Mad Cow Disease

Mad Cow Disease

by Marilyn Jaeger

Grandma  J took the girls out awalking

In a red wagon, they fit oh so fine.

Up Sawmill Road, back through the green fields

Finally bumping ‘cross new corn in a line.

Molly was four, and Lia just two

Wide-eyed and precious as gold.

Mom and Dad Potter, gone on a date

With Grandma in charge, safe, we’re told!

Of course the bumping soon brought a spill.

No problem, and the little girls giggled.

Small problem, the field was full of manure,

So into a sudsy bath they wiggled.

Now years later we always can wonder:

Were there really latent effects?

Mad cow disease?  Can that be their excuse?

When things fail to turn into success?

Conquered the Capitol!

Results are in:

 

For Saturday night's 10K: 52:33, 183th out of 1138, 11/33 in my age/gender division (M50-54), 8:28 pace.

For Sunday morning's 1/2 marathon: 2:04:10, 991st out of 2166, 38/70 division, 9:29 pace.

For the 19.3 mile overall challenge: 2:56:43, 59th out of 245, 3/7 division, 9:09 pace.

 

The half marathon was tough, and a sore throat took its toll (not to mention hills and age and a late night hockey game to watch), but I got through it!  Saturday's 10k time boosted me up in the overall standings, but for humility's sake, in that race I was 14:30 behind the best in my division, and 17:00 behind the leader.  But there is a smile on my face!

 

Thanks for cheering me on!

 

 

 

Mirror Test

Ben saw results of the first: a woodpecker corpse

in a tuft of grass he would have mowed down

but for his eye for things unseen (and perhaps just

a trace of remorse for mowing so close to the guinea pig

cage some summers before—the roar, not the blade,

put an end to that pet). So Ben stopped this roar

and planned for its grave. Meanwhile, while pruning

the roses a stone’s throw away, I spied results of the second:

woody’s twin sister (or brother—the head too young

to be red); I called out for Ben to double the plot.

He’d already gone to wash up for lunch, and no one

discussed the deaths in our yard. I chalked it all

up to an orphaned nest, fledglings too young to fly,

sufficiently fed for the days they had grown, their mama,

not anywhere known, leaving the rest to fend for own.

Imagine instinct-less leaps, where hunger may

trump teen-age dreams taking world by its tail, and

somewhere is mama, a worm, or a prayer. One fell as far as

the tuft in the shade of the tree; the other to roses, a

flight in its own fragranced right, nose-divingly.

Results of the third, after lunch, caused concern: how

many birds would be killed off today? This one lay

beside the thick trunk, the spot Ben had chosen to dig

the mass grave… My wife blamed the magpies that ravage

our yard, chortling riff lines like Jimmy Page, Radioactive

with actual rage. Be smart in a dog-eat-dog world

and make any upstart go down—so the magpies believe.

To think we play host to Bonnie and Clyde, staking their claim

in our bonny backyard with results of a fourth: one of us!

Toss out a mirror—they can see self—and reflect.

Heaven On My Shoulder

(Inspired by a misheard line from “There There” by Radiohead

Heaven on my shoulder,
if the burden I should bear,
will be my undoing,
a magnificent obsession
that could prove, to the delight
of my detractors, to be fatal.

But heaven on my shoulders,
if as wings by which I’m carried,
will be my unburdening,
the uplifting and sustaining
that will be, to the core
of my belief, my vitality.

Heaven on my shoulder
as a whisper in my ear
will challenge my attention
ever straining to listen
past the buzz of the world
and through the noise of mortality.

But heaven on my shoulder
as a quiet voice to hear
will sing softly in the background
as a constant reminder
that I can know, now,
the music of eternity.

Heaven is believing
that life is worth living.
It would be hell dwelling
on some life ever after
without celebrating
the life we are given today.

Heaven in the distance
is the dream of flying
and escaping the gravity
of physical weight,
a load not on my shoulder
but from the ground.

