what do i know on the road
what do i know about where i am to go
as i sit to type i am already moving
already aimed at the road
already negotiating in my mind
what the road will hold for me
already eager to be companion to the sun to the wind to the road
heading west
heading to the high country
to the big sky
i know thoughts about the reality of the
wounds in my family i know
the anticipation of the warm smiles of people
i know the anxiety of knowing
i know i have some work to do
i know i have some miles to travel
i know i have some good recorded music
for the road
i know i will be comfortable
i will have a good car
i will have security
i will be blessed
i know i will be alone
yet i also know i will have the prayers
of some
i know i will see the world again
and step into the river
i know i will sleep outside under the stars
i know i will enjoy the season
i know i am excited to travel
excited for the adventure
i know i leave behind me
some of the weight of my life
i know i will bring my guitar
and i will sing
journeys are good
because they take you out of
the place of sedentery thoughts
and thinking becomes determined by what is next
on down the road
i will sing another road song
i know now i must go
i must begin the arrangement
of necessities
and the arangements of time
which will have me on the road
in about 2 hours
sally
when you read this know
i will be thinking of you on the road
i'll think of kirby and ron silliman
i'll think of neil young
i'll think of pope benedict
i'll think of stu
and curtis
but i'll be away from the blog world
blogoslaw
so i know i won't be thinking about
what i'm going to type for a few weeks
perhaps perhaps perhaps perhaps perhaps
i will speak of my adventure
when i return
but now i must depart
now the song of the road is just too rich and deep
now i must depart
for to travel and sing
for i know that deep in my heart
i am a ramblin man
sing with me the song of the pilgrim road
Monday, August 31, 2009
Friday, August 21, 2009
yiddish brilliance
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
poem
rain started late in the night
drumming soft
it was comforting and
not a concern
we had a new tent and
its taut nylon held well
but the wind came up
hard and vicious
and with it, hail
it beat with fury
lightening, white flashes illuminating our little fortress
showing every detail of our bodies
snug in sleeping bags
trees bent and singing from their branches
limbs falling near
the hard drum of white pellets
growing with each gust
shaking our little tent
shaking our confidence
we did not speak
but my wife's hand moved over to mine
holding it tight
tight, to ward off the fear
fear from the increasing storm
with huge gusts of wind and hail
now, not a drum, but
a crashing symphonic chaos of nature
powerful and intense, knowing we were not in control
we were spectators, prone and at its whim
its fury increased our thoughts fused with eternity
the river rising with run-off
not far from our shelter
I did not speak, nor did she
we just waited
waited for the storm
waited for the storm
jack kaiser
drumming soft
it was comforting and
not a concern
we had a new tent and
its taut nylon held well
but the wind came up
hard and vicious
and with it, hail
it beat with fury
lightening, white flashes illuminating our little fortress
showing every detail of our bodies
snug in sleeping bags
trees bent and singing from their branches
limbs falling near
the hard drum of white pellets
growing with each gust
shaking our little tent
shaking our confidence
we did not speak
but my wife's hand moved over to mine
holding it tight
tight, to ward off the fear
fear from the increasing storm
with huge gusts of wind and hail
now, not a drum, but
a crashing symphonic chaos of nature
powerful and intense, knowing we were not in control
we were spectators, prone and at its whim
its fury increased our thoughts fused with eternity
the river rising with run-off
not far from our shelter
I did not speak, nor did she
we just waited
waited for the storm
waited for the storm
jack kaiser
Thursday, August 6, 2009
epistemological doldrums
i was reading in jack kerouac's desolation angels
reading of jack's vivid account of becoming disgusted with himself with the world with everything
it's the last section of the book where he contrasts the simple love and goodness of his mother and the spirit of home she conveys against the rude wrestling for daily position in the world's market place that everyone else seems to be clasping
nothing made sense not the freedom not the drugs not the whores not the road trips not the parties it all became disgusting revolting
as did his perception of all of wretched human history
an existential and spiritual deadend as it were
and he acknowledges rather glaringly that he is destined he wants to find home he wants to find comfort from the storm and uncertainty of the world the drag into decadence the dance into constant deception
perhaps it is the time of year
perhaps the actual mood of things
perhaps there is this radical necessity of having to acknowledge that in fact nothing is going on
nobody is writing about anything important
no statements are being made
the world is in a ship lolling about with no means of
transport no engine no wind in the sails
why this ennui
why these massive gravitational pulls into
