Home Books of Poems
- Another Victory, By George! (2007)
- Connected Words (2005)
- Somber Reunion (1989)
New Work 2008 Election Poster
Swiss Critique of Work
Poemes en Francais
About the Author Contact
NEW WORK
 

CONTENTS
(Click on poem title to see/hear poem)




  
  1. OUT OF THE BLUE
  2. ON INTUITION
  3. AN EGYPTIAN BASTA
  4. GRAZIE
  5. LEMON ICES
  6. HUA TEV VUH
  7. BE AWARE OF DOG
  8. TRACTORS AND BULLDOZERS
  9. DON'T WORRY
  10. PRISONS
  11. THE PROPER NAME
  12. THE SHILL ON THE FLOSS
  13. MEMBERS ONLY
  14. ON GOING TO THE NEGRO LEAGUES BASEBALL MUSEUM
  15. THE HAPPY HUNTING GROUNDS
  16. BILL CLINTON EPITAPH
  17. GEORGE W. BUSH EPITAPH
  18. HAPPY HOLIDAYS TO YOU
  19. W ADDS LIBBY
  20. FAIR WARNING
 
New Work
   
 

OUT OF THE BLUE


Four years ago, I bought an old fixer upper farmhouse, with a barn and six acres, in Belfast, Maine.

I go there off and on, although I haven't moved there as planned.

Two summers ago, I was working on a tree house in Kittery, Maine, when Sonia emailed me to come up to the First Annual Belfast Summer Festival. The Belfast Chamber of Commerce had decided to let all the businesses stay open until ten at night, to close a couple of streets and have some entertainment, and to call the enterprise The First Annual Belfast Summer Festival.

Q. How many Buddhists does it take to change a light bulb?
A. Two.
One to change the light bulb, and one to not change the light bulb.

Sonia is my best friend in Belfast, a friendship which began with her laughing from the next booth when I told this joke to Thelma, my real estate agent for the old fixer upper., at their real estate office in Belfast. Anyway, I decided to go the First Annual Belfast Summer Festival, and left Kittery after working on the tree house for the day.

I didn't get up to Belfast until eight thirty pm, as it's a three hour drive up from Kittery.

Several people in Sonia's party had left by then, but there was one guy left with her when we met, as arranged, at the local fin and claw on the main dock in Belfast harbor. Sonia introduced me to John Macone, the remnant of the original party, and we ordered light fare.

John Macone is a good friend of one of Sonia's six ex husbands. That's how they met. That's the connection. John is a friend of the fifth of Sonia's six ex-husbands. Sonia calls herself a serial monogamist, but I think she has just confused dating with marrying. Sonia is not interested in John romantically. I am not privy to John's side of this story.

Anyway, John grew up in Concord, Massachusetts, served in the Strategic Air Command, and is an avid flier and talker. John talked about my grandfather, my father's father, for a while, because my grandfather had loaned him a small brick house on his property in Concord, and John remembered the fun my grandfather had with dynamite, blowing up rocks in the horse pastures. This was the 1950's.

Somewhat appalled, I wondered why this was happening, because that grandfather is not, by a long shot, one of my favorite subjects. That grandfather would have set Madame Defarge knitting. I lived in Concord from ages ten to twenty, and that grandfather shadowed those years. Then John Macone stopped talking about my grandfather and said: "I want to tell you a story about your father." I might have rolled my eyes at that point because, since Vietnam, my father is not exactly my favorite subject either. I had some good strawberry shortcake in front of me, and at this point I didn't know if I was going to lose my appetite. However, this stranger's monologue about my own family, on a dock in Belfast, Maine, was so unlooked for, that I was curious as to where it would lead.

I mentioned that John is an avid flier. So was my father. John told me that at the time they both had small airplanes based at Hanscom field near Concord, and they were both waxing their airplanes or something like that, when this story unfolded. Anyway, there they were, my father waxing his Navion and John waxing his whatever, when my father told John: "I want to tell you a story. I was in the Army Air Corps during World War II. I was based at an airfield in Italy. One day I was on patrol, up over the alps, flying over a glacier. I looked down....

