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.

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?