LOOSELY SPEAKING...

Impeachment

There are those who are not celebrating today. There are hysterical protests founded in lies and distractions, in stunningly ridiculous attempts to gaslight the entire world into seeing the calling to account of a disastrously anti-American administration as a bad thing, an unfair thing. They thought they had this in the bag, that by twisting and corrupting the rules of statecraft, government, and law, by exploiting loop-holes, by packing courts they could surely shoot the moon, and have all their power dreams fulfilled!

We are looking at the end-game of a long, slow, slinking coup against the American Constitution, the great Experiment in representative democracy. By degrees, we have seen the foundations of the nation undermined and protections eliminated. Assaults on free journalism and on the distinctions delineating truth from lies; shifting of financial power to the would-be oligarchs and to world-spanning corporations, leading to the destruction of the middle-class.

The American citizenry has been dumbed-down and led to despise knowledge, has been lulled to sleep, to ignorance, to functional powerlessness…

Huge percentages of voters have been purged from voter rolls, gerrymandered into uselessness, prevented from getting to polls as polling places are shut down. The corruption of the election process has been assured by international interference and a steadfast rejection of means to protect the integrity of the election process.

And the coup-makers counted on our not waking up before the coup was complete. But we have awakened, and we are fighting back. Against all the corruption and fraud, we are gaining ground. We have time to make sure we are registered to vote, to encourage the disheartened and dismayed to come out and exercise the greatest power we have, in all our millions, to take back America, and throw the bums out.

THRESHOLD: preface

I wrote this several years ago, in 2005, about the time I began to worry about climate change. It was meant to be an invitation to literary visionaries, to write stories of the world this preface described. It could still be that, the beginning of an anthology of the times during, after, and long after the world we live in has irretrievably changed.

We saved what we could.

We could not save them from the catastrophe they were blithely running at, arms wide, mad with the heat of their day in the sun…

In the end, we could only look out for ourselves.

In the gathering twilight, in the plunging cold, on the shrinking land, we all did what we could, which was to deal with the problems within our scope.

Human nature, political greed and simple brute stupidity– we never had a chance against that. Well, no, we ‘d had plenty of chances to keep them away from the controls, but we ‘d blown every one until there were none left. We’d sat back and let others do the work, we’d driven to the corner store in our air-conditioned cars, left the lights on and the heat up in the chill of autumn, we’d put up with voting for the losers, sure next time it would be different… Until there was nothing left we could do but work our asses off to develop counter-measures before the curtain came down. Most of us just didn’t notice until it was halfway to the floor.

So we moved to higher ground and pulled our investments out of the shore cities doomed to drown, like a kid pulling his feet back from a cold swimming hole, or running from wave advancing up onto the beach. We set our minds to learning how to fake a nice day: to manage the climate in small ways and confined spaces. From basic home airconditioning, we expanded the meaning of “home” to cover house and yard and crops under one roof. And we shrank the meaning of “the world” to what we could still live in.

Engineers, reveling in fantastical dreams, built them. Botanists and zoologists and geneticists, farmers and back-yard gardeners filled them with life, and nurtured the new world. We saved what we could of the old, all of us, and wept over what we had to leave out in the cold, and then we hunkered down quietly in the dim, to outlast the short-sighted lunatics who swore to us that what we could see happening all along was not, in fact, happening at all.

They weren’t evil, not in a mean, deliberate sense. They had their own dream, and an unfaltering conviction that to say a thing made the thing true. That to get enough people believing a thing was enough to make it as good as real.

To be entirely fair, they were idealists, though dangerously half-educated, ideologically blinkered and appallingly, catastrophically self-righteous, which saved them the sweat of listening and learning, actually getting the Big Picture. And they thought– were quite certain– that we were the crazy ones, the mob of deluded, twisted idealists.

But we never tried to drag everyone with us into our vision. We offered the opportunity and let folk choose for themselves.

Give them their due, and forget them. But never forget the power of obstinate, ill-informed, righteous sincerity. Or it will happen again.

Enough said, they are gone, the damage is done, and real enough that the rest of our lifetimes, our children’s, and generations down the centuries, will pay for the folly of all: the lunatics, to be sure, but our own, too, for ever letting them get and hold the power, while we sat back and waited for times to change.

