Victory for the Slain, by Hugh Lofting - a brief review

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

Today I finished a first reading of Hugh Lofting’s Victory for the Slain only hours after receiving it in the mail. This is one of the best things I have ever read, and I am going to begin re-reading it tonight, slowly and carefully, savoring each line and each cultural and historical allusion.

Mr. Lofting, famous for the Doctor Doolittle stories for children, was wounded in body and heart in the First World War, and in 1942 wrote this deeply-felt and deeply-thought poem as a rebuke to the keyboard commandos who are in every generation so eager to sacrifice the lives of young men and women (not their own children, of course; they are sent to serve bravely in law school). As a Viet-Nam veteran I “amen” almost every line.

Mr. Lofting’s Catholic upbringing and solid education are obvious; Victory for the Slain is a work built upon a life of faith, study, thought, prayer, and bloody experience. It is a message poem, all right, but a brilliant and disciplined one. One reads the tired old weak defense of a poor piece of work with, “But it’s from the heart” – well, this poem is from the heart, right enough, but it is also from the head and from the careful consideration of the thousands of years of civilization.

Walmer is a small press (but not literally a press; the book was printed in the USA) in Shetland (http://michaelwalmer.com/index.html). They have taken this neglected poem and printed it on beautiful, cream-colored paper in a beautiful, accessible typeface.

Victory for the Slain is a keeper.

Immigration Policies along Beer Can Road - poem

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

Immigration Policies along Beer Can Road

Tejas y Libertad Para Siempre

There where the road bends, refugee Californians
are shooting at targets in their back field
At the other end of the road refugee Mexicans
Are plowing with the tractor they can now afford

Tejas y Libertad Para Siempre

Refugee New Yorkers are learning the joys
Of racing four-wheelers up and down
Past where this refugee from a day’s work
Clings to his Wordsworth and a glass of Scotch

Tejas y Libertad Para Siempre

Welcome to Texas
It’s a little crazy here, and we love it

Tejas y Libertad Para Siempre!

Conversation with the ‘Possum Who Sees my Garden as its Salad Bar - poem

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

Conversation with the ‘Possum Who Sees my Garden as its Salad Bar

We wretched humans are always setting traps
Usually for each other, but sometimes
Live-traps for the little critters of night:
“’Possum, I want you out of my garden.”

The ‘possum replies, “Hiss!”

“’Possum, you’ve been in this trap all night long;
So now if I let you out of this cage
Will you promise to be a better critter,
And leave my tomatoes alone, okay?”

The ‘possum replies, “Hisss!”

“’Possum, I know that these fields are your home,
But if you keep nibbling up the young squash
I’m going to take you away into the woods
And let you loose there; I wouldn’t like that”

The ‘possum replies, “Hissss!”

“’Possum, we’ve had this conversation before;
Do you want all this on your permanent record?”

The ‘possum replies, “Hisssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss!”

Lancaster Bomber Repurposed as a Passenger Plane, Dinky Toy, Meccano, York

I don't have a starship Enterprise but I do have this nifty toy Lanc rebuilt for passenger service

Shakespeare Aboard the Enterprise - weekly column

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

Shakespeare Aboard the Enterprise

While isolated in my rural estate here along Beer Can Road and County Dump Extension I have been dragging hoses, reading Robert Frost, saying bad things about the ‘possums pillaging my vegetable garden, and considering Star Trek:

Star Trek: The Movie works much better if you don’t think of it as a Star Trek movie but as maybe a Robert A. Heinlein movie with Star Trek characters.

Still, the pajamas are awkward.

There are no Methodists in Star Trek. Nor are there any Baptists or Catholics or Jews. Once in a while Spock goes to his room to meditate in some sort of vague, fuzzy way, or maybe he’s just smoking a cigarette, but there is seldom a hint of a deity.

In Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan the eponymous anti-hero, brilliantly played by Ricardo Montalban, almost seems to be quoting Satan from Milton’s Paradise Lost (he’s not, though) in his dying, hate-filled repudiation of any concept of the good, even his own value as a created being, in his pathetic obsession with revenge: “From Hell’s heart, I stab at thee. For hate’s sake, I spit my last breath at thee.”

Pretty gamey stuff, but when we consider the equally pathological responses on popular InterGossip sites, Khan seems to reflect the intellectual and ethical lapses of our time.

The story arc of films II, III, and IV does consider thoughtfully the possibility of the existence of the soul, and V considers the possibility of God.

Both in the various series and in the films William Shakespeare pops up so often that he might as well be one of the crew. He certainly deserves credit for the many plots, sub-plots, quotations, allusions, and moral themes that are a constant in Star Trek.

