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.

Friday, January 31, 2020

"Deputies Have Discovered Human Remains" - poem

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

“Deputies Have Discovered Human Remains”

-headline

So that’s it, then. Human remains, that’s all
A barefoot child running around the yard
Then choosing what crayon as a favorite color
Learning to carve letters with a Number Two

First tooth, first school, first love, first kiss, first miss
Tricycle, bicycle, school bus, an old car
With a funny pet name, skint knee, toothache
Not understanding why she walked away

And at the end of all those loves and pains –
“Deputies have discovered human remains”

Thursday, January 30, 2020

Electric Groundhog - weekly column

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

Electric Groundhog

Electric groundhog – that sounds like the title of a 1960s book of free verse.

However, PETA (People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals) wants an electric groundhog to replace the real groundhog that those old drunks…um…bon vivants in Pennsylvania wake up and display on Candlemas morning.

The bogus tradition is that if the groundhog sees his shadow on Groundhog Day there will be six more weeks of Super Bowl advertisements or something. Thus, for no logical reason, the boys put on funny hats, get tanked…um…merry, go out into the frosty dawn, and rouse a groundhog out of his sleep to observe whether the critter sees his shadow.

If a groundhog can see his shadow, the wobbly old fellows can too, so there is no point to bothering the groundhog.

Sometimes the groundhog also sees it that way. In 2009 New York’s Mayor Michael Bloomberg tried to hustle a grouchy groundhog into action and was justly bitten.

If that’s not a qualification for the presidency, well, I don’t know what is.

I’m talking about the groundhog, of course.

PETA feels that a groundhog shouldn’t be awakened at dawn, and there are millions and millions of workers who feel exactly the same.

Maybe the Groundhog Groupies could try waking up a sophomore? Now there would be a challenge.

If some mad scientist (“It’s alivvvvve!”) cobbles together an electric groundhog I will be interested in seeing it take a bite out of an electric mayor.

The news about the poor groundhog being awakened before dawn reminds us of this old wheeze:

Mother: “C’mon, child, get up; you’ll be late for school.”

Daughter: “I don’t wanna go to school!”

Mother: “You HAVE to go to school.”

Daughter: “WHYYYYYYY? The teachers don’t like me. The kids at school don’t like me. Even the lunch lady doesn’t like me. WHY do I have to go to school!?”

Mother: “Because you’re the principal, that’s why!”

Cheers!

-30-

But What About the High-Hanging Fruit? - poem

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

But What About the High-Hanging Fruit?

The last of the autumn apples, perhaps
Or the long-ago love that passed us by
Never falling to the Telescopic Fruit Picker
From Garrett Wade, $37.50

(I’ve got one of those, and it works just fine)

Or maybe pears, ‘way up among the leaves
Where dreams of better days to come were lost
To the old and tattered bushel-basket
That rotted away in the tractor shed

Then was it wrong to look high up for truth
That flew beyond our reach, our sight, our hopes?

Wednesday, January 29, 2020

Chat Details - When an Internet Service Suffers Its Own Systems Failure - poem

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

Chat Details –
When an Internet Service Suffers Its Own Systems Failure,
and in Which this Scrivener Encounters that Rarity,
a Customer Service Agent with a Brain


Luis Z (9:15:51 PM):

Thank you for contacting (Anapest)
Internet Customer Care. I'm happy
to help you today! Please give me just a
moment to review your account information
and I'll be right with you.


Luis Z (9:16:42 PM):

                                           Hello, Lawrence.
How are you?


Me (9:17:10 PM):

                               Fine, thanks.


Luis Z (9:17:32 PM):

                                                      I see you've contacted
us due you're trying to pay your bill, is that
correct?


Me (9:17:41 PM):

Yes.


Luis Z (9:18:16 PM):

                                       Lawrence, at this time we are
currently experiencing a system outage
which prevents me from accessing your account.
We apologize for the inconvenience.
Would you kindly call us back in 2 hours so that
we can complete this transaction once our systems
are back to normal? Is there anything else
that I can assist you with?


Me (9:19:00 PM):

                                               There is an irony

in an internet service unable
to access the internet.


Me (9:19:15 PM):

                                       Thanks for your note,
but in two hours I will be asleep.


Me (9:19:30 PM):

I can try tomorrow morning, if that's okay.


Luis Z (9:20:07 PM):

Thanks


Luis Z (9:20:10 PM):

                   That's okay


Luis Z (9:20:27 PM):

                                           Besides informing you about
the network outage, is there anything else
I can do for you today?


Me (9:20:31 PM):

                                          I trust I
won't be receiving any late / overdue
notices from (Anapest)?


Luis Z (9:21:06 PM):

                                           No


Me (9:21:39 PM):

                                                   Very good.
Thanks.


Luis Z (9:21:50 PM):

Lawrence, it has been a pleasure helping you
out! If there is nothing else I can help
you with at this time, thank you for chatting
with (Anapest) Internet. We appreciate
your business. I hope you have a great day!

Tuesday, January 28, 2020

An Elegy in January - poem

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

An Elegy in January

For Beverly Jean Keszeg Mixson
of Happy Memory

How very strange that this grey year has passed
In a confusing haste, amorphous and dim
Since that sad January day when life,
All meaning paused, collapsed within itself

Cold February rains fell upon her cairn
But then the happy leaf-time came to bless
That twice-blest earth where memories repose
Warmed by the sun, made golden in the fall

And now the cold has come again

How is it that the seasons flew so fast?
How very strange that one long year has passed

Monday, January 27, 2020

Plimsolls - a little doggerel about boat shoes

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

Plimsolls

I didn’t know I was wearing plimsolls
I thought I was wearing tennies
But when I look down at the dim soles -
Plimsolls? Dollars to the pennies!