Now, we can only work hard and hope that times will, in fact, change, and that our world will be a garden again.

Tolkien Tribute: Queen Beruthial’s Cats

A shade in the shadow
lurking;
A purr in the darkness
smirking;
Softness against a bare leg
leaning;
One with shadow again
leaving…

Fire of green in the night
gleaming;
Flame of gold in the dusk
seeming
ageless and canny
beyond scheming;
Cats of Beruthiel smile,
dreaming…

These cats are spoken of only once, a mention made by Aragorn in an off-hand way… an idiomatic reference: “He is surer of finding the way home in a blind night than the cats of Queen Berúthiel.” But apparently there is further background on both this dark Queen of ancient Gondor and her spy network of 10 cats—nine black; one white, that supervised the rest—All, Queen and cats, last seen sailing off into exile in the Southern waters…

Tolkien Tribute: The Rangers

1–LURKERS
Storm and ice howling through the winter passes…
The bellies of the scudding clouds, glowing dull and fitful,
reflecting back the desperate firelight
from which all warmth is blasted by the winds…
Alone is better, the huddled traveler thinks,
Than the company he knows is lurking in these peaks…
And he shivers only partly from the cold…

2–BROTHERS
Brisk chill breeze of spring whips budding hazel branches
Rattling to and fro, little birds a-clinging, feathers ruffled–
Little brothers share the coming season
With one who wanders out from winter, too;
In a visage etched by ice and bitter rains…
A thread of softness starts, and grows,
And blossoms in a faint and weary smile…

3–EMBRACE
Night flows over hard-baked plains, cools the raging furnace-heat of day
Relief becomes a chilly breath no longer welcomed
By one who shivers in the summer night…
A breeze arises somewhere in the west,
Sweeps softly in from distant desert sands,
Unlooked-for cloak, carressing warmth…
A gift beneath the silver net of stars…

4—OUT OF SIGHT
Still… Utterly still… Still and silent like the stones, the dead…
A creeping insect makes its way from collar down the back,
It’s purpose is its own, and not betrayal…
Tension ripples just beneath the skin;
Sand teases in the throat, seduces silent breath
to rouse in thunderous cough…
When will the enemy move on?

5—OUT OF MIND
In the wood, sitting in the mulch and drift of falling leaves…
In the town, the fairy-lights of family hearths and goings-on…
Do they look out and see the little fire
That gives all that it has of warmth and cheer?
They do not, cannot see it, they are blinded by their own…
Complacent in their comforts.
By this little fire rests content.

6—TOUCHING SKY
Clear, the air, as leaded crystal glass, like a bell it rings and calls…
Eagles cry back, soaring upon winds higher than the heights…
No higher place to stand than this,
Toes upon the mountain’s utter peak,
And in this moment, all the world’s free
Of evil, war, and undermining enemy!
Descent– Much harder than the climb.

7—THE UNKNOWN
A new road, a path unknown, unseen by most men’s eyes, it draws the feet…
Has ever any human foot trod here before, along this secret track?
Trees– ancient, hoary mosses draped, bedewed–
anchor its beginnings in their roots,
from whence it wanders carelessly
to find its way along a fragile rocky ledge
then wanders to the plain and disappears…

8– REUNION
The Ranger in his world-stained garb comes to a place he knows, and waits…
Another comes, nods greeting, sits beside him in the glen…
The Company of Rangers–it gathers slowly in,
embracing all the sons of long-dead kings
who in their time cared for the lands
and all the folk that there, within them, dwelt–
These still do the same, and also wait…

The Rangers of the North were the remnant of a race of mighty Men, long-lived and lords of the world. In latter days, they quietly guarded other folk who looked warily upon them as derelict wanderers. Besides that watch, they also kept a secret of their own, for of their line was the last King of Men, and his time was not yet come, to declare himself, and take on the great Evil in the full light of day.

