Saturday, April 4, 2020

Evening - Palm Sunday

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

Evening – Palm Sunday

The waxing moon knows nothing of Holy Week
And stars care nothing for sacred liturgies
Nor do the fireflies flitting among the trees
And ‘round the darkening lawn as evening falls

The beagle dozing in her rabbit-dreams
A neighboring cow looking beyond her fence
And honeybees buzzing to their night-cells hence
Would not understand the penances of Lent

For they never betrayed their God, and thus
They well may serve as a rebuke to us

Friday, April 3, 2020

Now They are Imprisoned Twice - poem

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

Now They are Imprisoned Twice

“It was very like living permanently in a large railway station”

-C.S. Lewis, Surprised by Joy

We cannot volunteer in prison now
The grids and grills that shut the prisoners in
Now serve to shut most everyone else out
And bars now bar us from teaching each other

Ours is a transient camp, barracks and wire
Grey buses run, usually in the night
Men are shipped out, and others then arrive
And we never really get to know anyone

For now, not at all

But in the evening meetings, once a week
Connections are made, however tentative
Like casual conversations while waiting for a train
We are all being shipped somewhere, you know

Tonight

Prisoners half-asleep on the hard bus seats
May our inadequate prayers follow them

Thursday, April 2, 2020

Notre Dame de Discount Store - virus-free poem

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



Notre Dame de Discount Store

"It gets you out of your solitary conceit"
-C. S. Lewis, God in the Dock

The tin-barn brick-veneer design is weak
Much like a Wal-Mart or a Dollar Store
The dropped ceiling is high-school ticky-tack
And the poor pews are discount-warehouse veneer

No one much prays before Mass anymore
Grown men wear shorts and sneaks and cartoon tees
The woman in the pew in front of me
Is tattooed up and down her pimply back

(God did not ask my opinion)

Perhaps He is saying, “I know you’re all
Wondering why I’ve called you here today…”

Wednesday, April 1, 2020

Yevgeny Yevtushenko - A Memorial (repost)

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

The first book I bought upon returning home from Viet-Nam was the Penguin Modern European Poets paperback edition of Yevtushenko: Selected Poems. That 75-cent paperback from a bookstall in the airport in San Francisco is beside me on the desk as I write.

At this point the convention is to write that Yevtushenko changed my life forever, gave me an epiphany, and blah, blah, blah. He didn’t. But I really like him.

All Change at Zima Junction

For Yevgeny Yevtushenko, 1932-2017

Everyone changes trains at Zima Junction
Changes lives; nineteen becomes twenty-one
With hardly a pause for twenty and then
Everyone asks you questions you can’t answer

And then they say you’ve changed, and ignore you
The small-town brief-case politician still
Enthroned as if she were a committee
And asks you what you are doing back here

And then you go away, on a different train:
Everyone changes trains at Zima Junction

“I went, and I am still going.”1


1Yevtuskenko: Selected Poems. Penguin,1962

Only You Mustn't Say "Corona" Now - poem

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

Only You Mustn’t Say “Corona” Now


Last night, the moon had a golden ring

-Longfellow, “The Wreck of the Hesperus”


Tonight the moon has a silver ring, a crown
A corona, and a corona of stars
Only you mustn’t say “corona” now
Not even if you want a glass of beer

When windy March began, the pestilence
As in the news, and trouble was anticipated
We all bought toilet paper and canned meat
And sanitizer in cute little pumps

Futility. The world itself has changed
But still the moon enthroned is crowned with stars

Tuesday, March 31, 2020

Will You Be in the Body-Bag Next to Me? - poem

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

Will You Be in the Body-Bag Next to Me?

Will you be in the body-bag next to me?
Crowed into a refrigerated truck
Bumping along the crematorium road
Kept frozen until removed for cooking

This Side Up

The sides of the truck might advertise ice cream
Or maybe the back door will be labelled “FISH”
The living will take photographs for the news
And for the schoolbooks children will ignore

May Have Passed Through Machinery Used to Process Nuts

When you and I, beloved, have ceased to be
Will you be in the body-bag next to me?

Gluten Free







When I came home from Viet-Nam I thought I’d never again have to consider body-bags.

