I had nothing new to say for this Memorial Day. Disappointed when people trivialize the holiday with recycled platitudes or co-opt it for their own agendas, I had expected to observe this day only with my flag in 2023. Then I saw a post by Robert Reich and remembered a quote from Voltaire.
Category: politics
Six Words and an Image
What can I add to a post by Sue Ranscht about victims of the Uvalde mass shooting? Nothing beyond another place where Sue’s concise eloquence might be seen and pondered. Maybe even acted upon. Remember in November.
The REAL Thin Blue Line
While defending the US Capitol on 2021-01-06, police officer Mike Fanone was dragged down its steps, beaten, zapped with a taser, and nearly killed. Apologists for mob rule (provided the mob is white) were soon rebranding the rioters as tourists who were merely rowdy. Now Fanone is defending the truth at great personal cost.
Cautious Optimism
«Because this is America, the 82-year-old hands that used to pick someone else’s cotton went to the polls and picked her youngest son to be a United States Senator.»
~ Raphael Warnock (newly elected US Senator from Georgia) in his victory speech on 2021-01-05
Pulling a Calf
For late winter (also known as mud season), it was a nice day. A few half-hearted snowflakes drifted down. They vanished into the promise of spring wafting up from wet ground that had already thawed. As I walked past a small farm about 2 miles from home, Everett called out: “Can U give me some help?”
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I knew Everett from his being the part-time mail carrier who sometimes drove my home’s rural route. He was also a subsistence farmer who had veggie plots, chickens, and some goats who wandered at will despite attempts to corral them. While the Houdini goats were cause for resigned amusement, the predicament of a cow and her calf was cause for anxiety.
Mama was a small cow whose tryst with a large bull had produced a calf too large for her birth canal. Mama was lying on her side, with just the calf’s nose and front hooves protruding. Neither Everett nor I knew how to contact and compensate a veterinary surgeon who might perform a bovine C-section on short notice, but Everett had a plan.
He had tied the middle of a rope around the hooves. He would pull one end of the rope while another guy pulled the other end in the same direction, straight out from Mama. I would be the other guy. There was no mention of the possibility of pulling with a tractor, and Everett probably did not have a tractor anyway.
© S. Silver | 123RF Stock Photo
Was it thin rope or thick twine? Either way, it was old and frayed. (Before we started pulling, it was not quite so badly frayed as in the image above.) As we pulled, I feared that either the rope would break or some boots would lose traction. Either way, one or both of us would suffer an ignominious pratfall in the barnyard’s morass of mud and manure.
The rope held. So did our boots. Mama endured the ordeal with quiet stoicism, as her calf emerged slowly. Both survived.
My one and only obstetric accomplishment was decades ago, long before the 2016 election saw the USA’s ignominious pratfall into what passes for conservatism nowadays: a morass of mud and manure, with quicksand too.
Along with many others now, I am once again pulling on a frayed rope. Constitutional democracy has been badly frayed by dark money, gerrymandering, troll farms, and vote suppression. Will it hold long enough to extract my country from the morass? (We need two unlikely wins in Georgia on 2021-01-05 to flip the Senate.) When the future looks bleak, I think back to Everett’s frayed rope. We pulled; it held.
Riff on a Churchill Quote
On 2020-11-07 (around 11:30 AM), CNN declares that Joe Biden has won the electoral vote and will be the next POTUS. Of course, the state-by-state vote counts that determine the electoral vote are not yet official. Lawsuits and recounts loom. Violence from “militia” thugs goaded by Donald Trump’s incendiary rhetoric is possible. And so on.
Tho I am not quite old enough to have been following the news on 1942-11-10, I remember what Winston Churchill said then to mark the victory at El Alamein:
“Now this is not the end.
It is not even the beginning of the end.
But it is, perhaps, the end of the beginning.”
That first victory in 1942 ended the beginning of the long hard slog to rid the world of fascism. The riddance was temporary. Perhaps 2020 can begin the long hard slog to repair the damage done to the USA by about four decades of coddling plutocrats and four years of coddling bigots. Perhaps 2020 can begin to free the USA and other nations from creeping fascism disguised as conservatism.
For the moment anyway, here is the answer to the question about 2020 that I posed soon after the disastrous 2016 election:
Our flag is still there.