OK. I'm going to interrupt my father's story to John Macone for a minute here. This patrol was probably in 1944. Six years earlier, in 1938, my father was captain of the Harvard ski team. That summer he took Blixen, his Ford, on a ship to Europe, and did his own version of the grand tour of Europe. On his grand tour, he went up and skied on some glaciers in the alps. That was 1938. Thirty years later, say 1968, Dad all but cried into the telephone to me, this was before my brother was killed, "What do you think I am, a murderer?" This telephone call was part of his pressure to get me into the military, during the years I myself was at Harvard, during the war on Vietnam. Anyway, Dad's question: "What do you think I am, a murderer?" startled and horrified me. I did not answer him. Nor did his question sit well. Ever since, I have wondered if or what he had done with his P-51, with its six fifty caliber machine guns, to make him lob that question at me.

OK. Back to Dad's story, from John Macone, now the good friend of Sonia's fifth of six ex husbands, at the fin and claw on the main dock, in Belfast, Maine.

"One day I was on patrol, up over the alps, flying over a glacier. I looked down and saw a German patrol, on skis, making its way across the glacier. I had six fifty caliber machine guns in the wings, but I couldn't do it. I waggled my wings at them, and flew away."

And so John Macone finished his story about Dad, and even though I finished my strawberry shortcake, I felt lighter.

As to this story, no one that I know had ever heard it. Dad died in 1998.
This story was out of the blue.

April 2011
 
 

[TOP]

 
   
 

ON INTUITION (1964)

Explanatory note in April, 2011.

I wrote this essay as a junior at Concord-Carlisle Regional High School, in the spring of 1964, for an English class taught by Socrates
Lagios. I remember writing it out by hand and having my older sister Ellen type it for me, the night before it was due, on an old black Royal typewriter. I was tired. Thanks Ellen.

Soc loved the essay, and I myself am still kind of amazed by it, and proud of it.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

ON INTUITION


Introduction

During the course of the philosophy seminars, the doctrines of several philosophers were compared and contrasted, both with each other and with the philosophies of the students. The seminars were not always successful, as many of the arguments and explanations were ambiguous. Hence the seminar concluded without conclusions, though every participant certainly learned and benefited from them.

Personally I benefited in that I learned enough general background to be able to ask several specific questions which before I would not have asked. This paper concerns one of these questions, which is "What is intuition and how is it significant?" In this paper I hope to find or formulate a short, concise definition of intuition and then to delve into its function in relation to other processes of the mind.

Included among these processes are reason, logic, and creativity.

 

On Intuition

Intuition is a psychical process. Standing alone, it is principally a realization of truth ---

a realization not proceeded by dialectic. In short, intuition is a trancendental realization process.

This process is a function of the unconscious: that which operates more by symbols rather than by logic. Logic and reason are both dissimilar to intuition, though they themselves are somewhat different processes. For example, reason is not, like logic, involved in geometry, where an impersonal conclusion must be, and is actually forced to be, drawn from an impersonal premise. Reason comes when a personal decision must be reached, and profoundly different yet reasonable conclusions may be drawn from the same reasons by different people. Each is solved from within. Reasoning is ambiguous and varies accordingly. Even the reasoning in this paper, I am sure, has more than one interpretation, though this is not meant.

There are two major arguments which dissociate the process of intuition from those of reason and logic. One is the simple fact that the first is a function of the unconscious while the second two are functions of the conscious. Whether the second two are voluntary or involuntary processes is a question II have not yet examined. Logically they would be voluntary, yet I am not sure. A second difference in the processes is in their longevity. Logic and reason are sustained and prevalent in all thought.. Intuition is sporadic and unsustained. Dialectic is said to be only a relaxation of intuition. If this is so, then it would seem that man, like the chemical elements in nature, tends to seek the lower state of activity. Using dialectic many agreements may be reached. There is but one truth. Pronlonged intuition would permit all philosophers to agree at once. If intuition could be sustained and given footholds of external reference, the object of philosophy would be reached. But of course this object is truth! However, it is not inherently a trait of intuition to be sustained in conscious thought.

Intuition, then, is related to but not synonymous with logic and reason. As a transcendental process

with a simple object of truth, it may be more closely connected with logic than ambiguous reason;

this within the realm of the unconscious. Concerning logic as a conscious process, intuition may, if it is inspired, show an inherent rightness or wrongness in any given argument. The final solution in this case would be a realized one, and hence a product of intuition, not of reason.

A basic function of intuition is its relation to the creative processes, be they in philosophy, art, or other forms of expression. The ability of a man to perceive, to realize an abstract and true concept, is a variable aptitude which is responsible for the varying degrees of creativity in man. Intuition provides the something that the creative make from nothing. Many factors, including the personality and intelligence of a a given individual, are important in translating what he perceives to a piece of paper, lump of clay, or other medium of communication.

