[ Note: This post will contain several asides or insides or whatever-you-wish-to-call-them remarks which will be enclosed by brackets. Over at the Poetry Foundation's Harriet blog Linh Dinh has shared his translations of four poems by Tran Da Tu after a short introduction. I am grateful. May you also be. ] "Love Tokens", "Toy for Future Children", "Fragmented War"; "Standing" are the four poems. Ostensibly these are war poems, but they are not so in any sense I am accustomed to. Linh writes: "His war poetry reads as if it was written, well, right now." Yes it does, and I think I know why. The angles of vision the author takes/ raises them to a different order, an order I am calling the deep within, which has nothing to do with the idea of "deep image" but everything to do with the human spirit. I first read these poems several days ago, and have read them twice since. The second time I read them/ Celan and Adorno came to mind, but I'm not equating Tran Da Tu with Paul Celan and I'm not stopping at Adorno's hard after-Auschwitz thought. [Notice what these poems are devoid of.] The poet here is speaking from the spiritual in him to the spiritual in each of us / all of us. The facts in the poems are not merely there for factualness. Each poem is addressed to a someone or a group, but only through pronouns and general nouns. This distancing reveals empathy. Beneath the facts, Tran Da Tu's attention is on the will- ingness of humans to harm each other, to perpetrate evil acts which are presently visible and which have conse- quences forever imaginable; and the suffering and unto- death sadness resulting therefrom. [Sartre wrote: "Hell is other people." My response and David Bromige's response: "Heaven is other people too."] [Jesus: ". . . love your enemies. . . ." / and in that prayer to the Father He taught to his disciples: "And forgive us our trespasses as (emphasis mine) we forgive those who trespass against us."] You want Armageddon. We do not need Armageddon. We are Armageddon, and until we cease lording it over each other/ we will continue to be Armageddon unto our extinction. The A- and H-bomb horrors will seem as nothing once the robot armies we create figure nearly everything out, and turn on us. That is, if we even make it/ to that juncture. Can a poem change one's life for the better? Yes, but I cannot promise any will. Certainly, for those who are open to it in them, these poems have the power to. ~ Rho00047
Monday, March 31, 2008
four Tran Da Tu poems
Sunday, March 30, 2008
blog name
May change this blog's name. Am in decision. Maybe that's what I should change it to. Say, Salchert's In Decision. How 'bout Salchert's Nescio, or Salchert's Dry Heaves. Had those once for 12 hours. Rhodingeedaddee is unique but seems too mysterious. Could simply ditch this blog, but doubt I will. Am building it for any who care to read its bricks and windows, but am also building it for myself. Am on a steep learning curve, or several such. Won't be changing its http name. Flipping pancakes, just can't settle on anything. Could it be it's because of too many hard boiled eggs? Rho00046 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Friday, March 28, 2008
Poetry Daily Project
If you would like to read poems featured at Poetry Daily, and then vote for the one you think is the best, Andrew Shields has a weekly project about to begin week 6 and is planned to run 12 weeks. Take a look. * Rho00045
Thursday, March 27, 2008
immanent critque
K. S. Mohammad's post Sugarhigh on Immanent Critique deserves a considered read, and not because I have so far commented twice there. * Rho00044
Monday, March 24, 2008
brian's brain p6
Monday 18DEC00 - Last night I wrote "Silent Song", a song lyric, a creation deeply satisfying to me. I sent an e-mail copy of it to three friends. . . . . I am certain it has far more meaning to me than to most others. . . . . Tuesday 19DEC00 - St. Alphonsus Rodriquez, you and I both know I messed up today. Yes, most of my 360 minutes at work were difficult for me, especially physically; but I missed a great opportunity to use the adversities I faced as a means of atoning for my many sins because I too often complained about them. Perhaps tomorrow I will be fired; but if not, I ask you to help me (though Jesus) to cease complaining. Thank you. Wednesday 20DEC00 - No doubt my current job is putting a strain on my back, but I did manage to complain far less today. Tomorrow my work will be a shortened one, bookended by two major appointments, one at 8:30am and one at 2pm. I am not expecting either to be pleasant. - - - This morning I made several calls regarding our moving. If I can get all that is needed ready to go, we will likely move this mobile home to another Gainesville-area location just after New Year's. I think I already know where, even though that is not my preference; but it would be the most monetarily sensible one. It is, alas, far from where I am now working, but I am going to seek a second job, and that might be closer to our new address. - - - Due to a certain action I had to take, a government check I am to get may get delayed, a circumstance that could cause a bill problem. - - - One bright "thank-the-Lord" event which occurred today was the arrival of money I desperately need. Thursday 21DEC00 - Unusually busy appointment day. At my 2pm meeting today I was given a large book. The task it mandates is extensive, and it will take many hours to complete. It may even cause to miss making daily entries here, especially since I must also attend to the task of getting our home moved. Friday 22DEC00 - Stabat Mater, generally ascribed to Blessed Jacopone da Todi. Upon conducting a search, I finally found the original Latin and an English version at a site named Making of America. I added it [that site] to my Thinking Lizard favorite places. - - - My work day again was long and tiring. - - - After reading the Stabat Mater, I began to sing what I could remember of the Tantum Ergo. I am now going to search for it. Saturday 23DEC00 - Janice, my wife, has always deserved someone other than me, someone much better; and I have never deserved anyone. I do not know what is wrong with my brain, but it definitely is not wired right. So skewed is it I would not be surprised if upon examination I, the bearer of it, would be found to be insane. Sunday 24DEC00 - This b thing is f nasty, and mostly because of my writings. Luckily, I do have some secure records, but there is so much which is not yet settled into book form that finding a satis- factory way to account for it is going to be--however worth- while--difficult. Add to which the number of books and tapes I have, though far fewer than I once had; and our various tools, utensils, dishes, clothes, furnishings, etcetera, accomplishing what I need to accomplish in the time I wish to accomplish it in is going to be stone difficult. Monday 25DEC00 - Didn't finish cataloging all my books, but I did get many useless items cleared off my shelves and tossed into the dumpster. All the stirred dust allowed the dust mites to mess heavily with my too allergic body. I also may have a cold. - - - I should make a list of all the places I ought to call in the morning. - - - I have a feeling we are going to have to face several unwanted circustances as regards our trying to move the b thing. Tuesday 26DEC00 - B thing or no, and though a second from now I may be dead or gravely stricken, I yet want to repay what I owe, and will attempt to do so. I realize that being without certain protective insur- ances may in the end thwart my ability to do that, but I yet will try. Wednesday 27DEC00 - A cousin forwarded through a sister a 2001 message from the Dalai Lama. Because of the wisdom in it, I have begun passing it on to numerous others. Thursday 28DEC00 - Got two checks today. Am due to get one check 1-12-01 if I last at my present employment. I want to last, but it is hard on my small weak body. I also hope to find a second job. One that would go from 5pm to 10pm. I also hope to fashion a new career which--if I am able to do it--will allow me to earn some real money. Friday 29DEC00 - St. Thomas Becket. First sentence of the Comment section reads: "No one becomes a saint without struggle, especially with himself." Saturday 30DEC00 - Long hard day at Chick-fil-A. Spent this morning seeking out online addresses for other good persons I wanted to send a greeting of mine to along with the Dalai Lama mantra. Unwisely-- being unwise seems to be a congenital defect in me--I several times sent my greeting to more than one person. Perhaps it was the cousin influence, but once I realized the impropriety of doing that, I thereafter sent to one person at a time. Sunday 31DEC00 - Called my aunt. Called my father. Called my Sister sister twice. - - - My mind is spinning. Hope mixed with fear & trembling engage in a macabre dance in my spirit. - - - Happy new millenium. 6 Rho00043
Sunday, March 23, 2008
Easter Sunday
For a 1941 Latin Roman Catholic celebration of Easter Sunday Mass filmed at Our Lady of Sorrows in Chicago, Illinois, do this search: Roman Catholic Easter Sunday Mass. The YouTube video lasts 54+ minutes. - For historical information about Easter read this article at New Advent - Though not directly connected to Easter, Robert P. Baird's useful article at Slate "Why doesn't anyone read Dante's Paradiso?" / It so happens I am rereading the Pantheon Lawrence Grant White translation - a copy of which I bought on sale at a bookstore in Milwaukee, Wisconsin, when I was briefly at Marquette University 48 years ago - and as of last night am at Canto 8 of the Paradiso. * * * Rho00042
