Songs

Lewis Ellingham

2011

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© Lewis Ellingham

Many of the cited song lyrics in this workare copyrighted, and permission toreproduce has not been sought. As

excerpted material situated tobe a part of an originalcomposition, these are

transformed texts, a part ofa larger whole. A list of sources

online and from printed materialappears at the end of this book.

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Contents

page 5 — l’arc-en-ciel7 — Always10 — Amazing Grace13 — angels sing thee16 — The Archer18 — Avalokitasvara20 — before you break my heart23 — Bei Mir bis du Schön25 — Blauer Engel31 — A Bridge33 — ce beau matin38 — cool40 — exactly43 — faded amber46 — Hannah48 — her dream of love was gone50 — how you can love54 — laughing at the clouds57 — The Library60 — magic pool63 — une maison bleue adossé à la colline66 — mam’selle69 — Margie71 — mine eyes have seen76 — The Mission78 — mosquitoes80 — my face painted with blue83 — Nokomis88 — The Oriole90 — The Owl90 — paired Chinese elms96 — pebbles98 — le stelle che tremano101 — I’ve lost our good old mama104 — The Window107 — The Witness111 — a wonderful world

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l’arc-en-ciel

a cabbage butterflyflutters almost to a pause,

a moment of sunlightbreaking through the fog

of almost every July morning,a scream (there’sno other word (a

progressing scream) froma passing jay

adds soundto the forms of the

spread hand ofa rampant vine

passing through thespaces as field for

the again flutteringbutterfly, cabbagea name for white

seen throughout the year

l’arc-en-ciel à travers la toilede l’araignée (the

rainbow throughthe spider’s web)

Get sick, get wellHang around a ink wellRing bell, hard to tell

If anything is goin’ to sellTry hard, get barred

Get back, write brailleGet jailed, jump bail

Join the army, if you fail

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a white dog,a volume masked

by fluff, anassertive innocence

in the gaze that nuzzled(me) this, what? a

buttered weed, a jayhand picking

the affection, thedog asked and gave

l’arc-en-cielthe spider’s web

the precious stones thatwere hiding (les

pierres précieuses quise cachaient) always

that uncertaintya junco

Don’t steal, don’t liftTwenty years of schoolin’

And they put you on the day shiftLook out kid

They keep it all hid

monkey flower,bright yellow if

it may be called orangestarlings in the distance

Look out kidIt’s somethin’ you did

God knows whenBut you’re doin’ it againYou better duck down …

these animals havegrown, the hand

weed etchedas veins in the butter-

fly cabbagediaphanous & magnificent

as in dried leavesfallen

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Always

three young plasterers celebrate the early morningworking on an apartment building, the top

floor below the sundeck on a roofreached by an elevator; there will bean elevator even for the cars, a tight

fitting structure on an urbanproperty built

speculatively fora high-end market

in a low-end economywe hear all about itin the news shows

two are Latino, one Anglo thelanguage is working-class English

I’ll be loving you, always,With a love that’s true, always,When the things you’ve plannedNeed a helping hand,I will understand, always,Always

Brother Duck!Sister Dragonfly!Brother Osprey!Sister Barnacle!Brother Orchid!

Sister Tulip!Brother Turnip!

Sister Turdus migratorius!Rejoice!

Laudati sunt!

Days may not be fair, always,That’s when I’ll be there, always.Not for just an hour,Not for just a day,Not for just a year,But always.

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Kinston, N.C. (AP) — The Gospel of John quotes Jesus as saying "I amthe true vine," and some folks in eastern North Carolina think they mayhave witnessed a literal demonstration. A utility pole about a mile south ofKinston has attracted attention in the last week or so from people who saythe kudzu clinging to it resembles the image of Jesus on the cross.

Kent Hardison goes by the pole every day on his way to work at Ma'sHotdog House, about a 90-minute drive east of Raleigh. His first reaction,common here when it comes to kudzu, was to blast it with Roundupherbicide. But then he had second thoughts, according to The Free Pressof Kinston.

"I glanced at it, and it looks like Jesus," Hardison said. "I thought, 'Youcan't spray Jesus with Roundup.'" Believers have reported seeing the faceof Jesus in everything from sheet metal to a grilled cheese sandwich, butthe depiction of the crucifixion is a rarer phenomenon.

"I just thought it was my imagination," Hardison said. "I thought I wascrazy the first time I saw it and it resembled Jesus." Hardison and some ofhis customers think the vine might be an indication that God is watchingover the region.

"Maybe it's a sign of the times," Michelle Davis said. "There's been a lotgoing on in this area." Kudzu, originally imported from Japan decades agoto help prevent soil erosion, has enjoyed such explosive growth that it'ssometimes known as "the vine that ate the South." Long a problem forforesters and farmers with large plots of land, in recent years it's beenmoving into cities and developed areas.

Power companies spend about $1.5 million a year fixing damaged powerlines caused by kudzu growth, according to Irwin Forseth Jr., a biologist atthe University of Maryland.

Hardison said that regardless of whether there's any deep meaning to thevine, kudzu makes an appropriate medium for a divine message.

"It doesn't matter what you do, it is going to be around," he said. "Ain'tthat a lot like Jesus?" [San Francisco Chronicle 30 June 2011]

I’ll be loving you, always,With a love that’s true, always,When the things you’ve plannedNeed a helping hand,I will understand, always,Always

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a pair of small, smoothstones rested on the

surface of the tombstone, flatto the ground, and another

single stone remained onits companion memorial

with another smallstone, probably

once its mate, alongside the identically

carved graves afew inches away,

the stone onbare ground. Onlylater did I discover

leaving stones at cemeterysites to be a Jewish

tradition thesummer day a

rich windy blue, LakeMichigan not

far distant aline of surf, random muddled

sounds

Days may not be fair, always,That’s when I’ll be there, always.Not for just an hour

the name derivesfrom the commedia dell’arte to

describe this creature,Harlequin

duck (Histrionicus histrionicus):‘Adult males are slate blue with

chestnut sides and whitemarkings including a

white crescent atthe base of the bill. Adult

females are less colorful, withbrownish-grey plumage and

a white patch on the head aroundthe eye. Both adults have

a white ear-patch’but this male seems

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to have paired witha surf scoter, his

constant companion

Amazing Grace

startling, well, I jumped upto see the hawk fly away, a she

I think though the sighting isimperfect, her back to me on a

TV aerial, a few wingfeathers fuzzy and loose,

her head turning against thelate afternoon sky, the

beak a silhouette — recovering, a Cooper’s hawk,

she had banged against theplate window glass next to my

head as I lay reading aboutRosa Luxemburg, not

noticing at all thata pigeon had taken

refuge in a potted plant, aweak pelargonium on

the window ledge hiddenamidst a bank of ferns &

flowering plants partlyhidden by ornamentalpillows piled against

the glass — crash!the terrified pigeon only

revealing its presence whenI leaned from an open

window panel tosee what had gone on, if

anything needed repair &so spooked the pigeon, up

& out a hurrieddeparture, the

hawk already gone fromher perch in a

neighbor’s yard

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Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound,That saved a wretch like me....I once was lost but now am found,Was blind, but now, I see.

a guest had just left an hourbefore, a poet

who balanced gossip, poetry &critique nimbly as she ex-

plored the pastry offerings ofan afternoon reserved

each year to note the high-lights of the jacaranda trees inthe garden, a viewing garden

revealing the lavender blossomsat fullest blossom — a

tea, held almostceremonially — an

extravagance likemuch else that passed that

conversational day, thetalk tightenedinto shapes of

social discipline tolimit damage and perhapsallow questions, beliefs &

tastes to flowerwithout penalty

T'was Grace that taught...my heart to fear.And Grace, my fears relieved.How precious did that Grace appear...the hour I first believed.

I extracted the pottedplant, pot and broken

pelargonium from its saucer,realizing it had escaped its

weekly watering thatvery morning, would infact probably escape all

watering since it haddisappeared under the spread of

nearby plants, just

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a place for a pigeon tobelieve safety possible,

just the setting fora hawk with 8-times human

vision’s clarity to believeotherwise

Through many dangers, toils and snares...we have already come.T'was Grace that brought us safe thus far...and Grace will lead us home.

a question hadarisen, whether Fatesdare border ordinary

human enterprise thusreducing such

activity’s meaning to moot,a puppet’s life the

whole range ofmankind’s best efforts, &

as well whether awell told story, &

sequence of accountsof human things might

benefit or be diminishedwhen the human dance is

set against such clouds

The Lord has promised good to me...His word my hope secures.He will my shield and portion be...as long as life endures.

pigeons aresettling for the evening,

light is weakening everywhere,a fog cover has

assembled for the night, thethrob from a nearby

apartment pacesslowly the bass parts of

some musical display, thisneighbor like the pigeons

hour by hour feedingupon the cultures each recognize

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Yea, when this flesh and heart shall fail,and mortal life shall cease,I shall possess within the veil,a life of joy and peace.

the jacarandas havealmost settled too, their

feathery leaves &generous blossoms, ameasured tango fromfaster moves, feelings

cooling, therewill be no stars

When we've been here ten thousand years...bright shining as the sun.We've no less days to sing God's praise...then when we've first begun.

angels sing thee

goodnight, sweet prince,and flights of angels sing thee to thy rest!

In a perfect worldOne we've never knownWe would never need to face the world alone

Helmut Dantine (7 October 1917 – 2 May 1982) was a filmactor remembered for playing many Nazis in thriller films

of the 1940s.Dantine's father was the head of the Austrian railway

system. As a young man, Dantine became involved in ananti-Nazi movement in Vienna. In 1938, when he was 21

years old, the Nazis took over Austria during theAnschluss. Dantine was rounded up, with hundreds of other

enemies of the Third Reich, and imprisoned in a Naziconcentration camp outside Vienna. Three months later,

using their influence, his parents got his release andimmediately sent him to California to live with a friend.

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Both his parents would later die in a Nazi concentrationcamp.

He began his U.S. acting career at the PasadenaPlayhouse, where he was spotted by a talent scout

and signed to a Warner Bros. contract. Dantinespent the early 1940s there, appearing in

International Squadron (1941) with Ronald Reagan,Casablanca (1942), Edge of Darkness (his first lead

role), Mission to Moscow, Northern Pursuit (all1943), Passage to Marseille, The Mask of Dimitrios(both 1944), Hotel Berlin, and Escape in the Desert

(both 1945).Dantine was also loaned out to other film companies fortwo notable films in 1942. To Be or Not to Be and Mrs.

Miniver were both released in 1942.This last named film I saw several times, age 9:

from it I knew that I was gay,that the beauty of my

father one evening in a tuxedoextended

They can have the worldWe'll create our ownI may not be brave or strong or smartBut somewhere in my secret heart

an architecture offantastic cities

a teenage where steelbecame platinum

lightthe wash of muted

lovefor love

I knowLove will find a wayAny where we goI'm homeIf you are there beside me

a weaving offabulous clothtapestry hinted

brocade

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Like dark turning into daySomehow we'll come throughNow that I've found youLove will find a way

Audie Murphy (June 20, 1924 – May 28, 1971) wasa fifth grade dropout from an extremely poor family

who fought in World War II. In the course of hisservice, he became the most decorated American

soldier of all time. After the war he became acelebrated movie star for over two decades,

appearing in 44 films.Murphy's successful movie career included To Hell

and Back (1955), based on his book of the sametitle (1949). He died in a plane crash in 1971 and

was interred, with full military honors, in ArlingtonNational Cemetery.

One hot afternoon in the early 1950s Iwandered 63rd Street in Chicago

from the lake inland, found a moviehouse playing a triple feature of

Audie Murphy formula pix,air-conditioned but

really that lust, pulsinglonging that is

transformed afterhalf an hour in some bar

I was so afraidNow I realizeLove is never wrongAnd so it never dies

as the Latin of cathedralsand Italian loveliness

gave sensuality &power

the snows of northernEurope & America lent

a leaner face —the contoured animals ofcave art opened limbs &

groins, where it allhad been

long before

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There's a perfect worldShining in your eyesAnd if only they could feel it tooThe happiness I feel with you

They'd knowLove will find a wayAnywhere we go

a golden rose

We're homeIf we are there together

Like dark turning into daySomehow we'll come throughNow that I've found youLove will find a way

the golden rose

The Archer

Because I didn’t want todisturb him, Ikept closely to the edgeof the community garden, itsornamental flowered fencejust to watch himassemble the targets,stack equipment, mainlylarge bows &quivers of arrows restingagainst a table he’dset up on the lawn ofthe park: he movedwith grace, pacing his setuptasks as if breathing intoeach one, evenly

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“A brilliant day; the high May sun streamed through theDouglas firs, into pools of air, tangibly blue. Darker green,

the waters of the Umpqua fell in tiny crystals from thepaddle – waves from the canoe sighed in the shadows of

white alders and lacey vine maples.”

apparently my gaze morea stare — he turned his head &then his body toward me, hiseyes askingwhat

“... The archer ceases to be conscious of himself as the onewho is engaged in hitting the bull's-eye which confronts

him. This state of unconscious is realized only when,completely empty and rid of the self, he becomes one with

the perfecting of his technical skill, though there is in itsomething of a quite different order which cannot be

attained by any progressive study of the art ...”

a kind of smile, agraded hint of curiositymixed with busyness ashis glance toward thetargets suggested these moveforward slightly, andhe set to do this, oneby one, mybinoculars focused highinto a tree, a eucalyptus wellbeyond the lawn, above it, toppinga slope, a ravine wash thetree supporting breezes and abird, a house finch dartingthrough the maze of dancingleaves

“The target pulls the arrow,” Isaid. He heard me &

waited, back to me as he adjustedone of the target tripods,

“Oh?”

walking on, along the floweredfence, binoculars in hand, I caughthis eye, just as he looked toward

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me, turning again fullytoward me, a question in hissmile

“sometimes, sometime thishappens, not usually or often,

but you might tell them& see if it

is so” a

small van ofchildren had arrived &were jostling tosome shape of grouping,a shepherding secondadultpatting them together asif making a clay pot

Avalokitasvara

‘left elbow to right knee,right elbow to left knee,

step it up’

Sweet dreams till sunbeams find you,Sweet dreams that leave your worries behind youBut in your dreams, whatever they be,Dream a little dream about me

ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha goodie goodie gumdrop!ha, ha, ha

Stars fading, but I linger on,Still craving …

‘… is that rhubarb?no, no, cooked cabbage and a

dollop of sour cream‘oh, borscht!’

yeah, like soup it is

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Say “nighty-night” and kiss me,Just hold me tight and tell me you’ll miss meWhile I’m alone and blue as can be,Dream a little dream of me

‘sssssh Leonard,ssssssssssssshh,

don’t repeat out loud …’

Stars shining bright above you,Night breezes seem to whisper “I love you”Birds singing in the sycamore treeDream a little dream of me

‘no, no, it’s type 2 diabetes, type1 is from birth, but at this stage

it’s all the same, the needles, theglycerine or orange juice, all

that’

Sweet dreams till sunbeams find youha, ha, ha

Stars fading, but I linger on

‘the green beans — all half dozen ofthem — aren’t bad, but call this

beef Stroganoff? Gravy sort of …’‘you’ve gotta call it something’

yeah, yeah

‘hold on to your chair, now,right leg forward, hold it

there, up, up a little, Mary …’

Birds singing in the sycamore treeDream a little dream of me

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before you break my heart

An old friend from whom I’ve beenfor some time estranged

chanced upon me — or I him —while he walked his dog in

our shared neighborhood. When wemeet, it is cordially but, unlike years

ago, we have little to say, usuallyguard what we do say rather, and

by now have settled into thisdistance as the new normal, as

in fact the long normal. But a re-mark, something quite un-

expected came from him, doubt-less a suggestion of memories of

former intimacy: ‘have youforgiven your parents?’ apropos

of nothing that had so farbeen said, and my reply, ‘yes, I have,’

which seemed both broadly sweeping &almost irrelevant since my father has

been dead 45 years and my mother over75 years ago & my father’s second wife,

my stepmother, dead some 30 yearsin a family never at all close where

a notion like ‘unconditional love’ wasunknown & unexpected. Odd then, but

no doubt this question reflected awider concern, that children often

blame parents for adversities perceivedwhich, from some remembered talk or

incident in the past, had been my feelingabout my early life. ‘Such a question!’

though & I wondered, ‘is this style?If so, it is effective…’

Stop! In the name of loveBefore you break my heart

— what had passed between old dufferspassing on the street seemed haunting —

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I'm aware of where you goEach time you leave my doorI watch you walk down the streetKnowing your other love you'll meet

my maternal grandmotherescaped my attention:

she shouldn’t have, sheraised me & disliked

me, how much so Ionly discovered in letters

surfacing many yearsafter her death in 1948, a

death that was the col-lusion of the instruc-

tion & her independentlyminded doctor

that, ‘if it’s bad, let mego’ and he did.