I cite philosophy as an example in examining the real role of intuition in creativity: In creative evolution, intuition is the starting point of philosophers. Because of its transience, intuition must be abandoned by the philosopher immediately after it gives him an impetus. He must then carry on using available concepts --- and employing reason and logic as part of the medium of communication.. When he loses his grasp on the material, he turns back to intuition, and must then edit and appropriately revise his work. His main problem is in trying to cull ambiguous reasoning from his thesis. Literary conciseness is especially important in this field of creativity. Other field may require different abilities which, when combined with intuition, produce creative works. Architecture, painting, sculpture, prose, and poetry are such fields. Intuition, then has a dual function in creativity. First, it is a seed in that it provides the impetus. It is basic to the origin of a "new" idea. Second, it is a catalyst. Intuition is not creation; it is a transcendental realization of a higher creation, an insight into Being. Such is the substance and function of intuition.






 
 

[TOP]

 
   
 

An Egyptian Basta

Enough already!
Enough of American armed dictatorships.

Enough already!
Enough of forked tongues and iron grips.

Let freedom reign.
Let freedom ring.
Let freedom sing.




February 2011




 
 

[TOP]

 
   
 

Grazie

Thank you Liz
for many things.
I never knew
that pasta sings.

Penne, linguini,
fusilli, spaghetti,
served al dente
with your elan,
always surprised me,
always delighted me,
for the Italian cuisine
I grew up on
was Franco American,
which always kept
its cylindrical shape
as I eased it
from its can.

Thank you Liz
for greatful graceful
words you said
for odds and ends,
my stock in trade.

Thank you Liz,
for lovely ways of
friendship, food, and dialogue.
Twill be great to see
your welcoming smile
when I chance to
meet my God.

Thank you Liz,
for many things.
I never knew
that pasta sings.




For Elizabeth Aprea
September 8, 1948 -- August 14, 2010




 
 

[TOP]

 
   
 

Lemon Ices


Boom.
Silence.
Screams.


Not to worry.
It happened twenty-two
years ago.


Just another bomb.
Body parts flying around.
The usual.


Anyway, Jerusalem.
A hospital even.
No kidding.


Replaced by a new wing,
the ex maternity ward
went away. The place became a
day care center
two surviving boys played in,
with their sisters.


Then the boys
learned who they were.


The Israeli boy learned
from his grandmothers' lips
about the Holocaust,
the Zion thing,
how to hate
the unappreciative natives.


The Palestinian boy learned
from his grandmothers' lips
about Deir Yassin.
The other massacres.
How to hate the strangers.


The Israeli boy became
an F-16 pilot, his weapons
fragmentation bombs.


The Palestinian boy also
learned to pilot despair,
his weapons walking bombs,
backpacks, fatpacks, whatever.


Once, when he was drunk,
he called them smart bombs.


They both enjoyed some degree
of success, even managed to kill
parts of each other's families.


Boom.
Silence.
Screams.
The usual.


But I digress.
What about those sisters?
Would you believe the
Palestinian's sister
is lovely, and loves Italian ices,
lemon ices to be exact.


Would you believe the Israeli pilot
saw her enjoying a lemon Italian ice,
and offered her another?
And she said Grazie!


Crazy kids. Idiots.
Fall in love.The whole enchilada.
Made Romeo and Juliet
look like an arranged marriage.


If more of their families had survived,
the boy and the girl would probably have been killed
before she had the baby.


But the baby, well.
The baby isn't quite right.
So test after test,
right down to the DNA thing,
whatever that is.


The only thing they could be
sure of, there must have been
a little mixup twenty-two years ago.


Boom.
Silence.
Screams.


And the brother and sister
adore their daughter.


Lemon ices.
Would you believe it?


July 2009

 

 

 

 
 

listen to poem

[TOP]

 
   
 

Hua  Tev  Vuh


Hua
 
tev
 
vuh.


June 2009

 

 

 

 
 

[TOP]

 
   
 

Be Aware of Dog


One.  Be aware of God.
 
Two.  Be aware of God.
 
Three.  Be aware of God.
 
Go.


May 2009

 

 

 

 
 

[TOP]

 
   
 

TRACTORS AND BULLDOZERS


Ha! Gotcha.
And you
didn't think
there were
any poems
about tractors
and bulldozers,
did ya?