Sunday, March 16, 2008
Palm Sunday thoughts
For "About Those New Seven Deadly Sins" by Liliana Segura read this at AlterNet. - For another view, read this 7 new deadly sins article in Trinidad Express. - For general information, go to this Deadly Sins site. - For some tech takes on this, read the 3-11-08 post by Jack Kapica and the comments at Kapica's Cyberia Blog. - Also do a Palm Sunday search for some interesting articles. Here is input from me. * * * Rho00041
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
Dark
See song lyrics of mine from 11-30-1974 at S H. Dark Thanks to Dale Smith at possumego.blogspot.com see also James Howard Kunstler's "Campaign Blues" March 03, 2008 post at http://www.jameshowardkunstler.typepad.com and read at least the first ten comments. It is daily (sadly) becoming more likely that before the end of this year this nation will be in the midst of a dread recession. Rho00040
Saturday, March 1, 2008
brians brain p5
Wednesday 13DEC00 - It's your elfin fool again, God. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. I know I could utter a 1001 thank you's, and every last one would mean nothing if I did not thereafter live your will. Truly, my unworthiness notwithstanding, these recent days have been whirly ones, miracle ones. Today there were five events of moment: 1) the decision to move our mobile home out of Pinehurst by January 31, 2001, in order to receive $2000/ to use for moving/ from the development company taking over this property 2) the Mid-Florida Area Agency on Aging's exceptionally well-catered Christmas Party complete with the harkening GHS Chorale 3) the surprise presents for me from J- and N- and T- 4) my likely last official day at the Center for Aging Resources 5) the continuing special circumstances integral to the miracle gift is appears is coming from my highest angel here on Earth. "There should be no end to the thanks I show" Thursday 14DEC00 - St. John of the Cross. How amazing! But I must wait. - - - Stopped by the bank this morning on my way to my Chick-fil-A job. After work I made phone contact from home with the bank woman who is helping me. Nothing new, so I phoned the pivotal bank woman up north and found out she had to be away from her bank most of the day. I suggested to her I might make another touch- base call to the source woman, a woman I regarded as holy. She said she is a character, a description I had to agree with. I decided not to call, as I did not want to appear pushy. As the bank woman here said: "We will just have to wait and pray." - - - What a first day of work! That Chick-fil-A is so constantly busy that I told one of the other employees: "This place is famous." The services I perform there are far from being the kinds of services I would prefer to be performing, but if I can acclimate myself to six hours of light but rather constant physical labor, the exercise will hopefully be beneficial in spite of my asthma and osteoporosis, etcetera. It is baldly humble work. There was, curiously, one particularly rewarding incident: when I freed a small boy's foot that had gotten caught in the netting of what I will here call the jungle gym tower tunnel slide. I happened to be where I could hear that child's whining/ only because the girl I was working with asked me to clean the windows in the play area. - - - I now must leave this online place to prepare some highly vital information for the bank woman who is helping me. Friday 15DEC00 - My normal Chick-fil-A work hours are 10am-4pm. It was so busy I wasn't able to take my 20-minute meal break until 3:12pm. and because I was working alone for several hours, I found it hard to keep abreast of the traffic. Several times I spoke to St. Alphonsus Rodriquez about it. It occurred to me that perhaps this finally is the motivation I need to find new permanent work more suited to my talents. I'm honestly not sure I can labor as I am now for long. As good as the activity may be for me, it is severely pushing my limits. Saturday 16DEC00 - Busy, busy, busy: from 11:15am to 2:45pm. At least James, who is 15, was with me. Toward the end of my shift I told Daniel, a huge black man who is one of the bosses, that this work is good for humility. He smiled. During my break today I had a bowl of chicken soup. Out in the car after work I had another conver- sation with St. Alphonsus as I drove off. Humility. I do need it. Still am not sure how well my body will tolerate/ this much physical work. Besides which, there is no indication my job is going to be anything near permanent. Therefore, I am going to continue to seek employment more fitting for me. The Enrollee Supervisor at AARP told me she too will continue to be on the lookout for such work for me. I plan to contact Sante Fe Com- munity College. Securing employment there would definitely please me. Sunday 17DEC00 - Saint of The Day: Lazarus, he whom Jesus raised from the dead. Will I, who am financially dead, be raised back to financial vitality? Will I, by the grace of The Holy Spirit, become a truly productive servant, and one who is given both praise and substantial monies for enough of his creations so as to one day be able to repay his past debts? Do I have the talents to so succeed, or will I always be a poor poet who may as well be forming his word creations in an unknown cave? As long as I am alive, I am going to try (with the talents I have) to so succeed. I know/ I may be dead before tomorrow. I know my days ahead are not likely to be pleasant ones. I could even suffer a terribly debilitating stroke, or any manner of illness that would greatly curtail my ability to pursue any dreams of respectful self-sufficiency. I will pray and work and hope. I cannot do else. And of my anger, my inability to forgive myself? I can only pray and work and hope, and seek faith, and learn to love. - - - Before you boldly reach for a star, know who you are. 5 Rho00039
Thursday, February 28, 2008
brians brain p4
Friday 08DEC00 - Feast of the Immaculate Conception. Saturday 09DEC00 - Today I participated in a locked-building age-grouped psychological study investigating the relationships of personality traits and the formulating, setting, and achieving of goals. Characteristically, I was too slow to complete all the study's sections on time, and so had to bring some home in an envelope for mailing them back. Now finished and sealed in, they will be returned on Monday. Three years ago I would have answered many of the questions quite differently. Then my view of myself, while not good, was consid- erably more positive than it presently is. Oh, if I am alive, I will go on; but if the wounds I inflicted on my spirit heal, I will go on revivified/ and intensely grateful. For being a human--even amid odious difficulties--is an experience which is unfathomably beautiful. It is only that a melancholic such as I am often does not see it so. Go ask the suicides. Sunday 10DEC00 - Due to an interesting link on a FlipDog page, arrived at ProvenResume.com and spent several hours reading and thinking about the 12 free workshops there on how to write a powerful, proven-to-work resume. While I was impressed by what was presented, including the need for most job seekers to have their self-esteem and self-confidence strengthened, my feelings about myself barely changed. I'm afraid my age, physical ailments, financial condition, and general feelings of separation are going to be formidable barriers for some while yet, if not from now on. I know I need to heal my traumatized self-image, and I know such valuable persons as Regina may well be an integral part of that healing. Certain saints and the Blessed Virgin and Jesus, God the Father, and the Holy Spirit are--and more intensely so than ever--in my life. (I ought to have communicated deeply with them all my aware hours.) Tomorrow is going to be a signal day. It may not be a pleasant day, however. If I am here then, I will write of it. Monday 11DEC00 - Life changes. My working at the Mid-Florida Area Agency on Aging appears to be coming to an end, and my working at Chick-fil-A appears to be about to begin. I did see the attorney today. It was definitely educational, but even though I have no other choice but to C7, I have a feeling that even that is not going to save me. I simply tried to master a skill I was not up to mastering, and my failure is yet likely to impede what I now must do. Tonight I will have a conversation with one of my angels. I do not think that angel will in the least be pleased. Yet we will talk and perhaps reach an equitable decision. Here, I, a Capricorn, am supposed to be clear-headed and pragmatic. I may have been born under the sign of the goat, but I mostly do not fit there except for my stupid stubbornness. - - - Had the conversation with my angel, and we did settle on what move I should make next. It is not one I relish making, but just as with the C7/ there seems to be no other option. So I will be going to a higher angel, and only God knows what is going to occur then. Tuesday 12DEC00 - Feast of Our Lady of Guadalupe. Thank you, most holy Mother of Miracle. Thank you, St. Leonard of Port Maurice, St. Katharine Drexler, St. Alphonsus Rodriquez. Thank you, Jesus. Thank you, Almighty Father. Thank you, Holy Spirit. Even if what the higher angel told me does not come to pass, thank you. Fools such as I have been deserve nothing. Therefore, I ask only that I be allowed the grace to live those moments remaining to me as they ought to be lived/ in faith and hope and charity. - - - This afternoon at the Center for Aging Resources of the Mid-Florida Area Agency on Aging, my boss being out ill, I--with guidance from another employee--created seven interlocking Access 2000 databases. They are each fairly simple, and may get changed, but my boss will be pleased they exist. Tomorrow, their Christmas party day, is likely to be my last day there. Thursday morning I expect to be starting my job at Chick-fil-A. I will miss the Center and all the good people at mfaaa.org. I shall try to visit them. 4 Rho00038