But heaven in the present
escapes the weight of waiting
and takes flight in knowing
now, that life is for living,
forever forgiving,
and death will not hold me down.

Heaven on my shoulder
with a whisper in my ear
will keep me on this journey
provisioned and encouraged
and will move me through each day
towards tomorrow.

Parlour Game--nicknames!

So, Em and I attended a vintage car exhibition at our quaint castle in Roztoky and, wuddayaknow, we found Del's Mustang. On the same day, for whatever reason, I was reminding myself of erstwhile baseball players and came upon Von Hayes, whose nickname (apparently) is "five for one" based on the speculative trade that got him to Philly for five players, including Manny Trillo and Juan Guzman. Got me thinking:

What are the nicknames in our family tree? What would we appropriately propose?

Mustang Del seems right.
Grandma Bunny, too.
Smokin' Joe..., could use review.


At Mantrap Lake my elder cousins called me Boris, because (obviously), "Go play somewhere else, Dan, you bore us!" Little did they know I'd go on to be an aficionado of Russian literature! Revenge! So, for the purposes of this parlour game, I'll consider "Boris" appropriate (but call me "baldhead", I might pray for she-bears to maul the offenders a la II Kings 2:24;)

Back to sporting celebrities, we'd wonder if Carlton Fisk smiled at his moniker "Pudge", or if Sandberg wanted something more imaginative than "Ryno". Some, like Paul Pierce "The Truth" self-nominate. And that is fair fixings in this suggested parlour game.

Let's use the comment feature--I'll demonstrate:

Prospect Heights

It’s May, and Labor Day, as

Irish blessings meld with eastern

Europe’s wishing wells—Mácha’s love

brigade, ’midst cherry blossoms rife

from Tokyo to Jefferson’s lagoon,

if love defines the tides of how

a country comes to be. Meanwhile,

May secures modality—the should and

could and would of might and may,

the underlying undergrowth of

winter dreams in states of disarray;

summer’s quick to compensate:

heat and freedom demarcate the

ground control of budding, breaking

pestilence. Anticipate another

Labor Day, end of summer, start of

stacking wood—‘May roads rise up to

meet you’ as a gauge of doing good.

Lutherans know the road is less

mechanical, more a pebble in my shoe.

I heard this Godspell rhapsody

at Wagner’s, ’73, when ‘where are

you going’ meant vastly more than

what I’d count as true, starchy

famines we might labor through. May

God hold you in the palm of His hand.

May we see each other in familiar,

interim points-of-view. May we

shirk the politburo protocols and

weave instead the silken threads

we use to mark the liturgy, ‘finally glad

that you are here, by my side’—singing

softly to the child in me, May and

sometimes martial months as they’d

unfold, all told, graciously. I had

brothers, cousins, sister-on-the-way,

friends and dogs to guide me through

the machinations of a million signs

and what they try to say; I had two dads

and due theology to wordsworth poems

and plans; I had a thousand questions

for John 1:14. Whatever labor brings our

savior to ourselves, it’s cause to celebrate,

from cherry trees to routeless roads.

A pebble whispers, ‘take me with you,’

callouses and corns too readily reduced.

We know the footfalls hurt, but now

it’s First of May, with ample proof

we’re blessed along the way.

Shakespeare, yesterday

            Slowly Waking Down

At dawn, three hundred ninety-nine years ago,

Old William may have woken to the notion

that fifty-two years had passed for him to tailor gloves.

After all, the hand requires comfort to acclaim

all that makes us paragon of animals, more than moles,

actors who will strut and fret, wringing, rubbing

blood and sweat from deeds we’ve done,

kissing where the palms of pilgrims touched,

twenty years ago on stage, then privately,

as lone Mirandas float away, back to mainland

happenstance, Stratford, on & on.

At breakfast, every third thought be my grave,

Old William may have rearranged the rhyme

that beats iambically—less in breast than mind.