But this time before you run to herLeaving me alone and hurt

is she forgiven?perhaps but

less so than my fatherwhose image savors

better, for noknown

reason except maybesexual attraction & a

taste for ‘the life of themind’ — that absurdity,

something my Irish peasantgrandmother would not have

tolerated in her intolerantmind, bright as

it often was,bright

as the conservatismthat crept as fog over

the flat landscape

Stop! In the name of loveBefore you break my heartThink it over

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only gestures, ratherfeeble op-

posed

Think it overI've known ofYour secluded nightsI've even seen herMaybe once or twice

my brazen de-parture from hearth

& nurture, age 18, tospread wings I was

unsure of, inair I doubted would sus-

tain, determined fol-ly that, in 70 years,

worked out well

But is her sweet expressionWorth more than my love and affection?

my siblings dead, my goalssecret, especially from

myself

… each time you are togetherI'm so afraid I'll be losing you forever

until goals spilled almostby chance & I couldsay ‘yes, I have’ —

how this has come to pass Icannot say

Stop! In the name of loveBefore you break my heart Stop! In the name of love Before you break my heartBaby, think it over

goals spilled almostby chance & I could

say

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Bei Mir Bist du Schön

“…the German social democrat Eduard Bernstein … said atthe end of the 19th century, ‘the movement is everything,the ends are nothing,’ against his Marxist colleages, wholiked to explain how wonderful things would be after the

revolution but made no attempt to organize for socialjustice in the meantime.” Why are you telling me this?

Of all the boys I've known, and I've known someUntil I first met you I was lonesomeAnd when you came in sight, dear, my heart grew lightAnd this old world seemed new to me

Honest mechanic andloving family manhis Shell stationthree decades

planted on our corneruntil he sickened

and vanishedfrom behind thebulletproof glass

“But as one of Bernstein’s most persistent critics, theFrench syndicalist Georges Sorel, pointed out, the problem

with democracy was not that it was too messy, but too neat:it reduced everything to winning elections. This meant the

movement would always be sacrificed on the altar ofpolitical expediency. It was hopeless to expect elected

politicians to stand up to the forces of global capitalism …seen from the standpoint of the early 21st century, there is

something uncannily prescient about … his remark,‘Democracy,’ he said, ‘is the paradise of which

unscrupulous financiers dream.’” Who is telling me this?

You're really swell, I have to admit, youDeserve expressions that really fit youAnd so I've wracked my brain, hoping to explainAll the things that you do to me

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The station crept alonga few more years

then closedsoot from the dirty airgathering on its gray

canting surfacespumps hoodedthen removed

with all remainingwalls and pillars

ancient tanks disinterredand hauled away

empty graves filled inthe surface graded

to a bald gentle domebehind a chain-link fence

Sappho:Moonset already.

the Pleiades, too: midnight.the hour passes

and I lie down, a lonely woman.

Bei mir bist du schön, please let me explainBei mir bist du schön means you're grandBei mir bist du schön, again I'll explainIt means you're the fairest in the land

Poppies and weedspumpkins at Halloweenat Christmas a transient

forest of dead fragrant treesall other seasons

sun rain bare groundwith rags styrofoamsparrows blurring

in dusty depressions

Sappho:Most beautiful of all the stars

O Hesperus bringing everything the bright dawn scattered:

you bring the sheep, you bring the goat,you bring the child back to her mother.

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I could say bella, bella, even say wunderbarEach language only helps me tell you how grand you areI've tried to explain, bei mir bist du schönSo kiss me, and say you understand

And todaygleaning dandelion seeds

lemony goldfincheseach dark wingflashing a tinygleam of white

to Andromeda, Sappho:when you lie dead and there will be no memory of you

no one missing you afterward, for you have no part in the roses of Piéria. Unnoticed to this house

of Hades, too, you’ll wander, flittering after faded corpses.

I could say bella, bella, even say wunderbarEach language only helps me tell you how grand you areI've tried to explain, bei mir bist du schönSo kiss me, and say that you will understand

Blauer Engel

Safeway always has much to offer —today, however, large green California olives

stuffed with mozzarella were notavailable, though the jars of fresh

quite large oysters were aswere medium-sized navel

oranges, broccoli heads andzucchini, fresh sweet corn

on the cob — it is summer soof course, so much — and

Paul was there, achecker who is store translator for

Norwegian and a wit inEnglish — by the flower displaycollect several wanderers against

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whom the store no longer offers anopen restroom, mostly home-

less people, one must asksomeone to punch in the

number code as key

Early morning half dreamed nightFlying like an echo through the head

Frühmorgens halbgeträumte Nacht fliegtwie ein Echo durch den Kopf

‘You piece of shit!’‘Wow, man!’

‘You piece of hippy shit!’ thisfrom a senior checker, George, over-

weight now, a cone toppedby a sour face; once

he was just efficient, but he hasadded the flavor of

anger to his eyes and tone,as well as food, this

can’t go on, ‘you …’but George is at a loss his

irritation with the loosely prancingwaif of yesteryear … probably

stole something, or justgiggled inappropriately, you know, like

‘man, cool it man, I’vebeen around.…’

You are looking in the mirror, who touchesYou with fingersYour pictures put togetherA million times to different timesA million times to different times

Du schaust den Spiegel unverwandt an,der mit Fingern dich befühltDein Photo aneinanderreihtMillionenfach, zu and'rer ZeitMillionenfach, zu and'rer Zeit

the aim was for un-salted saltineson the top shelf of aisle #5, the 3

women an essay in spherical

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masses, each larger thanthe next & all 3 in a row before the

layers of boxed and baggedbreads & confections, a

climbing display but‘can you reach it?’ &

it was not the largest sphere butthe middle one, more ovoid than

spheroid, a pear rather than anorange, she

reached for the top shelf &got the box, displacing many

cellophane packages ofoyster crackers in

so doing, theyfell to the floor &

the women moved on

This is me, and not youYou are looking at a distanceYou are screaming I can seeBut I only laugh back at you.

Das bin dann ich, nicht etwa duDu schaust mir nur von Weitem zuDu schreist, ich seh's an deinem BlickIch aber lache nur zurück

“Take your eyes off her!’an angry man, to me — to me! —

shouting, a quietly controlled shout, hisstare hot, cutting, a young man (I

am old, he might have hit me other-wise) we

were standing in the checkout line, agirl the checker, but this

angry man was acting to protect hiscompanion, a curiously dressed, al-

most stylish slender woman,gaunt? into drugs? that

had been my interest, whois she really? he — goodlooking to me, now that I

noticed — Ialmost hissed at him, ‘I’m

gay, you stupid motherfuck’ but

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said nothing, just turning to look atthe checker, who

averted her glance, withcontempt, so that I

realized, they all think I’ma dirty old man, let’s

enjoy this a moment, whohas thought this about me in

years if ever, well, when itcomes to boys, of course, I

am exactly what they think.

It's cold on the railroad platform 6, Berlin to Hamm over HannoverOrders are screamed at the trains, the coaches rattle into the nightCausing the endless front of windows to be a deja vu from the eyesPicture after picture melting to the very last passenger..

Dagegen kalt auf Bahnsteig sechs, Berlin von Hamm über HannoverKommandos gellen an den Zügen, die Wagen rucken in die NachtPassiert die endlos lange Front von Fenstern déja vu die AugenUnd Bild um Bild verschmelzen sie zum allerletzten Passagier

I saw my yoga teacher in theparking lot, looking perplexed,

and saw why, with Safewaysecurity guards nearby, and

a tall young black man, thin,bobbing up and down behind their

screening semicircle pre-venting passers-by from

seeing him, thena break in the shield and

I saw the young man haddropped his pants though

still held the upper fringes, hisbelt dangling, his cock

dangling, his right kneeupward, standing on his

left foot, thebalance fragile and

a very youthful lookingfemale security guard talking

to him — she could beheard saying ‘you don’t want to do

that’ — and he clearly wanting to do

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that, and doing it, though every once andagain he would pull the pants back on only

to again drop them, myyoga teacher looking

at the party, then atme, ‘hello’ I said, not

wanting to contribute to theminor mayhem of the stripping black,

not wanting to go away and pretendI was not interested in the scenewhen I was: ‘hello’ he said and

then we both turned towalk away, already

noticing one of the guards wavingus on with his glance and a

motion of his head, itwas then I noticed the stare of the five

mannequin owls across MarketStreet atop a building, their

stares powerless tomove the many pigeons in the parking

lot, or along Church or Market streets, abusy intersection, but not perhaps

without power, their stares longa feature of the corner when, over years,

their number has decreased by eight, oncethirteen mannequin owls, fading now

with colors gone, only anever-growing turbulence along the

sidewalks, the asphalt of the parking lot,even to the spire of Our Lady of

Safeway, across Church Street, nowmore a community center for 12-step groups

and charities than the Lutheran establishmentit but slightly remained: years before

the pastor had pronounced himselfgay and the parish

was removed from the Lutheran rolls —this had not broken the stare of

the mannequin owls,nothing had,

little would, onlya catastrophe greater

than a black groinbefore varied strange eyes

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Now to the 12th floor. Apartment 100, apartment 100Somebody is going through the room...3 fast steps to the balcony, the door slams closedAnd 30 doors slamming and it sounds like wild animals

Zuletzt woanders, 12. Stockwerk, Appartement 100, Appartement 100Und jemand schleicht sich durch den Raum...Drei schnelle Schritte zum Balkon, die Tür knallt hinter dir ins SchlossUnd krachen dreissig Türen und hallen wider wie wilde Tiere

7 panels “the bike mural” alongSafeway’s back wall, facing the hole

where 2 city streetcar lines enterthe subway system along Duboce Streetone end with a hang-gliding biker flying

over San Francisco Bay & the othera bike and the legs and torso of

its rider racing toward the surf atOcean Beach, a long tire

track in the beach sand leavinga snowy plover in its wake,

the City presented insettings in the panels between, even

time of day, the middlepanel with night scenes, its

neighbors partly too, askunk crossing a road,

generic Victorian “painted lady” houses& a subway train riding the

tail of a banner flutteringtoward the flying cyclist over

what? thesanctum of what is seen here, of

what the owls see,‘this is me, and not you

you are looking at a distance’

Now we are there, just me and you, we watch each other fallingThe scream is you, I am your faceYou are just a shadow, I am the light...

Das sind dann wir, nur ich und du, wir schauen uns im Fallen zuDer Schrei bist du, ich dein GesichtDu nur ein Schatten, ich das Licht...

31

A Bridge

Sur le pont d'AvignonL'on y danse, l'on y danse

coming toward me a square faced youthwrapped in hood, dark gray, woolperhaps, or whatpasses, square his walktoo, a stride, the morningsun bright in the stillmoist air, the fog bank dis-sipating, the sky mostlyblue, a summer azure

Sur le pont d'AvignonL'on y danse tous en rond

and soon thereafter anothersquare faced youth, a bit olderperhaps

his ears wrapped inmuffs

electronic links to an orbiting master

somewhere wellwell

awayunder a glistening street treepassage, flowering Japanese plums

fruitless but beautiful,the old archdiocese offices acrossthe street, a public middle school thisside

Les beaux messieurs font comm' çàEt puis encore comm' çà

immediately a faceless crew-cut passer-by cut between the on-comer and

32

these blue eyes, my own, thegardener of this scene,faceless becausehe walked away, his short sleeved shirt(burnt Sienna) perhaps too light for wherethe day yet was

Sur le pont d'AvignonL'on y danse, l'on y danse

I noticed then the light gold ofthe middle school’s façade re-flected over the plum trees, the dewcatching points

a soul of middling years,the age a descriptive choice of courseAsian, a set smile carryinga tote bag, valise really customedto a suggestion of costliness, bulgingslightly, as if pregnant, astately off-white, ivory? noone would know

his eyes fixed

benignly, nosound had clicked or shuffled or

Sur le pont d'AvignonL'on y danse tous en rond

“Next month, the last four of more than two dozengiant steel modules — each with a roadbed segmentabout half the size of a football field — will beloaded onto a huge ship and transported 6,500 milesto Oakland. There, they will be assembled to fit intothe eastern span of the new Bay Bridge.

“The project is part of China’s continual move upthe global economic value chain — from cheap toysto Apple iPads to commercial jetliners — as it aimsto become the world’s civil engineer.”[NYTimes, 26June 2011]

there was no one on the street now, justthe morning

33

Les jardiniers font comm' çàEt puis encore comm' çà

a streetcar screamed southward, mydirection, apolice car raced opposite, lessnoise, butit would come, thenoise and brighter light, theinsistency

Sur le pont d'AvignonL'on y danse, l'on y danseSur le pont d'AvignonL'on y danse tous en rond

I too carried something, a grocerysack, othersmall packages of pastries justbought

l'on y dansel'on y danse

a kind of sleepthe walkingshadows shorterglistening leavesa fog dropsoon to dry

ce beau matin

a perfect day, brilliantlyblue, a breeze, every-

one in shirt sleeves onthe street, the cafés full &

well they might be! justlovely

When the little bluebird

34

Who has never said a wordStarts to sing SpringWhen the little bluebellAt the bottom of the dellStarts to ring Ding dong Ding dongWhen the little blue clerkIn the middle of his workStarts a tune to the moon up aboveIt is nature that is allSimply telling us to fall in love

Do you recall the thing we saw one time …One summer morning fair and fresh:The pathway turned and there, upon a bed ofstone,A great hulk of decaying flesh,Its legs upthrust to mock female lubricity,Seething and sweating pollution,Its open belly …Venting a gaseous corruption?

Rappelez-vous l’objet que vous vîmes, mon âme,Ce beau matin d’été si doux:

Au detour d’un sentier une charogne infâmeSur un lit semé de cailloux,

Les jambes en l’air, comme une femme lubrique,Brûlante et suant les poisons,

Ouvrait d’une façon nonchalante et cyniqueSon ventre plein d’exhalaisons.

I felt my mood closing asif pressure were squeezing my arms,

the sunny street, the passers-by alldecaying into ugliness, or

nearly so, some less than repulsive,others vibrating an

unexplained aggression, anurban brittleness, their skins

metallic against whateverpassed along the arid street, tiny

pockets of clumsy privacythe goal, the breath brutish,

the street’s innocence crumpledlike wadded paper.

And that's why birds do it, bees do it

35

Even educated fleas do itLet's do it, let's fall in love

Flies in droves descended on that putridbellyFrom whence exuded black brigadesOf larvae trickling slowly like a liquid jellyFrom end to end along its shreds …

Les mouches bourdonnaient sur ce ventre putride,D’où sortaient de noirs batallons

De larves, qui coulaient comme un épais liquideLe long des ces vivants haillons.

by the time I’d reached thecheckout counter at

the supermarket where I’d beenshopping, the play of

nastiness had leapt into everypause in my attention, each

face scrutinized, everybody examined for what

pleased me and did not —when the checkout clerk began

to throw the next customer’spurchases into the pile that was

mine, I sharply bit ‘not thevodka!’ and she erased the

liquor item from my tab, butthe mechanism failed to work and

so a delay brought the lineto a halt, a supervisor was

found, the register righted andmy receipt printed — please

sign & a scrawl of e-ink on ane-receipt generated a smallprinted memo of the trans-

action, ‘thank you Mr …’ &the clerk couldn’t quite get

my name …

Cold Cape Cod clams, 'gainst their wish, do itEven lazy jellyfish do itLet's do it, let's fall in love

36

All of it heaved and fell as smoothly as theseaAnd writhed and rustled in its motion;One might surmise the corpse, breathinguncertainly,Survived in the proliferation.