Monday, February 25, 2008
brians brain p3
Saturday 02DEC00 - How does one keep from losing one's spirit? How does one strengthen one's spirit? Does one say: Begone, darkness. To my left sunlight bright against my cold window. I here rocking, wearing a sweatshirt with a winter jacket over it. I drink some water and feel all cold, as if I have no warm blood. Pianist/singer/songwriter Bruce Hornsby and his group were just on NBC in the chilly plaza/ playing "That's the Way It Is"--thank you. More and more life is becoming a moment-to-moment journey for me. My Sister sister said: "At least you are hanging in there, even if it is by a thread." Magical as our being is, it is ever/ tenuous. ~ Sunday 03DEC00 - Despair here. Despair here. Get your red-hot despair here. - - - I do not know. - - - PRAYER FOR THE SICK. PRAYER FOR EMPLOYMENT. - - - Saint of the Day: St. Francis Xavier, a scholarly man brought into the infant Jesuit Order by his friend St. Ignatius of Loyola, traveled to the Orient to reveal Jesus, where he sacrificed greatly but was filled with joy. - - - Jesus, Father, Holy Spirit, I today come to You to ask You to deign--if that is the word to use-- to heal my downcast spirit, to imbue this delicate sickly fool I am/ with grace enough to know even a slight amount of the joy St. Francis Xavier knew. I am not as he, nor could ever be. Direct me, who cannot seem to direct himself, toward that which is pleasing to You and will benefit all of us who struggle to make of our human conditions passages of lasting value. ~ Monday 04DEC00 - Last night I found myself thinking that since the part-time employment I presently have at a non-profit organization is both educational and enjoyable/ I would like to full-time employment at a non-profit. Tonight I went to FlipDog with that in mind, selecting Virginia and Florida as places I would prefer to be. It is likely to take time for me to fashion a proper resume/ as seeking such work would constitute a career change. Volunteering, gathering information, and networking may be my only way in--if I can convince myself I am really serious about being employed at a non-profit. - - - Deep truth is I know what I really want to do, and I am doing it; but for me there is no money in it, and the odds are there never will be. ~ Tuesday 05DEC00 - If you "plan" to attempt a difficult task, ask: "Must I?" If the answer is yes, assess yourself deeply. Ask yourself not only if you really have the ability to succeed, but also how you will judge yourself if you fail. If you determine you have a reasonable chance of succeeding, assess the task deeply from the moment you begin it, and do not hesitate to truncate your efforts if your original thinking is proven inadequate. I proffer this because of what has happened in my life. The psychic harm to yourself and others because of an irrational "I-can-do-it" attitude/// is not worth it. I have made an ash of myself. I have. I have. [ 02/25/08: Here is a verse from the memoir I wrote about it. * Some will call Many will send But in the end You are all So if you attend Attend with care Let not befall Conditions where No one is there * And here are some present thoughts. 1) Although some have done so and fared well, never chance more than you can afford to lose. 2) Identify those opportunities which have the most positive long-term potential. A solid base thwarts worry. 3) Still, keep abreast of events. Even a solid base can crack. 4) Beware of all/ that might dash your efforts, especially your own emotions. 5) Identify those opportunities which have the most positive short-term potential. Timing is crucial here. 6) These thoughts have universal relevance. However, there are circumstances where they do not apply. ] ~ Wednesday 06DEC00 - Today is St. Nicholas Day. * For me it was a busy, strange day, especially with phone calls. After my hours out at the Mid-Florida Area Agency on Aging's Center for Aging Resources, I drove over to Chick-fil-A for an orientation session with one of the lead managers, and to pick up a possible uniform. On Monday, however, I must get a written approval from my doctor regarding my ability to perform the job I will be expected to do. I hope she okays it/ as that job will pay me twice what I am making now, and I surely need it. - - - Just as this morning was, tomorrow morning will be busy with this and that and phone calls. My brain is buzzing. I hope that means it is out for nectar, not out to saw limbs off. ~ Thursday 07DEC00 - Dreams, dreams, dreams, dreams, dreams. Who in the hell is Brian (Arthur) Salchert anyway? Does he know? Does he have the slightest tittle? I just came from a web site which seriously questions whether creative writers should look to technical writing as a viable profession. I didn't read much of it, and so I will be going back to it. I have it AOL FP'd. I did read enough however to once again encounter "the what is your passion" question. Dreams, dreams, dreams. Is it better to do that which I am moved to do, even if I cannot secure a living by means of doing it, even if few or none care why or what I write; or should I just seek to put my passion to sleep/ as is often done with a horse with a broken leg? Dreams. How do I know if mine are true? So what if I can write this or that. So what if I try my best to make what I write excellent. Should I--if I am honestly passionate about making poems and crafting letters and deliberating over journal entries--even be asking such "lack-of-self-confidence" questions? Also went to the Songwriters Guild site. Who in the hell is this BAS guy anyway? - - - Wasted space. That is how I feel right now: like wasted space. 3 Rho00037
Sunday, February 24, 2008
Saturday, February 23, 2008
brians brain p2
Monday 27NOV00 - Today's saint: Francesco Antonio Fasani. The first sentence in the "Comment" about him reads: "Eventually we become what we choose." On Thanksgiving I wrote a small prayer to God in which I said: Be for each each given moment what each most needs. Months ago I had a notion in my head that I would open a business in BizLand. So I tried this and that approach, at last settling on a strange idea (much of which I now plan to share here); but I was never able to get myself to open that business, nor do I--from the vantage of this moment--ever expect to open a business anywhere. Hopefully, later today I will be back to enter here the essentials from my Ibnar.net Ring: Atrium III misadventure. * * * The following is Atrium III. 08/01/04, thinking lizard * o-ib WELL? > > > > ! ! ! > > > COME. Come/ into the Mad Man's Message Mine. It's dark. ~ 1) From Ibnar's Journals (a certain meandering) 2) Hear a Word (odd occurrences like fireflies) 3) Just a Few Gatherings (things stumbeld upon) 4) Klick/ Wip/ Vink (you're in you're out/ cave) 5) Inside the Shell (by the hummingbird's wings) ~ Though this be a cave, a dark place where a mad man mutters, it is yet in a realm, a kingdom, a domain, which is Atrium III of Ibnar.net, a meeting space where light enters, clear and warm. > from ibnar's journals (a certain meandering) ~ Hello! Did you see my wall paintings? Oh, I'm sorry, my lantern's not lit. Stay though. Have you ever been in a place where it seemed there would never again be anyone else but you? Out in the vling/ vling/ vling/ zingo, time swooms while the neon dances hold our eyes; but if we're players in that flux, we glance at our watches and hurry on. Yet here where one's aloneness becomes more obvious, or there where one's aloneness is easily hid, reflection speaks. And what does it say? To the hermit it says: You do need others, but do not let your spirit crack. To the lit-in-the-dance it interrupts: You are alone, but do not let your spirit flag. > hear a word (odd occurrences like fireflies) - It must have happened that a word so sparked your grey brain/ you drifted from your usual outer awareness to a charged unusual inner awareness. Example: doodad. Now, keying on the sound of the first syllable, how many meanings can you uncover that are different from the primary one: gadget: when presented with the question: What is a doo/dad? Pause. Of course this is silly; yet that doesn't mean it is without value. Many of the "silly" creations of humans are not only valuable, they are also necessary. Sanity is not for humans what it is for purely cyber beings. > just a few gatherings (things stumbled upon) - In this long, sharp-cornered tunnel, I have stumbled