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I Cried Today
Tho I do not tear up easily, I have teared up and even cried a little at many moments in this dismal year. Today I sobbed and moaned and gushed tears. Like I did nearly six years ago, when my wife died. This time it was not personal grief.
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As soon as I could see clearly again, I started this post. Tho I am a compulsive polisher and normally let things marinate for many hours before I revisit and revise, I pressed the [Publish] button after less than an hour. I had to get back to the battle, to doing what little I can to help organizations like VoteVets fight for constitutional democracy against the corrupt fascist in the White House and his enablers.
Machu Pichu Endures
The colors of glistening pineapple and watermelon may distract the eye from something unusual about how these chunks of fruit fell into a bowl. Let’s remove most of the color from the image and nudge a few other sliders in a photo editor. Does the accidental arrangement look somewhat familiar? Ever been to Machu Pichu?
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While I have only been to Machu Pichu vicariously, I have long admired the skills and can-do spirit of Inca stonemasons who made sturdy walls from precisely aligned stones of various shapes. Precise alignment is a lot harder with stone than with fruit.
The exquisitely crafted walls of Machu Pichu’s now-roofless buildings have endured centuries of frost heaves and neglect. What high purposes might the buildings have served? Were any of them schools or hospitals or research institutes?
Nope. The buildings were summer homes for the emperor and courtiers top 0.1% and temples think tanks for the priests pundits who told them that their wealth and privileges were rewards for pleasing the gods creating jobs. Machu Pichu endures in more ways than one.
Remember in November.
Image Sources for Machu Pichu
- Closeups of stonework have been cropped.
- © Giulio Mignani | 123RF Stock Photo
Twilight Tanka
In context, the phrase «world slipping into darkness» in a recent challenge refers to serene twilight in the natural world. In the political world, the same phrase has an utterly different mood. What to do? Write a tanka and dig deeper for ways to fight the political world’s descent into darkness.
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The challenge is reblogged (in effect) below. I was jolted by the clash between the serenity of the image and the political interpretation of a phrase in the poem.
In the ebbing radiance
Of a world slipping into darkness
The light is most vivid
Capable of magiks
Unknown to daylight
© Patrick Jennings | Radiance ~ Pic and a Word Challenge #243
Radiance and Darkness
In sure and certain hope
that light returns tomorrow,
sky’s radiance fades.
But slipping into darkness
is not serene for nations.
Lines Plan Their Day
«Let’s twist and ripple across the computer screen
in an exuberant pseudorandom dance
that won’t repeat for centuries.»
in an exuberant pseudorandom dance
that won’t repeat for centuries.»
«Maybe tomorrow. Still sore from yesterday.
I pulled red line duty and
people stepped on me as they crossed.»
I pulled red line duty and
people stepped on me as they crossed.»
«Hmmm. Let’s just mark a few straight edges
of flat surfaces in the real world
until U feel better.»
of flat surfaces in the real world
until U feel better.»
«I’m up for that if we keep the angles simple.»
I have good news and bad news.
The good news is that I have improved the format of some silliness posted on 2018-05-01, in response to a challenge with the word [line]. The improvements appear above, in response to a new challenge:
Line ~ Pic and a Word Challenge #240
The bad news is that the serious undercurrent in my silliness is even more topical than before. In so many high places in so many nations, fascists and their enablers have been stampeding across red lines. One of many recent examples in the USA is Donald Trump’s order that hospitals bypass the CDC and send COVID-19 data only to a database run by Trump loyalists. With predictable consequences.
After a rueful chuckle about how it feels to be a red line nowadays, we can get back to disinfecting surfaces and other little chores. Like saving constitutional democracy.
Remember in November.
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Freedom for Whom?
«Normally I let people interpret my poems as they will, but here I will be crystal clear on one point.» So says Patrick Jennings in #236 of his Pic and a Word Challenge series, and I concur. My poem in response to the challenge has a final couplet that could be misinterpreted, so I too will try to be crystal clear afterward.
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Freedom ~ Pic and a Word Challenge #236
Breonna Taylor and George Floyd did not enjoy freedoms that a white guy like me could easily take for granted.
Freedom?
Freedom to be left alone,
not be shot in my own home.
