in search of poetry

i thought to myself
i did
i thought and the thought
was directed to my thinking
directed to my mental faculty
which allows me to think
and direct thoughts to my own musing

well i was thinking about doing something
related to poetry on this blog

here's the process
leading up to this moment

a few months ago i happened upon
a website called american poets
i went there and in the hither
thither and yonning
i managed to preserve a poem by robert frost
and send it to myself
i have preserved that transaction

tonite i went there
and i clicked around
and decided i would chose a poet and a poem
and write something
they have a pretty good archive
of poets and poems

so i came to the name of hayden carruth
a poet i have enjoyed over the years
and am grateful for an anthology he edited
in the 90's

but alas
all of his poems have been removed
and the message was this
which i present here as a poem

unfortunately
this poem has been removed
from our archives
at the insistence
of the copyright holder

one is left with a certain sense of
futility
i thought to myself
i should have the book around here somewhere
but alas it is elsewhere
yet i am committed to saying something about poetry
on this post

so i went back to the list of poets
who were born in the 1920's
and chose the inimitable jack kerouac

and he is represented by three haikus

i chose this one

Bird singing
in the dark
- rainy dawn

kerouac's sense of simplicity
of being true to the form as well as to
the traditional japanese requirements
of "nature" and the "seasons"
within the thematic substance
is indication of a gentler side

he is known more for his
wild meanderings across the continent
and writing in states of induced stupor
and producing some astounding work
nonetheless

so i was struck by this little poem
suspending everything else
about my life today
i can just be there
in the early morning rain
hearing a bird sing

perhaps if the bird could say something
she would sing

hungover poet
crawling to the toilet
cold in a strange place

that's my haiku
for jack kerouac

well then i thought
i'll check out the comments


baxter from USA wrote
"it is really short and boring"

Volage from Algeria wrote
"every interpretation of a litterary text is
inappropriate, stupide and kietsch"

i am at a loss as to where that leaves us
in our pursuit of literary concerns

i direct you to
silliman's blog

or

philosophical investigator


we could survive without poets
but it would be like eating food without flavor

like making love to a couch

of things tongan and more

how could it be that an ordination
to the Roman Catholic priesthood
and tongan social ceremony
would converge in the desert

it takes a monastery
a place in the desert

i was witness too and participated
in the continuous rituals
which began on a friday night
and ran through sunday afternoon

the occasion was the ordination
of Benedict Lemeki to the
role of service as a priest in the
the RC church
ordained by Bishop Gerald Kacanis

but the Tongan people were the ones
who really ordained this guy
there was witness to the culture
the family the friendships
the guidance through the years

after the ordination ceremony proper
the men (elders)sat in the sun for nearly two hours
with now FR Benedict sitting in the shade
dressed in tongan ceremonial garments
he looked a little like a big baby doll

the men then yelled at him as they became more
under the influence of KAVA
the KAVA thing went on for at least a whole day
with various smaller circles developing

the music was nonstop
and the tongans have their own sense
of what music is
they have a highly developed sense of harmony
which carries through even when their guitars are out of tune

it was a ritual time to behold
the women are trained in the
subtleties of beauty and elegance
in their movements
their dance

the climax of the KAVA circle where Fr benedict
was being interrogated and scolded by his peers
was the ritual butchering of a roasted pig
the "priest" (Not fr Benedict) bore down on the cooked flesh
with unbridled abandon
and portions were then distributed

it was all a way in which
two ancient rites
converged to say basically the same thing

but in the minds of the tongans
Fr Benedict ascended to perhaps the
highest social status
and their ritual was to make known
the extraordnary signifcance of this role

for me it was dream like
i was in a state of wonder
how is it that i was here to witness this

and i was high on KAVA
only vicariously
as i became more and more aware
of the various men
who were a bit strung out
on the stuff

somehow i have become tongan

thinking about recorded sound

in truth
i am of a temperament which prefers
the sound of live vibration
over the accessibility of
mass recordings

but then i heard
almostly harmless
a trio of folk wizards

unabashed high class music
on a recording

so i've been able to get little done
since all of a sudden hearing how
good it sounds

in my next installment
i shall include a place to go
to get the hot sound

if a recording grabs you
and makes you very aware
of the music conveyed
be it the "exact" sound of
the space or an approximation thereof