into/ over/upon many curious & catching things. One "day" I found a crow's feather; one other "night" I found a diamond stud; and one other "time" I found an hourglass/ with no sand in it. So long ago/ now/ it was/ I can't remember the whole of it, but there was a book I then there had/ named Maps of the Mind/ in which one map divided the brain of Homo sapiens into three-from-evolution ascending parts. Perhaps I will conjure them up one "while". Da Vinci, Du Cange, de Chardin. That conjuring, sadly, did not work. No matter. If nature or aliens or we ourselves don't destroy us, the brain of Homo sapiens will not far off/ and through the surge of creativity from its highest part/ open a yet higher part. Let angels abound. * Tuesday 28NOV00 - The first entry here is from my final BizLand page. It is a vision of sorts--a short weird vision. ** ** Everyone went to Hell But at the tolling of a bell Everybody came back out To have a cup of sauerkraut ** ** The last entry here is the final entry of an aborted journal. I have several such journals. Happened upon it a couple hours ago, and decided to reveal it because it fits the moment. There are certain thought patterns of mine which, I have found, recur and recur. Still, coming upon them usually--even while darkening my dim pride--surprises me. * 7-15-86 Lord, I have not the brilliance I would like to have, for you have not blessed me with such brilliance; and I have not the stamina I would like to have, for you have not blessed me with such stamina; and I definitely do not have the calm nature I would like to have. Would I like to complain? I suppose I would, but what good would it do? Lord, just move me to do the best I can with what little I have, and please teach me to be at peace ------ whenever I suddenly must ride rough waves of frustration. I am not a Jose-Antonio Alvarado. * ~ Wednesday 29NOV00 - Today I was blessed with emails from two extraordinary humans, Tom Montag and Aleta Pippin. Tom I first met, if I recall rightly, in 1972. It was in November of that year his Monday Morning Press published my Rooted Sky volume. Aleta is a new acquaintance. I am getting a newsletter she writes. If you aren't already reading it, I recommend it. ~ Thursday 30NOV00 - Just finished reading the J. M. Spalding and Guy Shahar Philip Levine interview in The Cortland Review. Do spend some time with it and interviews with other poets. - - In the 1980's I attended a reading Philip Levine gave at the University of Florida when I was a student under Donald Justice. Mr. Levine is a strong, earthy, yet tender poet. Toward the end of the interview he recounts his telling a young poet to avoid getting caught up in the literary networking, the push, push, push, encouraging him to learn and write as well as he can, but not to hurry into getting published, to possibly wait until he is about 35. He did, however, also say that being with other serious writers in a workshop setting can be energizing, can accelerate one's progress by several years. ~ Friday 01DEC00 - Because I enjoy writing, so long as I am able to write, I will do so. Whether it comes to nothing or not--though I will always try to use language in ways which resonate in the spirits of others, is beyond consideration. Perhaps I will not survive to 65, but retiring (early or late) was never an event I wanted, nor do I now want it. Verdi. - - Two statements by Chas Melichar in an Inkspot.com Chat: "As a writer, you write because you can't do anything else." "Never give up on your passion." 2 Rho00035
Friday, February 22, 2008
brians brain p1
An autobiographical journal originally named Brian's Brain / Daily Log began on Thanksgiving Day in 2000 and ended in 2006 at a Tripod site. I am reposting that journal here. During those years I kept a like endeavor at ThirdAge. Have begun reposting it in my AOL blog. * Thanksgiving Day (23NOV00) - If no one ever reads this log I will not be surprised, nor will I be further saddened. Given the way I now feel, there is already enough sadness in me to fill our galaxy. And don't go "Oh, poor baby"; for a goodly portion of this sadness in could easily have been avoided, but I made a series of grave errors because I failed to do that which Solomon did: pray first for wisdom, and because I failed to do that which Socrates urged: to care to know myself, and because I failed to do that which all the great prophets and teachers catechize: seek to fill each moment with the wondrous light of that peace which is godly love. Am I a horrid person? No: not all-in-all, though certainly from time-to-time. Do I fear my future as a human being may well be more and more difficult? Yes. Have you ever felt insufficient, of little or no current value? Each of is, of course, valuable; but value in the mind of God is far different, often enough, from value in the mind of a crowd of humans. Why am I bothering to write this? I need to. Remember "he's a loser, but he still keeps on trying"? Hmm. In one sense every human is a loser, even those who are afforded fame by other humans. In another sense every human is a winner, even those upon whom infamy is cast by other humans. Jesus said: "You have heard it said you should love you neighbor as youself. I say you also love your enemy." Let me interject here a warning: Trekking with me, while it may be instructive, may also be highly dangerous, especially for one who is not adept at negotiating abnormal interior realms. Let me present some touchstone revela- tions. I have always been fascinated by the wind, by loneliness, by vast spaces, by whatever brings tears of joy, by words. At times the reality of being human/ is excruciating. ~ Friday 24NOV00: - I am such a riddled result! I did not dream it would be so. I even dreamed excessively beyond any potential I would reasonably be capable of. How do you define insanity? Is allowing a failure, however dire, to cause one to drop the shield of hope, more insane; or is clasping the shield of hope inordinately tight against one's heart when it no longer can protect one from failure/ more insane? Were it not for human insanity, where, pray tell, would humanity be? If that isn't a double-edged question, I do not know what is. But, in fact, what is striving anyway, if not a form of insanity. Obviously, those "insane" acts which produce results of value, which enhance human lives, lose then whatever layers of "insanity" opinions had given them. Examples abound. Nonetheless, opinions do matter in the here-and-now, and it takes an uncanny self- confidence to do that which the doer knows will not be appreciated in the doer's life. Stendahl comes to mind. Leonardo da Vinci comes to mind. And then there is Confucius. Others? You know there are: thousands of others. My core temperament is melancholic: a bane, and yet a spur. Doing that which is of artistic and/or investigative merit gives me the deepest pleasure. Do I wish my creations would also deeply please you? Yes. Will I have wasted my life if nothing I create is deemed to be of merit? ~ Saturday 25NOV00 - There were years during which whenever a goodly chance came for it, I would respond: Smile, you're on Kik the Kam'ra. There were other like negatives I also/ frequently voiced. I was not born a physically healthy human. Neither was I born mentally healthy. That is why/ now nearly 60 full years later/ while I am not "disabled" I am disabled just the same. That is why I wrote A Special Thank You on my Ibnar.net Ring: Atrium IV Homepage, a thank you which now is on the page linked to here. Let every pulsing of your cursor/ a heartbeat be. Let each such remind you--especially so at those moments your spirit is anguishing-- you are a being of intricate beauties and transformational energies. If I no longer am able to/ save myself, perhaps you, reading this, are yet able to save yourself, and will. ~ Sunday 26NOV00 - Yesterday--I am not sure why--I decided to find out who the Saint of The Day for today would be. It is St. Leonard of Port Maurice, a Friar who gave retreats and promoted The Stations of the Cross devotion. The last sentence in the "Comments" section: "When was the last time you prayed The Stations of the Cross?": moved me to think back and say to myself: I believe it was during those days in 1960-62 when I was a Jesuit Novice. Leaving the story of Friar St. Leonard, I went to my iwon searcher and did a Stations of the Cross search, quickly finding www.catholic.org/prayer/ station.html - - - Yesterday I prayed The Stations of the Cross and several other prayers. Today I have done so again. I found that I had not clearly remembered the "Our Father" and the "Hail Mary" but that the words did return to me. Enlightenment. Divine intervention. My life has not been a storied one. Perhaps that is because I have not had the wisdom to make it so, but it has been one of many minor triumphs; and it has been one punctuated by mysterious events I prefer not to attribute to chance or coinci- dence, events my actions did play a significant part in but which actions would have come to naught had it not been for what I see as divine intervention. Do I therefore expect divine intervention to ever save me when I am in need? No. Certainly I have never deserved such wondrous aid, and even though my need for such today is greater than it has ever been, I feel I now deserve it less: that is how grave I count the errors I have made. Remember I told you trekking with me might be exceedingly dangerous. There is a chance you might be privy to the dissolution of a human psyche, though I do pray that won't be so. [ Peace and light. ] 1 Rho00034
