army Rangers the concept of “plant-based” does not come to mind:

“Sergeant Jones, we’ve been ordered to take Hill 409 regardless of casualties. Tell the men I don’t think many of us are coming back. We jump off in one hour.”

“Oh, good, lieutenant; I’ll just have time for a nice salad with maybe just a soupcon of diet ranch dressing.”

Or maybe:

“Okay, Rangers, the most nefarious, orneriest, littering, jaywalking, boot-scooting, check-kiting, hamster-rustling, Salvation Army Kettle-robbing, dental floss not-using, tobacco-chawing bushwhackers in all of Texas are hiding in that area of sagebrush. We’re gonna go get ‘em.”

“Oh, goodness gracious, sergeant, what about our carbon footprint and the environmental impact on the sage, cacti, and other historic forms of plant life native to this area?”

As Shakespeare did not say,

“Bill or George – anything but Sue!”

-30-

Upon Seeing Louis Malle's AU REVOIR LES ENFANTS - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

Upon Seeing Louis Malle’s Au Revoir les Enfants

Seeing is too weak a verb

We live his world through the pain of a boy
Who is lost in the world we adults made

We are lost in the January forest
Without our papers

We haven’t had fish in ages, ma’am. I recommend the rabbit.
Are we rabbits?

Are we the boys?
Are we the Milice?
Are we the Nazis at lunch?

Your papers, please. Your papers, sir
Now let me see your plastic
So that I know who you are

Are there wolves in these woods?
There are wolves everywhere

St. Thomas’s proofs of God’s existence don’t hold water
And neither do ours

Wednesday, February 12, 2020

The Signs of Jonah - Discounts for Lots of 100 or More - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

The Signs of Jonah – Discounts for Lots of 100 or More

All the answers are there
In a paperboard square
The latest so-true schtick
On the end of a stick

With the dutiful rant
With the dutiful chant
A bleat: “Hey, hey! Ho, ho!
Something-something has got to go!”

Someday I hope to meet
A man without answers
A man with an old book
A man with a walking stick

No, I won’t follow him –
For I follow no one –
But I would be honored
To walk with him awhile

Tuesday, February 11, 2020

The Reveille Summer of 1967 - Summer

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

The Reveille Summer of 1967

June
0200 on the First Day of Boot Camp

Some drunken chief in some office somewhere
On base played a record of “Reveille”
(From the French “reveiller,” to awaken)
And so we did, to lights and bellowings

And the liturgy of Matins and Lauds:
“Now hear this! Reveille! I say Reveille!
All hands hit the deck! Rise and shine, and greet the new day!
Reveille! Reveille! Reveille!”

A s**tcan sailed across the sleeping space
And crashed against our boyhood dreams

September
0400 on the Last Day of Boot Camp

Some drunken chief in some office somewhere
On base played a record of “Reveille”
(From the English “Shut the **** up”)
at which point a boot sailed against the b***h-box
And we woke up, to lights and grumblings

And the liturgy of Matins and Lauds:
“Now hear this. Taps. Taps. I say taps…
Taps? Reveille! Reveille! Reveille!
Aw, just get your ***es up!

All in dress blue, for pass-in-review
We had heard of Viet-Nam, of course

Monday, February 10, 2020

Some People Are Not in Prison - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

Some People Are Not in Prison
 
“What are we here for? We are not alive though we are living
and we are not in our graves though we are dead.”

― Fyodor Dostoevsky, The House of the Dead

The difference between people in prison
And people who are not in prison
Is that some people are in prison
And some people are not

Sunday, February 9, 2020

Oh, But It's a Civilian Medal - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

Oh, But It’s a Civilian Medal

“…the military will have served its purpose. All men will then be judged politically - regardless of their military record.”

-Commissar Razin in Doctor Zhivago

As veterans lie abandoned in the street
The President brags of military glory
The VA tells vets “Thank you for your service”
And shuts its polished doors against their pain

As veterans die abandoned in the street
A millionaire dies in a hospital suite
Clinging to himself his Medal of Freedom
His rosary of existential me-dom

As veterans die abandoned by a lie
The President’s motorcade slithers by

Saturday, February 8, 2020

Dear (famous poetry magazine) - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

Dear (famous poetry magazine)

Dear (famous poetry magazine):

                                                    There is little interest
In reading about anyone’s scrotum
His pancreas, maybe, or his elbow
Hands are nice, especially fingertips

Some of my best friends are men, I’ll admit
I’ll even sit at the table with them
They cook, they clean, they sing their little songs
Just as long as they know their place, okay?