Tolkien Tribute: Gimli in Valinor

a monologue addressed to his axe

Was a time I thought
I could not get my boots soon enough
onto good firm rock again…
And yet,
here I sit,
upon a keg
once full of Middle Earth’s best ale,
with ye, my trusty Axe,
leaning here against my knee–
choosing the gentle rocking of a deck,
over the fair and solid land I see
shining just down the way
at the far end of this dock.
Thee and me, old friend…
sitting here, a-wondering,
the twain of us,
what we’re doing here at all… ?
The captain, crew and every one,
they could not dash off quick enough,
once the ropes were tied off fast
Even the Elf has gone…
and we are left the last…

He will return for me,
he swore it would be soon,
whatever soon may mean
in such a timeless place as this,
but he could not linger while
I knocked off
the final dust of Middle Earth
from my reluctant soles…
from my hesitating soul…
Ah, well, and I cannot
begrudge him his impatience–
long indeed he’s hungered
for the true home of his heart…
In truth, he long delayed this passage
to see of Middle Earth all
the wonders great and small–
I insisted, lest he never know
what it was he left…
And many his favorite wood and dell
I visited with him, besides,
even some I’d not have chosen
to ever see indeed,
left to my own desire…

Perhaps I hoped, old Axe,
that he’d recall another yet
that he knew without him,
I would also never see.
Or find some beauty,
some wonder I showed him,
that he would never choose to leave.
Vain hope, that,
and I always knew it…
Loathe was I, in honesty,
to place an ocean for all time
betwixt the Elf and me.

Selfish of me, knowing
that the years I had before me yet
were dwindling,
though long as stone…
and in time
it was himself who’d be alone
in Middle-earth at last,
no ship remaining
that would take him home…
Yet finally, he would not go,
’til I agreed to journey with him,
arguing such legendary friends as we
should not be
sundered evermore,
neither by seas nor by mortality.
And so we came:
I, Old Axe, and thee…

True is it also, in this latter Age,
Middle-earth’s passed
to the care of Men:
smaller and smaller the place in it
for you and me, old Axe;
Ancient bonds of loyalty, respect
and not the least,
of trust and rare affection
between Dwarves and Men decreased,
our kind have faded
back into our mountains,
deemed by all, despite,
the best place for us…
There–
and in old legends told at night…

And yet, old Axe,
yet how should such a one as I
dare set my foot on Valinor?

Legolas spoke for me where e’re he could,
and… see, look here…
(where is the thing…?
Ah…! ) See,
this sapphire of surpassing beauty,
he gave me
as token of my welcome here…
(Blue as the sea itself, it is,
and deep as the Heavens,
and filled with a star that never pales…
look ye… When I hold it to the sun,
it only gleams the brighter!)
And so I was convinced the Elves
would not resent so very much,
a graceless Dwarf a-plodding
through their halls and hallows,
and, at length, I came aboard…

Ah, well, my old friend Axe,
nor ’t is it in truth the Elves’ own land,
truly it is their’s:
the Powers!
They, that made us all
and gave us life and skill…
Oh, aye, now, that’s
a dubious comfort to be thinking on!
The Valar! Lords of Arda–
Dwarves never were Their favorites…
Yet, our Father, too, dwells here… Aule…
I dreamt of Him,
just e’er setting foot on this grey ship…
Smiled, He did,
as I held up for Him to see,
the Crystal of The Gift… Galadriel’s…
(Ah, sweet, sweet remembrance…
Fairer than sunlight on a vein of pure truesilver!
Sweeter than the best ale ever brewed…! )
Galadriel… !
Yes! She’s here, too, after all…
(Does she remember me? Could she?
My head tells me I’m a fool,
but my heart says,
She would not forget…! )

And bound to be somewhere about—
the Halflings! Frodo, Sam!
And the old fellow, Bilbo Baggins,
Dad’s and Thorin’s little burglar…
Merry it’ll be indeed,
to meet with them again!
For I have missed them sorely,
more than ever,
since the young ones passed
out of Middle-earth…
Peregrin and Merry…
Drinking and singing now are they,
or so I must surmise, old Axe,
with their longfathers,
in perfect cozy tunnels,
flowered meads afar…
…
Perhaps Strider comes down from his star,
with his Lady hand in hand,
and they together share the cheer
the remembrance
of old times and tears…

Ah… and Gandalf!
What a wonder it will be
his wise old, long-bearded face
once more to see!
D’ye think, Old Axe,
he still does fireworks?
Sam and the others praised them so!
Another thing that’s gone from Middle-earth…

Why, now I think on it,
there’s more in this vast bless’ed land
than rests still in Middle-earth,
for joy and gladness!
We’ll drink then,
to the ones who’ve gone,
and wish them,
in whatever fields they walk,
no care or sadness!