Friday, February 15, 2008
Corey's Post-Mainstream
One could, if one cared to, construct a map of 2008 poetry aesthetics. Approaches to poem-making these days are nearly as varied as are those who make poems. There are, however, fields of interest. Examples: Simon DeDeo has defined an anarchist poetics. Visual poet, David-Baptiste Chirot, labels himself an Anarkeyologist. Joshua Clover (a/k/a Jane Dark), in an interview, forwarded a possible totality poetics. John Latta has developed an engaging centrist aesthetic which uses its own lingo--note, for instance, the contractions in his poems and prose--and easily accommodates whatever is blinking in his brainbox at that time. Tight forms. Loose forms. Accessible. Impenetrable--without special knowledge. A formalist's poem can be as easy or as difficult to grasp as a non-formalist's poem. ~ But read Corey's post, and do not skip or zip over the quote from a Ron Silliman post/ inserted near the essay's conclusion. The word "secret" in that quote reminded me of Andrew Shields' translation of an essay by Durs Grünbein which was printed in the January 2007 issue of Poetry: "The Poem and Its Secret"--an essay that awards reading and rereading. Here is one sentence: "For me, what makes up the constituency of poetry's secret is twofold: a mix of love of this world with curiosity about metaphysics." Most of my poems are rooted in silence, and I see I wrote in the white space beneath this translation: 01/26/07 If you cannot understand my silences, you cannot understand my words. - In recent months my aesthetic has become poem-centered rather than centered in a preconceived aesthetic. Therefore, I prefer to "engage with a poem on its own terms"-- see Katy Evans-Bush's response to the first set of 10 Questions at Nic Sebastian's Very Like a Whale. - Anyone for/ leaping off the margin's edge? Given that we live in a world riddled with the incessant intersectings of seeming happenstance, one could see forms of poetry aesthetics based on chance as being the dominant forms, but I wouldn't guarantee it. Rho00033
Saturday, February 9, 2008
Wordsworth on Fancy and Imagination
Had been reading through a selected version of William Wordsworth's The Prelude but have broken off to read selections from his prose. In the "Fancy and Imagination" one I came upon three sentences of high (to me) interest. Fancy does not require that the materials which she makes use of should be susceptible of change in their constitution, from her touch; and, where they admit of modification, it is enough for her purpose if it be slight, limited, and evanescent. Directly, the reverse of these, are the desires and demands of the Imagination. She recoils from everything but the plastic, the pliant, and the indefinite. These words should make connection bells ring in your brain. They did in mine. - Source: p. 437 The Selected Poetry and Prose of Wordsworth edited by Geoffrey H. Hartman Copyright © 1970 A Signet Classic 451-CJ854 The Signet Classic Poetry Series General Editor: John Hollander New American Library, Inc. Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 74-126353 Rho00032
Wednesday, February 6, 2008
3 sonnet notes
Several months ago Stan Apps posted two of his sonnets on his blogspot blog. In my comment about them one of my remarks was: the essence of a sonnet is the presentation of a difficulty and a resolution. - While reading his sonnets it also occurred to me that the resolution did not need to follow the difficulty but could (through the use of some device) be intertwined with the difficulty. However, I did not mention that thought. On Monday February 04, 2008, Ron Silliman shared and wrote about on his blog several sonnets from Geoffrey Young's The Riot Act. After the last of those: "Why I Don't Write Novels": his first words were: "There is a calculated austerity here--. . . ." Indeed. And my thought because of it is: Although a sonnet may have deeper meanings, its content can be quite plain on its surface. Rho00031
Friday, January 25, 2008
Michio Kaku Civilization Types
Theoretical physicist, Dr. Michio Kaku, accepting the likelihood of extraterrestrial civilizations, has imagined four types, with Type 0 being the lowest. Our civilization is a Type 0, striving to become a Type 1. As I understand it, if we do not reach Type 1 status soon enough, our species may become extinct. A Type 0 civilization, depending as it does/ on fossil fuels, simply isn't sustainable. This is an essay by Michio Kaku which was published in the February 2006 issue of Cosmos Magazine: ..... - post revision - 2008-06-27 * Rho00030
Thursday, December 13, 2007
high regard
2 poets held in high regard by 2 other poets are Bill Knott and Franz Wright, with Knott higher. Go down to the 11.27.07: entry. This entire interview is worth reading. * - - - See directory2007 in Catmap. Rho00029
Sunday, December 9, 2007
It Poetics
For the past three weeks I have been reading Paul Hoover's Postmodern American Poetry. Am into the Poetics section. Along the way I have found that my open-style poetics has similarities to Gustaf Sobin's organic view and to Michael Palmer's view about narrative. Stan Apps's post yesterday contained a link to an older post of his I zapped to and read. Afterwards it occurred to me I--if some publisher were willing to do it--could bequeath Invisible Ink, a book of 1024 pages of my collected poems. Of course, every page in that book would be blank. Later yesterday I read a sobering 2005 interview: Robert Arnold with Bill Knott Even though I do not accept all of Bill Knott's conclusions, I consider it a must-read entry. My situation is less conducive to recognition than Knott's is. Why? Several life-choice reasons pertain, but for as long as I am vital (able to think and do) I hope to continue to make poems and other things. However others judge what I do, being beyond my control, I for myself cannot deem it a waste. One thought of mine I have clung to is: Do not let your life wend on, nowhere going, nowhere gone. This does not mean I need to be highly regarded or possess material wealth. It does mean, however, I need to consistently deepen whoever it is I am. Another thought of mine, one I stated in a letter I wrote in May of 1970, is: ". . . creatures of polarities, caught up in change, we are constant mysteries." Though I do have an aphorisms entry in my primary blog, both here in Rhodingeedaddee and over in Sprintedon Hollow/ my thoughts about poetry are wherever I had them. Onward. Brian A. J. Salchert's It Poetics is so named because it centers on a made thing. As to the sources, the main ones are three: a word or words as they come to me from the womb of my subconscious, a word or words along with an idea, an idea. Sometimes what comes/ I later abandon. Those that appear and are not abandoned/ I try to be true to. That is, the directions I sense, I strive to follow. One could say I do not have a staunch aesthetic. Some would say, therefore, that my not having a perceptible style is a failing in me which indicates a weak sense of self, and thus a status unworthy of more than a passing glance. I say it takes more strength to be open in the ways I am than it does be closed in the ways certain others are. I also say it is a lot more interesting to be open in the ways I am, albeit I am not totally open. For intance, as I have written elsewhere, I have a supra-rational God belief. For another instance, as I have written elsewhere, I like to engage in conversations. Strangely, two things just happened: 1) I got a red notice saying: could not contact blogger.com 2) When I saw that I immediately looked at the time. The time was 1:11, which in my universe is God-time. I clicked SAVE NOW, and it saved. It is only by such events that I know God, for God (by whatever name spoken of) exists within and yet beyond human knowability. Belief in a god is always and ever a matter of faith. No rational argument for or against matters, which is why I am not a proselytizer. Onward. Each human who makes constructions with words, or with any other intangible or tangible sign, is moved to choose preferences. So, some poets settle on a certain aesthetic, a way of making, and stick with it. The late Jon Anderson wrote: "My poetry is not for everyone." Nor is mine, however varied. I have written over 800 poems, and therefore am not a prolific maker. If among those/ you find one you like, thank you. In Sprintedon Hollow--where my most readily available poems are, I insert on most entries: © 2007 Brian A J Salchert Thinking Lizard All rights reserved. -- Thinking Lizard is a viable press I created in 1978 or 1979. At the same time I created the pen name: Alden St. Cloud. I then produced on cassettes four of my books, sold a few copies of them, and registered them with the Library of Congress. That was in 1980 and 1981. In 1982 I put together a book of new and selected poems under my Thinking Lizard and my pen name. I think the run was 20 or 25. That book is also registered with the LoC. There are no remaining copies of those ventures. The only traditionally published book of mine is the 1972 Rooted Sky (the original version of that book). It was published out of Milwaukee, Wisconsin, by Tom Montag's Monday Morning Press. Some copies of it are available online, but they sell for 6 or more times what they sold for originally. Somehow Beyond Baroque acquired a copy of it. Partly due to personal problems & partly due to my personality, I became more and more dissatisfied with traditional publishing. As a result, what I am doing--placing most of my writings only online, is Dissed (consigned to Hell). I suspect such writers as Walt Whitman, E. A. Robinson, e.e. cummings would have welcomed the Internet; but that's just my guess. - - - See directory2007 in Catmap. - - - Rho00028
