The Quarantine Chronicles, Day 6

DAY 6: Isn't it always that way

the more you test

the more positives you get

isn't it always that way

life is a test

give us more positives

you search for the truth

turn over every single rock

examine every sunrise, sunset

twilight and dawn

the more worms you get

the more germs, pathogens, cooties, supercooties

is it better not to know

to escape for a week on the snow

bring the crud home

infect your whole town

who's to know

it was you

and you had your fun run

your friends are young

they'll probably survive

you and yours -- alive

good luck and keep praying

and when you gotta go

when the Good Lord says it's time

you ask where to get in line, to queue

one meter apart minimum

only when absolutely necessary

believers who previously

scoffed

now on ventilators

lying next to their neighbors

and grandparents

with their moon boots still on.

The Quarantine Chronicles, Day 5

DAY 5: The balconies are singing

Italian nonnas are singing

the friars are singing

la la la

my friend calls it joy

I call it silly

folks are dying
folks are crying

why try 

to feign allegria

hey, we're walkin' here

I want to be angry, depressed

let the dread sink in deep

let my bones feel sick

maybe I just want my own virus

through and through

to be a protagonist

go out with a bang

to be on people's minds

in their prayers, says the non-believer

dress me in the plastic suit

give me a king-sized ration

of pure oxygen, let me hear the final hmm

he's strong, he should pull through.

Last evening I got a chill

out on the damn balcony

I went to bed early not to sleep

but to avoid the TV

I thought I had a fever

could feel it rise like a sea monster
coming up for air

I've got it, first symptom

I'd looked it up on the internet

the thermostat gave me the bad news:

normal, merely normal

you're not special yet, bud

go sing, a song, a smiley one

try being happy

or fake it,

survivor.

The Quarantine Chronicles, Day 4

DAY 4: Get in the car and drive!

Drive, man, drive

TV full of car commercials right now

as if we're all planning our escape

across the Mojave the Australian

Outback and Siberia
flat out, hammer down

tankards of gasoline on the roof

to that promised land where

everything you touch
not covered in deadly viral germs ...

I died and went to heaven anyway

through the pearly gates and saw

St. Pete with an N95 mask on saying

you didn't touch the gate

without gloves on, did you?

Down, sinner infected, down you go!

Today, I may finish one project

and start another -- what the hell

spring cleaning, canning, quilting

it feels okay yet I'm afraid

if I get sick I might not get well

if I don't get sick I might crack

either way, either way

I'm at bay.

The Quarantine Chronicles, Day 3

DAY 3: Forced agoraphobia, a thing

I guess, I like this, I'm so comfortable

I got a five-day head start

a fifty-year head start

I normally can go out

but I don't

don't like to

so now I'm cool 

with the isolation

I am a rock

which drives normal people crazy

me, self-entertaining

me, self-starting (Lordy, so many projects)

self-quarantine of the self

help, Doktor Freud, help

my phobia is slipping

(my slip is showing)

I am an island

yet finally I have thousands

millions of sisters and brothers

larvae in crowded egg shells

how do you'all like it?
warm and safe

designing your own 

tight mental/health space

like a Market Street mime

closing in on himself

in white face

the pale face of fear

of death

2000 already smothered,

am I next?

no but

no but

The Quarantine Chronicles, Day 2

DAY 2: A friend of mine wrote a funny little story

about buying toilet paper in quantity

apparently it's scarce in California

but he found some and carried it out

people yelled at him from their cars

"to keep the hoarders from getting it"

he yelled back

best line in the story 

said nervously though

I'm writing too

what else to do

I want to go out for a walk

but I'm afraid, afraid of the streets,

another friend wrote me that she's

trapped in a city she hates,

come home -- impossible

illegal, immoral,

contagious

we're all

we're all

trapped in homes, bodies, prisons, souls

we hate

we're all contagious

self-contagious

over and over

breathing, for now,

the germs

crawl in

they

crawl out ...