the black holes of cognition
kirby's writing about lady bugs
(and presumably about marianne moore)
sally's in the trenches
silliman is gagging about in a political dither
curtiss faville is waxing eloquent about cocktails
borneman is posting pictures of plastic
stuck to barbwire fences in north dakota
singing plastic singing in the wind
or perhaps the previous post which most poignantly expresses
the mood of our reality the collective mood
a photo of a big plastic cow looking at the sunset
in none other than
north dakotah
singing fences singing with plastic in the wind
stu is cultivating a spirit of unity and mathematical probablity
but nobody's talkin
and what the fig am i doing
almost nothing admittedly
nothing of note
a few halfassed efforts at odd poetic styles
and a dedication to describing the doldrums in vivid detail
what else
i visited a few other blogs
liccione is stuck on catholic appearances in the poitical scene
morality and health care
nobody's talkin
my sense is that there's just too much going on for there to be anything really interesting going on
summer seems to be winding down
although i must say i am into summer still
i am into the quiet doing almost nothing spirit
the leisure the books the music the friends
the outings the little goings on around my house
in a world where nothing really happens and everything seems to be happening at once at least somewhere on the planet
after epistemological saturation
what next
maybe the most important work is trench work
digging in the earth
and reading the lines and the cracks and the colors in the dirt
maybe that's where something quite interesting is happening
tielhard de chardin sj
mucking about in gobi desert loess and calling it consolation
let me speak of the meaning profound in the shovel and pick-ax
scrapers and hoes and rakes...
now perhaps we're onto something...
reading of jack's vivid account of becoming disgusted with himself with the world with everything
it's the last section of the book where he contrasts the simple love and goodness of his mother and the spirit of home she conveys against the rude wrestling for daily position in the world's market place that everyone else seems to be clasping
nothing made sense not the freedom not the drugs not the whores not the road trips not the parties it all became disgusting revolting
as did his perception of all of wretched human history
an existential and spiritual deadend as it were
and he acknowledges rather glaringly that he is destined he wants to find home he wants to find comfort from the storm and uncertainty of the world the drag into decadence the dance into constant deception
perhaps it is the time of year
perhaps the actual mood of things
perhaps there is this radical necessity of having to acknowledge that in fact nothing is going on
nobody is writing about anything important
no statements are being made
the world is in a ship lolling about with no means of
transport no engine no wind in the sails
why this ennui
why these massive gravitational pulls into
the black holes of cognition
kirby's writing about lady bugs
(and presumably about marianne moore)
sally's in the trenches
silliman is gagging about in a political dither
curtiss faville is waxing eloquent about cocktails
borneman is posting pictures of plastic
stuck to barbwire fences in north dakota
singing plastic singing in the wind
or perhaps the previous post which most poignantly expresses
the mood of our reality the collective mood
a photo of a big plastic cow looking at the sunset
in none other than
north dakotah
singing fences singing with plastic in the wind
stu is cultivating a spirit of unity and mathematical probablity
but nobody's talkin
and what the fig am i doing
almost nothing admittedly
nothing of note
a few halfassed efforts at odd poetic styles
and a dedication to describing the doldrums in vivid detail
what else
i visited a few other blogs
liccione is stuck on catholic appearances in the poitical scene
morality and health care
nobody's talkin
my sense is that there's just too much going on for there to be anything really interesting going on
summer seems to be winding down
although i must say i am into summer still
i am into the quiet doing almost nothing spirit
the leisure the books the music the friends
the outings the little goings on around my house
in a world where nothing really happens and everything seems to be happening at once at least somewhere on the planet
after epistemological saturation
what next
maybe the most important work is trench work
digging in the earth
and reading the lines and the cracks and the colors in the dirt
maybe that's where something quite interesting is happening
tielhard de chardin sj
mucking about in gobi desert loess and calling it consolation
let me speak of the meaning profound in the shovel and pick-ax
scrapers and hoes and rakes...
now perhaps we're onto something...
Sunday, August 2, 2009
THIS MORNING
I am shaving.
And the sallow-faced man next door is shaving.
And the man whose life will be changed when a girl talks
to him in the subway, and the president of Revco Steel—they are shaving.
And the man who will capsize in a boat today and breathe in the pure water
of the lake and gaze sightless up at the shimmering sun— he is shaving.