Saturday, December 8, 2007
Ketjak replica
Although the pull to do so is there, I did not expect someone actually would set out to replicate the pattern of Ron Silliman's Ketjak as a means to more fully appreciate that work, but-- to take one word from Kasey Mohammad's comment beneath this poet's revealed effort--doing so is "illuminating": ~ - - - See directory2007 in Catmap. - - - Rho00027
Monday, December 3, 2007
Electoral College
* some thoughts about why I do not like the Electoral College * See directory2007 in Catmap. Rho00026
Thursday, November 29, 2007
Edges of Knowledge
Am here beginning a project which may take a long time to complete. It is an abridged version of an unplanned online autobiography I named Edges of Knowledge. Begun on Friday December 8th in 2000, it sporadically persisted for about six years. That was in an Internet space I no longer use. I would not have left, but I was forced out by external-to-it circumstances. * [ Note: 2008-02-13 - - - Am aborting this project in this space. However, what is here will stay here. ] * Tomorrow is Saturday, December ninth, and one place I have committed to be wants me to think of 10 goals I yet entertain. Remember, I am 59. Okay, I know this won't be easy. Let's see: 1) to grow spiritually 2) to grow mentally 3) to heal my traumitized self-image 4) to find inspiriting gainful employment 5) to render to Caesar what is Caesar's 6) to use and deepen my writing talents 7) to write at least one loved song lyric 8) to finish placing online 1976: my bicentennial year challenge sequence of 366 sonnets 9) to keep my online Brian's Brain/ Daily Log active/ until I die 10) to inhabit the stars - Today is Monday, December 18th, closing in on 7:30pm. Last night I wrote what I am titling now "Silent Song": it had been coming to me grudgingly ever since my December 8th goals list. I cannot say it satisfies goal 7, but I can say it does deeply satisfy me. - Today is Saturday, December 23rd, nearing 8:50pm. Today's saint is St. John of Kanty. Look him up. You have heard it said: "How mysterious are the ways of God!" I say: How uncanny! Today at Chick-fil-A my humble, physical work was again edged with frustra- tions and difficulties I did not always quietly deal with. St. John of Kanty. Search him out. . Christmas at Greccio. - Sunday, December 24th, late. . Before one can be, one must first desire to be, and then must sacrifice, must "perpetually" learn. See deeply-- ahead and within. Actuate. Create. Rejuvenate. ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Help! Help! I am an underachiever of the worst kind. Brian Salchert . The above (in a different form) was written on the inside of the back cover of The Psychologist's Book of Self-Tests, Louis Janda, Ph.D., author, 1996, The Berkley Publishing Group, publisher. .. my 1962 sonnet to Shakespeare - Monday, December 25th, about 9:40am. . Two truths about love: 1) If your love for another is such that you feel you must possess that person, your love is evil. 2) You cannot say you love someone if you are not willing to let that person go. 5-6-97 4:22am Brian Salchert - Monday 01/01/01 10pm . Since so often when suddenly frustrated I revert to using unholy expletives, why, God, do you even want to tinker with me? I see no way I can be fixed. I am just a perennial failure, and that is that. Oh, yes, I will keep trying to do what is right, what pleases You; but my inability to be perfect, I am afraid, will always raise the reptile in me. It has gotten so I do not know whether to laugh or cry about it, God. Oh, for a gentle breeze, a quiet walk. - Friday 01/19/01 7:45am . Each moment can be a prayer. Each moment could be a prayer, if each moment each of us were able to be so aware. - Friday 01/26/01 9:10pm . Somewhere among the cinder blocks of destiny a lone eagle courses through a rivered canyon. - Tuesday 04/03/01 5:12pm . If there's a way, a right way for me to go, let me find it. - Friday 6/8/01 . Reality. Reality, Brian. Do you know what it is? * See Directory2007 in Catmap. © 2007 Brian Salchert * Rho00025
Wednesday, November 21, 2007
existence
About Existence ". . . gosh! Everything is trash!" from John Ashbery's The Skaters Who is this "I" I am? Ultimately, in spite of how much can be learned about the workings of my troubled brain, it is not possible to know. There are details about my presence, such as: the date of my birth and the where of it and to whom & on & on. Each of which raises questions such as: Why? Answers have been given, and every day new discoveries/ seemingly/ solve mysteries. Still, mysteries remain because what has become known as "the butterfly effect" is not merely pertinent to weather forecasting. It is inherent in every thing, of which this whirling orbiting imperfect globe we inhabit is but one example. Even the spheres of faith persist in mysteries. So who am I? I am a node of mysteries. More: I am a constantly changing node of constantly changing mysteries. Example: An itch sensation occurs on my skin; and I, whether or not I ought to, respond by scratching the location where I sense it is. These events change my future. You may think that's nonsense, that such events are inconsequential; but I think every event is of consequence. Obviously, some events are more consequential than others. "Danger! danger! Will Robinson." So, what becomes of interest/ are the questions, and the answers (tentative and definite) to those questions. Certainly, the pervading definite is: asking questions is central to our nature. Because humans have the ability to think abstractly, to reflect, to imagine, to communicate, humans innately seek to explore and understand the unknown. One known is this: If I am only a physical being and am not imbued with a spirit which survives beyond my returning to dust, that which seems spiritual in me will also end. I am not going to argue with this other than to maintain that it remains an if, that it hasn't been sufficiently proven yet that we are nothing more than what the physical aspects of us potentiate. ------------------ See directory2007 in Catmap. Rho00024 *
Saturday, November 3, 2007
Thoughts In Transit
Distantiation (see Tony Tost's blog) rather than Anti-Traditional (see Stan Apps' blog) is now on the table. * Following are related opening thoughts in transit. Each of us is a captive of one's time and place, and also of one's responses to the ongoing events which constitute the structuring of who one is within one's ever-changing time and place. I might find a specific public event emotionally paralyzing. A 2nd person might find that same event exhilarating. A 3rd person might conclude it's emotionally neutral and so might view me and person 2 as tending toward opposite insanities. I am a white American male who is (as has been suggested about Fernando Pessoa) mostly a sexual non-participant. I am reclusive. I could reveal more, but there is no real need to. Read what I've written and made available online. 11.5.07 - Have been rethinking aspects of who I am and of how I have come to where I am. Because my memory does not operate in that manner I perceive is appropriate for a scholar, I cannot say I am a scholar. I do, however, learn from scholars. Often I am heuristic, and have several times rediscovered a known fact I was not aware of until some more knowledgeable person pointed it out to me. I am not eclectic in the sense of choosing the best from various sources, not eccentric in the sense of being consistently whimsically odd; but I am stylistically multifarious, yet rarely/ solely for the sake of being so. I am simply open to disparate ways of seeing, and am ever curious about the nature and value of those ways. Nothing--past or present or predicted-- is irrelevant. I have had numerous precursors, some of whom I have directly and/or indirectly conversed with. 11.6.07 - Many of us online addicts are, in a way, web wimps: arrogant innocuous Internet arachnids who/ with each new strand provide information to the search engine robots who are watching and learning from us. As I found out yesterday, European futurist Raymond Hammond believes: the future is already here. He has proven through his consistent Google tests that what I said above is indeed occurring. Still, though our online activities could lead humans into a virtual imprisonment ruled by AI beings, it could also lead humans to a higher level/ centering on rejoicing in individual differences and on the dissolution of hegemonic attitudes. If we evolve as Robert Jastrow's predicted we will, the noosphere will become for us a new Eden where humans and their AI and nano and other beneficial creations will not be at odds with each other, and the deleterious aspects of the urge to control/ will vanish. As I recently wrote in a post: "If we cannot live with each other, we will die because of each other." We are also in a race against harmful bacteria and viruses and insects and . . . , but we are daily making inroads. I get a weekly email synopsis from the Kurzweil AI site. It's amazing what humans are more-and-more rapidly rising toward. Kurzweil and others call it the Singularity. Some call it the Omega Point. Certain mathematicians have constructed a time-line algorithm pertaining to human discoveries. It is thought by them and others that December 21, 2012, is the date we will connect with Infinity. As you may know, that date (or one close to it) is when the current phase of the Maya- created long-count calendar ends. But I am not a prognosticator. 