Saturday, October 20, 2018

Murder in Constantinople - poem

Lawrence Hall, HSG
mhall46184@aol.com

Murder in Constantinople

As in an Agatha Christie mystery
A man - he ghosts into a consulate
As a flickering image upon a screen
The image, yes, but not the man is seen

          (A soft midnight splash in the Golden Horn)

As in an Eric Ambler mystery
Perhaps he is another Dimitrios
Another identity, and in the rain
Someone else slips aboard the Belgrade train

          (A soft midnight splash in the Golden Horn)

The inspectors inspect; the leaders lie:
We would not have it that Our subject should die

          (And softly flows the current through the Golden Horn)

Friday, October 19, 2018

Existential Despair in the Ohp...Opht...Eye Doctor's Waiting Room - poem

Lawrence Hall, HSG
mhall46184@aol.com


Existential Despair in the Ohp…Opht…Eye Doctor’s Waiting Room

Orderly rows of padded chairs among
Funeral home décor, fluorescent lights
HGTV eternally on TV
A really big and wide hi-def TV

On which attractive thirty-somethings yip
As they enter rooms: “OMYGOD! OMYGOD!”
What would they say if they encountered God –
OMYATTRACTIVELYFURNISHEDROOM!
OMYATTRACTIVELYFURNISHEDROOM!

And how many people with eye problems
Drive themselves to the ophthalmologist?

And did I spell “ophthalmologist” right?

Thursday, October 18, 2018

Murder in Constantinople - column

Lawrence Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com

Murder in Constantinople

“When you come to the point, it does go against the grain to murder an Archbishop.”

-Second Knight in T. S. Eliot’s Murder in the Cathedral

After murdering Thomas Becket in Canterbury Cathedral, the knights in Eliot’s play Murder in the Cathedral pause the action and address the audience in contemporary speech. Up to this point the play’s dialogue has been formal and in a broken sort of verse (apologies to Eliot-ans, but the man’s attempts at verse are obscure), but here the knights attempt to excuse their actions in prose. They are as evasive and as full of it as contemporary politicians covering their (tracks).

In real life King Henry, after his “Will no one rid me of this turbulent priest!” moment, had the four knights disappeared, as fans of John Le Carre’ might say. Assassins are as disposable as archbishops and journalists who forget their places.

Last week Jamal Kashoggi, a Saudi subject on some business or other, entered the Saudi consulate in Constantinople (only the ill-taught refer to that ancient city on the Golden Horn as Istanbul). He has not been seen since.

Rumor Control & Gossip Central have said that Mr. Kashoggi was murdered and dismembered, maybe not in that order, by Saudi secret agents and that his screams were broadcast by his exercise watch to his cell ‘phone outside the Saudi consulate. Maybe. Can exercise watches broadcast audio?

If there was a murder there will be no witness, for the operatives, like Mr. Kashoggi, will never be seen again. The Saudi crown prince has made friends and functionaries disappear in the past.

Recep Erdogan, the Turkish president who has stuffed lots of Turkish news correspondents into his prisons, purports to be outraged at someone else’s apparent rough treatment of a news correspondent.

Some foreign news sources have suggested that Jamal Kashoggi was a spy. Americans maintain that he was merely a journalist working for amazon.com’s in-house sheet The Washington Post.

That Mr. Kashoggi lived as long as he did is a surprise. According to our own overseas propaganda service, The Voice of America (https://www.voanews.com/a/who-is-jamal-khashoggi/4610403.html), Mr. Kashoggi’s family and pals include arms dealers, Osama Bin Ladin, former directors of the Saudi secret service, and Dodi Fayed. He may also have been associated with something called The Muslim Brotherhood. He was hired and fired and re-hired and re-fired by numerous news outlets, and after the assumption of power (in a coup?) by Saudi Arabia’s latest crown prince Mr. Kashoggi escaped from Saudi Arabia and into the arms of Jeff Bezos and The Washington Post.

Who and what was Jamal Kashoggi? Whose side was he on? Was he on the side of the good, the true, and the beautiful, or was he playing nations against each other?

Though the arm of a tyrant is long, Mr. Kashoggi was relatively safe in the U.S. Why did he travel to Turkey? Why did he enter the Saudi consulate there? For divorce papers? Really?

Our own crown prince and international arms dealer (https://www.nytimes.com/2017/05/18/world/middleeast/jared-kushner-saudi-arabia-arms-deal-lockheed.html) (https://www.businessinsider.com/saudi-crown-prince-jared-kushner-relationship-2018-3) is all palsy with the Saudi crown prince. Maybe those two bromance partners could get together over afternoon tea and sort out what happened to Mr. Kashoggi.