James T. Kirk is the guy you’d want covering your back in a cafeteria rumble, but Jean-Luc Picard is the guy you’d want sitting next to you during an exam.

And why “Jean-Luc?” Captain Picard’s beverage of choice is Earl Grey tea (Twining’s, no doubt) and he is more Shakespeare than Shakespeare. He’s so English that you expect some crop-headed harridan wearing sustainably-farmed sneakers to run onto the set screaming, “Decolonize this bridge!”

Lieutenant Uhura – the adult aboard the starship.

Lieutenant Sulu – a Boy Wonder in search of his Batman, but don’t call him “Tiny.”

Ensign Chekov – like Ilya Kuryakin from The Man from Uncle, an adorable little Commie. He probably beams Federation secrets to Saint Petersburg / Leningrad.

Commander Spock – probably not much fun at a party.

Commander Scott – give him a wrench, a roll of duct tape, a multi-tester, a technical journal, and a dram of Scotch and he’ll re-float and re-build the Titanic within four days. Okay, Captain Kirk, for you, two days.

For the duration of the isolation Patrick Stewart, now Sir Patrick (but he wears his knighthood lightly), reads each day a sonnet by Shakespeare with the occasional amusing aside and sometimes a firm dismissal, every schoolboy’s dream: “I don’t like Sonnet 9…I’m not going to do it. Because nobody’s going to make me.”

https://twitter.com/SirPatStew

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Garden Pest - MePhone photograph

And of course I let him or her off with a caution.



Opossums / 'possums are beneficent creatures who eat carrion and who attract and then eat ticks which carry diseases deadly to humans. My argument with this little fellow was that he found my garden tomatoes more delish than carrion and ticks. After he spent a night in the cells and had to listen a stern barking-to by the dogs I released him into the wild. 

And the Star over Bethlehem - poem

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

And the Star over Bethlehem

"In our world…a star is a huge ball of flaming gas."

“Even in your world, my son, that is not what a star is but only what it is made of."

― C.S. Lewis, The Voyage of the Dawn Treader

To wish upon a star is good enough
But maybe we should also ask that star
To pray for us. If it is a sentient being
Then it would probably like to be asked

But we should not pray for the star in turn
Because although stars have been known to fall
They have never disobeyed the Creator
And thus in Truth they have never Fallen at all

But all is well:

For even if a star is not a sentient being
God sees to it that prayers are never misplaced

Always Proofread Your Work - image from the Orwellian telescreen

Always proofread your work.

A Christian Writer Breaks His Silence - poem (and a true story)

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

A Christian Writer Breaks His Silence

On a monastic retreat many years ago

At the guests’ table late on Sunday night
We were but few, and permitted to speak
But one was silent, who didn’t think it right
The Famous Writer, gaunt, and pale of cheek

He graced the company with his knowing smile;
His healing books, his poems about Christian peace
So noted for their teachings and grace-filled style
Made our poor converse seem like mere caprice

But as someone came ‘round with the coffee pot
He finally spoke: “Reagan ought to be shot!"


(My poor memory suggests that his actual words were, "That Reagan oughta be shot!" or "That Reagan needs to be shot!")

Anna-Apples in the Merry Month of May

These will be mature at the beginning of June, God, raccoons, winds, rains, and hail permitting.

Creation's Intermittent Rain - poem

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

Creation’s Intermittent Rain

Soft rain to make the apples plump with pride

          Bright sun to make the apples blush with red

Soft rain to batter at the sunflowers’ stride

          Bright sun to make each sunflower lift its head

Soft rain to fill the honeybees’ round pools

          Bright sun to call the honeybees to work

Soft rain to make all flowers into jewels

          Bright sun again – is this a solar quirk?

Soft rain to baptize God’s beloved earth

          Bright sun to display its glory and worth




(Anna-apples, modified for hot climates, ripen their sweet little apples in June)


(The transfer is erratic; there should be no underlining, blue coloring, or other errata.)

Welcoming a Baby Squash into the World - MePhone Photograph

Burning a Vacuum Cleaner - poem

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

Burning a Vacuum Cleaner

I burned a vacuum cleaner – and I was GLAD
It was broken beyond repair and so
I took it away to the Smithfield place
And torched the industrial revolution

After its long career of breaking the peace
Of violating domestic harmony
Of terrorizing little kittens and pups
And screaming all through Sunday afternoons

It finally fragmented, flailed, and failed
Polluting the atmosphere (I could be jailed!)

An Unremarkable MePhone Photograph of a Tree Frog in the Rain Gauge

This tree frog lives in perfect safety at #5.


I use two drops of food color to make the water level more visible.