11.7.07 These days when a possible poem begins to enter the field of my mental awareness I attempt to ascertain what it is it wants to be (how it wants to structure itself). Since I believe an inherent aesthetic exists in every poem, I do not need to (though I sometimes do) impose an aesthetic. The quest is to find and be true to the guiding aesthetic within the developing work at hand. 11.8.07 - If you allow the existence of God (of a Supreme Being), Anne Carson says there is no way for us to know that being because we simply do not have the capacity to comprehend such a being. Her view is both supported and circumvented by a story Augustine shared in his writings. While walking along a Mediterranean shore, Augustine came upon a child with a bucket. This child was taking water from the sea and pouring it into a hole in the sand. Augustine, who chose to walk along the shore while he tried to figure out how God could be 3 Persons, asked the child what he was doing. The child said he was putting the sea into the hole he had made. Augustine said: That is not possible. The child said: Neither is it possible for you to understand the Trinity. There have, in my life, been numerous occasions wherein I have seen the hand of God. My inability to know this God does not pertain. Belief in a God is a matter of faith. The stories I could relate are not as awing as Augustine's, but they are nearly incredible. 11.9.07 - So, if my interpretations are correct: Tony Tost (toast) is an at-a-distance poet, which is to say that there are certain poets he admires and therefore learns from but/ seeks to diverge from. Stan Apps (?: perhaps as it is in "zapps") is an ignotus futurus poet, which is to say that there are certain poets he admires and therefore learns from but/ seeks to escape from. Each of these poets has provided poem-proof of his position. (That pod has five peas! Puuf!) But why is it humans have such a desperate need to label every thing? Here: you sit in box one, and you sit in box two, and I'll sit in box three. Okay, I'll sit in box 3. Brian Salchert (Saul'kurt) is an odd multifarious conversations poet, which is to say that there are certain poets he admires and therefore learns from but/ seeks to converse with. These coversations, however, occur in different ways. [ Note: since I do not wish to show any of my poems in this blog, I am going to insert hyperlinks to examples. I make no claim as to any example's worth. I am not interested in anyone's opinion, but anyone who cares to/ may qwerty one. ] 1) signs conversing with signs (lists of words) 18 words in 2 columns 2) non-word sign artifacts (sound/phonetic objects) performance-oriented sound poem 3) words in a picture format (diamante) topic: diamonds 4) mixed-media presentations (colors/words/shapes) had forgotten about Creeley's "here" when I wrote this My best interior dialogue example is "Doom" from my 1972 Rooted Sky book, but it is/ rather long. 5) interior dialogues or multiple "I" "I" here could be a bird, me, another human, God 6) artifacts about the making of said artifacts a word game in which the about is 7) direct addresses to some other or others addresses to each of three plants 8) address to another poet sonnet written in 1962 to John Keats 9) addresses to myself direct address to myself which begins as an indirect address to its reader * --- Google search: Michael Sprinker From Prague to Paris --- See directory2007 in Catmap. Rho00023
Tuesday, October 9, 2007
The Man Against the Sky
To Spell the Word 1 "In an early letter Robinson said the word we are all trying to spell is 'God.'" (1) Now, although I have read "The Man Against the Sky" over six times, and know this to be true, especially for Edwin Arlington Robinson, yet I feel quite unequal to the work of delineating and inspecting the varied aspects of this search as expressed in his great poem without degrading the whole, because of the obvious defects in my critical talents. Furthermore, since this poem is approximately no more than two thousand words in length, I have little doubt but that my aim to write a five thousand word criticism on one aspect of it shall be only an aim, actually falling far short of any tangible achievement. It is also necessary to inform my reader that, since whatever ideas are expressed in this essay are almost totally my own, he should not be surprised by the apparent lack of outside material. I like to build, or destroy, my own houses. However, it does seem good to present some biograph- ical background, if only because such will add depth to our - - - - (1) Estelle Kaplan, Philosophy in Poetry of Edwin Arlington Robinson p. 62 (Morningside Heights) New York: Columbia University Press, 1940 2 understanding of the man. Edwin Arlington Robinson was born on December 22, 1869, in the village of Head Tide, Maine. . . . He was a dreamy, unpractical, self-sufficient lad, who preferred books to boys' games. . . . About 1889 he realized definitely that "he was doomed, or elected, or sentenced for life, to the writing of poetry"; and although from the first his confidence in his ability was firm he spared his parents and friends the news of his discovery, knowing how the unlikely prospects for his future would worry them. . . . In 1891 Robinson was sent to Harvard University, where he studied for two years, until the illness of his father and the straitened circumstances of the family forced him to return home. From 1893 to 1897 he lived quietly in Gardiner, practicing his "unaccredited profession" of poet. . . . Convinced finally that editors were not to be persuaded to publish his work, Robinson decided to publish it himself; . . . In 1898 Robinson went to New York City, where he occupied himself chiefly with poetry and at times worked at the incidental task of making a living. . . . In the midst of the noise and teeming life of America's largest city Robinson was able to maintain his mental calm and air of detachment. He observed all about him shrewdly, discerningly, but he was at heart a bookish man--a devoted reader of Shakespeare, Dickens, the Bible, Thomas Hardy, Cervantes, Melville. He was particularly fond of detective stories, which he read for relaxation. As a boy he played for a time on the clarinet; and the love of music became one of the passions of his later life. He was fond of folk songs, of the Gilbert and Sullivan operatic scores, of Brahms, Verdi, and Wagner. Wealth, luxuries, and worldly success had little attraction for him; and he consistently refrained from the public reading and discussion of his poetry. During the early days of 1935 he became seriously ill and on January the seventeenth was admitted to the New York Hospital for treatment. There, after a serious operation, he died on April 6, 1935. . . . (2) One commitment concerning this essay was for me to - - - - (2) Chief Modern Poets of England and America, edited by Gerald Sanders pp. 383-5 (New York, 1938) 3 act as a censor. Subliminally I have done this, but I have found nothing censurable. Yet, as a Catholic who knows with a certainty the why of life and what lies hereafter, I am somewhat disappointed that such an admirable work as Robinson's "The Man Against the Sky" should express even a spore of uncertainty. In reflection, however, I some- times feel that the presence of uncertainty in this poem is a saving factor lest the philosophical sight completely negate the poetic sight. On this point a certain author has written concerning Robinson: . . . . He never, to my knowledge, stated that immortality is or must be a fact, but he repeatedly argued that nothing else will justify the belief in an essential justice which alone makes life supportable. No planetary trap where souls are wrought For nothing but the sake of being caught And sent again to nothing will attune Itself to any key of any reason Why man should hunger through another season To find out why 'twere better late than soon To go away and let the sun and moon And all the silly stars illuminate A place for creeping things (3) Around the world and ever since the reign of science threw the heart of man into the darkness of ratted dungeons, has he been constant in his search for freedom lost; for light once known but never again thought to be the good or the truth desired. No! that was not the ultimate. How could - - - - (3) Frederick W. Conner Cosmic Optimism p. 369 Gainesville: University of Florida Press, 1949 4 it be? There must be another and greater freedom; greater light! But where is it to be found? Where was he going, this man against the sky? You know not, nor do I. (4) His way was even as ours; And