and though i know i was
the guitarist on most of the tunes
i also know i shall never duplicate the moment
let alone the chops

ah well

chop it up and call it coleslaw

keep on swingin

j

listen here listing hear

my friend bill borneman
has shown me that
to keep a blog journal
is not necessarily about
inspiring conversation
it is not to presume that
someone else will read your blog
and wish to engage you in a
discussion of a topic

we can't all be ron silliman

so i wish to say merely
tonite
on this crescent moon nite
that jazz on KUAZ
is a happenin thing
and you can listen in

my pal Pat Green
has exquisite taste
his philosophy
"I'm dealing with geniuses-
I just have to get out of their way!"

so i'm roaming through the alleys
of cyberpace
doing little of nothing
nothing of doing little
of little nothing doing

all the same

and listening to
jazz
sunday (and/or saturday)
KUAZ

till midnight
round midnight
midnight rider

new moon

blow a trumpet at the new moon
old light on the new sliver
first crescent
wry smile spinning away west

old notches in the sand to count
the days
count again the days
agree to the consistency
of nothing
of everything
agree to the cycle
agree to the month
agree to syncronicity

sound the shofar
blow dizzy blow
bop the night sky
till you drop
in the cool drool
of intoxicated calm

i am the poem i write
i am the new moon

did they take pictures of the backside
of the moon?
we only know the one face

blow a trumpet at the new moon

when we make music what is it we have made?

boethius in his description
of the three kinds of musicians
holds the highest level
to that of those who can consider
musical problems with philosophical discourse

the lowest level are the players
which he states "are not really musicians at all"
because they have merely a technical knowledge
of how to play an instrument

the middle level of "musician"
are the composers
those who know how to make sounds
work together and how to explore
musical possibilities
yet they still may not have the ability
to enter into conversation
as to what in fact music is doing
and how it effects the listener
and how meaning is conveyed
by this most ethereal of artforms

when wisdom is added to the the various
elements that go into music making
the issue is forced into a discursive dimension
wherein the subtleties and the possibilities
are made apparent

in this light i wish to describe
two specific experiences with
two musicians both of whom
betray some level of third order
musicianship

at the spring festival presented by
holy trinity monastery in st david arizona
we have provided for two principle stages
for performance
the one - the chapel
is a quiet space where the performer
is granted the benfit of quiet from
which he or she can bring forth the intended
musci for the attentive listener

the second venue is the outdoor stage
not really a stage at all
but a garage port with a roof hanging over
the concrete pad
and a tent under which the audience is
offered a place to sit and listen
this space is exposed to the
various sounds of the festival to some extent
and thus the performer is forced to accept
that ambient sound is part of the performance atmosphere

it has been my encouragement that acoustic performers
accept that there will be no sound enhancement
there are those performers who cannot imagine
making music without a sound system
they can do what they will once they find the
electrical outlets
these performers wish to convey "their" music
much beyond the confines of the immediate stage
and to project an unnaturally loud sound into the ears
of the immediate hearers
which i will admit in our day is a most disturbing state of affairs

the performer i will consider first
is a master of the banjo
plays a very proficient style of guitar
and is also adept on the mandolin
as well as singing attractive compositions
both of his own crafting and of a broad repertoire

he performed in the chapel on the first day of festival
and the audience was treated to musical charisma
and his virtuosic displays
they sat enwrapped in the sound he created in
the room
on the second day he was scheduled to play the
main stage and expressed to me some
reservation about not being able to project his sound
very far
first he requested the chapel stage
this was impossible
next he suggested that some form of amplification
be used
i convinced him it would be fine
i had played that stage the day before to
an audience who sat attentive
and responded graciously to the music
i and some friends presented
with absolutely no electrified enhancement

he went ahead and played for the 30 or so
people sitting right in front of him
and they again were entranced
despite the reality of the surrounding noise
of the festival

the second performer
played the outdoor stage on the first day
and just charged into his musical agenda
with no caution whatsoever
the people were impressed
they clapped and asked for more
he sang songs primarily of his own composition
which he risked making them heard
amidst the voices the clatter the human
noise of a hot spring day
and the people who were in immediate hearing range
not only heard
but heard well the guitar and voice
conveyed in aesthetic nakedness