As for scrota, I know they have their rights
But don’t get me started on the phagocytes








To Miz Grundy, Ideologues, Censors, and the Perpetually Outraged:

There is only frivolity here. I repudiate ideology, identity politics, and the misuse of art as propaganda. I would enjoy hearing about your loves, your visions of beauty, you first car, and your dog, but if you're packing outrage please leave it with the deputy at the edge of town (cf. Rio Bravo).

Cordially,

The Town Ne'er-Do-Well, His Mark: X

Friday, February 7, 2020

Two Hearts That Beat as Three - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

Two Hearts That Beat as Three

Is she looking at another? Is she?
Maybe while dancing, or over a drink
Or over the news at the coffee shop
Or when she thinks I’m looking away

Is she looking at another? Is she?
I mean, it’s all right; people look at people
It’s only normal. It doesn’t mean anything
But are they looking at each other?

Is she looking at another? Is she?
Is she looking at another?
                                                 Am I?

Thursday, February 6, 2020

The Execution of Pugachev - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

The Execution of Pugachev

The Little Father of his people hanged them
Along the banks of the Volga he hanged them
He told them he was the Czar, and hanged them
He told them they were free, and hanged them

Catherine saved her people, and she hanged them
Along the banks of the Volga she hanged them
She was their true Empress, and she hanged them
But Pugachev she beheaded and burned

The land was desolation, smoke, and ash
And the survivors were yoked to the plough

Wednesday, February 5, 2020

As Good Ol' Charlie Brown Did Not Say... - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

As Good Ol’ Charlie Brown Did Not Say…

There is no grief so painful
No enormity so offensive
No indignity so humiliating
No injustice so neglected
No frontier so walled
No crime so repulsive
No disaster so unresolved
No woman so wounded
No child so hungry
No man so lonely

That someone won’t type a

                                                                 #

In indignation

And then go for coffee

Concluding that he has done all he should

The Iowa Caucus: "I'm Sorry Dave; I'm Afraid I Can't Do That" - weekly column

Lawrence Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com

The Iowa Caucus:
“I’m Sorry, Dave; I’m Afraid I Can’t Do That”

From the Iowa Caucus we finally learn the nature of the H.A.L. in 2001: A Space Odyssey – it’s any computer used to record and tabulate our votes. It’s big, it’s expensive, it doesn’t do what it’s programmed to do, and it might kill democracy.

“I am completely operational, and all my circuits are functioning perfectly.”

The Iowa Caucus is a curious method for sorting out party candidates to run in general elections: it seems to consist of people moving around and then being counted. Odd, but it worked. Past tense. Some clever lads and their cliched electronic start-up – Shadow, Incorporated - developed an app (there’s always an app) to tally the votes electronically and sold this package of magic S.T.E.M. beans to the Iowa Democratic Party.

“I think you know what the problem is just as well as I do.”

The Shadow reported no results for hours, and days later no one trusted the incomplete results it finally excreted. According to the rules of the game, the party candidates can go no further if they don’t have the numbers, and the numbers were spinning and tumbling in a void for days.

“…I can see you're really upset about this. I honestly think you ought to sit down calmly, take a stress pill, and think things over. I know I've made some very poor decisions recently, but I can give you my complete assurance that my work will be back to normal. I've still got the greatest enthusiasm and confidence in the mission. And I want to help you.”

The Iowa Democratic Party sprayed the usual fog of cliches, evasions, and excuses: “clarity,” “coding error,” “transparent,” “modernize,” “new app,” “new backup systems,” “abundance of caution,” and blah-blah.

(https://www.desmoinesregister.com/story/news/elections/presidential/caucus/2020/02/04/iowa-democratic-party-delayed-caucus-results-should-soon-published/4659581002/)

“I know everything hasn't been quite right with me, but I can assure you now, very confidently, that it's going to be all right again. I feel much better now. I really do.”

When political parties mess with elections (a fine old Texas tradition; Iowa could learn from us), the challenge used to be corrupting, organizing, and silencing a number of people.

Altering ballots in a back room or making a physical ballot box full of paper ballots disappear (https://texasmonitor.org/missing-ballot-box-may-be-reason-for-vote-discrepancy-in-midland-county-election/) requires skill and good old-fashioned teamwork.

Making electronic ballots disappear, change, and dance on the grave of the Republic requires only one obedient techno-functionary and his laptop.

“This mission is too important for me to allow you to jeopardize it.”

No computerized voting, please. Let’s stay with paper ballots, each of which is counted by several tabulators and observers. If political parties, any of them, are going to steal our votes, let’s make them work for it.