“So if we seemed a bit rowdy…”

-Second Knight

-30-

A Person of Interest - poem

Lawrence Hall, HSG
mhall46184@aol.com

A Person of Interest

The smoking gun is interesting enough
As is the bloody knife dripping with guts
And his meth-headed beheading of his child
But otherwise – who would be interested in him?

Wednesday, October 17, 2018

The Cold is More Poetic than the Warm - (this poem is not nearly as drippy as it sounds)

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com


The Cold is More Poetic than the Warm

The cold is more poetic than the warm
A man coat-huddled against December’s winds
Evokes more sympathy in those dark days
Of stinging sleet and menacing blue clouds

The warm is less poetic than the cold
A man hat-shielded against September’s sun
Evokes no sympathy in those bright days
Of dripping sweat and dripping-too sun screen

And though McKuen sang “Listen to the warm”
There’s music in the cold while icicles form



(Your grandmother and I are the only two people who
will admit that they still love Rod McKuen.)

Tuesday, October 16, 2018

The Last Christmas for Sears and Roebuck - as a poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

The Last Christmas for Sears and Roebuck

Where can one shop for Christmas if not at Sears:
J. C. Higgins sporting goods, Craftsman tools
Kenmore sewing machines, wonderful toys
The greatest candy counter in the world

And, oh! the best of all:

The little electric trains behind glass panes
Travelling across a cotton-snow Christmas land
From one tiny plastic village to another -
The Santa Fe Railway on tinplate tracks

A little boy’s dear dream for Christmas day
(But after an hour his parents drag him away)


Good-bye, Sears; thanks for the childhood memories.

Monday, October 15, 2018

If We Respected Work... - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

If We Respected Work...

We would

Ask a receptionist for her autograph
Gather in thousands in awe of linemen
Practice the carpenter’s hammer at home
Invite a mechanic to the White House

We would

Order as a keepsake a plumber’s last pipe
Post pictures of teachers writing lesson plans
Make recordings of a wise plowman’s words
Publish biographies of waitresses

We would

Envy the garbageman aboard his yacht
And the workers’ lifestyle that we know not

Sunday, October 14, 2018

"Human Eyeball Parts Grown in Lab" - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

“Human Eyeball Parts Grown in Lab”

-Drudge

What do you look for in an eyeball lab-grown
While maybe it is looking back at you
And if you are looking for an eyeball
What are you looking for an eyeball with?

Will we have eyeballs grown for occasions -
A lovely blue for a day at the beach
And a stunning black for the opera
And Harris-tweed brown for a country weekend

But maybe lab eyeballs are just a rumor
A corn-ea attempt at vitreous humor!

Saturday, October 13, 2018

When Robert Frost was Invited to the White House - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

When Robert Frost was Invited to the White House

When Robert Frost visited President Kennedy
They spoke of poetry and power, of man
Of greatness and of God, of man’s swagger
Of poetry saving power from itself

When Robert Frost visited President Kennedy
They spoke of the poet’s responsibility
The duties of good men to other men
Of magnanimity and liberation

When Robert Frost visited President Kennedy
We lived a golden age in those few hours

Friday, October 12, 2018

A Toe Fungus Good Morning - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

A Toe Fungus Good Morning

A yawning dawning clinging to the coffee cup
Dishwasher safe for your happy little home
You press the button for the magic screen
And the in-box presents - a toe fungus cure

Huh?

You opened the mail hoping for happiness
An existential why to the sleepless night
Matins and Lauds now electronical
And a note from a dear friend far away

But with your first sip of coffee, what did you see?
An ad for a toe fungus remedy!

Thursday, October 11, 2018

The Final Christmas for Sears and Roebuck? - column

Mack Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com

The Final Christmas for Sears?

How sad to consider that this may be the last Christmas ever for the store most associated with Christmas, Sears, nee’ Sears and Roebuck.

The ultimate symbol of American mercantilism, Sears began in the 19th century as a catalogue outlet, and by 1969 was the world’s largest retailer. In the 1970s, in a burst of optimism, the company built the Sears Tower in Chicago, until recently the tallest building in the Americas.

Sears marketed especially brilliantly in rural America, and the Sears catalogue was the source of much of Christmas giving. If you lived in the woods or on the prairie you might not be able to visit a Sears store, but through the catalogues and the United State Post Office Sears visited you.

Brands created by Sears include Kenmore, Diehard, Craftsman, J.C. Higgins, Allstate Insurance, and, for a decade or so, the Vincent Price Gallery of Fine Art. In the 1920s Sears built its own radio station, WLS (World’s Largest Store), which still broadcasts from Chicago although no longer owned by Sears.