the next day this very artist
put himself in a very uncertain position
musically for which he should be highly commended
he presumed not to entertain
but to improvise with musical ideas
and he did this in the quiet space of the chapel
he provided and explanation of his
"project"
and then commenced upon what turned out to be
15-20 minute expostulations of musical themes
and completely spontaneous experience both for
the artist and the audience
this he did with extraordinary deftness and sensitivity
he created a sound atmosphere within the silence of the room
which is likened to the atmosphere of meditation
rather than entertainment
the audience fluctuated
some were moved at first and then moved on
others came later and were moved to sit and listen
out of curiosity
which was the risk he took at the beginning
the risk of stating something spontaneous
something completely new
something that may never be repeated
and givng in sufficent aesthetic merit
for anyone willing ot listen
and that is the key
it was a form of music which required
a very deliberate and attentive listening
a quality which is unfortunely ever more rare in our day

to be sure
there was also "noise" in the chapel
the rustling of plastic bags
coins being dropped into a slot
at one point a cell phone rang
( and the performer entered into
a spontaneous unconscious irritainment )

thus the question is begged:
what are we actually doing when we make music?
if the motive is the conveyance of self
or some aspect of self
i fear the possiblity of descending into mediocrity
is always present
the chances are not impossible
but the potential for creating something
really moving really memorable are diminished considerably

when the self is removed
when an effort is made for music making
which at least intends to a purified mode of apprehension
the possibilities for the miraculous
do increase

perhaps then it is left to be said
that the sounded note is the ultimate
paradigm for all music making
think about it
at first the sound is not there
then the note is sounded
by a plucked string
a voice
a breath forced through a hole
then the sound is heard
then it disappears
and is left only in the memory

can music be an avenue to wisdom?

dust prophets in dark doom

in cormac mccarthy's novel "the road" there is a scene
where the man and the boy his son
happen upon a straggler
the child is moved to pity
while the man is cautious skeptical
and not just a bit tormenting
to the aged and beleaguered
"survivor"
the conversation tends to
swift philosophical exchanges
where at one point
at the metaphysical height
after the man has inquired as to
the ragged man's belief in a god
this ragged man states
"there is no god and we are his prophets"

it's a statement that reminds me of a
sardonic remark by george santayana
"there is no god and mary is his mother"

both dismissing and affirming
what is considered impossible to talk about

in the case of mccarthy's story
the situation is more than dire
it is one thing to dismiss the absolute
if one is hanging to all that is left of
the known world by a thread
a thread of human gumption to survive
a thread of sincerity where despair
is all about
it is quite another thing to
dispense with discourse about
the metaphysical topic which is at the heart
of all our inquiry
even if we are negligent to admit it
from a place of relative comfort


the human mind is naturally curious about
what appears to be so mysterious
the mere fact of our being here
even heidegger is given to the admission
that we cannot quite figure out the "why"
of our existence
that dasein is contained within an atmosphere
of inexplicability

the man sees in the utter sincerity of his child
something of what he comes to believe must be evidence of god
the child despite his suffering
does not yield to callous indifference
he still wishes to care for
those in need
he is moved to share what little food they have
with this nameless indigent
nameless but still possessed
by virtue of mccarthy's genius
of his own sense of dignity
the fact that he is still alive
commands respect
respect the man is hesitant to give
until after they leave the straggler behind

somewhere in the tortured and fading heart
of the boy's father is the willingness
to beleive that god could make good
on even this seeming ultimate desolation
of the world
after the nuclear bomb

that mccarthy could weave this
tale this amazing allegory
is enough for me to believe in the
timeless power of imagination
and human artistry
and the link there to what is divine in us

even after experiencing the most
terrible situations
even after the desolation of the world
the child is moved by wonder and compassion
and his father is forever motivated to preserve
this last shred of human hope

something to ponder this late night in may

sufficite

musing musical amusement

what follows are some thoughts
from impressions and thoughts
recently felt and voiced
and thought in response to
the experience of
the tucson folk festival

the idea of having a festival
based on one genre of music
does something by way of
diminishing the genre
making it (the music)out to be something other
than what it actually is
in other words
there is disconnect
between the inspiration for music
and the presumption of projecting it

i would only refer to guy de bord's
thesis of society of the specatacle
"what was once experienced
as real is now only experienced
as spectacle"

the whole idea of "song writing competition"
carries with it a presumption of knowledge
that may not actually have credibility