-30-

Tuesday, February 4, 2020

Rome in the Back Yard - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

Rome in the Back Yard

Upon reading Cecil Day-Lewis’
“A Letter from Rome”

Well, okay, it’s not really Rome back here
It’s Texas, right? But still, some Senator
Of his people spoke in a language lost
Of duty and work and foreign relations

Treaties with the nations across the creek
Military service and sacred rites
Hunting and work, care for the holy fire
And kindnesses to the aged and weak

Here, where the liveoak shadows everything
Yes, here, right here, before we Others came

Monday, February 3, 2020

Saturday with Hegel - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com


Saturday with Hegel

I. Morning Thesis - Down at the Old-Man Café

Lock and load lock her up love that Trump
Another coffee hey check out her *ss
They just need th’ Bible and whup them kids
Th’ Superbowl coon hunt d*mned snowflake libs

II. Afternoon Antithesis - Deep in the Literary Magazines

Iconic icon self-empowerment
Patriarchal oppressivist must-read
Post-neo-trans-colonialist quagmire
Of gender-fluid green technocracy

III. Evening…Synthesis?

There is no synthesis to be found here
To Phhhht! with them; let’s have another beer

Sunday, February 2, 2020

Gift Shop Idols - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

Gift Shop Idols

                    How sharply our children will be ashamed…
                    Remembering how in so strange a time
                    Common integrity could look like courage

-Yevtushenko, “Talk”

They were neither ancient nor beautiful
Someone procured them and said that they were so
Those gift shop idols before which poor weaklings bowed
Grotesques which glorified neither God nor man

(Splash)

But there are many other golden calves
And most of them lurking within ourselves
Littering our souls with rubbish and sludge
There’s much in us that needs tossing away

(Splash)

If we stand upon the Ponte San Angelo
And look down to the mud –
                                                 we might see ourselves

Saturday, February 1, 2020

"We are a Diverse Collective" - poem

Lawrence Hall, HSG
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

“We are a Diverse Collective” 1

Of individualist obedientiaries
Who think for ourselves if others approve
And apologize if others disapprove
And what are we disapproving of today?

We are the brave submissive resistance
Mensheviks this week, Bolsheviks the next
Courageously saying whatever we are told
We write what we think – and is this okay?

And one dare not get too big for their pants
Lest one then lose their corporate grants


1 From an article in Hyperallergic

Super-Dooper Super-Servile Bowl Sunday (or something) - poem

Lawrence Hall, HSG
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

This is a re-post with modifications.

Super-Servile Sunday

O sink not down into that corrosive couch
Docile before the Orwellian screen
That regulates the lives of the servile
Dictating dress, demeanor, drink, and dreams

Declare your independence from the sludge
Of vague obedientiaries who drowse
Away their empty lives in submission
To harsh, diagonal inches of rule

Poor weaklings chanting tainted tribal songs
In chorus hamsterable, huddled, heaped
While costumed in their masters’ liveries
And feeling little while thinking even less

The very model of the knee-pants guys
Predictable and dull, submissive ghosts
Crowded, herded through cosmic cattle chutes
Yammering in dim, noisy nothingness

But you –

But you, O you, be not of them, but choose
To be a wanderer in the moonlight
Alone in manly dignity


(The allusions to Milton, Shakespeare, and Keats are deliberate)

Cultural Allusions in JEEVES AND THE FEUDAL SPIRIT - a very brief essay

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

A Few Cultural, Biblical, and Literary Allusions
in Wodehouse's Jeeves and the Feudal Spirit

I can add nothing to the many accurate and excellent reviews of Wodehouse’s wonderful Jeeves and Wooster stories. However, on this re-reading I made a few careless notes about cultural, biblical, and literary allusions in Jeeves and the Feudal Spirit (1954), which include:

Agatha Christie and Hercule Poirot – several times
“Rime of the Ancient Mariner”
Sword of Damocles
U.S. Civil War
Kipling - “Gunga Din”
Lot’s Wife
Wordsworth - “Daffodils”
T. S. Eliot
Dostoyevsky
Humphrey Bogart
Tolstoy
Longfellow – “Excelsior”
Flaubert
French Foreign Legion
Groucho Marx
Mae West
Gadarene Swine
P. T. Barnum
Helen of Troy
Balaam’s Ass
Jokes about modern poetry
Robert W. Service
Paul Revere
William Ernest Henley - “Invictus”
Robert Browning
W. H. Auden
Sherlock Holmes
Keats
Sir Philip Sidney
Roget’s Thesaurus
Shakespeare – Hamlet, Othello, Henry V, Merchant of Venice, Macbeth, Julius Caesar

And I have surely missed many, many others.

Wodehouse is always therapeutic, but he is also a catalogue of the culture common to English-speaking readers of all nations and social levels in the last century, long before the chants of “Learn to code” (sometimes rendered as “Learn. To. Code.”) blasted civilization away in favor of obedient, unquestioning mechanical servitude.