Fahrenheit, Celsius, and a Non-Sequitur Tree Frog - poem

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

Fahrenheit, Celsius, and a Non-Sequitur Tree Frog

To ask what the temperature is today
Is too ask how high is up or low is down
For one must read what a red pointer says
In the arc of a circle or a line in a tube

The only true measures of temperature
Are sweating and shivering and just right
Those measures are of childhood and old age:
Sitting under an oak and reading in peace

A tree frog lives in the plastic rain gauge
When the rain falls he moves out ‘til it’s over

Crucifix - MePhone Photograph

The Crucifix on the Wall has no Sount Effects - poem

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

The Crucifix on the Wall has no Sound Effects

A crucifix

A crucifix offers no sound effects
Perhaps a tiny electronic box
Could be hidden within it, programmed to speak
the words of Us – just pull the little string

A crucifix

God nailed to the Cross, then nailed to the wall
“That’s ever so nice; where did you get it?”
Hecho en China by way of Amazon
You can track our Lord’s delivery date

A crucifix

It can’t project the noise, the jeers, the boos -
It doesn’t drip Blood on your Sunday shoes

An Up-to-Date Darwinian Squeaks, Speaks, Thunders, and Harrumphs - poem

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

An Up-to-Date Darwinian Squeaks, Speaks, Thunders, and Harrumphs

“…we’re going to get science applied to social problems and backed by the whole power of the state…”

-Mark Studdock in C. S. Lewis’ That Hideous Strength

Well, they were old; they needed to die, okay?
The children are immune, well, mostly immune
We won’t lose many of them, and we’ve got more
Let herd immunity sort them all out

Follow the science

Follow the science - we’ve got this new vaccine
We’ll try it out on the bedridden first
And old malarial pills for the veterans
Take another bullet for your country, guys

Follow the science

As for me

I sold my stocks early at an awesome rate
And now I Zoom™ science from my country estate

Obey The Science

Scenes Along Beer Can Road - MePhone photographs

Relics of My People

 

Hey, where's the couch?

In Isolation on Beer Can Road - weekly column

Lawrence (Mack) Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com

In Isolation on Beer Can Road

As Garrison Keillor might have said, before he got all Lefty and petty, it has been a quiet week here along Beer Can Road and County Dump Extension.

The economic situation has been cruel to many businesses, but obviously not to the beer industry, whose cast-off cans sparkle in the spring sunshine up and down the road past my rustic rural retreat. And then there’s that old couch someone dumped weeks ago. I don’t suppose there’s a dead body in it, but I’m not going to look.

The guy speeding in the hot red sedan seems to be trying to make it launch, and that is possible, but without wings and controls the car would land in a tree – or tree in a tree – and that would be an unhappy ending. But maybe all the beer cans would cushion the impact.

This spring’s weather has been unusually pleasant. Soon enough the withering heat and humidity of summer will fall upon us, but for now sitting under an oak tree in the late afternoon with a refreshing beverage and the poems of Robert Frost is a joy.

Joining in the merriment are woodpeckers, cardinals, mourning doves, one tiny Carolina or black-capped chickadee, and a few insolent squirrels. They all gather at the water dish and the feeder to feast on chicken scratch from the feed store. Clouds of humming bees monopolize the water dish but will permit the birds and squirrels to take a sip if they act nicely and behave themselves. These are perfect occasions for reading Robert Frost, and the critters don’t seem to mind either him or me.

The setting sun permits a visual display of the bees as they speed between the water dish and their hives a few hundred yards away. Without those late sunbeams a human could not see them in transit and marvel at their speed and navigation. That they don’t hit each other head-on is a great mystery.

Without bees we would have very little to eat; their transfer of pollens from and to all sorts of trees, crops, grasses, and other plants makes possible the generation of fruits, grains, and vegetables season after season.

Thus, providing water for the little fellows and avoiding dusting the garden against pests until after dark is, as the old farmers always remind us, an essential in life.

As the sun sets the book must be closed and the seat cushions brought inside. After dark the raccoons, flying squirrels, ‘possums, feral cats, and an occasional deer will begin their night patrols in the front yard. Flying squirrels are so tiny that all the security camera catches of them are their bright eyes. If a bit of kitchen scrap has been tossed out then sometimes the Darwinian struggle – well, okay, more of a Darwinian hissy-fit – is played out as ‘possum vs. ‘possum, raccoon vs. racoon, and even raccoon vs. possum. The big raccoon always wins the supper against the ‘possum, but the ‘possum makes a good show of belligerence.

In the mornings there is a scent of skunk lately, but this creature hasn’t yet shown up on the video feed. And I understand; if we smelled like that we wouldn’t want to be out in public either.

-30-