Tout cela descendait, montait comme une vague,Ou s’élançait en pétillant;

On eût dit que le corps, enflé d’un mouvementrhythmique

Agite et tourne dans son van.

hoping the half-gallons of milkwould not break through the

paper bags — ‘why didn’t shedouble these?’ — and that the

loosely capped plastic container ofmarinated olives would hold sothat spillage would not soak the

bags in olive oil and weakenthem — ‘like last week, why

didn’t she do what I asked?’ —suddenly the sunshine brightened

parking lot and mood, ‘well, weboth were distracted …’

I've heard that lizards and frogs do itLayin' on a rockThey say that roosters do itWith a doodle and cock

An apprehensive bitch behind a granite slabWas watching with offended moans,

Waiting for the moment when to leap and, with a grab,Retrieve her morsel from the bones.

Derrière les rochers une chienne inquièteNous regardait d’un œil fâché,

Épiant le moment de reprendre au squeletteLe morceau qu’elle avait lâché.

while waiting for the trainto carry me & two grocery bags

homeward, not far but …the platform is an island

37

in the middle of a busy streetwith railings to preventpeople from falling intotraffic — for some time

I’ve used these to pass timewith yoga moves, a luxury

I enjoy, showing off ina way, though some mightsay ‘look at that old man,

showing off …’

Some Argentines, without means do itI hear even Boston beans do itLet's do it, let's fall in love

Yes! That is what you’ll be, O queen ofevery grace,When, last rites said, you lie alone;Beneath the sod and fat bouquets, you’ll findyour placeAnd, moldering, become dry bone.

Oui! telle que vous serez, ô la reine des grâces,Après les derniers sacraments,

Quand vous irez, sous l’herbe et les floraisonsgrasses,

Moisir parmi les ossements.

I’d not forgotten thatI was under the gaze of the five

owls, the familiars ofthe bandaged creature, the blue-

eyed mummy sentinel atSparky’s, the all-night

foodery down the street, thatSabrina watched from herwindows, the soothsayer

alert to a false move, a falsethought, O! the peril, the wedging

grave of judgments, ofrecriminations, the

lack of light

The most refined lady bugs do itWhen a gentleman callsMoths in your rugs they do it

38

What's the use of moth balls

Then, O my beautiful, repeat this to thewormWhose kisses eat your face away:That I preserve the sacred essence and theformOf all my loves as they decay!

Alors, ô ma beauté! dites à la vermineQui vous mangera de baisers,

Que j’ai gardé la forme et l’essence divineDe mes amours decomposes!

The chimpanzees in the zoos do it,Some courageous kangaroos do itLet's do it, let's fall in love

a passenger on the traincaught my eye, he

casually slumped hangingfrom the safety rails along

the train’s ceiling, hisshirt rising to reveal a nakedwaist I found distracting —

we exited together,going different ways

Cool

Something coolI'd like to order something coolIt's so warm here in town and this heat gets me downYes, I'd like something cool

a black kite & rather fullcrescent moon over Dolores Park were

sure signs: cool tooa light breeze mid-afternoon,full sun but in this port city it

is rarely warm — cool, precisely,whatever the

reason

39

My, it's nice to simply sit and rest awhileYou know it's a shameI can't think of your nameI remember your smile

spiders were at reston the walls, onehanging & fully

etched by skylightthrough opaque glass its

web a wing, agreat wing, a

gesture towardwhat was remembered,

ants circling, a jay rapidlyhopping from place to place,a squirrel on a lower branch,

a black kite, a ratherfull crescent moon somewhere

to the east

I don't ordinarily drink with strangersI guess I usually drink aloneBut you were so awfully nice to ask meAnd I'm so terribly far from home

a shoeavoiding ants on

asphalt, brightthe ants, the shoe’s sur-face, even the black oil-

based asphalt, pocked withpits the ants avoided,

a pant leg followedthe shoe

avoiding ants

Like my dress I must confess it's very oldBut it's simple and neat, it's just right for this heatSave my furs for the coldA cigarette, no I don't smoke them as a ruleBut I'll have one, it might be fun with something cool

an hibiscus flower,very full, crimson,

40

its leaves very green, darklyemerald,

more hibiscus blooming,the thought indigo

And I know you couldn't picture meThe time I went to Paris in the fallAnd who would think the man that I lovedWas quite so handsome and quite so tall

the kite black, the mooncrescent, rather full as crescent

to the east

Well, it's through, it's just a memory I hadOne I almost forgot since the weather's so hotAnd I'm feeling so bad about a date, oh wait, I'm such a foolHe's just a guy who stopped to buy me something cool

exactly

Ma sagesse est aussi dédaignéeque le chaos.Qu’est mon néant, après de la stupeurqui vous attend?

My wisdom is as spurned as chaos.What is my nothingness, compared to

the amazement that awaits you?

Rudolph, the red-nosed reindeerhad a very shiny nose.And if you ever saw him,you would even say it glows.

this is aboutnothing, a story

about so little onlythe slight sunburn

over my facegives it life beyond

41

remembered moments ofvivacity,

for example a glancenorthward along Polk Street

standing next to the central library,an oncoming traffic chargeagainst my vision, noticing

a few people straggle acrossthe street, then it came

to me they would not behit, the quiet morning too

quiet topermit this

All of the other reindeerused to laugh and call him names.They never let poor Rudolphjoin in any reindeer games.

there was the treeon 23rd Street, the lower

slope of Potrero Hillcommemorating the death

from AIDS of Ralton DaytonCarpenter, aged 40, who

shared a house withthree friends, and

whose lover I had been, ina way, an older lover who

shared much but not alife with him: the survivors

had selected the tree andit was still there, mature now after

these twenty years exactly

Then one foggy Christmas EveSanta came to say:"Rudolph with your nose so bright,won't you guide my sleigh tonight?"

when the #19 bus eventuallyarrived at the corner of

Evans & Jennings, whenI eventually passed by the old

dismantling power stationon the Bay, earth movers and

42

workmen busy everywhere overthe site, when I

walked on to Heron’s Head, aspit of land onto the water

surrounded by industrial SanFrancisco, the weekday

morning deafeningfrom the promise of

nothing overpoweredby the human noise of a great

human city, thepath leading to somereported rare birds in

the saltmarsh Inever saw, a

breeze gaining instrength over quiet

Then all the reindeer loved himas they shouted out with glee,Rudolph the red-nosed reindeer,you'll go down in history!

shimmering water, the fogbank far to the west but

visible, the welcome lineof gray on this blue and perfect

day, the visible source ofa physical comfort, the

air fresh and cool against aknown-to-be hot day

inland, theplants along the path

familiar, thoughonly some of the human names

known, the wildlifetoo, a vitality with a

landscape sized for human eyes,scaled infinitely at

some size for whatevereyes, joggers

and dog walkers, two lovers,an Asian man, quite thin and

his blond friend, bothtalking, running

wonderfully to the very

43

end of the land, twoleast sandpipers and

three oystercatchers soquiet the couple certainly and Ialmost missing them as I very

slowly ambledthe path — slowly emerged the

Cape Henry, a militaryship so long anchored at

a pier just north of the slough alongwhich one walked, one

wondered if it werestill seaworthy,

a snowyegret

flying closeto manmade things, passing

the ship’s prowby a short bit to

continue over the Bay waters

faded amber

the face,the style,the shapesuggestedpleasure,the love

handles’ wastedskin &

wrinklesotherwise

Proust tells us anticipation &memory are the points of

reward for experience

My story is much too sad to be toldBut practically everything leaves me totally coldThe only exception I know is the caseWhen I'm out on a quiet spree, fighting vainly the old ennui

44

And I suddenly turn and seeYour fabulous face

the small tablehad held alight lunch,

a clothswept itclean,

light maplewell used &

again clean —a tiny bug, some

flea or, muchsmaller, a

violation, suddenlyjumped about, howdid it get there? just

thereit

was all I could donot to kill it

Buddhism tells us that thepresent is the only

tense worthconsidering

I get no kick from champagneMere alcohol doesn't thrill me at allSo tell me why should it be trueThat I get a kick out of you

for years hewas everywhere

mildly aggressivelyassertive,

harmlessly wantinglove — all

could see it —then it was said he’dattempted suicide &in a psych ward —when next seen he

was slumped, staring—drugged stupor?

45

eventually heagain raced about,

heavy goggled eyesrevealing a traceof something un-

noticed before, whohad not noticed?

kinder, moremeasured, just

a glance

anxiety decimatesthe present decimal by

decimal untilexperience is a memory only& anticipation floats in faded

amber

Some get a kick from cocaineI'm sure that if I took even one sniffThat would bore me terrifically tooBut I get a kick out of you

he stopped meon the street &asked, “do you

believe in God?”how odd! &

I answered “no”then he said “the

poem comes fromelsewhere”

how very odd! I’dsaid nothing about

that, just “no”about God

his coke-bottle eyesstill unblinking

I get a kick every time I see you standing there before meI get a kick though it's clear to me, you obviously don'tadore meI get no kick in a planeFlying too high with some guy in the skyIs my idea of nothing to doYet I get a kick out of you

46

Hannah

the photo clerk at Walgreen’s filled me inon details I had missed when

Hannah’s was still open at18th & Hartford in The Castro —

I’d seen Hannah with a customer atthe picnic table outside her place of

business, she sipping from a flute of(maybe) champagne, her

customer, a heavy-set man in suit withan open collar shirt, drinking beer —

he wouldn’t be there for chakra cleansing,perhaps marriage repair, improvement in

professional fortune, maybe even a ‘reading’but I doubted it — anyhow, the clerk

described Hannah, when she came to Walgreen’s as‘high maintenance’ &

‘not like her husband, easy’ —that polished face looking medieval with

its teal glint and henna-ed hair piled high,the eyes ‘high maintenance’ indeed—

Drop kick me Jesus through the goal posts of lifeEnd over end neither left nor to rightStraight through the heart of them righteous uprightsDrop kick me Jesus through the goal posts of life.

I teased friends at the zen centernearby, suggesting they move

in on the chakra cleansing business sinceHannah charged a minimum of $10

to get in the door, andsurcharged for each specialized

accommodation with the spiritualworld — since there

are 7 chakras, each suggestedopportunities for individual

treatment, the throatchakra giving voice in

47

blue — Vishuddha: purification —inspiration, devotion, infinity, very

vulnerable for example, suchdesires open-ended and unclear-

ly defined, weall agreed some would really be daunting

Make me, oh make me, Lord more than I amMake me a piece in your master game planFree from the earthly tempestion belowI’ve got the will, Lord if you’ve got the toe.

as in the solar plexus chakra, itscolor, golden yellow, its mode Power but

for those needing cleansing, thosesuffering from ‘imbalances’ of Fear, Hate,

Indifference, Stress, Self-Loathing, Need for Power what

might one expect? Hannah’s shop, the verywalls, the patio and its

meager ground of a fewflowers, shrubs and flag-

stones, the earth below, allwould one day need a Superfund

of cleansing resources just to dealwith the karmic detritus

of such exudings — woe!woe! the horror of

such cancers freelyflowing, creeping, rising in

the airs of human breath & nurture!

Take all the brothers who’ve gone on beforeAnd all of the sisters who’ve knocked on your doorAll the departed dear loved ones of mineStick’em up front in the offensive line.

Hannah, now in Las Vegas,crushed in defeat,

her project a shambles,her aims in retreat,

the land nowabandoned, what

hope for those left?we’d laughed before looking,

the landscape bereft

48

Yeah, Drop kick me Jesus through the goal posts of lifeEnd over end neither left nor to rightStraight through the heart of them righteous uprightsDrop kick me Jesus through the goal posts of life.

her dream of love was gone

the jacaranda blooms late this yearfor whatever reason, the chills of

springtime longer, livelier thanusual, though too

water has been plentiful,one thought an early

richness but no, July is wellalong and the blossoming season

is only now underway

the ancients have truly returned to usand have unfurled flags of sudden Cloud Ringsfrom rivers crossing the most ordinary streetson the way back

Miss Otis regrets she's unable to lunch today, Madam.Miss Otis regrets she's unable to lunch today.

She is sorry to be delayed,But last evening down in Lover's Lane she strayed.

Madam.Miss Otis regrets she's unable to lunch today.

over years the jacarandano longer seems a carpet of

lavender balls rollingat eye level from the window

but has grown so thatthese blossoms now are

viewed from below, scatteredrather amidst the filigree

of leaves, the skeletaltrunk and branch system

differing only to

49

eyes that have seen thisspectacle summer after

summer

the youngest gods burstfrom the bubbles of sperm spit Listen!their music played from buzz & bleatsyou can not hear except through periscopesset down among vascular whalesmating under the crisis of rock & shale

When she woke up and found that her dream oflove was gone,

Madam,She ran to the man who had led her so far astray.

And from under a velvet gown,She drew a gun and shot her lover down,

Madam.Miss Otis regrets she's unable to lunch today.

soon darknesswill engulf the jacaranda,evening now stroking the

filigree green and the graysof bark with soft lights, a

small dance, a breeze provokingpetals floating to a lawn

cups whose brims overcrowd the rustling autumnDoor to the invisible temple built unseenin cities of the satanic machineCups the legends reveal and the ancientsare beginning to pass around

When the mob came and got her and dragged her from thejail,

Madam,They strung her from the old willow cross the way.

And the moment before she died,She lifted up her lovely head and cried,

Madam.Miss Otis regrets she's unable to lunch today.

an act of faiththe blossoms will remain

the night

50

the morningsun dazzling themfrom another side

in a way humming thru crystals of light— most unexpected —

the ancients sizzle and dazzlenot as we imagined …its rootsgoing backto the starfields of Every Night

Miss Otis regrets... she's unable to lunch today

She is sorry to be delayed.

how you can love

La Morenita’s is the name of theplace, a Mexican roadside

restaurant in the Sierra Nevadanear Pinecrest on the Sonora

Pass road, nothing allthat much, tasty tacos &

such, what onewould expect, but ‘Big

Red’ I did not expect, noreven believe at first since

the surface has been coated overwith paint and varnish thickly,

an impressionistic rendering nowof something once & still

celebrated that, as mytraveling companion said at

the time is ‘appalling’, namely,the 1976 harvesting of a giant

sugar pine from nearby forests,the enormous slice of this giant

deposited along the wall ofthis restaurant, casually, a

segment from 65 feet fromthe ground of what

51

once was a standing tree, nopoint in overdoing it, the

old photo of the loggers anda chunk of the trunk on

some by now quaint vehicleproud as posies & peaches

about this accomplishment:‘Big Red’ is what

America’s about, as ismy, and my companion’ssadness that it happened.

Oh, Johnny, oh, Johnny, how you can love.Oh, Johnny, oh, Johnny, heavens above.You make my sad heart jump with joy,And when you're near I just can't sit still a minute.

Well, approaching the mountains, at Oakdalein the San Joaquin Valley, I’d

had my foretaste of thiscelebration, a couple

of teenage girls in bikiniswaving homemade signs

‘CARWASH’ on the road,some auto fixing or gas

station in the background,I mean deliciously countryfeatherless chickens some

drooling lecher, anylascivious or licentious creep …

no, let’s just call it ruralfamily fun, the young

midriffs rippling inthat wondrous land where

the naïve moves to thehot, where hopes are

jewels of unnamed promisesuggesting maybe lifemight more than work

out, be fun, beuncomplicated, be

different from ‘Big Red’ beforehe’s all painted over with

two cracks deep to thecenter of the wood,

the waitress couldn’t

52

make change for my $20 bill soI still owe my friend $10 for

the meal.

I'm so, oh, Johnny, oh, Johnny...Please tell me, dear, what makes me love you so?You're not handsome, it's true, but when I look at you,I just, oh, Johnny, oh, Johnny! oh!