J. C. Higgins was Sears’ sporting goods brand, and their firearms, contracted out to various makers, were the poor relatives of Winchester, Remington, and the other high-toned boys. With their plain finish and cheaper wooden stocks J. C. Higgins firearms were not the darlings of the Abercrombie & Fitch set; all that Sears’ plain-Jane firearms could do was put dinner on the table, reliably and without a show, generation after generation.

For reasons best known to the alligator-shoe boys with their master’s degrees in marketing, Sears discontinued the J. C. Higgins line in 1962. Those modest firearms now command premium prices by collectors and are worth more than the company that orphaned them.

In another unexpected act of self-destruction Sears recently sold off perhaps its most famous brand, Craftsman. Craftsman tools were, like J.C. Higgins, outsourced to various American manufacturers, were consistently high-quality, and were guaranteed for life. Now that the name has been sold and re-sold, and one cannot be sure where Craftsman tools are now made, we’d better hit the garage sales for the old ones.

For one small boy in the long ago, the most glorious aspect of Sears was the annual Christmas electric train display, and with his nose pressed against the class he watched the little trains, with all their lights and noises and signals and accessories, travel from one cotton-ball-snowy town to another on pressed-steel rails until, finally, his parents dragged him away.

An adult of course understands that Christmas is not about electric trains at Sears, but the little boy who lives on in the man is not entirely persuaded of that.

Goodbye, Sears and Roebuck, and thank you for those happy childhood memories.

-30-




De-Colonization x 2 (with the usual "Hey! Hey! Ho! Ho!") - doggerel

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

De-Colonization x 2

1. De-Colonize This Space

Drum circle protests genderplop demands
Indigenous discount store camouflage
We demand persistent stereotypes
Solidarity initiative project

Take back the people’s cultural statues
Ethnographic curatorial practices
Red spray paint fire imperialism
Repatriate the Iphone Starbuck’s cups

And don’t forget the “Hey! Hey! Ho! Ho!’
Because we’re, like, artists and stuff, you know?

2. De-Colonize This Space Too

Guns and cholesterol made America great
Fat white boys in discount store camouflage
Duct-tape the Bible and the border wall
We won our freedom with our Kalashnikovs

Fake news back-stabber not a war hero
SecondAmendmentSecondAmendment
Lock her up get ‘em outta here yuge deal
You RINO losers can grab my MAGA

You snowflakes are sissies, you millennials too
But ouch! my heel spurs hurt, oh boo-hoo-hoo!

Wednesday, October 10, 2018

The School Board Wants to Know What's in Your Child's Urine

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

The School Board Wants to Know What’s in Your Child’s Urine

In stately conclave met, each in his chair
The board of school trustees arrange their notes
And after an approved, appropriate prayer
They nod in their wisdom, then “aye” their votes

Entrusted with the dear, sweet children’s learning
With attendance down and the taxes up
The trustees feel a deep and mystical yearning
To make your child p*ss in a plastic cup

History, literature – what need of these?
(Make sure the valedictorian pees)

Tuesday, October 9, 2018

Catullus, Lesbia, and the Sparrow - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com


Catullus, Lesbia, and the Sparrow

Oh, foolish Catullus – have you not heard?
Your lover Lesbia gave you the bird!

Monday, October 8, 2018

Father Why's Glob - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com


Father Why’s Glob

And whan he rood, men myghte his brydel heere
Gynglen in a whistlynge wynd als cleere
And eek as loude as dooth the chapel belle

-Chaucer

A famous priest takes pictures of his meals
Writes detailed notes on how they were prepared
As he airplanes around the world attending meetings
To talk about people he doesn’t like

A famous priest takes pictures of more meals
Almost cellular closeups of bits of meat
While he is flying holy in first class
And praising his cabernet sauvignon

A famous priest promises prayers (and cookery tips)
If you will send him money for his many trips

Sunday, October 7, 2018

The Workman's Aubade - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

The Workman’s Aubade

Awake at four, he rises, lights the fire
And puts the kettle on for a cup of tea
Pulls on the work-stained overalls he shed
Only a few exhausted hours before

Working a shutdown stretch of twelves and sevens
Maybe he’ll make enough for Christmas this year:
Wonderful gifts for his family still asleep
He slips out silently through the back door

His wife and children are disappointed in him
Because he doesn’t do enough for them

Saturday, October 6, 2018

The Kent State Racially Right Drama Club - doggerel

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

The Kent State Racially Right Drama Club

Studio UFA has faded away
MosFilm has blended into something new
Cinecitta filmed in Il Duce’s day

But

Kent State University adds their own “We, too!”