And the man who will commit murder today destroying the only love
he has ever known, though as yet his anger is still asleep,
and the man who will return from a day
hunched at his desk,
his hair falling over his ledgers,
and the man who before sunset will slice his wrists over the sink—they are all shaving
—over the upper lip,
under the sloping jaw,
lathered face and razor in the mirror
but no revelations there...no hint today.
We will walk out to the cool morning
where newspapers whirl in the wind,
out to the street that holds the buildings together.
But the premonitions are not quite strong enough—
they rise to the pure darkness of space
or lie beneath the slow wheels of a train.
Dark fears are still asleep in the blood as we walk our ways
and there is no unusual animal behavior
to warn of the earthquakes to come.
-----john dickson +august 1 2009
I am shaving.
And the sallow-faced man next door is shaving.
And the man whose life will be changed when a girl talks
to him in the subway, and the president of Revco Steel—they are shaving.
And the man who will capsize in a boat today and breathe in the pure water
of the lake and gaze sightless up at the shimmering sun— he is shaving.
And the man who will commit murder today destroying the only love
he has ever known, though as yet his anger is still asleep,
and the man who will return from a day
hunched at his desk,
his hair falling over his ledgers,
and the man who before sunset will slice his wrists over the sink—they are all shaving
—over the upper lip,
under the sloping jaw,
lathered face and razor in the mirror
but no revelations there...no hint today.
We will walk out to the cool morning
where newspapers whirl in the wind,
out to the street that holds the buildings together.
But the premonitions are not quite strong enough—
they rise to the pure darkness of space
or lie beneath the slow wheels of a train.
Dark fears are still asleep in the blood as we walk our ways
and there is no unusual animal behavior
to warn of the earthquakes to come.
-----john dickson +august 1 2009
in order to copy and paste this poem
i was forced to take it out of prose poem copy as it came to my blogspace
and rework the structure in something
of a poetic flow although quite probably not the one determined by the poet in the composition of this poem therefor it could be said i have appropriated this poem perhaps misappropriated this pome
i place it here as a way of honoring
a man who wrote poems lived worked and died
in spite of the linebreak editing enforced by the medium in which i now write i think the pome reads as a good one
and should be read
out loud
near violence
what did i know in the midst of a conflict that occurred yesterday in the hospital where i took a fellow monk in for some emergency care he by the way is OK but the whole affair lasted a long time the wait until he finally was seen by a doctor was 45 minutes the evaluation took an hour and then the wait for the paper work and the lab reports all took another hour and 1/2
i went for walks sat by the river and watched the light and the clouds and the waves wash the wind with whispers of summer nearly gone
i sat outside on a hard bench at one point i walked around to see what was going on i visited the doctors nurses station there was a lot going on there some idle chatter some intense computer works some dfiling of paper some swishing around some overt acts of kindness some ballet with the emergency people i was staying out of the way of everyone
however
at one point a guy who must get paid for intimidating people out of the hall ways and keeping the path safe for bedzonweels came to me and yelled at me that i must get out of the hallway i must either be in the room or in the waiting area there's a security issue he yelled you could be listening in people's rooms
i noticed that the halls were crammed with machines and receptacles and chairs and all sorts of hospital things
i simply need to walk i said very calmly and i will walk right here and i will not be listening in any rooms i replied and with that he backed off but went to the nurse station and fumed outloud with some other paraprofessional healthworkers who saw that if things went any further life could get violent so they just let it all go and i was allowed to walk where i was and wait for the doctor who finally came through with paperwork and the prescriptions
as this whole scenario unfolded i became aware of the thought in my mind that there was some racial profiling going on while i was there
my brother happens to be black he is from haiti i found myself imagining that the doctor and nurse were stalling on (they were both male) the paper work or maybe doing an AIDS search
in a sense fully palpable it appeared to me to be outright negligence deliberate negligence
this was nothing i could actually touch but the sense carried with it a palpable level of contained disgust on the part of the medical people and i then understood for awhile that my guilt by association with this man my brother was a reality for them
as we departed i became aware of smugness it was contained in a false presentation of busyness
i was rather amazed looking on the faces of these people now perhaps some of it is just the stress of the job...we were just two more emergencies in an emergency room one actual the other potential
i was also very aware of the personalities in the room all being their own personality
some people are incurable pricks or inconsolable bitches
i find this to be true
and that these very crass negative human expressions can be tempered in the social sphere but are always somehow there to see and perhaps most clearly in a situation where there is natural stress and tension
my friend was completely unaware of the social surroundings he was in too much pain and misery