We’d hardly set up our tents whenthe soughing winds in the

Jeffrey pine woodland we’dchosen to camp out in

began to fade, along withthe light of a cloudless

sky, and Arcturus, then thewhole of the constellationCygnus, then Vega and its

constellation, Lyra, thenhints of the Milky Way like

old cloth hintedtoward Antares and

Scorpius onthe horizon, the moon

still an hour or two fromrising, a gibbous three quarters

masking the stars fromthen onward to the

dawn — my sleepingbag, adequate, my stare

at the moon-drenched fabricof the tent interior, un-

certain about what to think forthere was nothing to do, one’s

alone in this setting, boundby the plastic of contemporary

life, the moon imagined aswere the stars, not even

my watch shone somewhereon the tent’s floor somewhereto my side, only one certainty

that, as my vertebrae relaxed ontothe air mattress under me, as

my body assessed its strenuousday, no hint of pain, no

wrongness appeared, not

53

what I usually feel beforesleeping, this I knew

was another wisdom, fatigueevenly as ease

All the girls are crazy about a certain little lad,Although he's very, very bad.He could be, oh, so good when he wanted to.Bad or good he understood 'bout love 'n' other things.For every girl in town followed him around,Just to hold his hand and sing...

Blue Lake wasimmaculate, but

not evenly blue, patchesof teal green and sandy

brown floated over portions,the whole lake small, the

details of color, oflogs anchored in mud, of

ripples from occasionalbreezes wafting — across

the water, under a steep talusdrop of rust red with

snow patches ahermit thrush sang, clear

mountain air supporting thelyric thrill of the

melody, often called ‘flute-like’and all that while more, not

just the intricacy andtenuousness of its

imperatives, but the almost —that, the almost — the clearest

presence, the robin aclose relative and fine

singer, but neverthis, leaving one

suspended inconclusion, waiting,

wanting anotherrun of what could

this be? soperfect, so fine

— much nearer, twoother singers, a Cassin’s

54

finch atop a lodgepole pine andhigher still, a Fox sparrow ona rock above a stunted shrub,

both singing, great singers too— what could this concert be? ‘it’

could not be morethan it was.

[Band members shout:] Oh, Johnny![Andrew Sisters:] Hoh, Je-Johnny, Johnny, how you can

love.[Band members shout:] Oh, Johnny![Sisters:] Hoh, Je-Johnny, Johnny, heaven up above, way

above.You make my sad heart jump with joy,And when you're near I just can't sit still another minute.

[Sigh.][Band members shout:] Oh, Johnny![Sisters:] Hoh, Je-Johnny, Johnny,Please tell me, dear, what makes me love you so?You're not handsome, it is true, but when I look at you,I just, oh, Johnny, Johnny, Johnny! My!Da-da-da da-da-da-dada-dada-dah

laughing at clouds

It’s alive! It’s alive!

Araucaria heterophylla (synonym A.excelsa) is a distinctive conifer, a member ofthe ancient and now disjointly distributedfamily Araucariaceae. As its vernacularname Norfolk Island Pine implies, the tree isendemic to Norfolk Island, a small island inthe Pacific Ocean between Australia, NewZealand and New Caledonia. The genusAraucaria occurs across the South Pacific,especially concentrated in New Caledonia(about 700 kilometers due north of NorfolkIsland) where 13 closely related and similar-appearing species are found. It is sometimes

55

called a ‘star pine’, due to its symmetricalshape as a sapling, although it is not a truepine.

I'm singin’ in the rainJust singin’ in the rainWhat a glorious feelin’I'm happy again.

the trees grow to a height of 50–65 meters,with straight vertical trunks and

symmetrical branches, even in the face ofincessant onshore winds that can contortmost other species. The scientific name

heterophylla (“different leaves”) derivesfrom the variation in the leaves between

young and adult plants.

�T�h�e� �t�a�l�l�e�s�t� �p�e�a�k� �o�f� �H�a�l�e�a�k�a�la�,� �a�t� �1�0�,�0�2�3� �f�e�e�t� �(�3�,�0�5�5� �meters�)�,� �is� �P�u’uU�l�a’�u�l�a� �(�R�e�d� �H�i�l�l�)�.� �F�r�o�m� �t�h�e� summit� �o�n�e� looks� �d�o�w�n� into� �a� massivedepression� �s�o�m�e� �11�.�2�5� �kilometers� �(�7� �miles�)� across, �3�.�2� �kilometers� �(�2��miles)� �w�i�d�e�,� �a�n�d� �n�e�a�r�l�y� �8�00� �meters� �(�2�,�6�00� �fee�t�)� �d�e�e�p�.� �T�h�e� �s�u�r�r�o�u�n�d�i�n�g��w�a�l�l�s� �a�r�e� �steep� �a�n�d� �t�h�e� �interior �m�o�s�t�l�y� �barren-looking� with� �a� �scattering� �o�f�

volcanic� �co�n�e�s�.

It’s alive! It’s alive!

I’m laughing at clouds.So dark up aboveThe sun's in my heartAnd I'm ready for love

The first European known to have sightedNorfolk Island, and thus the Norfolk Islandpine, was Captain James Cook, in 1774, onhis second voyage to the South Pacific onHMS Resolution. He named the island afterthe Duchess of Norfolk, wife of EdwardHoward, 9th Duke of Norfolk (1685–1777).Cook landed on Norfolk Island, and reportedon the presence of large quantities of tall,straight trees which appeared to be suitablefor use as masts and yards for sailing ships.However, when the island was occupied in1788 by transported convicts from Britain, itwas found that Norfolk Island Pine was not

56

resilient enough for these uses and theindustry was abandoned.

Tiger, tiger, burning brightIn the forests of the night,What immortal hand or eyeDare frame thy fearful symmetry?

It’s alive! It’s alive!

Come on with the rainI’ve a smile on my faceI walk down the laneWith a happy refrainjust singin’singin’ in the rain

Some people may experience a strongallergic reaction if they touch the leaves.

What the hammer? what the chain?In what furnace was thy brain?What the anvil? What dread graspDare its deadly terrors clasp?

It’s alive! It’s alive!

Dancin’ in the rain...I’m happy again...

String theory mainly posits that the electrons and quarks within an atomare not 0-dimensional objects, but rather 1-dimensional oscillating lines

(“strings”). The earliest string model, the bosonic string, incorporated onlybosons, although this view developed to the superstring theory, which

posits that a connection (a “supersymmetry”) exists between bosons andfermions. String theories also require the existence of several extra,

unobservable dimensions to the universe, in addition to the four knownspacetime dimensions.

It’s alive! It’s alive!

I'm singin’ and dancin’ in the rain...

57

The Library

ting, ting, ting! ting, ting ting!a joy of smiling faces, babies

in the laps of caregivers, a mother’sface, ovoid and unadorned, andin one case, a male’s, similarly

without etched aspect,plain in ‘ting! ting!’ went

the circle’s ring, the Asianmatron conducting the

circle of bablies bouncingon the laps of …

My mother groaned! My father wept.Into the dangerous world I leapt:Helpless, naked, piping loud:Like a fiend hid in a cloud.

Struggling in my father’s hands:Striving against my swaddling bands:Bound and weary I thought bestTo sulk upon my mother’s breast.

We'll be fighting in the streetsWith our children at our feet

And the morals that they worship will be goneAnd the men who spurred us on

Sit in judgment of all wrongThey decide and the shotgun sings the song

whee, whee, whee! wheeeeeeee!without hesitation the Asian matron’s

practiced face, benign andcertain, moved along with

the song, ‘wheeeeeeeee!’ againas the little ones bobbed

and their caregiversbounced, a seeming quiet

dimming their voices asthey followed the matron’s

wheeeeeeeeeee

58

I went to the Garden of Love,And saw what I never had seen:A Chapel was built in the midst,Where I used to play on the green.

And the gates of this Chapel were shut,And Thou shalt not, writ over the door;So I turn’d to the Garden of Love,That so many sweet flowers bore,

And I saw it was filled with graves,And tombstones where flowers should be:And Priests in black gowns were walking their rounds,And binding the briars, my joys and desires.

Change it had to comeWe knew it all along

We were liberated from the fall that's allBut the world looks just the same

And history ain't changed'Cause the banners, they all flew in the last war

the rondeau in the children’s cornerwhispered with its tings and whees as

the clerk checked my three booksat his counter — a smile, a winning …

wondering, I asked him “do youenjoy these toddler’s sessions?”

there was a moment, staring at my librarycard, then … the slightest curl

at his mouth’s corners andhe looked at me, the eyes winning too

as if, as ifcould it be possible we didn’t know?

Cruelty has a human heartAnd jealousy a Human FaceTerror, the Human Form DivineAnd secrecy, the Human Dress

The Human Dress, is forged from IronThe Human Form, a fiery ForgeThe Human Face, a Furnace seal’dThe Human Heart, its hungry Gorge.

59

I'll move myself and my family asideIf we happen to be left half alive

I'll get all my papers and smile at the skyFor I know that the hypnotized never lie

the smile was too attractivenot to realize, of course

replaced as ifwheeeeeeeee! especially

loud from the fadingcorner, the patrons

of this branch ademocratic sampling of

what some hope forand some do not

ting, ting, ting! ting, ting ting!

I Dreamt a Dream! what can it mean?And that I was a maiden Queen:Guarded by an Angel mild:Witless woe, was ne’er beguiled!

And I wept both night and dayAnd he wiped my tears awayAnd I wept both day and nightAnd hid from him my heart’s delight

So he took his wings and fled:Then the morn blushed rosy red:I dried my tears and armed my fears,With ten thousand shields and spears.

Soon my Angel came again:I was armed, he came in vain:For the time of youth was fledAnd grey hairs were on my head

There's nothing in the streetLooks any different to me

And the slogans are replaced, by-the-byeAnd the parting on the left

Is now the parting on the rightAnd the beards have all grown longer overnight

a joy of smiling faces

60

magic pool

back and forthzig and zag

pebbles and duffruts now dry

rivulets in the springSeptember clear

snow well up the peakthe pass 12,000 feet

Jeffrey pine, afew willows along

the creek, noname luckily, at

least for me, maybeLyell Creek for

the mountain butI wanted only the

sparkling waterthe little sounds, the

glisten

Des yeux qui font baisser les miens,Un rire qui se perd sur sa bouche—Voilà le portrait sans retoucheDe l’homme auquel j’appartiens.

Eyes that gaze into mine,A smile that is lost on his lips—That is the unretouched portraitOf the man to whom I belong.

tufts of bunch grasssometimes a tinyclump of flowers

lewisia in screehere and there

large pineconesseedless, opened, brittle,dry, a Clark’s nutcracker

long since made offwith the food,

buried it

61

Quand il me prend dans ses bras,Il me parle tout bas,Je vois la vie en rose.Il me dit des mots d’amour,Des mots de tous les jours,Et ça me fait quelque chose.

When he takes me in his armsAnd speaks softly to me,I see life in rosy hues.He tells me words of love,Words of every day,And in them I become something.

I rememberto put a small stone

in my mouth, itacts as

moisturizer againstthirst, saliva ducts

making little fountainsin my mouth just

as I need them, wantdistraction from

an even panting, Inever had strong breath,

a regret

Il est entré dans mon cœur,Une part de bonheurDont je connais la cause.C’est lui pour moi,Moi pour lui dans la vie,Il me l’a dit, l’a juré pour la vie.Et dès que je l’aperçois,Alors je sens en moiMon cœur qui bat.

He has entered my heart,A part of happinessAnd I understand the reason.It’s he for me and I for him, throughout life,He has told me, he has sworn to me, for life.And from the things I sense,Now I can feel within meMy heart beating.

62

at last, therethe pass and crossing

a walk longerthan I’d thought it

would be, thedivide between waters

that flow to the Pacific,that flow toward the desert

to the east, nodesert yet, just

vast mountainness,lines of snow, bands of

conifers, little lakesin hollows, the wind

everywhere pulseda breath

one doesn’t asksteady

there

Et dès que je l’aperçois,Alors je sens en moiMon cœur qui bat.

And from the things I sense,Now I can feel within meMy heart beating.

the trail sweepsgently now, soon

an alpine pooland nearby a clump

of whitebark pines, wind-shaped,broken

a sand islandwater

so clear it seemsliquid air, still

surface tensionsupporting grains of

what? thingsliving or not, just

suspended

63

une maison bleue adossée à la colline

I’d watched this Victorian being rebuiltfor years, a favorite street tree — a honeylocust — destroyed so a garage could be

devised, steel I-beams to support anelevator to the upper two stories from

inside the garage, and an hydraulic systemon the garage roof to support a deck of plants,

neighbors sometimes called the project ‘themafia graveyard’ because so little showed

for such great effort, so much dirt removed —

C'est une maison bleueAdossée à la collineOn y vient à piedOn ne frappe pasCeux qui vivent làOnt jeté la cléOn se retrouve ensembleAprès des années de routeEt on vient s'asseoirAutour d'un repasTout le monde est làÀ cinq heures du soir

— and then the refurbishedhouse joined others along the

way, specifically thesouth side of 18th Street

in the Castro, half acity block from Dolores

Park, from Mission High,the improvements fading,the color old mayonnaise

flecked in soot, notmuch — San Francisco

is not an industrial place butflecked

Quand San Francisco s'embrumeQuand San Francisco s'allumeSan Francisco

64

Où êtes-vousLizzard et LucPsylviaAttendez-moi

�M�a�x�i�m�e� �L�e� F�o�r�e�s�t�i�e�r�,who had heard of him? but

one afternoon a crowd ofpeople massed on the street

outside this again newly painted house, I’dhardly noticed the baby blue paint

and replanting of the beds and boxeswith bright annuals, petunias and

primrose, a creamy painted bordertoo — oddly, the TV cameras

setting up were marked inFrench, the national

news network, why?

Nageant dans le brouillardEnlacés roulant dans l'herbeOn écoutera Tom à la guitarePhil à la kéna jusqu'à la nuit noireUn autre arriveraPour nous dire des nouvellesD'un qui reviendra dans un an ou deuxPuisqu'il est heureux on s'endormira

— ‘some famous entertainer,’ saida party next to me, watching from a

window, ‘he lived there asa hippy 40 years ago, a

commune likeso many others here, just

some guy’ —

C'est une maison bleueAdossée à la collineOn y vient à piedOn ne frappe pasCeux qui vivent làOnt jeté la cléPeuplée de cheveux longsDe grands lits et de musiquePeuplés de lumière

65

Et peuplée de fousElle sera dernièreÀ rester debout.

‘yeah, he wrote a songabout it all & it’s still

famous, people still …’ mythoughts turned away,

seized by the legs, not verygently, thrust upward

violently, whisssshthe sound as much asthe motion and senseof protective flesh as

gasping I viewedwhat I would not have

understood at all if Ihad not seen a life-

time of film, of photo-graphic imaging of whata vivid geosphere might

be, is, ablue ball of

life — whisssssssssshhno end to

Ariane is a series of a European civilian expendable launchvehicles for space launch use. The name comes from the

French spelling of the mythological character Ariadne; theword is also used in French to describe some types of

hummingbird.

but the urge was to lookin, not out, as these

racing forces blinded, theshield total as whatever grew

grew from a coreperceived as light brightening,

a sphere tiny, abdominalutterly strong in

fragile focus,quiveringfor itself

66

Ariadne was associated with the surname "Very Holy Maid," because her name is avariant of Ariagne from the Greek word àgni, which means "the most holy." Under this

title — àgni — Aphrodite on Delos was honored.

a witness would have seena shower of fire, what

was seen sawa hesitant center,

petunia andprimrose

ice

Mam'selle

Tyrone Power Larry DarrellIsabel Bradley Gene Tierney

Gray Maturin John PayneSophie MacDonald Anne Baxter

Elliott Templeton Clifton WebbW. Somerset Maugham Herbert Marshall

Louisa Bradley Lucile WatsonBob MacDonald Frank LatimoreMiss Keith Elsa Lanchester

by degrees, consciousness returning,an alarming unease, what

could be the matter? nothingseemed more wrong than usual,

it was sadness, a washas if something were in the air;

I slowly rose, from lightlyresting, a morning nap to

fill out a very early start toa day that now found me near

breathlessness, what?