Freedom from the nagging fear
that a racist cop is near.
Freedom to salute the flag,
or to burn it like a rag?
The Pledge of Allegiance ends with an aspiration, not a fact. Maybe some flag burnings are meant to protest America’s failure to provide liberty and justice for all, but they don’t look like that. They look like flag burnings in Tehran, like hatred of the republic for which it stands.
Tho ardent about civil liberties, I can accept prosecution of flag burners for violating local ordinances against open burning and the air pollution it causes. Don’t give jerks who alienate potential allies an excuse to fancy themselves as martyrs for freedom of speech.
There are respectful ways to protest with the flag. Fly it upside down. Display artwork that incorporates it, such as the moving “Close the Camps” stickers (designed by artist Pablo Stanley) that were distributed by MoveOn.org in 2017.
Above all, remember that the worst defilers of the flag are the bigots and plutocrats who hide behind it, while denying others the freedoms it represents.
Remember in November.
Memorial Day 2020
Originally a day to remember and honor the fallen in the American Civil War, Memorial Day expanded to include later wars. Now it should expand beyond the military. In the COVID-19 pandemic, essential workers risk their lives and sometimes die, defending the rest of us from the disease itself and the societal collapse it could cause.
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In wartime, ignorant and impulsive pols can somehow make horrendous situations even worse. So it is with the pandemic. Medical workers (including EMT-s and hospital support staff as well as doctors and nurses) have been sent into battle with inadequate personal protective equipment for themselves and inadequate intensive care facilities for their patients. Stockpiling such stuff would cost money. Might even need to raise taxes on those who can work from home, if they need to work at all. And so on.
It’s so much easier to claim that all is well until all Hell breaks loose, then claim that all will be well when the weather warms up, if we just go back to work and drink a little bleach.
The governors of some states have stepped up. Learning from each other and from countries (like New Zealand and South Korea) that took the threat seriously, they made tough decisions. They include a few Republicans (like Hogan in Maryland and DeWine in Ohio) and more Democrats. It is too early to be sure, but they just might have saved the USA from criminal incompetence in the White House. Federalism works.
The doctor in Wuhan who first sounded the alarm about COVID-19 was punished for “spreading rumors” and later died of the disease. Remember him also today, along with our essential civilian workers and those who serve in our military. Remember that dark money and gerrymandering and vote suppression have sickened American democracy but not yet killed it.
Remember in November.
Vampire Bunny at a Haiku Party
Follow tradition or push the envelope? Normal or weird? (Normalcy spiked with weirdness?) Haiku or senryu? This crowd does not fret about simplistic dichotomies. Let’s get some saké and join the party.
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Haiku poems often want (and sometimes need) to interact with images or prose, as in haiga or haibun. Here is a gathering of ten haiku that could stand alone if they had to. (Some would rather not.) They have been invited to come here and interact with just each other, while enjoying some good saké (or whatever).
Overlay © Incognito – Russian Federation | 123RF Stock Photo
A haiku inspired by an image may or may not speak to readers who have not seen the image. It’s hard for the writer to make this call objectively. That’s OK. As Stephen Jay Gould often told readers of his articles in Natural History, perfect objectivity is a myth anyway. (The path from my raw data to “facts” that matter to me depends on my cultural baggage and personal experience.) Rather than pretend that my judgement calls are objective, I try to compensate for my biases. In particular, some of my haiku were not invited to the party because they might be too dependent on their inspirations to stand alone. That’s OK too. Unlike me, they are not compulsively self-reliant.
Like some of the other guests, October was originally posted in a haiga or haibun context. That’s why the title it wears as a name tag is also a link. (When a pale yellow background indicates that several such guests arrived together from the same place, only one of them has a link.) Click on a link to see the guest(s) interact with an image or some prose that adds to the experience of the haiku.
Seen in Spring
Kelly green moss on
rocks near the clear quiet stream
with water striders
Kelly green moss on
rocks near the clear quiet stream
with water striders
Deciduous
Lifeless? No, leafless.
Trees hold their breath all winter,
exhale leaves in spring.
Lifeless? No, leafless.
Trees hold their breath all winter,
exhale leaves in spring.
No Pots of Gold
Seek ends of rainbows.