(When I consider the burdened bathroom scale -
My cargo, too, is at the plimsoll line)

Sunday, January 26, 2020

Robin Hood, Whitman Publishing, 1950s - Photograph


The Purpose of Civilization - poem

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

The Purpose of Civilization

The apogee of civilization
Is a small boy sitting under a tree
On a summer day reading wonderful stories
About the adventures of Robin Hood

The small boy may well go to university
Fight in the wars, and someday have a boy
Of his own sitting under a summer tree
Reading those stories about Robin Hood

And we must always remember that the point
Of civilization is that small boys
Are free to sit under trees and read stories
About the adventures of Robin Hood

In youth, in books, and in the summer wood -
Finding there the true, the beautiful, the good

Saturday, January 25, 2020

Searching for a Lost Cemetery - MePhone Photograph


Searching the Woods for an Old Cemetery - poem

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

Searching the Woods for an Old Cemetery

For William Tod Mixson

The trail to the cemetery is mostly sand
Layered with leaves, debris, and memories
That fell upon the land, and were absorbed
Into the forest’s ancient unities

If a geologic catastrophe
Immortalizes the marks of our canes 1
In sedimentary rock, the future might wonder
What strange tripeds lived in the distant past

When a couple of ancients, you and I
Along this trail roamed under a winter sky


1 But surely not the Mark of Cain?

Friday, January 24, 2020

Mr. Peanut and the Doomsday Clock - weekly column

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

Mr. Peanut and the Doomsday Clock

…send not to know
For whom the bell tolls,
It tolls for Mr. Peanut

-as John Donne did not say

The Doomsday Clock (shudder) is menacing us again, much like the monsters under Calvin’s bed in the much-missed Calvin and Hobbes cartoon strip.

Children were first threatened with clockworkery around seventy years ago – if you don’t eat all your oatmeal the Doomsday Clock will get you.

Or something like that.

The American people were told that there was a metaphorical doomsday clock and that the hands were set at ten minutes until nuclear destruction and would tick-tock to our fiery end if we did not buy bonds and think pure thoughts.

As the decades have passed, the Doomsday Clock has been dusted off, oiled, and brought out like a fiery Moloch for every crisis that must not be wasted: Communism, the Russians, the Chinese, the military-industrial complex, pollution, global cooling, global warming, A.I.D.S., the Democrats, the Republicans, the Russians again, the Chinese again, Italians, Ukrainians, opioids (but pass me a legal joint, bro), robotics, autonomous cars – we’re ticking doomed, I tell you, dooooooooooooomed!

And, hey, maybe this time it’s true.

After all, Mr. Peanut has been disappeared by the Planters-Nabisco-Kraft-Heinz Continuum and their special operations squad of ticking vegan albino ninja monks.

Planters Peanuts was an American company was created by two Italian immigrants – hey, and you know what those Italians are like, and probably spying for Mussolini – and their mascot was Mr. Peanut Man, a dapper nut-about-town with a top hat, monocle, and cane. He cleverly dropped his Italian accent and became a symbol of all that is great in godly American legumes.

The Planters company, now absorbed by Nabisco-Kraft-Heinz, still makes all sorts of great foods and treats from the humble, nutritious, healthy peanut in the U.S.A., Canada, and the United Kingdom. This suggests the continuation of a nefarious Italian plot to take over the English-speaking world.

Why was Mr. Peanut offed in a purported car accident? Perhaps he knew too much. His death was convenient for someone, right? They say he was sipping on a New Coke while driving his Edsel past the exploding Jack-in-the-Box just before running into Elsie the Borden Cow, but that’s what they – They – would have us believe. And why weren’t the security cameras working?

Well, it was a quicker and more merciful end than that of Chuckles the Clown as Peter Peanut on The Mary Tyler Moore Show.

There are adults whose homes whose clocks and watches are all digital and who then complain that their children don’t know to tell time on a round-faced clock. Yeah, and why don’t they know how to plow behind a mule, hah?

How can our young be destroyed properly if they can’t tell time on a round-faced doomsday clock, hah? You answer me that, hah?

First they came for the tick-tock clocks, and then they came for Mr. Peanut.

It’s a pattern, I tell ya. We’re doomed.

-30-

Wooden Pulleys from my Grandfather's Farm - photograph


Ploughing Across the Gap - poem

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

Ploughing Across the Gap

Between old Monterey and Central Park
There must be other lands and other views
And different modes of discourse to be shared
Where surf and subway are not pillars of faith

Surely there are rough poets of the plough
Who speed it through the loam (and spell it “plow”)
Turning over words and ideas and love
And growing truth beyond the furrow’s end

A wheat field or an alligator slough -
Everyone is somewhere – so where are you?

Thursday, January 23, 2020

Dreary January - MePhone Photograph


The Green Meadow Through a Doorbell Camera - poem

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

The Green Meadow Through a Doorbell Camera

For Thornton W. Burgess
And all the Little Folk of the Green Meadow

Old Man Coyote and his comrades yip
And howl and bark out in the midnight fields
But closer by, images grey and green
Record the doings of the lesser folk:

Billy Possum ambles across the lawn
In hopes of carrot-ends and potato peels
Bobby Raccoon and Peter Cottontail
Each night stop and exchange the latest news

Timmy the Flying Squirrel is seldom seen
Young Flash the Deer on the edge of the screen
In shyness skitters away into the dark
And Bob Cat claims the whole world as his park

At dawn the little folk will slip away
But they’ll return tonight to browse and play