A small café, mam`selleOur rendez-vouz, mam`selleThe violins were warm and sweet and so were you,

mam`selle

67

I knew myfeeling

had somethingto do with

The Razor’s Edge,the ‘old movie’ I’d

watched the evening before —the memory of an opinion

Somerset Maughan had made abouthis own writing,

the source an article some-where, quoting Maugham,

I’d have to paraphrase, ‘Mywriting is of the first rankin the second tier,’ whichI’d thought astute. What

this had to do with the moviemade from his novel, in

which he was so in-volved he appears as

a character —maybe after a shower, after

a light breakfast, I’d —

And as the night danced byA kiss became a sighYour lovely eyesSeem to sparkle just like wine does

the Keats’ poem quotedwhen Tyrone Power as thesaintly Larry Darrell goes

through the murdered AnneBaxter’s (Sophie MacDonald)

effects in her Toulon hotel room,citing, reciting

the text — what is thepoem?! — as a shared

memory from childhood— when really did I see and read this?

— the effect on hearing thereading yesterday is

an im-pression of in-

creasing

68

beauty, asentiment, do

I mean sentimental?Tyrone Power? saint / holy fool

Anne Baxter? murdered drunkardGene Tierney? a woman

so immature and possessive shekills for love, yes,

there Maugham’s misogynystands out in fullflower, the scent

of this terrifying rose

No heart ever yearned the way that mine does, for youAnd yet I know too wellSomeday you`ll say goodbye

the shower blasted,the yogurt, coffee, sconegave a moment’s peace

The violins were warm and sweet and so were you,mam`selle

is it really Keats’poem, elegant and

so articulate inpresenting the

intricacy of youthfullife, flavored thenin eros wrapping

such life — hedied young — the

emotion must be … whatis all this? why

am I stepping aboutthe first feeling, the

one I felt wakingso very recently? can

I stand it? that’swhere this is, from

a time when I could notstand it, both

novel and film readand seen

not many years after

69

the film was made,after ‘the war’ so

called

Then violins will cryAnd so will I, mam`selle

the truth then — Icould not

stand ‘it’ —ah! at least Keats’ sonnet

can be recovered:

The day is gone, and all its sweets are gone!  Sweet voice, sweet lips, soft hand, and softer breast,Warm breath, light whisper, tender semi-tone,  Bright eyes, accomplish'd shape, and lang'rous waist!Faded the flower and all its budded charms,  Faded the sight of beauty from my eyes,Faded the shape of beauty from my arms,  Faded the voice, warmth, whiteness, paradise —Vanish'd unseasonably at shut of eve,  When the dusk holiday — or holinightOf fragrant-curtain'd love begins to weave  The woof of darkness thick, for hid delight;But, as I've read love's missal through today,He'll let me sleep, seeing I fast and pray.

Margie

‘a pig’ is what he called it, anexpert in boat building and design,

‘heavy and broad beamed anda rocker and roller’ but

when the sea-going craft finallysailed before the wind, a re-

construction of an ancient Egyptiancargo vessel, wide rectangular

sail pushing 7 knots onan easy sea, he said

too that ‘this is fun’ &‘the best boat I’ve been on

70

in these circumstances: fun,’well, it’s the wind that

counts

My little Margie,I'm always thinking of you, Margie!I'll tell the whole wide world I love you;Don't forget your promise to me,

yes, the wind,often the principal signal

a weather front is coming, ishere, one

feels the chill, thefog of early morning peelingback as the sun burns roiling

moisture away, or contrarywise,the fog racing inland to follow the

pull of the sun toward hot earthsomewhere the sea is

little known — yes

Don't forget your promise to me,I will bring you a home and ring and everything

I thought it quaint when olderpeople said, ‘a tumor

took her, andonly 30’ — took her

where?

Oh Margie, you've been my inspiration,Days are never blue

Hepshepsut had commissionedships to gather ‘the wonderful

things of Punt’ and theserequired transit from the South, a

passage on the Red Sea, what-ever it was called in the 18th Dynasty,

incense particularly, ‘a passageto the gods,’ and leopard skins, such

majesties for others of likerank, the ships already

noble, made from cedars from Lebanon,

71

guided by a pair of steering oars andpowered by the wind, uncertain

of course, the coursedependent

After all is said and done,There is really only one,Oh Margie, Margie, it's you!

the only photo of her, a flapperwith a permanent stylizing curl

over kohled eyesand one guesses short

statured fromthe shape of her 20s-something

body, the cincturesexually placed, the

shine satin, silksomething

bright — the cameracaught reflection

Days are never blueAfter all is said and done,There is really only one

it’s the winddelighting our concerns,

framing themyou knowwe all do

Mine eyes have seen

Sarah “Sally” Hemings (Shadwell, Albemarle County,Virginia, circa 1773 – Charlottesville, Virginia, 1835) was

a mixed-race slave owned by president Thomas Jeffersonthrough inheritance by his wife. She was the half-sister of

Jefferson’s wife, Martha Wayles Skelton Jefferson by theirfather John Wayles. She was notable because most

72

historians now widely believe that the widower Jeffersontook her as a concubine, had six children with her, and an

extended relationship for 38 years until his death. Theywere seven-eighths white by ancestry and born into slavery.

When Jefferson’s relationship and children were reportedin 1802, there was sensational coverage for a time, butJefferson remained silent on the issue. Four Hemings-

Jefferson children survived to adulthood. He let two“escape” in 1822 at the age of 21 and freed the younger two

in his will in 1826.

Informally freed by Jefferson's daughter after his death in1826, Sally Hemings lived her last nine years with her two

freed sons in nearby Charlottesville, Virginia. An 1833county census recorded the Hemingses as “white,”consistent with their mostly European ancestry andappearance. After Sally’s death in 1835, Eston and

Madison Hemings migrated with their families toChillicothe in the free state of Ohio.

Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord:He is trampling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored;He hath loosed the fateful lightning of His terrible swift sword:His truth is marching on.

T�h�e� �W�o�u�n�d�e�d� �K�n�e�e� �M�a�s�s�a�c�r�e� �h�a�p�p�e�n�e�d� �o�n� �D�e�c�e�m�b�e�r� �2�9�,��1�8�9�0�,�� �n�e�a�r� �W�o�u�n�d�e�d� �K�n�e�e� �C�r�e�e�k� � on the Lakota Pine

Ridge Indian Reservation in South Dakota, USA. On theday before, a detachment of the U.S. 7th Cavalry Regiment

commanded by Major Samuel M. Whitside interceptedSpotted Elk's (Big Foot) band of Miniconjou Lakota and 38

Hunkpapa Lakota near Porcupine Butte and escorted them5 miles westward (8 km) to Wounded Knee Creek where

they made camp.

The rest of the 7th Cavalry Regiment arrived led byColonel James Forsyth and surrounded the encampment

supported by four Hotchkiss guns.

On the morning of December 29, the troops went into thecamp to disarm the Lakota. One version of events claims

that during the process of disarming the Lakota, a deaftribesman named Black Coyote was reluctant to give up hisrifle claiming he had paid a lot for it. A scuffle over Black

Coyote's rifle escalated and a shot was fired which resultedin the 7th Cavalry opening firing indiscriminately from all

73

sides, killing men, women, and children, as well as some oftheir own fellow troopers. Those few Lakota warriors who

still had weapons began shooting back at the attackingtroopers, who quickly suppressed the Lakota fire. The

surviving Lakota fled, but U.S. cavalrymen pursued andkilled many who were unarmed.

By the time it was over, at least 150 men, women, andchildren of the Lakota Sioux had been killed and 51

wounded (4 men, 47 women and children, some of whomdied later); some estimates placed the number of dead at

300. Twenty-five troopers also died, and thirty-nine werewounded (6 of the wounded would also die). It is believedthat many were the victims of friendly fire, as the shooting

took place at close range in chaotic conditions.

Glory, glory, hallelujah!Glory, glory, hallelujah!Glory, glory, hallelujah!His truth is marching on.

My dearest, most beloved LambI who in tenderest union am

To all thy cross-air-birds bound,Smell to and kiss each corpse’s wound,

Yet at the Side-hole’s part,There pants and throbs my heart,

I see still, how the soldier fierceDid thy lovely Pleura pierce,

That dearest Side-hole!Be praised, O God, for this Spear’s slit!

I thank thee, Soldier, too for it.I’ve licked this Rock’s salt round and round

Where can such relish else be found.

During the period known as the Sifting Time, roughly from1746 to 1750, the Moravians went mad celebrating the

wounds of the sacrificial victim, Jesus Christ.

Most of H. D.’s [Hilda Doolittle’s] poetry is allusive andreticent, but one poem reminds of the … symbolism wefind in such Moravian hymns. “Hyman” was written in

1917:

There with his honey-seeking lipsThe bee clings close and warmly sips,

74

And seeks with honey-thighs to swayAnd drink the very flower away.

(Ah, stern the petals drawing back;Ah rare, ah virginal her breath!)

Crimson, with honey-seeking lips,The sun lies hot across his back,

The gold is flashed across his wings.Quivering he sways and quivering clings

(Ah, rare her shoulders drawing back!)One moment, then the plunderer slips

Between the purple flower-lips.

I have seen Him in the watch-fires of a hundred circling camps,They have builded Him an altar in the evening dews and damps;I can read His righteous sentence by the dim and flaring lamps:His day is marching on.

… preceding the great Moravian revival of 1727, it wasCount Zinzendorf who was used to encourage prayer for a

fresh outpouring of the Holy Spirit…. Was there ever in thewhole of church history such an astonishing prayer meeting

as that which beginning in 1727, went on one hundredyears? It was known as the ‘Hourly Intercession.’ And it

meant that by relays of brothers and sisters, prayer withoutceasing was made to God for all the work and wants of His

church. The best antidote for a powerless Church is theinfluence of a praying man. The influence of CountZinzendorf’s prayer-life did not stop with one small

community. It ultimately went on to influence the wholeworld.

Glory, glory, hallelujah!Glory, glory, hallelujah!Glory, glory, hallelujah!His day is marching on.

T�h�e� �M�y� �L�a�i� �M�a��ss�a�c�r�e� �w�a�s� �t�h�e� �m�a�s�s� �m�u�r�d�e�r� �o�f� �3�4�7 to 5�0�4��u�n�a�r�m�e�d� �c�i�t�i�z�e�n�s� �i�n� �S�o�u�t�h� �V�i�e�t�n�a�m� �o�n� �M�a�r�c�h� �1�6�,� �1�9�6�8�,��c�o�n�d�u�c�t�e�d� �b�y� �a� �u�n�i�t� �o�f� �t�h�e� �U�n�i�t�e�d� �S�t�a�t�e�s� �A�r�m�y�.� �A�l�l� �o�f� �t�h�e��v�i�c�t�i�m�s� �w�e�r�e� �c�i�v�i�l�i�a�n�s� �a�n�d� �m�o�s�t� �w�e�r�e� �w�o�m�e�n�,� �c�h�i�l�d�r�e�n�

�(�i�n�c�l�u�d�i�n�g� �b�a�b�i�e�s�)�,� �a�n�d� �e�l�d�e�r�l�y� �p�e�o�p�l�e�.� �M�a�n�y� �o�f� �t�h�e� �v�i�c�t�i�m�s��w�e�r�e� �r�a�p�e�d�,� �b�e�a�t�e�n�,� �t�o�r�t�u�r�e�d�,� �a�n�d� �s�o�m�e� �o�f� �t�h�e� �b�o�d�i�e�s� �w�e�r�e�

�f�o�u�n�d� �m�u�t�i�l�a�t�e�d�.��

75

�T�h�e� �m�a�s�s�a�c�r�e� �t�o�o�k� �p�l�a�c�e� �i�n� �t�h�e� �h�a�m�l�e�t�s� �o�f� �My� �L�a�i� �a�n�d� �M�y��K�h�e� �o�f� �So�n� �My� �v�i�l�l�a�g�e� �d�u�r�i�n�g� �t�h�e� �V�i�e�t�n�a�m� �W�a�r�.�� �W�h�i�l�e� �2�6��U�S� �s�o�l�d�i�e�r�s� �w�e�r�e� �i�n�i�t�i�a�l�l�y� �c�h�a�r�g�e�d� �w�i�t�h� �c�r�i�m�i�n�a�l� �o�f�f�e�n�s�e�s�

�f�o�r� �t�h�e�i�r� �a�c�t�i�o�n�s� �a�t� �My� �L�a�i�,� �o�n�l�y� �W�i�l�l�i�a�m� �C�a�l�l�e�y� �w�a�s��c�o�n�v�i�c�t�e�d� �o�f� �k�i�l�l�i�n�g� �2�2� �v�i�l�l�a�g�e�r�s�.� �O�r�i�g�i�n�a�l�l�y� �g�i�v�e�n� �a� �l�i�f�e��s�e�n�t�e�n�c�e�,� �h�e� �s�e�r�v�e�d� �t�h�r�e�e� �a�n�d� �a� �h�a�l�f� �y�e�a�r�s� �u�n�d�e�r� �h�o�u�s�e�

�a�r�r�e�s�t�.

�W�h�e�n� �t�h�e� �i�n�c�i�d�e�n�t� �b�e�c�a�m�e� �p�u�b�l�i�c� �k�n�o�w�l�e�d�g�e� �i�n� �1�9�6�9�,� �i�t��p�r�o�m�p�t�e�d� �w�i�d�e�s�p�r�e�a�d� �o�u�t�r�a�g�e� �a�r�o�u�n�d� �t�h�e� �w�o�r�l�d�.� �T�h�e�

�m�a�s�s�a�c�r�e� �a�l�s�o� �i�n�c�r�e�a�s�e�d� �d�o�m�e�s�t�i�c� �o�p�p�o�s�i�t�i�o�n� �t�o� �t�h�e� �U�S��i�n�v�o�l�v�e�m�e�n�t� �i�n� �t�h�e� �V�i�e�t�n�a�m� �W�a�r�.� �T�h�r�e�e� �U�S� �s�e�r�v�i�c�e�m�e�n��w�h�o� �m�a�d�e� �a�n� �e�f�f�o�r�t� �t�o� �h�a�l�t� �t�h�e� �m�a�s�s�a�c�r�e� �a�n�d� �p�r�o�t�e�c�t� �t�h�e�

�w�o�u�n�d�e�d� �w�e�r�e� �l�a�t�e�r� �d�e�n�o�u�n�c�e�d� �b�y� �U�S� �C�o�n�g�r�e�s�s�m�e�n�.� �T�h�e�y��r�e�c�e�i�v�e�d� �h�a�t�e� �m�a�i�l�,� �d�e�a�t�h� �t�h�r�e�a�t�s� �a�n�d� �f�o�u�n�d� �m�u�t�i�l�a�t�e�d�

�a�n�i�m�a�l�s� �o�n� �t�h�e�i�r� �d�o�o�r�s�t�e�p�s�.�� �I�t� �w�o�u�l�d� �t�a�k�e� �3�0� �y�e�a�r�s� �b�e�f�o�r�e��t�h�e�y� �w�e�r�e� �h�o�n�o�r�e�d� �f�o�r� �t�h�e�i�r� �e�f�f�o�r�t�s�.�

��T�h�e� �m�a�s�sa�c�r�e� �i�s� �a�l�s�o� �k�n�o�w�n� �a�s� �t�h�e��� �‘S�o�n�g� �My� �M�a�ss�a�c�r�e�.�’���T�h�e� �U�S� �m�i�l�i�t�a�r�y� �c�o�d�e�w�o�r�d� �f�o�r� �t�h�e� �h�a�m�l�e�t� �w�a�s� �P�i�n�k�v�i�l�l�e�.

I have read a fiery gospel writ in burnished rows of steel:“As ye deal with my contemners, so with you my grace shall deal;Let the Hero, born of woman, crush the serpent with his heel,Since God is marching on.”

“Somali Tied to Militants Held on U.S. Ship for Months”In an indictment unsealed in the Southern District of New

York, the Somali, Ahmed Abdulkadir Warsame, wascharged with nine counts related to accusations that he

provided support to the Shabab in Somalia and Al Qaeda inthe Arabian Peninsula, in Yemen. Mr. Warsame, believed

to be in his mid-20s, was captured on April 19, and a planecarrying him arrived in New York City around midnight

Monday night, officials said.

While the Justice Department called Mr. Warsame a“Shabab leader,” it does not accuse him of plotting any

specific attack. Officials gave conflicting accounts of hissignificance: one portrayed him as a “senior operationalcommander” while another played down his role, saying

that his capture was instead important because he hadprovided large amounts of intelligence about the groups

and ties between them.