April 2009

 

 

 

 
 

[TOP]

 
   
 

DON'T  WORRY


I'm much
less competetive
than you are.

April 2009
Dedicated to José and Bonnie

 

 

 

 
 

[TOP]

 
   
 

PRISONS


Of all the prisms you can find,  
none beats the prism of your mind

April 2009

 

 

 

 
 

listen to poem

[TOP]

 
   
 

THE PROPER NAME


Put the horse
before the cart,
but only with a
horse named Heart.
                                

April 2009

 

 

 

 
 

[TOP]

 
   
 

THE SHILL ON THE FLOSS


You don't have to be apprenticed
to a dentist
to floss.
 
You don't have to sing
for a king,
to floss,
 
You don't have to like geese, a
root canal, or Teresa,
to floss.
 
But if you want tarter
to barter,
don't floss.
 
And to chew with brown stumps
of brown moss,
don't floss.
 
But to keep your teeth happy,
not gappy or cross, be they
flat white, or white satin,
or even white gloss,
you gotta floss regular,
or               gape at their loss.

 

September 2008

Dedicated to Teresa

 

 

 

 
 

listen to poem

[TOP]

 
   
 

MEMBERS ONLY


Imagine a pathological liar in the White House.

Imagine he starts a war with his pathological lies.

Imagine 80,000 people are killed.

Imagine that 1/4 of them, 20,000, are children.

Imagine that 1/2 of the children, 10,000, are girls.

Imagine 10,000 little girls stacked on the White House lawn.

Imagine glowing coals under a Texas-sized grill.

Imagine rich, glittering smiles.

August 2008

Dedicated to Skull and Bones

 

 

 

 
 

listen to poem

[TOP]

 
   
 

Trivial Pursuit


God was in charge of:

a) Andersonville
b) Auschwitz
c) Dachau
d) Guantanemo.

Trivial Pursuits


Americans have the most:

a) Corporate Prisons
b) Corporate Presidents
c) Corporate Congressmen
d) All of the above.

August 2008

 

 

 

 
 

listen to poem

[TOP]

 
   
 
ON GOING TO THE NEGRO LEAGUES
BASEBALL MUSEUM



Long before I was born,
Satchel Paige, lacking a home
plate, would put down a gum
wrapper and work the inside
and the outside corners
of the gum wrapper.

When I was a child,
I spoke as a child:
"I don't have anything against niggers.
Everyone should own a few."

Now, I am a museum piece,
going to a museum,
reading about how it once felt good
to hit a baseball,
just because it was white.
And I hope I understand.

June 2008

 

 

 

 
 

listen to poem

[TOP]

 
   
 

THE HAPPY HUNTING GROUNDS


So you wanna blow away another deer.
Heap big brave on native soil.

Be a dear.  Be fair.
Hunt something that shoots back.

Iraq. For a barrel of laughs,
a barrel of beer,
and a barrel of oil.

November 2007

 

 

 

 
 

listen to poem

[TOP]

 
   
 

 

 

 

BILL CLINTON EPITAPH

A GREAT NATION
HE WITH SMILE LED
WHILE MONICA NURSED
HIS OTHER HEAD

November 2007

 

 

 

 
 

listen to poem

[TOP]

 
   
 

 

 

GEORGE W. BUSH EPITAPH

IN SOLEMN STATE
HE SMIRKED AND LIED
LONG BEFORE HE
EVER DIED

November 2007

 

 

 

 
 

listen to poem

[TOP]

 
   
 

HAPPY  HOLIDAYS TO YOU


At two in the morning
under cover of night,
the body bags
come into Dover.

The President's vacation
must not be disturbed
by a few more
dead kids.

Sit down.
Relax.
Enjoy your
turkey.

November 2007
 
 

listen to poem

[TOP]

 
   
 

W ADDS LIBBY


Behold the sheik,
the spoiled cat,
betray again the sacred trust,
release his dirty rat.

July 2007
 
 

listen to poem

[TOP]

 
   
 

FAIR WARNING


The Germans had their kristallnacht.
Their dream of uber alles.

The Americans have their blitzkrieg of Iraq.
Again the song of breaking glass.

July 2007
 
 

listen to poem

[TOP]

 
     
home | article | poems: [ANOTHER VICTORY, BY GEORGE!] [CONNECTED WORDS] [SOMBER REUNION] | new work| 2008 poster
2007