The Quarantine Chronicles, Day 1

Forty-five days ago, I started writing a diary of my stay-at-home experience. I think I'll share it here on the condition that someone is interested in reading it. If so, leave a comment or click a like, and I'll keep you updated, forty-five days back in time. Nearly an eternity. 
Stay healthy, stay strong,

Martin

DAY 1: New orders -- do not go out

for any reason, no, just don't go

into the wakening sun

into the sweet clean air

to feel your muscles and joints

to exercise your eyes and ears

hear the runner coming up behind

see the dandelion petals by the church door,

it's closed now like everything

like early Sundays when I was young

rest day, give it a break, stay home people,

the apartment buildings themselves

relax and sink down a few millimeters

we'll all get shorter in the next few weeks

as we watch from the plate glass

the shades of gray of lightning strikes,

hard rain at all angles of the storm, to let it pass

we're aware but safe inside

so we enjoy the tempest

for the sturm und drang

we could open a window to feel the force

then close a window to protect each other

we have food and hugs -- we'll be okay

we've been amply warned

this is only the first day.

The New Me

I don't like circulating a photo of myself, but I can't use social media without one. So, my one and only photo of the last twenty years has been this one:

It was taken by Daniela Catanoso (all rights reserved) in Forza D'Agro where we ate out once back when. We returned to the same town to eat in the same restaurant twenty years later, and Ms. Catanoso took my photo once again. So, I have decided that I must finally age gracefully (?) and replace my old photo of my young and innocent self with an image of my new and improved self. Here it is:

Is this important? Some people change their photos every week or post photos of themselves continually on, for example, Instagram. But for someone who does not, yes, I guess it is.

Stay strong, stay healthy. Over and out, Martin

Music in Memoriam 2019

My two favorite singer/musicians died the same week this last year: Leon Redbone and Dr. John. Worst week ever.

Now what? There's nobody like either one. So cool. Being an original is what makes one great, I suppose. But these boys, I'll really miss them. And not just them ...

Musicians:

André Previn

Art Neville

Beverly Watkins

Bill Spence

Bob Frank

Clydie King

Dave Bartholomew

David Olney

Dick Dale

Doug Lubahn (Doors)

Eddie Duran

Ginger Baker

Izzy Young

Jack Scott

Jacqueline Steiner

Jeff Austin

Jessye Norman

Joào Gilberto

John Cohen

John Starling (Seldom Scene)

Johnny Clegg

Larry Taylor (Canned Heat)

Leon Rausch (Texas Playboys)

Lisa Kindred

Mac Wiseman

Mike Wilhelm (Charlatans)

Molly Duncan (Average White Band)

Paul Barrere (Little Feat)

Peter Tork

Ric Ocasek

Robert Hunter

Sleepy LaBeef

Tony Glover

and songwriters:

Allee Willis

Busbee

Fred Foster

Irving Burgie

Jerry Herman

LaShawn Daniels

Les Reed

Authors:

Andrea Camilleri

Dennis Schmitz

Ed Cray

Ernest J. Gaines

Harold Bloom

Herman Wouk

Hiroshi Kashiwagi

Jim Bouton

Joe Rosenblatt

Kate Braverman

Kathleen Fraser

Kevin Killian

Leonard Wolf

Linda Gregg

Louis Jenkins

Luciano De Crescenzo

Mark Medoff

Mary Oliver

Michael Mott

Paul Janeczko

Paule Marshall

Russell Baker

Stanley Plumly

Stephen Dixon

Toni Morrison

W. S. Merwin

Others:

Albert Finney

Bruno Ganz

Carol Channing

Cokie Roberts

D. A. Pennebaker

Diahann Carroll

Elijah Cummings

Frank Robinson

Hal Prince

June Felter

Lee Mendelson

Paul Krassner

Peter Fonda

Peter Magowan

Pino Caruso.

Lawrence Ferlinghetti times 100!

Today's the 100th birthday of Lawrence Ferlinghetti. His new book, Little Boy, comes out today. There will be celebrations in San Francisco, where Ferlinghetti is an icon. He still lives in North Beach (the Italian neighborhood). I wish I was there to wish him well.