val;ues such as sincerity
lyrical expression in accord
with musical accompaniment
poetic insight
knowledge of form
integrity in art
these may have little of nothing to do
with the judgement of superiority

oftentimes the "new current"
is presumed to be of greatest interest

rather than attention to tradition
or form the nuanced take on
a purely idiosyncratic expression
is perceived as being "the thing"

why do the girls have the day in music?
music and the politix of gender

it cannot be helped...
ones recordings and availability
and the buying recordings
often means more than what
could be experienced as profundity
in the performace

is the performer trying to get
a foot up in the professional realm
just having fun or taking heed
of the value of tradition and
recognition of the "great ones"?

something is wrong when the
"host" claims ten times the amount of time
of any one performer
and is busy "selling" the event
(which is crazy..for the ones who are present
need no convincing)
there is often a grotesque insensitivity
to ones relative unimportance

musical honesty is compromised
and contorted with the "sound system"

there is a vast difference
between the experience of music
heard intimately
and that which undergoes
amplification or enhancement
for the purpose of wider accessiblity

it is almost impossible to attain
to the gentle experience of music
expressed for the love of it

photographers are possesed of a decided
exaggeration of self importance
to the extent that they presume
to be more essential to the experience
than the audience

we would rather be entertained
than educated

as in many instances
the commentary is held
in equal or superior esteem
to the performace

it may be that the only genuine
projection of "music"
happens within the greater
atmosphere of quiet

sufficite

dilly dally john and sally tunes and laughter aplenty

this is the weekend of the tucson folk festival
it is a point of harmonic convergence for me
2 years ago i travelled through the SW
and wrote a song which included my
experience at the folk festival
and later that next year in january
i met the guy who won the song writing contest
at the folk festival
he and his wife just happened to come to st johns
and they became part of my collegeville station
project
which has a basic thesis of
live music heard live and unplugged
with a sense of immediacy and only one pretense
that we can play music
and if we can't well it's a place to learn

so i'll be playing with john and sally mcgill
at the festival and i'lll play the song i wrote
2 yrs ago
and we are going to have a good time of it


i read this morning during a brief
philosophical interlude
that what might be termed as
"the metaphysics of cognition"
of thomas aquinas
is a three level proposition
1) the apprehension of the world
2) the knowledge of self as knowing
3) the knowledge of real but immaterial beings or things

the third proposal has to do with
what is in the memory and the imagination

rene' descartes leaves out the last proposal
in his res cogitans-res extensa
formulation for the system he proposes
in his new thinking (which is actually a mere restating
of the platonic dualism in a new way)

and this has been the ongoing problem-
kant does not acknowledge the reality of
the phantasms he is content to use the
formula of descartes and says
the ding an sich and the mind
is the necessary duality for working
out the cognition of the world

to dismiss the real images of the mind
which are always there
always somehow available to us
is to ignore the way we actually think

scientific process is content to view the thing
explore the phenomena of a thing
peer into and "test" the thing
analyse the thing

when the scientist must explain the thing
he is certainly relying on the images
immaterial and insubstantial in his mind
yet he does not ackowledge this

therein lies the flaw in empiricism
and in rationalism

if we ignore the process of thinking
as essentially metaphysical
we have defeated the purpose of the mind
and limited it to what is merely pragmatic
and accessible to immediate comprehension


i will play music
and i know it by heart
for what reason
who can ever say

joseph the worker and ignatius loyola

on this world day of labor
i find myself considereing the polarities
of emotional life

how every day seems to carry shadow and light
how the day may beign in darkness and dread
and end with a ray of surprise of joy

ignatius had his followers attend to
the movement of consolation and desolation
to be aware of what makes us happy and when
and what causes us depression
this is the subtlety of self understanding

the thoughts and movements of the heart
which most console
are those we might learn to follow

yet we are adept at misperceiving--
what will be cause for darkness
often attracts
like flowers to the bee

the trick is to have knowledge that spans time
and not simply be lost in the moment
of desire
sex is attractive in the moment
but how much suffering has come forth
from a failure to weigh the eventualities

to successfully manuever between
consolation and desolation
there needs be the presumption of intelligence
the acknowledgement that "I know something"

what will make me happy tomorrow
what will bring me down

all of life weighed in this balance