The epitaph is scarcely worth a second draft:

it satisfies no tourist well, belies a noble voice that has

to pass through beggar’s guts by worms who hardly

have a final word, because the rest… (the

undiscovered country, shipwrecks ending comically,

gender flips and sly bed tricks and due decree

from dukes beyond their relevance, midsummer

dreams at night and day) is silence.

At noon, let’s not contend the findings of our Fool,

who at his own behest declared a need to go to bed.

The day remains to figure out the rest (is silence—

kingdom for a horse, to gallop into… not exactly

my remorse, for how could any stooge expect

an insight more)?  He scrapes for lines to honor

smilings of a creed. Four hundred years from now—

twice what Chekhov challenges (God bless his

ill-at-ease)—the world needs more than Arden trees:

letters toward love’s labour’s lost defy reality, but,

fools we are, we scribble as we read.

  

At tea-time, little else is on our mind. A game

of chess? A suitable pastime. The squares are there

to keep the conflict straight: thousands will calibrate

the wherewithal by which a pawn may, hook-

and-crook, become a queen, as Hal (in cowl) allowed

before St Crispin’s victory. “Don’t surround

yourself with yourself”—wisdom from the spheres.

The bard, at seventh stage, is sans himself by now,

no need to howl, howl, as idiots avow;…

I’ll take the gardener, good Kent and Desdemona to

the very brink, blissfully there to fall.

What a day!  What a day of rejoicing!  Earth Day means, for us, Andrea's birthday - how special and significant.  It means the terrific posts that have already been made, Dan, Jon.  Jon, your connection with our call to stewarding God's resources because it is God's alone - exalted.  Thank you.

This is a tenuous connection at best, but I was excited to read this Psalm 33:3 passage yesterday and I passed it on to Andrea as a birthday greeting today - but I don't think she got the text.
It is specially for our family musicians: SING A NEW SONG OF PRAISE TO HIM; PLAY SKILLFULLY ON THE HARP, AND SING FOR JOY.

You music-makers have been and are continuing to develop your skill.  May it be as an offering to God.  May it be a part of your holy stewardship, because it does include work, practice and performance.   Let it be fun, but firstly, let it be your purpose, for praise, for excitement, for joy.

Let's plan to do some music-making this summer at the July 17-19 summer birthday party here.
So far, our theme is Civil War era, but we're open!  Love, Mom

Happy Earth Day everyone!

This morning my public radio station has been repeatedly calling Earth Day a “secular holiday,” but I’d prefer to look at it in another way.  In the sermon our pastor gave us on Sunday, we were reminded that it is not so much the word of politicians and scientists that we should follow, but God’s word, calling us to be stewards of the gardens we find ourselves placed in.  He cited the bible passages for the day (Genesis 2, Psalm 148), and then he gave us this, from Martin Luther:

“God writes the Gospel not in the Bible alone, but also on trees, and in the flowers and clouds and stars.”

I found another quote from Luther this morning:

“Even if I knew that tomorrow the world would go to pieces, I would still plant my apple tree.” 

I’ll bet we could find similarly inspiring quotes from other faith leaders, and maybe this can be a prompt for a more spiritual Earth Day symposium.  Or this: on this Earth Day, what good news have you observed in the world around you?  Indeed, even as we think our world goes to pieces, let the gospel prevail!

2015 S2L2A&A list

I'm here on a free Friday night, day off tomorrow morning, sippin' a good bock beer, and deciding that it's time that I moved on something I've been wanting to do for awhile now...  I've had my 2015 S2L2A&A in prototype mode for some time, and it definitely fits the bill as a CD I've listened to repeatedly over the last couple of months...thoroughly enjoying it!  On the heels of a late compilation from last year...(circumstances, you know...), I am trying to be more diligent to this project and the encouragement for everyone and anyone to get involved, especially given how little pressure there is to do it--you're doing this first and foremost as an act of self-expression,...no worries about judgment or criticism.  And this can inspire the rest of us as well, which is part of what makes this such a great endeavor!  And if you can burn these into disc, it would help the rest of us to more fully take in each other's lists and the kinds of things that really inspire each of us and get us moving...  Anyone needing assistance to compile and create CDs from your lists, let me know,...I'd be very happy to help out as I can!