Monday, March 30, 2020

If Jesus Wrote a Letter to a Catholic 'Blog - poem

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

If Jesus Wrote a Letter to a Catholic ‘Blog

If Jesus wrote a letter to a Catholic ‘blog
He would be told how very wrong He is
The huggers would scorn Him for His strictness
The rad-trads would damn Him as a heretic

If Jesus wrote a letter to a Catholic ‘blog
A jet-set priest would send Him pictures of meals
Both in first-class and in trattorias in Rome
And ask Him for a contribution for, oh, missions

If Jesus wrote a letter to a Catholic ‘blog
He would be blocked for violating community standards

Sunday, March 29, 2020

Tomatoes and Children in Wire Cages - poem

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

Tomatoes and Children in Wire Cages

They look so lonely, set out in a row
Behind the wire cages they are assigned
Peering out to the world denied them now
Fragile and young, so vulnerable, so small

But with sunlight and love they will arise
Growing around those cages, and building up
Beauty and strength in tended fellowship
In laughter, love, and, learning firmly set

They look so lovely, for they grow themselves
To bless the world beyond their poor beginnings








No, I am not doing the "Bad Orange Man" thing here; the restraint of children - some of whom are not children at all - brought across borders by their parents or those purporting to be their parents has being going on for a long time. The current president has not done anything about it, and, except for protesting, neither have you, and neither have I.

Saturday, March 28, 2020

Whiteoak Leaves - MePhone Photograph


We're All in This Together, Sure - poem

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

We’re All in This Together, Sure

We’re all in this together we’re coming
Together together as one we’re all
In this together we’re coming together
Together as one we’re all in this together

They twoot from their home studios i luv u
Their swimming pools i luv u their marble sinks
Remember i luv u here’s a song I wrote for u
And just for you copyright i luv u

And those of us encaged in little bed-sits
Are comforted by those posturing (tw)its

Friday, March 27, 2020

A Disapproval of Rene Descartes - cheesy rhyming couplet

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


A Disapproval of Rene Descartes

or

Putting the Cartesian Before Remorse


Rene Descartes, how foul thou art! Or wert -
For thou and thy mad maths art in the dirt!

Thursday, March 26, 2020

Learning in Virus-Time - weekly column

Lawrence (Mack) Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
Poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

Learning in Virus-Time

One of the conventions of the virus-time is for scribblers to publish lists of suggested books that might help cope with homebound isolation (and with the slowdown of the movie streaming service).

Some reading lists address understanding and dealing with the alarming nature of a time in which the comforts of brief periods of stability collapse because they have no foundations, and the essential uncertainty of the human condition is revealed. Viktor Frankl’s Man’s Search for Meaning comes to mind, as does much of literature. Tolkien’s mythologies contrast the transient with the transcendent, as do both the fiction and the scholarly writings of C. S. Lewis. Especially relevant just now is his essay, “Learning in War-time” (http://bradleyggreen.com/attachments/Lewis.Learning%20in%20War-Time.pdf). In children’s literature, even Peter Rabbit must cope with the reality that his father ended up as rabbit pie.

Other lists feature escapism as therapy, and that’s necessary too; constant attention to the news is unhealthy. A good dose of Louis L’Amour, Agatha Christie, P. G. Wodehouse, James Bond, and Barbara Cartland provide a necessary therapy.

Not so very long ago in calendar time but very long ago in virus-time I asked a (brilliant) student who always came to my class with personal reading what books she had been exploring in the two or three months since term had begun. She thoughtfully wrote out the list for me:

I Am not Your Perfect Mexican Daughter, Erika Sanchez

All Quiet on the Western Front, Erich Maria Remarque

Tell Me How it Ends: an Essay in Forty Questions, Valeria Luiselli

How to Become a Straight-A Student, Cal Newport

The Giving Tree, Shel Silverstein

The Love Poems of RUMI

I Touch the Earth, the Earth Touches Me, Hugh Prather

None of these books was assigned; like all thoughtful people my student always had a book to consider between classes, work, footer, dance, and her job: a novel with Mexican-American-adolescent themes, a novel a German teen soldier in the First World War, a study in immigration, a how-to about doing better in school, a childhood comfort-book as a vade mecum, a book of poetry, and, well, with an icky-sugary title such as I Touch the Earth Blah Blah Blah I investigated no further. Not all men are strong enough to withstand such a horror.

The point is that an exceptional young woman considered her world through dance and music and assigned thinky-stuff and sports and work, and also through the thoughts of others through lots of good books. And all without a national shutdown and threats of temporal harm to prompt her. We should be more like her.

Men…propound mathematical theorems in beleaguered cities, conduct metaphysical arguments in condemned cells, make jokes on scaffolds, discuss the last new poem while advancing to the walls of Quebec, and comb their hair at Thermopylae. This is not panache; it is our nature.