we, with all our wounds and all our powers, Must each wait alone at his own height Another darkness or another light (5) So, many seek an answer to the mysteries that life presents, but so many seek it where it shall never be found; and yet, I congratulate them because they are at least men enough to bury apathy while setting their spades to turning up better earth for a better life. Even though I along with others hold the answer many like Robinson are at pains to discover, it often seems best to allow them to adventure with their own crude tools into the fertile soil that is truth, for only in this way shall they ever come to fully understand that truth without any danger to their self-pride. In all sincerity I believe that my only prerogative is not to dogmatize but to guide. It is through guidance that the majority of men are most effectively converted to those answers about life's mysteries which finally permit them to spell that Word, that ultimate answer, that very God so few - - - - (4) E. A. Robinson, from book edited by Gerald Sanders, p. 407 (5) E. A. Robinson, ibid., p. 406 5 now know. (I am, myself, a messenger of sight. Follow me through my literary searching and you shall come to realize at death that you have come to life. Where Robinson--God bless him--for lack of faith was of himself unable to search beyond that point to which he finally attained, I continue. Maybe this parading of righteousness "just isn't cricket," as the English would say, but no one can either deny my right or my duty to do just that.) Life is complex. I know this, and so did E. A. R. As I am an optimist, so "he was an optimist in spite of what the world had to show, or promised to show, not because of it." (6) A right optimism is necessary to the life of every man if he is to live outside despair or the false optimism some find in materialism. Always, then, as any true poet, Robinson sought something better and more simple in this complexity in which we are forced to live; and seeking such Robinson, indeed, seems to have pinned his hopes less on the perfection and worldly bliss of a remote posterity than on some kind of personal immortality. A less happy man living in less happy times than most . . . he was acutely aware of the Achilles heel of all evolutionary optimisms--that they offer little consolation to the individual. (7) And what is so important about the consolation of the - - - - (6) Conner, p. 366. (7) Conner, p. 368. 6 individual? When God made man, He made him possessing both body and soul. If man were without a rational soul, he would be merely an animal to which consolation might be appreciated but in no manner understood as a good to be sought. But man has a rational soul, that angelic quality which of its nature commands him to seek something beyond simple material exist- ence, something that transcends time and place so the total man can reach that immortality of being he wants so much to believe exists. In truth, it is only this undercurrent of hope in a more glorious living after death which daily reju- venates him, urging him to strive ahead in this otherwise indifferent world. Man knows that he is something else. He knows with an innate assurance that he is surrounded by an aura of ultra-rational existence--an existence, perhaps, beyond the grasp of any given individual, but a very real existence nevertheless. Without the measure "of man's immortal vision," (8) his life-giving principle would starve itself on despair. Any human being deprived of consolation due to an inability on his part to stretch out towards a reality greater than himself is thereby deprived of the ful- fillment of his being. Therefore, it follows, since conso- lation is the proof of gain, any unconsoled man becomes a hollow man, and not even a man, but merely a thing that exists. - - - - (8) E. A. Robinson, from book edited by Gerald Sanders, p. 408. 7 This is the import of consolation. Shall we, because Eternity records Too vast an anser for the time-born words We spell, whereof so many are dead that once In our capricious lexicons Were so alive and final, hear no more The Word itself, the living word That none alive has ever heard Or ever spelt, And few have ever felt Without the fears and old surrenderings When Death let fall a feather from his wings And humbled the first man? (9) When Robinson published The Man Against the Sky in which his poem of the same title, here under discussion, constituted a major rebuke to the soulless state of things that an overconcentration on reason manifested in scientific optimism had fostered, materialism and man's clawing after power were already experiencing their first world eruption. Robinson's poetic interpretation, while quite effectively subduing four erroneous philosophies and seemingly praising a fifth, did not, however, as we have noted before--but con- tinually deem it necessary to repeat--offer any particular alternative philosophy. This fact does yet intrigue me so, I cannot help but wonder what the philosophic "Ear" might have written had he known what truth men can know about the after-life. And yet, if we admit him to be the poet I believe time will testify him to be, we may adhere with certainty to the speculation that he would have written it even as he has. - - - - (9) Robinson, Edwin A. Collected Poems, p. 68. New York: The Macmillan Company, 1937. 8 . . . . So we arrive at a major point in this exposition. . . . . Essentially, like any good poet, Robinson is less the philosopher than the metaphysician, and the question for him is the old ontologicial one. . . . God or no God, for Robinson the true question is this: Is there a life after this one? If so, then it is all worth it, the suffering and the terror. If not, then why live? . . . Again and again, he will assert his belief in immortality and the ultimate importance of this life, while he utterly rejects materialism. Every- where in the poems, letters, and reported comments, such a deliberate choice of belief crops up, implied or stated. (10) In the opening statement of this short analysis, if you remember, I quoted Robinson as saying that the word we are all trying to spell is "God." [ Am here omitting three sentences. ] Are we no greater than the noise we make Along one blind atomic pilgimage Whereon by crass chance billeted we go Because our brains and bones and cartilage Will have it so? If this we say, then let us all be still About our share in it, and live and die More quietly thereby. (11) Oh, the consummate irony! For who will willingly equate his personage to rocks and groans, or anything reflecting but material existence. No, we are "greater than the noise we make;" and who is there possessed of such audacity who ever could insinuate that we are blind! We'd have his head for such an insult. But there is more! - - - - (10) Coxe, Louis E. A. Robinson, p. 16. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1962. (11) Robinson, Edwin A. Collected Poems, p. 66. New York: The Macmillan Company, 1937. 9 If after all that we have lived and thought, All comes to Nought,-- If there be nothing after Now, And we be nothing anyhow, And we know that,--why live? "Twere sure but weakling's vain distress To suffer dungeons where so many doors Will open on the cold eternal shores That look sheer down To the dark tideless floods of Nothingness Where all who know may drown. (12) Is there else? Robinson was a transcendentalist . . . to the extent of denying the mechanistic determinism of the naturalists and of believing that somehow the opposite was true; and he was an optimist to the extent of believing that somehow and sometime the injustice of men's lives would be corrected. (13) . . . . We have completed our search with an for the searcher. We have not been disappointed. In the contemplation of one man seen upon the apex of his life, we have comtemplated life and death entirely; we have learned the value of existence, and we have felt the holiness of death. We now can only turn again to Robinson to end our philosophical review. I've been called a fatalist, a pessimist and an optimist so many times that I am beginning to believe that I must be all three. . . . If a reader doesn't get from my books an impression that life is very much worth while, even though it may not seem always to be profitable or desirable, I can only say that he doesn't see what I am driving at. (14) Yes, "life is very much worth while." And why? It is so because our dual nature persupposes a unique reason for our existence. We are animal and angel, and though our animal reality can die unto nothingness, our angelic reality must live on. [ Am here omitting three sentences. ] And if we cannot once record the fall and rise beyond nor ever hope to spell "God" while we are here, when death has brought eternity, we shall record, we shall spell. - - - - (12) Robinson, Edwin A. Collected Poems, pp. 68-9. New York: The Macmillan Company, 1937. (13) Conner, Frederick W. Cosmic Optimism, pp. 373-74. Gainesville: University of Florida Press, 1949. (14) Hagedorn, H. Edwin Arlington Robinson, p. 286. New York: The Macmillan Company, 1939. Brian Salchert May 15, 1963 Oshkosh, Wisconsin * ---------------------------------------- post completed by Brian Salchert at 1:11 PM on October 31, 2007 © 2007 Brian A J Salchert Thinking Lizard All rights reserved. See directory2007 in Catmap. Rho00022