76

Regardless, his case is likely to have outsize significance inthe political arena because it resonates with intense debatessurrounding the administration’s counterterrorism policies— including whether to bring newly captured detainees tothe military prison at Guantánamo Bay, Cuba; whether to

prosecute terrorism cases in civilian court or before amilitary commission; and what rights terrorism suspects

have during interrogation. [New York Times , July 5, 2011]

He has sounded forth the trumpet that shall never call retreat;He is sifting out the hearts of men before His judgment-seat:

Oh, be swift, my soul, to answer Him! be jubilant, my feet!Our God is marching on.

(Chorus)Glory, glory, hallelujah!Glory, glory, hallelujah!Glory, glory, hallelujah!Our God is marching on.

The Mission

whitewashed & tiled agem to be adored

the Gray Line busesejecting the once bored

now singing

Mein kleiner grüner Kaktus steht draußen am Balkon,hollari, hollari, hollaro!

frolicking, snake-dancingwith voices in accordsome shouting, some

tinny, allspirits have soared

Was brauch' ich rote Rosen, was brauch' ich roten Mohn,hollari, hollari, hollaro!

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when Padre Palóu &Lieutenant Moraga concocted

a church that was alsoa ranch, peopled by

Indians — the Ohlones,so called — to

fashion a branchof Spain’s empire nearthe Arroyo de NuestraSeñora de los Dolores,a well-named location

foretelling for allsome decades of wealth

& the shadow of fear

Blumen im Garten, so zwanzig Arten,von Rosen Tulpen und Narzissen

“more than 5,000 Indians arethought to have been buried in

the cemetery adjacent tothe Mission” thus

“by 1842, only eight ChristianIndians were living at the Mission”

Mein kleiner grüner Kaktus steht draußen am Balkon,hollari, hollari, hollaro!

buenos dios, alcalde!buenos dios, padre!

the stretch limo came &out spilled a couple,

gown blazing, tux lithebuenos dios, alcalde!

buenos dios, padre!the guests crowdthe steps, leaves

blowing the street,roses & tulip

abundant & lush!

Mein kleiner grüner Kaktus steht draußen am Balkon,hollari, hollari, hollaro!

20 species ofroses, with narcissus of course

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buenos dios, alcalde!buenos dios, padre!

the stretch limo hovers &in pours the couple,

gown blazing, tux lithebuenos dios, alcalde!

buenos dios, padre!

was brauch' ich roten Mohnwhy a red poppy,oh why? oh why?

mosquitoes

O flea! Whatever you do,don’t jump;

that way is the river.

Falling in love againNever wanted toWhat am I to do?Can't help it

In this worldwe walk on the roof of hell,

gazing at flowers.

Love's always been my gamePlay it how I may

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I was made that wayCan't help it

Don’t kill that fly!Look — it’s wringing its hands,

wringing its feet.

Men cluster to me like moths around a flameAnd if their wings burn, I know I'm not to blame

Falling in love againNever wanted toWhat am I to do?Can't help it

All the time I pray to BuddhaI keep on

killing mosquitoes.

Love's always been my gamePlay it how I mayI was made that wayCan't help it.

That wren—looking here, looking there.

You lose something?

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Men cluster to me like moths around a flameAnd if their wings burn, I know I'm not to blame

Don’t worry, spiders, I keep house

casually.

my face painted with blue

It was the previous year, in December. The Finnishskirmishers, having passed the wilderness of Vuoksi,

reached the fringe of the wild, endless forest of Ràikkola.The forest was full of [Red Army troops in] Karelia,

[which] to escape the trap of the Finnish forces, had fledtoward Làdoga, in hopes of being able to embark their guns

and horses and save themselves by crossing the lake. Butthe Soviet barges and tugboats were late in arriving. Every

hour of delay could be fatal, since the cold was intense,furious, the lake could freeze over at any moment, and the

Finnish troops, composed of units of sissit, were alreadyinfiltrating the forest, pressing the Russians on all sides, on

the flanks and from behind.On the third day a huge fire broke out in the forest

of Ràikkola. The men, horses, trees trapped in the circle offire screamed in terror. The sissit assaulted the fire, firing

into the wall of flame and smoke, closing off every avenueof escape. Crazed with fear, the Soviet artillery horses –

there were nearly a thousand – threw themselves into thefire, breaking through the siege of flames and machine

guns. Many perished in the fire, but a large part of themreached the shore of the lake, and threw themselves into the

water.The lake is not very deep at that point, no more than

a couple of meters; but within a hundred paces of the shore,the bottom drops off precipitously. Confined in that smallspace (the shore, in that part of Làdoga, curves, forming a

small bay), between the deep water and the wall of fire, the

81

horses clustered, trembling with cold and fear, with theirheads above the water. Those closer to the shore, assaultedin front by the flames, reared and forced their way among

their companions, biting and kicking. In their madness, thefreeze took them by surprise.

I think that a dream like that will never returnI painted my hands and my face with blueThen suddenly, I was taken by the windAnd I began to fly in the endless sky…

Penso che un sogno così non ritorni mai più:mi dipingevo le mani e la faccia di blu,poi d’improvviso venivo dal vento rapitoe incominciavo a volare nel cielo infinito…

During the night, the north wind came down. (The northwind comes from the Sea of Murmansk, like an angel,

screeching, and the earth abruptly dies.) A terrible colddescended. Instantly, with the characteristic vibrating sound

of struck glass, the water froze. The sea, the lakes, therivers, all froze at once with the abrupt shattering of the

thermal equilibrium. Even the waves froze in motion,becoming waves of ice, suspended in the void.

Flying….oh oh…singing…oh oh oh oh!In the blue sky, painted in blue,so glad to be there

Volare… oh, oh!…cantare… oh, oh, oh, oh!nel blu, dipinto di blu,felice di stare lassù.

The following day, when the first platoons of sissit, theirhair singed, their faces black with smoke, walking

cautiously on the still-warm ashes across the carbonizedforest, reached the shore of the lake, a horrible and

marvelous spectacle greeted them. The lake was like animmense sheet of white marble, on which seemed to resthundreds and hundreds of horses’ heads. Only the heads

projected above the sheet of ice. All the heads were turnedtoward the shore. The white flame of terror still burned in

their wide-open eyes. Near the shore, a tangle offerociously rearing horses rose from the icy prison.

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But all the dreams fall away in the rise becauseThe moon brings them away when it fallsBut I’m still dreaming in your beautiful eyesThat are blue like the sky painted with stars

Ma tutti sogni nell’alba svaniscon perché,quando tramonta, la luna li porta con sé,Ma io continuo a sognare negli occhi tuoi belli,che sono blu come un cielo trapunto di stelle.

Sunday morning the sissit gathered again at the lòttala ofRàikkola, and after drinking a cup of tea, went down to the

lake. (The sissit are the Finnish rangers, the wolves of theforest war. They are in large part young, and many are very

young, a few still boys. They belong to the solitary andtaciturn race of the heroes of Sillanpää. They live their

entire lives in the depths of the forest; they live like trees,like stones, like wild animals.) They descended to the lake,

and walked out to sit on the horses’ heads. The accordionplayer intoned a laulu; it was the Vàrtiossa, the watchman’s

song. Wrapped in their sheepskin capes, fur caps pulleddown to their eyebrows, the sissit sang the sad laulu in

chorus. Then the accordionist, sitting on an icy mane, ranhis fingers over the keyboard, and the sissit intoned the

Réppurin laulu, the Karelian song of the cuckoo, the sacredbird of Karelia.

And I don’t stop flying happily higher than the sun andmoreWhile the world is slowly disappearing in your blue eyesYour voice is a sweet music that sings for me

E continuo a volare felice più in alto del sole ed ancora piùsu,mentre il mondo pian piano scompare negli occhi tuoi blu,la tua voce è una musica dolce che suona per me…

The cuckoo’s cry, guk-kuup, sounded sad and loud in thesilence of the forest. Cannons thundered from the oppositeshore of Làdoga. The concussions shivered the trees like a

fluttering of wings, like a trembling of leaves. And highabove that living silence, which the solitary ta-pum of a

rifle shot now and then made deeper and more secret, thererose, insistently, monotonous, perfectly pure, the song of

83

the cuckoo, a cry that little by little became human: guk-kuup, guk-kuup.

And I don’t stop flying happily higher than the sun andmoreWhile the world is slowly disappearing in your blue eyesYour voice is a sweet music that sings for me

Flying….oh oh…singing…oh oh oh oh!In the blue sky of your blue eyes,so glad to be there

E continuo a volare felice più in alto del sole ed ancora piùsu,mentre il mondo pian piano scompare negli occhi tuoi blu,la tua voce è una musica dolce che suona per me…

Volare… oh, oh!…cantare… oh, oh, oh, oh!nel blu degli occhi tuoi blu,felice di stare quaggiù.

Nokomis

I’d passed the southwest corner tocross to the public transit island mid-street

and had not noticed a lively scene onthe northeast corner of the intersection

until sirens blasted the noonday calmand a fire rescue truck hove to view

racing to a stop, the uniformedattendants jumping to the curb where

someone was sprawled, back to ground,unidentifiable even as to race or gender

from such parts as showed thoughthe head was raised — not young,I gleaned, though I altered passing

interpretations quickly when Irealized no indicator was certain,

just the quiet of the scene, no

84

shouting, no apparent alarm,the attendants even smiling from

time to time as the work wentforward, ambulance arriving,

stretcher lowered, patient hoistedonto stretcher, stretcher into

ambulance, which remained whenI boarded my train, watchingthe scene as it faded, the dis-

tinctive fire department colors, thewhat? someone dead or dying,

drunk or fainted, who?

Oh, BillWhy can't you behaveWhy can't you behave?How in hell can you be jealousWhen you know, baby, I'm your slave?I'm just mad for youAnd I'll always beBut naturally.....

By the shores of Gitche Gumee, By the shining Big-Sea-Water, Stood the wigwam of Nokomis, Daughter of the Moon, Nokomis. Dark behind it rose the forest, Rose the black and gloomy pine-trees, Rose the firs with cones upon them; Bright before it beat the water, Beat the clear and sunny water, Beat the shining Big-Sea-Water.

“All Suffering Soon to End!”At some time in your life, you have

likely asked, ‘Whyall this suffering?’ For thousands

of years, the human family hassuffered greatly from wars,

poverty, disasters, crime, in-justice, sickness and death.

The past hundred years haveseen more suffering than ever

before. Will all of this ever end?The comforting answer is yes,

85

and very soon! God’s Word,the Bible, proclaims: “The wicked

one will be no more … But the meekones themselves will possess the earth,

and they will indeed find theirexquisite delight in the

abundance of peace.” For how long?“The righteous themselves will

possess the earth, and theywill reside forever upon it.” —

a psalm is cited — I’deven begun to read this rather

than meet the eye, thesustained stare of this mild

middle-aged woman whogestured toward the

façade of the hospital Iwas just exiting onto

the busy street, herhair a style I

remembered from mychildhood — she’d

pressed this pamphlet intomy hand, saying, “This

will soon go!” whichprovoked my remarking,

‘Increasing unemployment inthese troubled times?’ And

she did laugh.

If a custom-tailored vetAsks me out for something wetWhen the vet begins to pet, I cry “hooray!”But I’m always true to you, darlin’, in my fashionYes, I’m always true to you, darlin’, in my way

There the wrinkled old Nokomis Nursed the little Hiawatha, Rocked him in his linden cradle, Bedded soft in moss and rushes, Safely bound with reindeer sinews; Stilled his fretful wail by saying, “Hush! the Naked Bear will hear thee!” Lulled him into slumber, singing, “Ewa-yea! my little owlet! Who is this, that lights the wigwam?

86

With his great eyes lights the wigwam? Ewa-yea! my little owlet!”

I’d gladly be the abandoned childon the pier setting out for the open sea,the young farm boy in the lane whose

forehead grazes the sky.The paths are harsh. The little hills

are cloaked with broom.The air is motionless.

How far away the birdsand the springs are! It can only be

the end of the world, as you move forward.

Je serais bien l’enfant abandonnésur la jetée partie à la haute mer,

le petit valet, suivant l’alléedont le front touche le ciel.

Les sentiers sont âpres.Les monticules se couvrent de genets.

L’air est immobile. Que les oiseauxet les sources sont loin!

Ce ne peut être que la fin du monde,en avançant.

There’s a madman known as MackWho is planning to attackIf his mad attack means a Cadillac, okay!But I'm always true to you, darlin’, in my fashionYes, I'm always true to you, darlin’ in my way

Many things Nokomis taught him Of the stars that shine in heaven; Showed him Ishkoodah, the comet, Ishkoodah, with fiery tresses; Showed the Death-Dance of the spirits, Warriors with their plumes and

war-clubs, Flaring far away to northward In the frosty nights of Winter; Showed the broad white road in heaven, Pathway of the ghosts, the shadows, Running straight across the heavens, Crowded with the ghosts, the shadows.

87

‘The Food and Drug Administration is reviewing the safetyof the chemical, which was created more than 40 years ago

as a surgical scrub for hospitals. Triclosan is now in a rangeof consumer products, including soaps, kitchen cutting

boards and even a best-selling toothpaste, Colgate Total. Itis so prevalent that a survey by the Centers for Disease

Control and Prevention found the chemical present in theurine of 75 percent of Americans over the age of 5.’

[nytdirect@nytimes.com: August 20, 2011]

There is also Mister BlotchHe’s a whiskey king topnotchMister Blotch is full of Scotch and full of playBut I'm always true to you, darlin’, in my fashionYes, I'm always true to you, darlin’, in my way

At the door on summer evenings Sat the little Hiawatha; Heard the whispering of the pine-trees, Heard the lapping of the waters, Sounds of music, words of wonder; “Minne-wawa!” said the Pine-trees, “Mudway-aushka!” said the water. Saw the fire-fly, Wah-wah-taysee, Flitting through the dusk of evening, With the twinkle of its candle Lighting up the brakes and bushes, And he sang the song of children, Sang the song Nokomis taught him: “Wah-wah-taysee, little fire-fly, Little, flitting, white-fire insect, Little, dancing, white-fire creature, Light me with your little candle, Ere upon my bed I lay me, Ere in sleep I close my eyelids!”

almost every day Itake a seat at a

local café positionedto watch a pair of tearoses at the entranceof a house next door,the rose farthest from

me, a ‘peace’ —here’s one description: ‘Peace’ was

88

originally bred in 1935 by a Frenchhybridizer, Francis Meilland.

At the close of WW2 on April 29, 1945,the date of the fall of Berlin to

the Allied Forces, an American,by the name of Conard Pyle, formally

introduced the rose as 'Peace', tocommemorate the end

of the war. ‘— and the rose closest to me,

and the street, is an‘Amber Queen’ — described as

‘a pure amber golden yellow rose,with the ability to produce lots

of clusters of very largeand beautifully formed blooms in

abundance throughoutthe summer and fall. It has a

compact and neat growth habit,is very disease free, and has

a very sweet rose fragrance.’ —of course all this fits

as mask incarnival, is

the wrap of languagepretending

to be what is there

The Oriole

Listen bozo sweetest, I’mnot here for your pleasure,

to tantalize you orto pass the time, I’m

here because I’m resting aftera horrendous morning with

my in-laws, yes, thevery same that stole (you heard, no?)

stole my travel money for theJoshua Tree trip next

month, can youbelieve these schmucks, these

89

very unfriendly dudes, thesewhat else? parasites preying

on the first year migrants, thefledglings, oh well, why bother! to complain…

Moon riverWider than a mileI'm crossing you in styleSome day...

Yeah, I can see you’rewanting me to be squeakywonderful ‘cause this tree

is so pretty, the newjacaranda blooms justgetting there, coming

out of their pre-purplehiding; I’m out

of hiding too, youbetter know it! wow, I

mean, like, wow, is it great!but I’m just resting

on a branch

Old dream makerYou heart breakerWherever you're goingI'm going your way...

I know you like me, I’veseen you around the park looking

in the palm trees, everywherefor my parents and lately me

so, I know but allthis gotta be over. I’m

going away strangehow now I’m looking inyour window from your

tree you seeevery day and it just

may be the lastday, the very last we

see each other, Iwanna go! but I’m

just a sentimental new foolI know, like

90

if tomorrow I see you here orin the park

we’ll just say ciao

Two driftersOff to see the worldThere's such a lot of worldTo see...