And with the inspiration to annotate our selections--thanks again, John!--here goes:

2015 Songs To Listen To Again & Again:
1)What's Up -- 4 Non Blondes -- An epic song defining somewhat of a post-grunge mindset for the up-and coming generation of the time.  The passion with which Linda Perry belts out this song seeking a path, a purpose, is incredible.  Certainly the most well-known off this, their debut (and I think, only) album--Bigger, Better, Faster, More!--the collective work is well worth having in any comprehensive music collection
2)Disenchanted -- Smash Mouth -- Honestly, I'm not sure if many people are aware of this band except for what the Shrek movies have done for them...that's how I first heard of them... but this is the second of their songs I've used on this project.  They're a solid band worth exploring--I find myself more drawn to their retro compositions, such as this one off their 2001 release, Smash Mouth.
3)Shout -- Tears For Fears -- One of the big bands from the '80s, there are a few of their songs that I've been considering for this project.  Probably one of their most popular songs, this is another that screams out the frustration and disillusionment with the existing order of things.  But when I hear it, I can't help but think of the way Lena used to sing this song at age 5, still in a bit of a German accent...
4)Invisible Sun -- The Police -- One of the four bands I've used for each of these compilations thus far...and for good reason!  Will always love their sound, and seeing them at Wrigley Field on their last tour was an incredible experience (Lena's first rock concert)!  This song acknowledges that there is always hope in spite of those things that will try to oppress, inhibit, or otherwise keep "us" down.
5)Dreams -- The Allman Brothers Band -- One of my favorite southern rock bands, this bluesy tune always grabs me with its ethereal quality.  Gregg's smoky, worn voice, his organ playing, and Duane's beautifully pensive guitar-playing lends itself toward the overall sense of seeking after something that seems always to be elusive, and especially those 'dreams I never see.'
6)Drive -- Incubus -- This song is yet another dealing with the need to find direction amidst uncertainty and angst, but also of commitment toward both taking control over that journey and having someone to help each other along that path.  A band that started in a southern California high school, they achieved mainstream success with this song and their third recording, Make Yourself,
7)Ramble On -- Led Zeppelin -- Another of the 4 bands used in each of my S2L2A&A compilations, this song was already used in at least one other's compilations, and for great reason.  The level of genius that existed between all 4 band members, but especially Jimmy Page and Robert Plant, is phenomenal, and 'Ramble On' is just one fine example of what keeps us listening to them!
8)Reelin' In The Years -- Steely Dan -- Another of those 4 bands, Steely Dan has always been a personal favorite.  Most of their songs tell simple, often ridiculous stories, but whether they play something rockin' or a really bluesy tune, it's their musicianship and especially their jazzy style that has always gotten me.  This song was big off of their first major studio recording, Can't Buy A Thrill. And there's nothing quite like seeing this band jam live from the lawn at the Ravinia Festival!
9)Living In The Past -- Jethro Tull -- One of the great prog rock bands coming out of the late '60s and gaining international prominence through the '70s, this song tells of that evolution that so many of that generation were going through as they came of age and into their own and reacted against the status quo, even not knowing what they were doing...  And Ian Anderson's flute, as always, incredible
10)There There (The Boney King of Nowhere) -- Radiohead -- Honestly, I'm not sure I can tell you what this song is about...Thom Yorke and his lyrics are often not only hard to grasp, but difficult to identify.  But what will always get me about Radiohead is how well these musical voices, including Thom's, work together into something really compelling.  First, and certainly not last, inclusion of this band in my compilations--there's plenty more incredible tunes of theirs for future lists.
11)Summertime Rolls -- Jane's Addiction -- The album including this song, Nothing's Shocking, was huge in my first year of college, and I saw them live at the Metro that year.  They're a pretty hard-rocking band overall, but there are several tracks off of it, including this one, that include steady, lower-key bass lines that lead into some heavier, yet still melodic interludes.  Solid band!
12)Eyes Without A Face -- Billy Idol -- I don't know if I will include more of Billy Idol's works on these lists, but this is one song from his solo career that I've always liked.  Here again, it starts off more quiet before getting into more of a driving pace led by pounding guitar before easing back into a slower, synthesized decrescendo.
13)Crazy On You -- Heart -- I've enjoyed this song for years, one of several I'd been thinking about including in a compilation, and certainly one of their more popular songs, but what always initially gets me with this song is that acoustic hybrid bluegrass/classical/flamenco guitar intro...one mixed style of passion lending itself toward the passion of the song's story itself.
14)Wish You Were Here -- Pink Floyd -- The last of the bands I've used through each compilation, and here, too, there's plenty more to draw from.  Here is another song used on others' compilations, notably on Jon's first (and thankfully, not only) list.  One beautiful memory of this song--getting a Father's Day voice mail message from Lena where she played the guitar intro of this song.
15)To One In Paradise -- The Alan Parsons Project -- The sound of the wind from the Floyd track leads nicely into this orchestral dischord that starts off this song, off Alan Parsons' Tales of Mystery and Imagination recording, celebrating the life and work of Edgar Allen Poe.  The overall recording is very much worth having in one's comprehensive music collection...but this song always gets me!
16)Chava Ballet Sequence -- Fiddler On The Roof soundtrack -- First inclusion from this musical, and I'm sure there will be others...  This part of the story always gets me, as Tevye continues to grasp for tradition and a way of life that seems to be slipping away from him, most literally through his three older daughters, Chava being the middle child of five, leaving home to be in Moscow with the revolutionary she fell in love with.  Both the pained passion in Topol's voice as well as in Isaac Stern's violin always strikes me as Tevye watches her leave him for parts unknown and dangerous.