For they’re now using race to cast a play
Kent State obeys the old gauleiter’s cue:
Sure, you can act, but what’s your DNA?
They only hire Authentics as cast and crew

You have to be correct to play a part –
And we are expected to call it art

Friday, October 5, 2018

Torah and Talmud - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com


Torah and Talmud

To be submerged in world and Word, in Word
That is the world, in words that are the Word
Written in holy fire, the eternal Song
In which and through Whom the world is breathed into being

The Torah scroll unrolls the years of creation
The pages of the Talmud frame the law
As in the statute-structure of the ark
Or as a tabernacle of the soul

To read the words, to chant the Word, to sing -
To be the yad in the great Hand of God

Art as Obedience - column

Lawrence Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com

Art as Obedience

Antonio Rodolfo Quinn Oaxaca, known to all as Anthony Quinn, was born in 1915 in Chihuahua, Mexico. During his long career this accomplished artist, writer, and actor played many characters of many national and ethnic backgrounds in the cinema and on stage, including: a Cheyenne (The Plainsman, 1936), an English king (Becket, 1961), a Hawaiian (Waikiki Wedding, 1937), a Portuguese (The World in His Arms, 1952), a Filipino (Back to Bataan, 1945, an Italian (La Strada, 1954 and The Secret of Santa Vittoria, 1969), a Greek (The Guns of Navarone, 1961, and The Greek Tycoon, 1978), a Frenchman (Lust for Life, 1956 and The Lost Command, 1966), an Inuit (The Savage Innocents, 1956), an Arab (Lawrence of Arabia, 1962), a Mongol (Marco the Magnificent, 1965), a Ukrainian (The Shoes of the Fisherman, 1968), a Jew (Jesus of Nazareth, 1977), an Afghan (Caravans, 1978), a Spaniard (Camino de Santiago, 1999, and The Last Train from Madrid, 1937), a Berber (Lion of the Desert, 1980), a Cuban (The Old Man and the Sea, 1990), and many others.

Mr. Quinn is said to have joked that he was never asked to play a Mexican on the screen or stage, though in fact there were a few of those roles, too.

To catch a late-night movie with Anthony Quinn is to be reminded of the greatness of this mostly self-educated man, tough, strong, smart, and professional, so unlike the knee-pantsied upspeakers of our time.

No one ever demanded that Mr. Quinn be forbidden to play Mayor Bombolini in The Secret of Santa Vittoria or a generic Anglo in Last Train from Gun Hill because he was born in Mexico and so could not be authentic in playing roles outside his DNA.

One wonders what sort of acting roles Mr. Quinn might now be forbidden to play in our increasingly DNA-obsessed era.

Two weeks ago the drama department of Kent State University was given the Article 58 (cf. The Gulag Archipelago) treatment because the casting of their proposed production of West Side Story was not DNA-correct.

Actors of Puerto Rican descent claimed that their story was being told by persons of unauthorized DNA

The reader may remember the gritty, mean-streets reality of the original play in which a Polish gang and a Puerto Rican gang combat each other at first through savage dance-offs. If that’s not authentic, then what is?

The play ends with the death of Tony / Romeo, though Maria / Juliet remains alive to give the “All are punished” speech at the end.

West Side Story is the plot from Romeo and Juliet, and thus a cultural appropriation from an English play. And that’s the point – Shakespeare’s plot is a gift to the world to be adapted and appreciated by all, not an ossified cultural artifact clutched jealously by a clique of Englishmen named Emma and Neville and Olivia and Trevor, still annoyed about the upstart Normans.

A tragedy of our time is that artistic endeavors in this nation, including theatre and cinema, are now subject to bullying, fear, and obedience to political and racial dictates. The theatre faculty at Kent State groveled their surrender to racist bullying instead of defying it.

The producers of drama in this nation once believed in artistic freedom and so scorned the racial and political policies of Goebbels’ UFA Studios, Stalin’s Mosfilm, and Mussolini’s Cinecitta; now they have themselves adopted those oppressive and DNA-ist approaches, sacrificing art to the obscenity of propaganda.

-30-

Thursday, October 4, 2018

To a Bishop - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

To a Bishop

Your Grace, you cannot be a common man
There are no common men - but there are men
And in their service, wearily, alone
You now must bear their mitre and their ring

Your Grace, please do not dine with the regime
They’re only using you, laughing at you
Nor with the blessed poor – you’ll slurp your soup
And they deserve better company anyway

Your Grace, you must completely humble yourself
Submitting even to being addressed as “Your Grace”