I mean it’s not much, justa little gold dust for

the places thatdon’t know us, don’t

know what we eat and, I’msure don’t care, that’s

how it is yeah,and it takes a few days, sometimes

I hear up to a week to getto and through southern California and

not always agreeable conditions,you know how it is, like

it always is

We're after the same rainbow’s endWaiting around the bendMy Huckleberry friendMoon River and me...

yeah,like it is, nice tree …

The Owl

“You came to me like the night to an owl”

bathed in a magenta, a deep green anamber and curious

deeper silver chaotic starbursttwisting, all

but puce, fifty maybe seventy feet overhead,art deco, the helixed chandelier,

deco beat lighting screwed

91

Frère Jacques, Frère Jacques,Dormez-vous? Dormez-vous?

a cupola ceiling, edgesfading, edges less

by the eyes’ choices, achild’s layout, a bubble

above the lucid opacities ofhumans, human beings placid

as movie creatures ready to agreeto be cruel, or not to

think lust but feel hungerfor the room

Sonnez les matines! Sonnez les matines!Din, dan, don. Din, dan, don.

yes, like the night we were waiting you came to me wehad no plans, certainly had no plans, swirling as

vertebrae dance climbing through blood andtissue, the

loveliness of the owl.

paired Chinese elms

When they beginthe beguineit brings back the soundof music so tenderit brings back a nightof tropical splendorit brings back a memory of green

Once upon a midnight dreary, while Ipondered weak and weary,Over many a quaint and curious volume of

forgotten lore,While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly

there came a tapping,As of some one gently rapping, rapping at

my chamber door.

92

‘‘Tis some visitor,’ I muttered, ‘tapping atmy chamber door -

Only this, and nothing more.’

a pair of Chinese elms —Ulmus parvifolia —on the 200 block of

Hartford Street in the Castroastounds in this city where

street tree neglect has reachedan art form — none of the

graceful giants of Midwesterncities, the now extinct wineglass

elms of eastern & middle Americancities and towns, all that’s but

unknown in this densecommunity wedging buildingsflush to narrow sidewalks, the

ornamental vegetation likegarden shrubbery — but these

great masters of theirform, well maintainedbeauties of capacious

perfection, these

I'm with you once moreunder the starsand down by the shorean orchestra’s playingand even the palmsseem to be swayingwhen they beginthe beguine

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitatingthen no longer,

‘Sir,’ said I, ‘or Madam, truly yourforgiveness I implore;

But the fact is I was napping, and so gentlyyou came rapping,

And so faintly you came tapping, tapping atmy chamber door,

That I scarce was sure I heard you’ - here Iopened wide the door; -

Darkness there, and nothing more.

93

are perfection,a viewer wrapped in woven

nests arching overhead aseach folds about one standing

under their interlockingweb, so intricate &

well shaped that evenutility wires scarcely

note their passagethrough this structured

web of life

to live it againis past all endeavorexcept when that tuneclutches my heartand there we are swearing to love foreverand promising nevernever to part

Open here I flung the shutter, when, withmany a flirt and flutter,

In there stepped a stately raven of the saintlydays of yore.

Not the least obeisance made he; not aminute stopped or stayed he;

But, with mien of lord or lady, perchedabove my chamber door -

Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above mychamber door -

Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancyinto smiling,

By the grave and stern decorum of thecountenance it wore,

‘Though thy crest be shorn and shaven,thou,’ I said, ‘art sure no craven.

Ghastly grim and ancient raven wanderingfrom the nightly shore!’

Tell me what thy lordly name is on theNight's Plutonian shore!’

Quoth the raven, ‘Nevermore.’

it’s the bark thatcatches, then holds

94

the eye, flakingmottled grays & tans &

russet tones meltingthrough pastels tosharper hints, the

whole an essay oflife abstracted, the

vitality insistent evenas the form is

beauty anywhere

a moment divinewhat rapture serenetil clouds came alongto disperse the joys we had tastedand now when I hear people curse the chance that waswastedI know but too well what they mean

Startled at the stillness broken by reply soaptly spoken,

‘Doubtless,’ said I, ‘what it utters is its only stock andstore,

Caught from some unhappy master whomunmerciful disaster

Followed fast and followed faster till hissongs one burden bore -

Till the dirges of his hope that melancholyburden bore

Of “Never-nevermore.”’

a friend now dead, longdead, a professional

horticulturalist once said to me,“San Francisco’s greatest street

ornament is the Chinese elmplantation,” and

until then I’d noteven noticed them —

the bark is what caughtme, a wonderful thing,the twisting tree trunks

rising, the hinted orangeflaking, and then the

branching, the leafing, afine tree, or series for

95

often the elms had beenplaced in line along some

street hardlyinteresting for

other views

so dont let them begin the beguinelet the love that was once a fireremain an emberlet it sleep like the dead desire I only rememberwhen they begin the beguine

‘Be that word our sign of parting, bird orfiend!’ I shrieked upstarting -

‘Get thee back into the tempest and theNight's Plutonian shore!

Leave no black plume as a token of that liethy soul hath spoken!

Leave my loneliness unbroken! - quit thebust above my door!

Take thy beak from out my heart, and takethy form from off my door!’

Quoth the raven, ‘Nevermore.’

property owners of coursecomplain about these

trees, the long rootsstrangling water pipes

into the basements, up-ending sidewalks withthese roots, for which

the owners must pay toreplace, which they do

if law says they must withmodest arbors likely

little to molest

oh yes let them begin the beguinemake them playtil the stars that were there beforereturn above youtil you whisper to meonce more darling I love youand we suddenly know what heaven we're inwhen they beginthe beguine

96

And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting,still is sitting

On the pallid bust of Pallas just above mychamber door;

And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that isdreaming,

And the lamp-light o’er him streamingthrows his shadow on the floor;

And my soul from out that shadow that liesfloating on the floor

Shall be lifted - nevermore!

pebbles

he spoke of obeisance, ofa sea of black

robes suddenlybowing

at Greengulch in Marin,a novice

entering the zendo

A cigarette that bares a lipstick's tracesAn airline ticket to romantic placesStill my heart has wingsThese foolish things remind me of you.

the occasion crowded, manyfrom the ordinary worldbut these the establishedwho would receive him

in due course, he spoke of sangha,of acceptance in this

community, thesea a

wash of love

Still my heart has wingsThese foolish things remind me

97

startling, acurtain

that need not part to admit him,the dark

wave rollingas if forward &

over him, the noviceun-new

once the wave passed, once the crinkling rollof pebbles opened

to a sky ofbright beauty strange

because never seen,the pebbles too

clackingsounds never heard,themselves polished

by sands

A tinkling piano in the next apartmentThose stumblin'wordsThat told you what my heart meantA fair ground painted swingsThese foolish things remind me of you.

of worlds neither roundnor shaped

recognizably, the lips thatask for mercy,

the eyes that search for grace,the heart that beats

in a new air

These foolish things remind me of you.You came, you saw, you conquered me

these sands slip to ashelf made from no

uplift, sunk fromno crisis

When you did that to meI knew somehow this had to beThe winds of march that made my heart a dancer

98

the embrace withoutdimension

wrapping in acolor undefined

seenfor a moment

in a zendo

A telephone that rings but who's to answerOh, how the ghost of you clings

These foolish things remind me of you

le stelle che tremano

black, utterly black, swallowsand swifts in flocks

darted here and there fromthe face of the galleria

returning to passes overthe sloping roof of the

duomo, inItalian as in English,

similar soundingas rondine& rondonehard to tellapart, only

gradually the easeas birds, aslanguage in

transit through thesky

Nessun dorma! Nessun dorma!Tu pure, o, Principessa,nella tua fredda stanza,guardi le stelleche tremano d'amoree di speranza.

Nobody shall sleep!Nobody shall sleep!

99

Even you, o Princess,in your cold room,watch the stars,that tremble with love and with hope.

a young Germanbackpacker, fresh

and sunburnt, blond,chatty, he hadspoken first in

German, then inEnglish easily &

clear, a voice tellingme as the words did not

that he would likesex with me, though

the time was mid-morning, asetting of

opportunitydoubtless, what

impressed meat once was

his confidence whichI did not share at

all, hequickly assessed

hesitancy asrefusal, accurately

Ma il mio mistero è chiuso in me,il nome mio nessun saprà!No, no, sulla tua bocca lo diròquando la luce splenderà!Ed il mio bacio scioglierà il silenzioche ti fa mia!

But my secret is hidden within me,my name no one shall know...No! No!On your mouth I will tell it when the light shines.And my kiss will dissolve the silence that makes you mine!

forgotten asI passed one couple or

another, a singletourist climbing

100

about the roof, upstairwells, narrow

passages ontothis same slopingmetallic surface,

rondine& rondonehard to tellapart, only

gradually anotherease the

Italian words, thebirds too, it was the

shape, the intense color,black, utterly black, the

swallows and swiftsin flocks

darting here and there fromthe face of the

galleria returning inpasses over

the sloping roof of theduomo, at first a

monstrous draped figure,a scholar in academic

robes and floppy generoushat, his eyes intenselyflavored, penetrating,

a green or even red thenthe joker on a

playing card, hardlythird-dimensional, just

there, stillin time —

years had passed, 50at least, the

flocks of swifts, of swallows as much an echo, or loud whisper

sustaining me, Icouldn’t move until

a thin woman in a lightpatterned dress muttered

something, almostforcing me to allow her

to pass

101

Il nome suo nessun saprà!...e noi dovrem, ahime, morir!)Dilegua, o notte!Tramontate, stelle!Tramontate, stelle!All'alba vincerò!vincerò, vincerò!

(No one will know his name and we must, alas, die.)Vanish, o night!Set, stars! Set, stars!At dawn, I will win! I will win! I will win!

We've lost our good old mama

“Little Boy” was the codename of theatomic bomb dropped on Hiroshima on

August 6, 1945 by the Boeing B-29Superfortress Enola Gay, piloted by Colonel

Paul Tibbets of the 393rd BombardmentSquadron, Heavy, of the United States ArmyAir Forces. It was the first atomic bomb tobe used as a weapon. The second, the “Fat

Man”, was dropped three days later onNagasaki.

Show us the way to the next whiskey barDon’t ask whyFor we must find the next whiskey barOr if we don’t find the next whiskey barI tell you we must dieI tell you we must dieI tell youI tell youI tell you we must die

Feel your body balance, heal, strengthen and renew.And know that you are whole and well, and radiating peace

and joy, love and light.

Oh moon of AlabamaWe now must say goodbye

102

We've lost our good old mamaAnd must have whiskey ... you know why

Approximately 600 to 860 milligrams ofmatter in the bomb was converted into the

active energy of heat and radiation. Itexploded with an energy between 13 and 18kilotons of TNT (54 and 75 TJ) (estimatesvary). It has been estimated that 130,000 to

150,000 persons had died by the end ofDecember 1945.

Show us the way to the next dollarDon't ask whyFor we must find the next little dollarOr if we don't find the next little dollarI tell you we must dieI tell you we must dieI tell youI tell youI tell you we must die

Feel your body balance, heal, strengthen and renew.And know that you are whole and well, and radiating peace

and joy, love and light.

HIROSHIMA, Japan, Aug. 6 (Xinhua) --Japanese Prime Minister Naoto Kan on

Saturday reaffirmed the need to reduce thecountry's reliance on nuclear energy at aceremony in Hiroshima to mark the 66th

anniversary of the world's first atomic bombattack.

The nuclear crisis at the plant was theworld's worst nuclear accident since the

1986 Chernobyl explosion. It was triggeredby the devastating March 11 earthquake andensuing tsunami. The facility is still leakingradioactive substances into the environment.

A nuclear bomb was detonated overHiroshima at an altitude of some 600 meters

at the end of World War II, killing anestimated 140,000 people in 1945. A secondatomic bomb was dropped on Nagasaki on

Aug. 9, 1945 and Japan surrendered six dayslater.

103

Oh moon of AlabamaWe now must say goodbyeWe’ve lost our good old mamaAnd must have whiskey ... you know why

Feel your body balance, heal, strengthen and renew.And know that you are whole and well, and radiating peace

and joy, love and light.

A tube-nosed fruit bat with an appearancereminiscent of the Star Wars Jedi Master

Yoda has been discovered in a remoterainforest.

The bat, along with an orange spider and ayellow-spotted frog are among a host of new

species found in a region of Papua NewGuinea.

Show us the way to the next dollarDon't ask why

A white tipped-tail mouse, at least one antand several of the crickets, or katydids, areso different from other known species theyeach represent an entirely new genus, the

scientists said.

For we must find the next whiskey barOr if we don’t find the next whiskey barI tell you we must die

One of the newly-discovered katydids hasexceptionally long, spiny hind legs which ituses to jab at anything that threatens it, onenew species has pink eyes and another has

emerald-green patterning.A fish with curving vampire fangs, a gecko

that looks as if it's wearing lipstick and acarnivorous plant more than 7 meters highmay sound like creatures from a nightmare

but they are real.

I tell you we must dieI tell you we must dieI tell youI tell youI tell you we must die

104

Feel your body balance, heal, strengthen and renew.And know that you are whole and well, and radiating peace

and joy, love and light.

The ongoing nuclear crisis also changed theoverall stance toward nuclear energy taken

by the surviving victims of the atomicbombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki who

are also called “hibakusha”, a Japanese wordthat literally translates to "explosion-

affected people". The group, known as“hibakushas”, had not discussed the pros

and cons of nuclear energy before theaccident. But a recent Kyodo News survey

found that about 73 percent of the group arenow against the “peaceful use” of nuclear

power.

Other featured creatures include a fanglesssnake, a frog that chirps like a cricket, and apitcher plant that traps insects and grows to

a height of over seven meters.

Show us the way to the next whiskey barDon’t ask whyFor we must find the next whiskey bar

The Window

short, long, fat, hollow, bulging, tiny,oblong, square, thimble-shaped, peering,

vacant, at depths from rightat the glass to well into the room’s

interior, the owls stare, generallyforward, outward, into the street,

onto the sidewalk, in daylight oftenunnoticed but after dark more fetchingly

as back-lit sentinels of quiet, ofimmobility

John Brown’s body lies a-mouldering in the grave,John Brown’s body lies a-mouldering in the grave,But his soul goes marching on.

105

positioned strategically, kitty-corner from Dolores Park at

18th & Dolores, theseowls need but raise

wings to singly, doubly,collectively wisp away to

somewhere in the park, itstrees, its tennis courts &

wires, its fewsmall buildings &

shelters, whoknows whatever occupies

this 2-block space oflawns & sundry

placements at night, notafter darkness because a

city is never dark at night,but quieter usually, less

visibly populated, thenight

presences

He’s gone to be a soldier in the Army of the Lord,He’s gone to be a soldier in the Army of the Lord,His soul goes marching on.

once it must have beeneasier, the drug dealers, the

pimps and male hustlersfor the large local gay passer-

by population, thehigh school facing

18th Street closed ofcourse, just

the night people,the owls might watch

bemused, but nowgentrification has seizedthe space, parameters of

class and money have somewhatchanged, the requirements of

& upon the owls multifariouslymanifest, cracks perhaps

have appeared in thegroup’s

106

social structure as crackshave appeared in time & space for

all who ventureonto the dimly lighted lawns

John Brown’s knapsack is strapped upon his back,John Brown’s knapsack is strapped upon his back,His soul goes marching on.

of course there are thepathetic, the old women

searching the publicwaste bins, the young

scanvengers searchingthe public waste bins, thehomeless sleeping underhoods or on tucked arms

as the park lights quithour by hour, the

very bright tennis courtsto darkness, the

few street lamps theonly vestige of any

human lighting in thepark though, true, maybe a

match struck, a lighterlit in

a dark place, a foot-fall on asphalt, a

shadow from ratsracing from one palm

tree to another

John Brown died that the slaves might be free,John Brown died that the slaves might be free,His soul goes marching on.

as night to day aselves to play as thegowned bodies of

courts judicial &/orsurreptitious as

westand about, stand

behind oneanother

107

wrinkledin creases in time

& place, desertplaces, very wet ones,

the owls return to theirwindow at

18th & Dolores streetscrossed insome way

The stars above in Heaven now are looking kindly down,The stars above in Heaven now are looking kindly down,His soul goes marching on.

short, long, fat, hollow, bulging, tiny,oblong, square, thimble-shaped, peering

vacantly

Glory, glory, hallelujah,Glory, glory, hallelujah,His soul goes marching on.