Ferlinghetti is my favorite living writer and poet. He was the elder brother (and publisher) of the beat poets: Ginsberg, Kerouac, Corso, McClure, di Prima, and so on. In my mind, he stands with Gary Snyder, who is also still kicking, as two different voices from about the same place buzzing in my ear. I used to hear them read when I lived in San Francisco, before Italy, before I started attempting poetry.

So, today, everyone, read a poem by the birthday boy. Read it aloud. Savour it like a long life.

Here's one:

They Were Putting Up The Statue ...

They were putting up the statue

                           of Saint Francis
                      in front of the church
                           of Saint Francis
                                 in the city of San Francisco
           in a little side street
                                    just off the Avenue
                                                                   where no birds sang
             and the sun was coming up on time
                                                                    in its usual fashion
                        and just beginning to shine
                                                       on the statue of Saint Francis
                             where no birds sang

              And a lot of old Italians
                                                    were standing all around
                in the little side street 
                                                     just off the Avenue
                 watching the wily workers
                                                    who were hoisting up the statue
     with a chain and a crane
                                            and other implements
   And a lot of young reporters
                                                in button-down clothes
     were taking down the words
                                                of one young priest
         who was propping up the statue
                                                          with all his arguments

                  And all the while 
                                              while no birds sang
                                                                 any Saint Francis Passion
and while the lookers kept looking 
                                                   up at Saint Francis
           with his arms outstretched
                                                    to the birds which weren’t there
     a very tall very purely naked
                                                   young virgin
       with very long and very straight
                                                straw hair
          and wearing only a very small
                                                          bird’s nest
                in a very existential place
                                             kept passing thru the crowd
                                                                                    all the while
                          and up and down the steps 
                                                                 in front of Saint Francis
                her eyes downcast all the while
                                                                  and singing to herself

Music in Memoriam 2018

Musicians

Al Hawkes

Aretha Franklin

Billy Hancock

Cecil Taylor

Denise LaSalle

Dennis Edwards (Temptations)

Dolores O'Riordan

Don Sanders

Eddy Clearwater

Edwin Hawkins

Galt MacDermot

Hugh Masekela

Lazy Lester

Little Sammy Davis

Marty Balin

Matt Murphy

Nancy Wilson

Otis Rush

Randy Scruggs

Richard Swift

Roy Clark

Roy Hargrove

Stacy Phillips

Terry Evans

Tony Joe White

Vince Martin

songwriters:

Eddie Reeves

Jerry Chestnut

Norman Gimbel

Ron Dunbar

Scott English

producers:

David Bianco

Rick Hall

Writers

Amos Oz

Barre Toelken

Bobbie Louise Hawkins

Donald Hall

Gene Sharp

Harlan Ellison

J. D. McClatchy

Jalal Mansur Nuriddin

Julia Vinograd

Julius Lester

Melanie Kaye/Kantrowitz

Neil Simon

Nicanor Parra

Ntozake Shange

Peter J. Bjarkman

Philip Roth

Tom Clark

Tom Rickman

Tom Wolfe

Tony Hoagland

Ursula K. Le Guin

William Goldman

Others

Anthony Bourdain

David McReynolds

Dennis Peron

Ermanno Olmi

Hank Greenwald

Ingvar Kamprad (IKEA)

Kofi Annan

Koko the Gorilla

Milos Foreman

Ricky Jay

Ron Dellums

Scott Wilson

Sir Roger Bannister

Stan Lee

Stephen Hawking

Willie McCovey

astronauts:

Alan Bean

Donald H. Peterson

John Young

Richard A. Searfoss

Hell comes to Paradise

This is so horrific and sad. We took a vacation trip to Paradise, California last summer and loved the town. It's right in between the mountains and the valley, so there are evergreens lining the streets. Just beautiful. My comments were, "It's a lot bigger than I expected," and "Wouldn't this be a great place to retire?" We heard a fantastic concert at a wonderful community theater and stayed in a friendly motel with a lovely garden and pool. I remember many of the businesses and houses that are now shown on the news, burning to the ground. What could be worse than a whole town destroyed in one day?

Plus, Paradise is/was the home of my favorite cowboy singer, Sourdough Slim. Hope he and his family are fine.