You will not find them? Okay.
The quest is enough.
Seek ends of rainbows.
You will not find them? Okay.
The quest is enough.
Fiscal Responsibility
Debts rise; incomes fall.
Hard times demand bold action:
tax cuts for the rich!
Debts rise; incomes fall.
Hard times demand bold action:
tax cuts for the rich!
Vampire Bunny
With coprophagy
as the alternative,
you might suck blood too.
With coprophagy
as the alternative,
you might suck blood too.
Independence Day, 2019
It’s a pardonable oversimplification: celebrating “the” day the Continental Congress held some truths to be self-evident. Yes, they were all privileged white males. Yes, some lived off the toil of slaves. But their concept of public service was not based on pandering to bigotry and whoring for campaign contributions.
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Knowingly or not, the signers of the Declaration of Independence started something big, still far from finished, and now critically endangered. They started the long hard slog to build a nation with liberty and justice for all.
© Scott David Patterson | 123RF Stock Photo
Happy July 4th!
Battle Hymn of the Re…
At best, those who fight to save the Republic from the Age of Trumpery will get tired and sweaty. My update of Julia Ward Howe’s lyrics is something they can sing in the shower. I tried that. It helps.
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The song commonly known as Greensleaves has been given several other titles and sets of lyrics. The melody is too good to be bound by any one version of the song’s words. Likewise for the song commonly known as the Battle Hymn of the Republic, which got the familiar title and lyrics from the five stanzas published by Julia Ward Howe in 1862. Details and diction bind her words to the Civil War era, but the melody and rhythm break free.
As a performance by the Mormon Tabernacle Choir and another by the US Army Field Band illustrate, there is considerable variety in musical phrasing and how the singers are accompanied (as well as which 2 or 3 stanzas are sung). I tried to write 3 stanzas appropriate for 2017 that really could be sung well by people who know how to sing. The choir or the field band could give a rousing performance of my updated battle hymn.
A few of Howe’s phrases still resonate; I have used them (and a few other fragments of American societal hymnody) in my updated title and lyrics. Will the future find my details from 2017 as dated as Howe’s details from 1862? I hope so.
Battle Hymn of the Resistance
Our eyes have seen the glory
of a land where freedom rings;
where fear and hate are cast aside;
where no one bows to kings;
where clean air fills the spacious skies;
where hope can spread its wings.
We fight to make it real.
Glory, glory hallelujah!
Glory, glory hallelujah!
Glory, glory hallelujah!
We fight to make it real.
When shills disguised as pundits
stole the spotlights on the stage,
the centrists lost their bearings
and misread the workers’ rage.
Dark money seized a chance to buy
a second Gilded Age.
We fight the lies with truth.
Glory, glory hallelujah!
Glory, glory hallelujah!
Glory, glory hallelujah!
We fight the lies with truth.
We still can hear the trumpet
that will never call retreat.
A white-haired warrior still steps forth
to drum a steady beat.
Our voices shout rebuttal
to each cryptofascist tweet,
and we will win this fight.
Glory, glory hallelujah!
Glory, glory hallelujah!
Glory, glory hallelujah!
Yes, we will win this fight.
Writing cogent modern English in triplets is not easy. Neither is saving the Republic from the Age of Trumpery. At best, those who fight this fight will get tired and sweaty. My update of Howe’s lyrics is something they can sing in the shower. I tried that. It helps.
What Luther Did Before Nailing
Did U ever wonder how an outraged monk could be like a frightened squid while being quite unlike the squid in a closely related way? Neither did I. The answer hit me before the question.
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The answer hit me while I pondered an intriguing juxtaposition in
Haiku Poems: Grip (For Samantha) | Poet Rummager
that inspired me to write a haiku:
Squids and Scribblers
Squids squirt ink to flee.
Writers also (sometimes), but
often to confront.
• Image from © Brad Scot Lark | ShutterStock
• Image cropped from © Michele Paccione | ShutterStock
Long after Martin Luther’s time, fundamental institutions have yet again strayed from their missions and been corrupted. Of course, people write (and mesh their words with images) very differently now. Writers depend on the media (rather than a trip to the hardware store) to nail things to doors. But if U listen carefully, U can still hear hammering.
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Mellow Curmudgeon 