His soul goes marching on.

The Witnesses

Three little girls came upthe path, their mother? their

caretaker abit behind, the dust clouding

near the children’s feet, mutingthe shine of the mother’s, the

caregiver’s tall brown boots, shinyonly where they wrapped her

calves. “Did yousee the owls?” she

asks me, a solitary sentinelunmoving along the creekside

route to the day nurserya hundred yards along, the

willows and otherriverine trees low over

108

Islais Creek restored nowto year-round flow in

Glen Park Canyon, passingnow some twenty

feet or more below us toone side, ‘praise,

benediction, adoration andlove — peace through

our Lord Jesus Christ…’ hadn’tthat been the May procession chorus at

the church of my childhood, thechildren in pairs tossing rose petals from

a wicker basket, re-peating ‘praise, bene-

diction,’ “have youseen the owls?”

The crowd sees me out dancingCarefree and romancingHappy with my someone newI’m laughing on the outsideCrying on the inside’cause I'm still in love with you

“No, notthis morning, but

another birder told methey are there,” was

what I said to the woman in the dustyboots, though in fact I’d only seen

reports of the established greathorned owl family on the

specialty website for birdersseveral days before. I’d not

yet come to the place wherethey usually are, high

above this path on ahorizontal branch toward

O’Shaughnessy Boulevard alongthe park’s western border.

The toddlers passed beyondme, ‘praise,

benediction, adoration andlove — peace through

our Lord Jesus Christ…’but of course they

109

were just chatting intheir own way

They see me night and daytimeHaving such a gay timeThey don't know what I go throughI’m laughing on the outsideCrying on the inside’cause I'm still in love with you

I liked the way the high-booted woman tossed her long

auburn hair as shepassed me, a headband of

lightly tinted leather, wide andornamented with small silver

zodiacal signs, aWilson’s warbler calling

from among the creekside treesat the same time, its steady

note sequence announcing anarrival that indeed occurred in

moments. Then the owls, threesmall ones, identical silhouettes all

on the horizontal branch I’d seen thefamily on a past years: they

are profoundly unobtrusive in daytime,just there, a hint

in leaf whisper ‘… peace throughour Lord Jesus Christ…’

but thisremained too faint to

be certain of

No one knows it's just a posePretending I'm glad we're apartAnd when I cry, my eyes are dryThe tears are in my heart

Another group approached: twochildren, a boy and girl,

romping vigorously, the girlpushed and falling down theravine toward the creek, its

quiet waters hinting theirpassage in occasional glints

110

by stones and litter alongthe water’s way, thistime the caretaker a

stylishly stubbled man, surelythe father, in bluejeans andan open jean shirt, running

to gather up the girl whowas screaming in dis-

tress, ‘praise,benediction, adoration

My darling, can't we make up?Ever since our breakupMake believe is all I doI'm laughing on the outsideCrying on the inside'cause I'm still in love

A large wing rose, very slowly,deliberately where

the horizontal branch met the treetrunk and

what had seemed a part of thetrunk now revealed a parent

owl, stretchingtoward the owlets, or

gesturing withsome intention, un-

known its meaning ifany

I am still in love with you

the boy and girl were rightedand proceeded to squeal and

rampage asthe stylishly stubbled caregiver

went his way

111

a wonderful world

Everything seemed to conspire againstwhen my intention seemed so benign, totake the subway to the FerryBuilding, the farmer’s market heldthere each weekend — thefirst mishaps, that I missed the trainandso took the next, a streetcar designatedfor the overland route along MarketStreet, a slow business, butmaybe interesting, who knew, andI had time, so — boarding, anunkempt street person jumpedahead of me and tried an electronicboarding card which failed towork, so I stepped byhim (mistake!) and earned hisshout, Heah! Shithead! Waityour turn!!!

I see trees of green,red roses too.

I see them bloom,for me and you.

And I think to myself,what a wonderful world.

Luckily I held my peace, aftera muttered nastiness that Iknew better than to pursue, andfound a seat, staring fromthe streetcar window whilethe outraged passenger shoutedon — others boarded, hiscomments were to them, sometimesmild, sometimes not, hisspeech was clear, his words formedwell, but anger …

I see skies of blue,And clouds of white.

112

The bright blessed day,The dark sacred night.

And I think to myself,What a wonderful world.

My thoughts turned towardcompassion, how little of itI ever had, easily, thatwhenever compassion seemedappropriate, called for, evensomething likely for many, Irarely felt any of it at all, angerinstead being the first responseand an infinite reservoir

The colors of the rainbow,So pretty in the sky.

Are also on the faces,Of people going by,

I see friends shaking hands.Saying, “How do you do?”

They're really saying,“I love you”.

When I disembarked atthe Ferry Building I saw I’dbeen mistaken, a Sunday andthe only farmers market oneI’d just passed at CivicCenter, what to do? Iwalked the building’s con-course, left to face thesmall park by the huge waterfeature called a fountain onthe Embarcadero, a publicornament that had been inplace for decades and had onlyfor a few weeks in in the earlydays blasted bundles of saltywater everywhere as it wasdesigned to do, onlythen a general recognitionthis could not be sustained,too much energy required, theplumbing never treated forsalt corrosion, so

113

it’s been a trickle ever sincebut a band was playing now, adisheveled group of people linedby a public sculpture of severedheads, one resting on the side ofits face, one upright, both egg-shaped and enormous, side-eyed,bluntly crazy looking, thescattered audience of tourists,passers-by, perhaps faithful forthe voices rose in

Rock of Ages, cleft for me,Let me hide myself in Thee;Let the water and the blood,From Thy wounded side which flowed,Be of sin the double cure;Save from wrath and make me pure.

I hear babies cry,I watch them grow,

They'll learn much more,Than I'll ever know.

And I think to myself,What a wonderful world.

The park itself, known as FerryPark, was fenced for reconstruction;there was no one about. Avery pleasant day, an agreeableday, in every way, whilesomehow the memory of the streetperson, his rant which by nowwould be in full flow at Fisherman’sWharf, where the streetcar lineended, and my continuingambivalence about him andhis setting, the public issuessurrounding his situation, allshrunk my pleasure surroundingthe place I was in, the fadingsong as I walked still

Nothing in my hand I bring,Simply to the cross I cling;Naked, come to Thee for dress;

114

Helpless look to Thee for grace;Foul, I to the fountain fly;Wash me, Savior, or I die.

Yes, I think to myself,What a wonderful world.

Oh yeah.

Crossing by the Hyatt Regency Hotelon Market Streetagain, aiming for the subway mawthat this time perhaps wouldswallow me without benefit ofhomeless harassment, my lossof compassion once moreshowing, I had to stop andwait as a Mercedes convertibleissued from the parking entranceof the hotel, a couple of youngmen laughing, the top down inmorning sunshine; a pregnantwoman crossed the hotel entrancewith me too, street garbageblowing hither to elsewhere,the fenced escalator from thesubway yawning itsbeckon, into spaceincreasing dark

Oh yeahYes, I think to myself,

What a wonderful world.

115

Sources for songs cited in texts:

page 5 — l’arc-en-ciel- from Illuminations (“After the Deluge”) by Arthur RimbaudJohn Ashbery translation of Illuminations (New York: NewDirections, 2011) ; pp. 18-19)- Subterranean Homesick Blues (by Bob Dylan)[http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d_ujAXxNxU0] & assorted Bob Dylan sites

7 — Always- Always [http://www.sing365.com/music/lyric.nsf/Always-lyrics-Frank-Sinatra/34B3AF8CB94214E348256920000A6FE9]

10 — Amazing Grace- Amazing Grace[http://www.littleleaf.com/amazinggrace.htm

13 — angels sing thee- Goodnight, sweet prince; and flights of angels sing thee to thy rest.Wm. Shakespeare (Hamlet,V,ii)- Love will find a way[http://www.lionking.org/lyrics/RTPR/LoveWillFindAWay.html] & elsewherebiographical notes (Helmut Dantine & Audie Murphy) from Wikipedia, 2011

16 — The Archer- opening sentences from The Song of the Loon, by Richard Amory (1966)[http://first10pages.com/2010/01/15/song-of-the-loon-richard-amory/- an assessment of Eugen Herrigel’s Zen and the Art of Archery (1948)[http://www.writework.com/essay/zen-and-art-archery-eugene-herrigel

18 —Avaalokitasvara- Dream a Little Dream of Me[http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r_070zWcEuk]

20 — before you break my heart- Stop in the Name of Love[http://www.lyricsdepot.com/diana-ross-the-supremes/stop-in-the-name-of-love.html]

23 — Bei mir bist du schön- Bei mir bist du schön[http://lyricsplayground.com/alpha/songs/b/beimirbistduschon.shtml]

116

- “Obituary”(poem by Charles B. Hibbard, unpublished, summer 2011)

25 —Blauer Engel- Blauer Engel[http://lyrics.wikia.com/Alphaville:Blauer_Engel/en][http://lyricstrue.net/bandsongtext/Alphaville/Blauer_Engel.html

31 —A Bridge- Sur le pont d'Avignon[http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vZUzzWlvn1w]

33 — ce beau matin- Let’s do it[http://www.stlyrics.com/songs/c/coleporter5950/letsdoit235318.html]s“Une Charogne” (The Carcass) from Charles Baudelaire’s Les Fleurs du mal(translations by Wm. H. Crosby; BOA Editions, Ltd., Rochester,NY, 1991, pp.64-49)

39 — cool[http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MIv1zFVPrTE

41 — exactly- from Illuminations (Arthur Rimbaud) [“Lives, I”] (translated by John Ashbery)[New York: W. W. Norton, 2011; pp. 47-48]- Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer[http://www.carols.org.uk/rudolf_the_red_nosed_reindeer.htm

44 — faded amber- I Get a Kick Out of You[http://www.lyricstime.com/ella-fitzgerald-i-get-a-kick-out-of-you-lyrics.html

47 — Hannah- Drop kick me Jesus[Words and music by Paul Craft. CD, BWCD-040292]

49 — her dream of love was gone- “The Ancients Have Returned Amongst Us” Bed of Sphinxes, by PhilipLamantia(City Lights Books, San Francisco, pp. 70-71. 1997)- Miss Otis regrets[http://www.stlyrics.com/songs/c/coleporter5950/missotisregrets235319.html

51 — how you can love- Oh Johnny, Oh Johnny, Oh

117

[http://www.lyricsreg.com/lyrics/the+andrews+sisters/Oh+Johnny+Oh+Johnny+Oh/]

55 — laughing at the clouds- Singing In The Rain[http://www.elyrics.net/read/g/gene-kelly-lyrics/singing-in-the-rain-lyrics.html]- the tiger[http://www.bartleby.com/101/489.html](& other citations all from Wikipedia, 2011)

58 — The Library- 4 poems from Wm. Blake’s Songs of Experience: “A DivineImage”, “Infant Sorrow”, “The Angel” & “The Garden of Love”[http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/angel-the/] & other onlinesources- Won't Get Fooled Again (by The Who)[http://www.sing365.com/music/lyric.nsf/won%27t-get-fooled-again-lyrics-the-who/761ef79aab42fa9c48256977002e72f9]

61 — magic pool- La vie en rose[http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0g4NiHef4Ks]

64 — une maison bleue adossé à la colline- San Francisco (a song by M�a�x�i�m�e� �L�e� �F�o�r�e�s�t�i�e�)[http://lyrics.wikia.com/Maxime_Leforestier:San_Francisco]-on the Ariane rocket[http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ariane_%28rocket_family%29]- Ariadne (an article by Dr Alena Trckova-Flamee, Ph.D.)[http://www.pantheon.org/articles/a/ariadne.html]

67 — mam’selle- mam'selle[http://lyricstranslate.com http://lyricstranslate.com/en/mam039selle-mamselle.html]

70 — Margie- Margie[http://www.stlyrics.com/songs/c/cabcalloway18116/margie609205.html]

72 — mine eyes have seen- The Battle Hymn of the Republic[http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=irZmknvOB4I]

76 — The Mission - Mein kleiner grüner Kaktus

118

[http://lyricstranslate.com/en/mein-kleiner-gruener-kaktus-my-small-green-cactus.html]

79 — mosquitoes- 6 haiku by Kobayashi Issa: [Don’t worry] p. 153; [O flea! & In this world] p.158; [Don’t kill that fly!] p. 159; [I’m going out] p. 160; [All the time I pray] p.165 & [That wren] p. 172 : The Essential Haiku, versions of Basho, Buson & Issa,translation by Robert Haas (Ecco Press, Hopewell, NJ), 1994- Falling in Love Again [http://www.nomorelyrics.net/marlene_dietrich-lyrics/181619-falling_in_love_again-lyrics.html]

81 — my face painted with blue- Kaputt, by Curzio Malaparte (1944) [passage entitled “I cavalli di ghiaccio,"translated by Chas. B. Hibbard (unpublished) 2011; a 1982 translation by CesareFoligno (Marlboro Press, Marlboro, VT, pp.56ff covers the same episode cited inthese pages- Nel Blu, Dipinto di Blu (Volare)[http://old.yoursonglyrics.com/nel-blu-dipinto-di-blu-volare-domenico-modugno/]

84 — Nokomis- Always True to You, Darlin, in my Fashion[http://lyricsplayground.com/alpha/songs/a/alwaystruetoyouinmyfashion.shtml]- from The Song of Hiawatha (Part III: “Hiawatha's Childhood”)by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

[http://www.theotherpages.org/poems/song-03.html]- “All Suffering Soon to End!” (Watch Tower Bible and TractSociety of Pennsylvania (2005) [c/o Jehovah’s Witnesses]- from Illuminations (Arthur Rimbaud) [“Childhood, V”](translated by John Ashbery) [New York: W. W. Norton, 2011; pp.28-29]- concerning 2 tea roses (‘Peace’ & ‘Amber Queen’)[http://www.rose-gardening-made-easy.com/yellow-rose.html

89 — The Oriole- Moon River[http://kids.niehs.nih.gov/lyrics/moonriver.htm][also: Wikipedia, 2011

91 — The Owl- line “you came to me like an owl to night” (lyric line from song used)German film: 3 (three short films, 2011)- Frère Jacques, Frère Jacques[http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5wyKqvCg4gs]

119

92 — paired Chinese elms- begin the beguine[http://www.stlyrics.com/songs/c/coleporter5950/beginthebeguine2]35309.html- “The Raven” by Edgar Allan Poe[http://www.heise.de/ix/raven/Literature/Lore/TheRaven.htm]

97 — pebbles- These foolish things[http://www.lyricstime.com/billie-holiday-these-foolish-things-lyrics.html

99 — le stelle che tremano- Turandot[http://classicalmusic.about.com/od/opera/qt/nessundormatext.htm]

102 — We’ve lost our good old mama- Atomic Bombs in Japan[http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Little_Boy]- Oh Moon over Alabama[http://www.metrolyrics.com/moon-over-alabama-lyrics-nina-simone.html]- Feel your body …Kevan Houser’s yoga class, San Franciso (kevansf@aol.com)- Japanese Prime Minister …[http://news.xinhuanet.com/english2010/world/2011-08/06/c_131032957.htm]- Tube-nosed bat …[http://www.dailymail.co.uk/sciencetech/article-1318093/Bat-resembling-Star-Wars-Yoda-discovered-Papua-New-Guinea-rainforest.html#ixzz1UGksZX2E]

105 — The Window- John Brown’s Body[http://law2.umkc.edu/faculty/projects/ftrials/johnbrown/brownbody.html]

108 — The Witness- Laughing on the outside[http://www.hitslyrics.com/n/natkingcole-lyrics-5551/laughingontheoutsidecryingontheinside-lyrics-704020.html

111— a wonderful world[http://www.cyberhymnal.org/htm/r/o/rockages.htm]- What A Wonderful World[http://www.sing365.com/music/lyric.nsf/what-a-wonderful-world-lyrics-louis-armstrong/d44476580961f717482569700017af3c]