As said, I've already got this in this order on CD--it's no problem burning it for anyone interested, but I still would like to put the paperwork together for the finished disc first, inclusive of annotation, as I see how clearly and personally this enhances the output on each of our parts, AND winds up enhancing the overall project for all of us as a whole.  Love it!  Let's keep on going with this!  I've already got plenty of candidates for my 2016 list!

Smile!

I am a week and a day late with this, but first, a belated happy birthday to Evelyn - Dick, it was good to hear you talk about of her double celebration last week, and Mom, I liked your poem for her.  And I never knew until this year that both of your mothers shared the same birthday!

This is from the post on my Confluence blog yesterday, the poem I wrote and Dan read at Grandma Bunny's funeral reception, but I think it might work just as well as a tribute to Evelyn, whom I know mostly through the smiles of her son and grandkids.


In Your Smile

She lives in your warm smile

     and your easy laugh,

     your purposeful hugs;

She lives in the way you keep house

     and home and family together,

     in the part of you too that would see the world;

She is in your eyes and all they have seen,

     in your hands resting gently on tired shoulders,

     in your heart of tender steel;

She drives with you through Minnesota,

     away from the cities and farms

     to where the trees turn birch

     and the lakes become personal;

She stands with you at the front door,

     welcoming, and again

     with your smile your laugh your hugs;

She will be forever the reason

     you are cousin, sister, brother,

     the ones to call her grandma,

     the man who named her Bunny;

She will linger

     in your lefse heritage, your Norwegian souls,

     in the percolating aromas of morning coffee

     in the happy of happy hour;

She will resonate

     in your day to day testimony,

     your quiet evening prayer,

     the hymn you hum.

Once she was the one

     who worked the lathe

     and weaved rugs

     and moved heavy stones to a beachfront dock;

It was not long ago

     she paddled a canoe

     and cleaned the fish we caught;

     not so long ago we drove to Idaho

And she worked crossword puzzles

     and knitted sweaters

     and baked pies and cookies

She would gently massage the knots out of your neck

     without you ever asking

     and one day she hugged you 
           from the back of your chair

     and said I am so happy you are here.