An explosive wildfire like this is a new phenomenon, a firenado. Climate change the cause? Duh. What to do? Check out Sweden, which just reached it's renewable energy goals for 2030. It's hard but not impossible -- yet -- to intervene, change our lifestyles, follow enlightened leaders and scientists, and find a new interrelationship between humans and the earth. We do something or we're ruined. We do it now or there is no Paradise for the kids anywhere.

Happy trials, Martin

Reconciliation? Time to come together?

Reconciliation with Nazis? Reconciliation with racists, sexists, xenophobes, misogynists, homophobes, Islamophobes, deplorables? Reconciliation with believers in the National Enquirer, in Bigfoot, alien abduction, in televangelists? Reconciliation with liars and cheaters, bought and sold by corporations? Reconciliation with gun-addicts, rapists, thugs, bullies, criminals?

I don't think so.

The President of the United States says: I am a Nationalist, not a Globalist. We know those are code-words for 'Nazi' and 'Jew'. We know where Trump's sympathies lie. No, I will not support the rise of a new Hitler or a Fourth Reich. Who would? Who is? Despots and wannabes around the world. The radical right fringe, as in KKK. Those who previously kept to the shadows and should go back there, but came out in the open when their ideal leader got power (by stealing). Is he lashing out now because he's losing his grip? Yes, but that makes the wounded animal more dangerous.

Rural - urban, coastal - center, black - white, college grads - middle school grads, men - women, blue - red: I am sick of the division of people into two teams. Yet I can't put myself in the others' shoes either. I can't imagine being a Trump supporter, just can't suspend my ethics and critical intelligence that much. An invasion of refugees, really? Lock her up, really? Enemy of the people, really?

What's the alternative? Fight. When it was the Vietnam War - fight. When it was Nixon - fight. When it was nuclear arms and nuclear power - fight. When it was civil rights - fight. When it was the women's movement - fight. Gay rights - fight. Immigrant ban - fight. Trump's presidency - fight. In any (nonviolent) way you can - fight.

I was hoping for the super victory that would end this bad dream, and our need to fight, so I could just go back to my work, hobbies and homelife in relative tranquility, like in the Obama years. Get off Facebook, no news, pet the cat, read a book, sit on the porch and watch the sea. Instead, I will need to keep my dukes-up attitude a while longer, and, in my very small far-away way, keep the struggle going. Stand up to the brutes and goose-steppers, the haters and money-grabbers, along with many millions of comrades. We are the majority. Standing for the law and the truth and equality and what's right. Things will get messy now, but we shall overcome. Will we make it through this? Of course.

Happy trials,
Martin


Mutt: Are we back?
Jeff: I've got a weak back.
Mutt: How long you had it?
Jeff: Since about a week back.
Mutt: Ha ha.
Jeff: Ha ha.
Mutt: You kill me.
Jeff: Wanna go hunting?
Mutt: I'm game.
Jeff: Bang.
Mutt: Ha.
Jeff: Ha.

Mutt: Get this: chronic illegal parkers suffer from parking zones disease.

Jeff: Ouch. How about this? The Irish government is wealthy because its capital is always Dublin.

Mutt: Double ouch. You know the best way to communicate with a fish is to drop them a line.

Jeff: Why can't a bicycle stand on its own? 

Mutt: Because it's two tired?

Jeff: No matter how much you push the envelope, it'll still be stationery.

Mutt: I used to be a shoe salesman, till they gave me the boot.

Jeff: What did the painter say to the wall? 

Mutt: I know this, I know this. One more crack and I'll plaster you!

Jeff: Bravo. And old steelmakers never die, they just lose their temper.

Mutt: That one, I don't get. Old policemen never die, they just cop out.

Jeff: Unfortunately, old sewage workers never die. They just waste away.

Mutt: Some Spanish government employees are Seville servants.

Jeff: Ready? This is good. A man hit another on the head with a soda bottle, killing him. In court, he claimed he was influenced by the song "Let's Get Fizzy-Kill".

Mutt: Oh, we are so funny.

Jeff: We crack us up.

Mutt: Ready to hit the streets again?

Jeff: Don't agonize, organize.