Friday, May 27, 2016

In Praise of Optimism

It was buoyancy, after all, saved Ishmael--
call him so--popping up without question
from a whirlpool that really sucked
Ahab down along with Hell's heart
and Satan's hoof and, let's face it,
a whole lot of partying.

Call it a coffin as lifesaver,
and there's your lemons to sweet beverage.
But don't forget the rocking hours
our boy spent alone in the sun unknowing
sweeter Rachel sailed in search of lost children,
that the ending of such a novel disaster
would so be plucked from its ample jaws,
from hours that to little Pip ticked all eternity
sharing madness with the skipper
like a sun fixed once and for all
in a barren sky they called heaven.

And Queequeg in his melancholy,
praise him how he ordered it sealed up
in tar. Praise him how he ordered
the proud chief's feather etched upon it.
Praise his melancholy at last grasped
by that praiseworthy remnant,
Ishmael and his optimism.
It's all that's left.




Thursday, May 26, 2016

Inferno XX: Against Waste

New material is disposed
Into the depth,
And people descended.
Each one seemed
To look unmoistened.
“Pity! Compassion! Doom!”
they all cried.

Tiresias changed from male.
Female he once more wandered
And bathed in a river.
Naked she stayed and lived
And left her empty body
In that place
Made strong only by touches
From time to time.

Inferno: Canto XX


Of a new pain behoves me to make verses And give material to the twentieth canto Of the first song, which is of the submerged.  I was already thoroughly disposed To peer down into the uncovered depth, Which bathed itself with tears of agony;  And people saw I through the circular valley, Silent and weeping, coming at the pace Which in this world the Litanies assume.  As lower down my sight descended on them, Wondrously each one seemed to be distorted From chin to the beginning of the chest;  For tow'rds the reins the countenance was turned, And backward it behoved them to advance, As to look forward had been taken from them.  Perchance indeed by violence of palsy Some one has been thus wholly turned awry; But I ne'er saw it, nor believe it can be.  As God may let thee, Reader, gather fruit From this thy reading, think now for thyself How I could ever keep my face unmoistened,  When our own image near me I beheld Distorted so, the weeping of the eyes Along the fissure bathed the hinder parts.  Truly I wept, leaning upon a peak Of the hard crag, so that my Escort said To me: "Art thou, too, of the other fools?  Here pity lives when it is wholly dead; Who is a greater reprobate than he Who feels compassion at the doom divine?  Lift up, lift up thy head, and see for whom Opened the earth before the Thebans' eyes; Wherefore they all cried: 'Whither rushest thou,  Amphiaraus?  Why dost leave the war?' And downward ceased he not to fall amain As far as Minos, who lays hold on all.  See, he has made a bosom of his shoulders! Because he wished to see too far before him Behind he looks, and backward goes his way:  Behold Tiresias, who his semblance changed, When from a male a female he became, His members being all of them transformed;  And afterwards was forced to strike once more The two entangled serpents with his rod, Ere he could have again his manly plumes.  That Aruns is, who backs the other's belly, Who in the hills of Luni, there where grubs The Carrarese who houses underneath,  Among the marbles white a cavern had For his abode; whence to behold the stars And sea, the view was not cut off from him.  And she there, who is covering up her breasts, Which thou beholdest not, with loosened tresses, And on that side has all the hairy skin,  Was Manto, who made quest through many lands, Afterwards tarried there where I was born; Whereof I would thou list to me a little.  After her father had from life departed, And the city of Bacchus had become enslaved, She a long season wandered through the world.  Above in beauteous Italy lies a lake At the Alp's foot that shuts in Germany Over Tyrol, and has the name Benaco.  By a thousand springs, I think, and more, is bathed, 'Twixt Garda and Val Camonica, Pennino, With water that grows stagnant in that lake.  Midway a place is where the Trentine Pastor, And he of Brescia, and the Veronese Might give his blessing, if he passed that way.  Sitteth Peschiera, fortress fair and strong, To front the Brescians and the Bergamasks, Where round about the bank descendeth lowest.  There of necessity must fall whatever In bosom of Benaco cannot stay, And grows a river down through verdant pastures.  Soon as the water doth begin to run, No more Benaco is it called, but Mincio, Far as Governo, where it falls in Po.  Not far it runs before it finds a plain In which it spreads itself, and makes it marshy, And oft 'tis wont in summer to be sickly.  Passing that way the virgin pitiless Land in the middle of the fen descried, Untilled and naked of inhabitants;  There to escape all human intercourse, She with her servants stayed, her arts to practise And lived, and left her empty body there.  The men, thereafter, who were scattered round, Collected in that place, which was made strong By the lagoon it had on every side;  They built their city over those dead bones, And, after her who first the place selected, Mantua named it, without other omen.  Its people once within more crowded were, Ere the stupidity of Casalodi From Pinamonte had received deceit.  Therefore I caution thee, if e'er thou hearest Originate my city otherwise, No falsehood may the verity defraud."  And I: "My Master, thy discourses are To me so certain, and so take my faith, That unto me the rest would be spent coals.  But tell me of the people who are passing, If any one note-worthy thou beholdest, For only unto that my mind reverts."  Then said he to me: "He who from the cheek Thrusts out his beard upon his swarthy shoulders Was, at the time when Greece was void of males,  So that there scarce remained one in the cradle, An augur, and with Calchas gave the moment, In Aulis, when to sever the first cable.  Eryphylus his name was, and so sings My lofty Tragedy in some part or other; That knowest thou well, who knowest the whole of it.  The next, who is so slender in the flanks, Was Michael Scott, who of a verity Of magical illusions knew the game.  Behold Guido Bonatti, behold Asdente, Who now unto his leather and his thread Would fain have stuck, but he too late repents.  Behold the wretched ones, who left the needle, The spool and rock, and made them fortune-tellers; They wrought their magic spells with herb and image.  But come now, for already holds the confines Of both the hemispheres, and under Seville Touches the ocean-wave, Cain and the thorns,  And yesternight the moon was round already; Thou shouldst remember well it did not harm thee From time to time within the forest deep."  Thus spake he to me, and we walked the while.  

Wednesday, May 25, 2016

Optimism

If the sun kept it up
so loud all the time,
a major lifestyle change
would manifest, a high
altitude  affair requiring
more oxygen and horsepower,
less sensitivity to g forces
plus the instinct that sees
each living thing as one
more opportunity
that needs to be plucked,
here as it sits unknowing
in all this bright grass
never knowing
what hit it or why.

Sunday, May 15, 2016

Trump Opinion Piece

Now that Donald Trump has cinched the Republican presidential nomination, my unscientific observation is that more opinion writers are willing to drop the F-bomb on him. This New Yorker piece nukes Trump with language strong enough for the historical moment. If nothing else, it does that.