Now you hike through the woods

     and walk a beast of a dog;

     you find your lifelong companion

     and you keep planting trees

     and watching them grow;

And you travel the world

     and you never run out of places to go

     but you keep coming home

To sit on the deck, to watch

     the rising sun, the setting sun

     or in the house by the hearth

     you watch the fire

And you will hold this as long as you can,

     maybe you will glimpse heaven,

     or simply appreciate the moment

But you will smile

     and she will live on in your smile.

Meanwhile, Tuesday

         calm and crazy, somewhat out of

        the blue, some kind of co-pilot breathes

       classically,

      the gunpowder cast of the fuselage,

     duly behind the lead weight of his door,

    now pounding and screaming

   mercilessly,

  leave it to strains of black-box

 suffrage and lonely spots on the moon,

leave center of all notions civilized,

there’s nothing those cockerels can do

 as rugged as window-seat bookings

  can be don’t wave them adieu

   cavalierly

    this can’t be allowed Smerdyakov

     is swelling a kind of mischief inside me

      to scramble this soupçon of crazy

       itinerantly

        all systems down as schooldays drown

         in the splash of the honcho’s need to pee

tomes we have in mind

Josef is sixteen today and as experienced

many years, he’s miles away—this time skiing,

another on a scouting trip, and when he was a little boy,

I’d be in St Petersburg attending a perennial event.

I’d go to Dostoevsky’s grave and light a candle,

tenting up a fir-branch frame to shield against the wind.

It was equally a vigil for the soul of Joseph,

twenty-six today in heaven, also often miles away.

Take Middlemarch, a dog-eared narrative

that’s barely read today. We could throw it on the pyre

that Montag must ignite, to get on to the business

of better things to say. Joe’s a reader consummate:

of Čapek plays and weekly features in Respect,

Canterbury Tales and ‘Babi Leto, Babi Yar’—I dare say

he’ll return to these, to stoke the embers

in a different way. Meanwhile, here’s George Eliot.

Happy Birthday

Lioness

This is dedicated to Dick's Mom, Evelyn Patricia Rebman Jaeger, who is 100 years old today!  We just noticed on our salt box in the cupboard that Morton Salt and the girl with the yellow dress and umbrella is also 100 years old.  After returning from my first visit to Kaukauna, Wisconsin and meeting my future in-laws, I said and wrote, "They are the salt of the earth!"

Here's my poem from Arizona:

LIONESS
by Marilyn Patricia Elstad Jaeger

If the Lion of Judah is Jesus
And within myself he abides
Am I lioness
With wondrous prowess?
No greater claim I'd confide.

Dan named his first son Josef Lev;
Lev meaning Lion, and Dan, "lion's whelp"
Out of Bashan Leaping,
Oath of Israel keeping:
Same vict'ry and courage, our help!

In Tubac an abstract leonine
Captured my imagination
It hangs on the wall
Inspiring all
Who dare likewise sublimination.

A "Leo" is ninth grandchild Lia,
Leos' babies claim they're center stage.
I don't have much truck
With zodiac stuff,
The Lion 'mongst stars, who can gauge?

So Lion I take for a mascot
In Arizona, Champaign or in Prague.
Now hear me roar!
Do you ask What for?
Add "Lioness" to family blog.

Sonnets of the Spirit

Sonnets of the Spirit
A Song, a Creed, a Toast and a Dance


Sonnet of the Wind

The gift of breathe:
The air supply made of green leaves,
The chemistry of oxygen
the lungs receive,
The circulatory cells they feed,
The appetite and hunger’s power
of needing more,
The muscles that refuse to sleep,
The will to keep
the moments of a given day,
The way we live in increments,
The breath we give back to the green,
The whole routine
Beyond belief or comprehension,
Uncontrolled, unspecified,
The spirit of the simplest soul:
The gift of breathe.


Sonnet of Earth and Essence

I am earth,
my God is essence
and in between

The wind blows,
the water flows,
the fire burns.