as we left as i was saying i found myself moving naturally to the point of forgiveness and realizing that to go there is to take the high ground for i do indeed pour glowing coals on their heads
if indeed the doctor was being a illtempered assfor hole
and the nurse was being employed as a sleezy thug
and the hall monitor was being paid to be a intemperate weazel
then it behooves me to simply forgive them and in the complete
disregard for their joined intimidations i force them perhaps if they have the capacity for reflective intelligence which now as i write these words i wonder if this is a flaw of ignorance but i force them to regard themsleves in the light of their actions and attitudes
for i will be moving to the higher ground with a smile
i'll know that whatever chthonic forces mill about in the wretched souls of men and women
are there to be forgiven and by way of them perhaps enlightened to face inherent human violence
as i walked out the door i was able to breathe deeply and just put all the commotion of hospital psychomadness behind me make the gentle ride home through the countryside and return to continual flowing stream of my community enter back into the stream and float along like a happy duck on the river
yet even as i write i am aware of the gut level feeling of horror and a renewed distaste for human foulness even while knowing that in some ways i recognize my sinful self in the ignorance and sinfullness of others
lord have mercy
j
i went for walks sat by the river and watched the light and the clouds and the waves wash the wind with whispers of summer nearly gone
i sat outside on a hard bench at one point i walked around to see what was going on i visited the doctors nurses station there was a lot going on there some idle chatter some intense computer works some dfiling of paper some swishing around some overt acts of kindness some ballet with the emergency people i was staying out of the way of everyone
however
at one point a guy who must get paid for intimidating people out of the hall ways and keeping the path safe for bedzonweels came to me and yelled at me that i must get out of the hallway i must either be in the room or in the waiting area there's a security issue he yelled you could be listening in people's rooms
i noticed that the halls were crammed with machines and receptacles and chairs and all sorts of hospital things
i simply need to walk i said very calmly and i will walk right here and i will not be listening in any rooms i replied and with that he backed off but went to the nurse station and fumed outloud with some other paraprofessional healthworkers who saw that if things went any further life could get violent so they just let it all go and i was allowed to walk where i was and wait for the doctor who finally came through with paperwork and the prescriptions
as this whole scenario unfolded i became aware of the thought in my mind that there was some racial profiling going on while i was there
my brother happens to be black he is from haiti i found myself imagining that the doctor and nurse were stalling on (they were both male) the paper work or maybe doing an AIDS search
in a sense fully palpable it appeared to me to be outright negligence deliberate negligence
this was nothing i could actually touch but the sense carried with it a palpable level of contained disgust on the part of the medical people and i then understood for awhile that my guilt by association with this man my brother was a reality for them
as we departed i became aware of smugness it was contained in a false presentation of busyness
i was rather amazed looking on the faces of these people now perhaps some of it is just the stress of the job...we were just two more emergencies in an emergency room one actual the other potential
i was also very aware of the personalities in the room all being their own personality
some people are incurable pricks or inconsolable bitches
i find this to be true
and that these very crass negative human expressions can be tempered in the social sphere but are always somehow there to see and perhaps most clearly in a situation where there is natural stress and tension
my friend was completely unaware of the social surroundings he was in too much pain and misery
as we left as i was saying i found myself moving naturally to the point of forgiveness and realizing that to go there is to take the high ground for i do indeed pour glowing coals on their heads
if indeed the doctor was being a illtempered assfor hole
and the nurse was being employed as a sleezy thug
and the hall monitor was being paid to be a intemperate weazel
then it behooves me to simply forgive them and in the complete
disregard for their joined intimidations i force them perhaps if they have the capacity for reflective intelligence which now as i write these words i wonder if this is a flaw of ignorance but i force them to regard themsleves in the light of their actions and attitudes
for i will be moving to the higher ground with a smile
i'll know that whatever chthonic forces mill about in the wretched souls of men and women
are there to be forgiven and by way of them perhaps enlightened to face inherent human violence
as i walked out the door i was able to breathe deeply and just put all the commotion of hospital psychomadness behind me make the gentle ride home through the countryside and return to continual flowing stream of my community enter back into the stream and float along like a happy duck on the river
yet even as i write i am aware of the gut level feeling of horror and a renewed distaste for human foulness even while knowing that in some ways i recognize my sinful self in the ignorance and sinfullness of others
lord have mercy
j
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