-CSL, “Learning in War-Time,” 22 October 1939

-30-

The Dancer on the Garbage Truck - poem

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

The Dancer on the Garbage Truck

He lightly leaped from the old garbage truck
Waved back at me, and sprinted to the bin
He Fred Astaired it as a pas de deux
And lifted it up with panther-like grace

The battered bin - it could have been: Ginger,
Leslie Caron, or maybe Cyd Charisse
He was a muscled young dancer who made
Even tipping the garbage a work of art

He lightly leaped to the old garbage truck
Waved me good-bye, and danced the day away

Wednesday, March 25, 2020

Logotherapy in the Virus-Time - poem

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

Logotherapy in the Virus-Time

I search for God within my books
Just as I scan the sky for Him
And peer into the minnow-shallows
And listen for His voice by night





(“Logotherapy” is an allusion to Viktor Frankl’s Man’s Search for Meaning)

Tuesday, March 24, 2020

Obsequies for a Hummingbird - a virus-free poem

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

Obsequies for a Hummingbird

Some disagree about the nature of death
Maintaining that it is in the nature of life
A logical end, and none should be mourned
But we were in Eden, and so we mourn

A hummingbird in death is unnatural
Its tiny wings should be as immortal as
They are invisible in darting flight
Shimmering forever in green and red

I will not bury it, no; I will lift
It gently into the bole of an oak

And from there, God…

Monday, March 23, 2020

Fleur D'espoir (Flower of Hope) - poem and picture in the virus-time

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

Fleur D’espoir

The deep blue spiderwort – she does not know
An epidemic now has been declared
And all the world beyond her cobalt glow
Has found itself panicked and unprepared

The sunbright spiderwort – upon the lawn
Reposes in her leafy springtime berth
Delighting in the sweet birds’ carillon
Smiling at Heaven, but close to the earth

The joyful spiderwort – careless of fear
Gives us hope, as always, in her new year



Sunday, March 22, 2020

Toy Graduation Ducks - poem in the virus-time

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

Toy Graduation Ducks

In another era – two weeks ago –
I ordered a box of graduation ducks
To be given to the high school seniors
As is my custom, for a bit of fun

But now…

The ducks have not arrived; the schools are closed
The stores are open, but their shelves are bare
The students are dispersed, only god knows where
Maybe we won’t see all of them again

Is this a time to think about toy ducks?
Yes

Saturday, March 21, 2020

Poetic First Lines Re-imagined for a Time of Self-Distancing - entertainment

Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
Poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

Poetic First Lines Re-imagined for a Time of Self-Distancing

1. “Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening,” Robert Frost

Whose woods these are, I think I know
His house is still in lockdown, though


2. “Sea-Fever,” John Masefield

I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky
But with all the travel restrictions, I can kiss that idea good-bye


3. “If,” Rudyard Kipling

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs, and stealing T.P. from the loo


4. “Sailing to Byzantium,” W. B Yeats

That is no country for old men. The young
Keep social distance, birds watch Netflix


5. “Night Mail,” W. H Auden

This is the Night Mail crossing the border
Bringing the cheque and the quarantine order


6. “Zima Junction,” Yevgeny Yevtushenko

As we get older we get honester,
And hand sanitizer when we can find it


7. “La Belle Dame sans Merci,” John Keats

O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms,
Alone and palely loitering?
The bread is all gone from the shelves
And no birds sing.

8. “Fiesta Melons,” Sylvia Plath

In Benidorm there are melons,
Whole donkey-carts full

No good for wiping


9. “The World I Used to Know,” Rod McKuen

Someday some old familiar rain
Will come along and know my name
And tell me all the Spam is gone
And I’ll have to move along


10. “What is This Gypsy Passion for Separation?” Marina Tsvetaeva

What is this gypsy passion for separation, this
Readiness to rush off – when we’ve just met?

(I didn’t change a word of this one)

-30-

A Rainy Day and Locked-Down Anyway - poem in the virus-time

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

A Rainy Day and Locked-Down Anyway

No excuses, of course: we must get dressed
If death itself appears at the front door
We would not want to be caught in our ‘jammies
Or in surrender flaked upon the couch

We will wake up to a glad morning hymn
And for inspection wash and brush and dress
For even if nobody else sees us, God will
And we must be ready for the Office of Lauds

That God doesn’t care how we’re dressed for prayer
Is a thumping lie: Up! and dress with care

Friday, March 20, 2020

With a Dog and an Oxygen Tank - poem in the virus-time

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

With a Dog and an Oxygen Tank

An old man with a dog and oxygen tank
Steers his duct-taped golf cart to the café
For the morning liturgy at his corner seat
The vinyl cathedra where he presides in state

At midnight all the cafes must be closed
It’s for our own good, the wise governor says
But since Pontius Pilate, who trusts governors?
All churches are closed, and, worse, all cafes

Where and with whom can he worship today
That old man with his dog and oxygen tank