All that is made
my God creates;
I am created

With heart and lungs,
with sweat and tears,
with want and will,

And without these
my God is absent
and I am only earth.


Sonnet of the Water

The gift of quench, the grace of flow,
The stir of raindrops on the soil,
The tears we cry, the salt we show.
The way we wash away our toil.
A soak to soothe, a drip to feed,
The air that we’re conditioned to,
The life we’re given and all we need,
Our vehicle and avenue,
The force that cuts from source to sea,
Before we’re born, after we die,
The waves of time and destiny,
Our means to cleanse and purify,
The drink we drink, to all things new
   and from all that we should let go:
I fill my glass and lift it to
   the gift of quench, the grace of flow.


Sonnet of the Fire

The gift of spirit,
The dance within,
The forge that makes me
more than clay.
The wheel that turns,
The heat that burns,
The fire’s fingers
forming me.
The fragile flame,
The sparks of time,
The fickle flicker
of the glaze:
The soul for 30,000 days,
each longing for eternity.

Post #337

There!  I do have a post in the wings, as Dan suggested in Post #336, but I wanted to make sure Dan posted his poem properly first, and then I wanted to also extend a proper invitation, following Josh's comment to Kirsten's last post. (Read the comments, people!)

Dan's poem, I told him, deserves more than a side link, and so it gets more than a side comment too.  Josh, I'll bet this is not what you had in mind for your jukebox project, but I gotta say, it works, it fits.  And leave it to Dan to insist on getting Dostoevsky and Shakespeare into his agin and agin lists.  But why not?  And for the same reasons Josh gives us, too: to celebrate our variety, to show a part of what makes us tick, to keep thinking about what we want to share.  So, from here: Dick, a list of books to recommend; Anne, your favorite handmade posts (share!); me, I don't know, maybe my favorite rivers...  Josh, feel free to steer us back from this, but I do like the variety this Symposia can have!

And on that note, welcome to our newest author: Andrea Lamken!  Okay, she hasn't authored anything for us yet, but she was informally invited two weeks ago after she expressed an appreciation for Kirsten's agin and agin list, and she has been formally invited through the blog administration process.  Andrea, we look forward to hearing from you.  And, by the way, we aren't purposefully skipping over Lena and Tilo or any of the other cousins - in fact, get the word out, we'd love to get more of you on to the blog.  All are welcome, just let me know and give me an email address and I'll send out the formal invite.

My next post (#338) was written a day or two before Dan's, and it shares the same quartet structure, although less akin to the S2L2 theme, more in appreciation of T.S. Eliot's focus on the classical elements. I've just posted it as an entry to Parabola Magazine's 2015 Poetry of the Sacred Contest, a venue I stumbled across last year that is sponsored by the Center for Interfaith Relations.  I haven't looked deeply into the organization, but to give a sense of their perspective they are currently celebrating the 100th birthday of Thomas Merton.  I surely do not know enough about him to qualify for this contest, but I'm giving it a shot.

reasons to post in sundry places

Jon has intriguing sonnets in the dock (on the docket? on deck?) that will manifest here in due time. So will our various S2L2A&A, which propels this follow-up post: I gleaned through a fair amount of Shostakovich and Pink Floyd, tracing their storylines and themes. Ummagumma is a great album to listen to, in this design. Shakespeare's final original play, The Tempest, invites musical interpretation, and Joey and I have composed a pretty good rendition of "We are such stuff / As dreams are made on"--we'll practice that for the Blanchardville Birthday Bash! And Dostoevsky should have songs made on his material--that will be a near-future endeavor.

But for now, here is my 2015 homage, slightly annotated, to S2L2A&A:

          Quartet, from English-Russian origins

Hamlet, scholar more than prince, taking duty to the hilt, is

Raskolnikov, a sacrosanct adieu to the siege he hastened set for

Symphony #7, patient corpses—some of cannibals—dreaming of

The Dark Side of the Moon, us and them and lunatics between.

Agued Lear, renegade of all he gave away, to faithful fools and

Brothers Karamazov, lusting inquisitions that bargain souls, not

Babi Yar, where monuments of mind surcease, save those who risk

The Wall, the brick-by-brick design to be strangers in this town.

The Scottish play, lest we name names, is the pig within: Mob,

Demons, or the Possessed, Kirilov killing self or Shatov—nichovo!

Lady Macbeth at the Mtsensk, whose barrenness is faultless, makes

Animals, cullingly, of us all: gotta have a real need not to drown.

Othello, you beast with two backs, jealousy seeded within, you

Idiot, an angel who may have prevailed over fits epileptic to hear

Opus 107, the unfettered cello, if not quite unstrung or undone. We

Wish You Were Here, all told above, to play out your parts again.

That's what I'm talkin' about!

Ever-eager to cite my sources, the subject line is John Elstad making a 2nd or 3rd pool shot in a row, and, by domino citations, Josh doing and exclaiming likewise. It's also a celebration of inspiring activity of late, if just a smidgeon is apparent here.

Stillwater Symposium was born 4 years ago--January 2011 under the possible names 'Karamazov' or 'Idiot' or 'Woebegone' productions--glad we had the good sense to resort to Stillwater! But there are reasons why those other names were bandied about.

Mom has been a scrapbook-maker extraordinaire, linking here-and-now to the lore of Loftness reunions and Skideroo. Stillwater hopes to do this, too.

Songs To Listen To a'Gin and a'Gin inspires this 335th Stillwater post (with a couple more I see in draft stage). The lists have been great to investigate, especially when annotated, and I was going to add my 2015 rendition with the rather banal side B of Van Halen's debut, "Jamie's Crying" (whistling that in happiest times while walking Bronx); instead, I decided to write a poem on four artists that I've continued to read--and sometimes teach--for now over 30 years. Quartet, from English-Russian origins, then, is my offering for this symposium.

Note, please, my sly grammatical ascription of the singular for this 'symposium'--we have many-a-symposia to bandy about! We want stories from Arizona and Central Illinois, updates serendipitous and salaried. I was honored this week, for instance, to help host Laurie Halse Anderson, author of young adult literature, and to hear Emma's report about how she presented to 4th-graders, and to see how she did with my 10th- and 11th-graders. One of the latter wrote an article for our online newspaper, and while I don't preside over that elective anymore, I'm thrilled she is there to sustain it.

In this season of Lent, we are blessed in our humility. God saves us--nothing else. As caricatured as it may seem, I've spend a lot of time these past weeks on Dostoevsky's mix of intellectual passion and spiritual circumspection--those terms shall not (cannot) pin-hole his discursive method. "That's what I'm talkin' about" is a polyphonic means to polyphonic meaning--I'll cite Bakhtin here as my source. The slippery slope, many might argue, is that anyone talking = anyone right. Democracy has employed mechanisms like the Electoral College and Oliver Wendell Holmes' 'marketplace of ideas'. I like how we're using the net: our symposium, engendered in Psalm 23, and hooks and hopes when we all meet again. Looking forward to July 18th!... 

Kirsten's psuedo music list

This list is filled with the songs I genuinely listen to in this moment of my life so it is rather eclectic(and strange). Please don't read too much into the songs, they are purely based on music not message k cool

Link to listen to it right now(for freeeeee): rise, zenith, set

Rise

Beck - Morning

Samuel Barber - Adagio for Strings, op. 11

Radiohead - Faust Arp

Yann Tiersen (Amelie) - Comptine d'un autre été

Beyoncé - Haunted

Zenith

Lana Del Rey - Money Power Glory

Mark Ronson - Uptown Funk

Xtreme - Te Extraño

Die Antwoord - Ugly Boy

Lana Del Rey - F***** My Way Up To the Top

Set

TLC - No Scrubs

Arctic Monkeys - Why’d You Only Call Me When You’re High?

Juanes - Fotografía

Destiny’s Child - Say My Name

Beck - Turn Away