What am I waiting for?

For Legolas?
to remember me a-sitting here
upon this joyless cask,
moping for the shores of Middle-earth?
Come, jump into my belt, old Axe!
‘Tis time to go ashore!
No more waiting for old Thranduil’s son,
let him find us when he will!

And thee, ye hollow keg, fare well!
Here’s a boost to ye…
Float back across the seas,
and tell them there,
if any ask,
that Gimli Gloin’s son’s at home
among his friends at last!

Though their kind were generally estranged for long ages, Gimli the Dwarf and Legolas the Elf became fast friends and after the events of Lord of the Rings, they were much in one another’s company. But Elves, the First Children of the Creator, yearn finally to return to their home, Valinor, across a Sea that does not bend with our Earth, but can only be gotten to by the Straight Way; and only their own ships know that way. Dwarves, who were made by one of the Powers, of the stuff of Middle-earth, are not granted the grace to go to the First Home. But Legolas requested of the Powers a dispensation for his friend, and for the sake of Gimli’s valor and contribution in the War of the Ring, it was granted. And so Gimli was the only Dwarf ever to follow over the Straight Way and come to Valinor.)

Tolkien Tribute: Blue Istar

So many ages he’s wandered, so many roads his footprints mark,
in lands of many men and few, of hottest sun and deepest dark,
He seldom speaks a word aloud, gives no greeting nor farewell,
sings not, nor prays in any language any living soul can tell…

Midnight-indigo, his old cloak is bound around him tight,
a shadow in the sunlit days; he blends, becomes one with the night.
Upon his ageless weary face, read exquisite poetry of pain;
Note, on the dragging hem of his soul, an everlasting stain…

He passes through the paths of healing, but never does he tarry,
nor finds he comfort in those ways, for ever does his own thought harry
him and prod and pierce, and drive him onwards, peace forsaking,
before his mind’s eye, ever himself, his every sacred promise breaking…

This one has never been a youth, so youth cannot excuse him
from willful, prideful, evil choices– his own life does accuse him.
There is no forgiveness in him, nor does he seek for it in others–
He was abandoned long ago, when he forsook his only brothers.

No redemption can there be for one so deep in fault bemired
no salvation for him who abandoned Light, who with evil Dark conspired.
He knows this truth, and daily wears it, ’round his neck like twisted rope,
and suffers it, for deeper yet, he bears the bitter curse of Hope.

The Istari were the Wizards who were sent to Middle Earth to contest Evil. One was White, one Grey, one Brown, and two, who never appear in any story except in vaguest reference, were Blue. This poem reflects Tolkien’s own stated supposition that the Blue Wizards went into the East and were presumed to have fallen under the influence of Evil or to it.

Tolkien Tribute: Melian’s Song

There’s magic
in the music
that dances on the air–
Melian is singing!
Maid and music,
both are fair!

A stranger,
in the greenwood
passing,
hears,
and pauses…

Enchanted,
Elf-lord reaches
for her hand…
and they
at once
are one.

There is magic
in the meeting
in the music
in the song…

The world
is changed
forever…
and
The Song
continues on…

Going Underground Again

The Subway Experience in New York City is, nowadays, quite different from the one I wrote about previously here. The cane-seated cars are gone, and I don’t think you can open the windows anymore as you could in those old cars. But they have air-conditioning in some cars.

The outsides–well, graffiti has moved from vandalism to an art form on the subway cars. And there is art inside the cars, too. Some is theater like the violinist I wrote of before: musicians playing for tips. I have to consider as a kind of theater also the intricate stories woven by others in search of donations. There is also the parade of people who wear the unconventional like a badge in their clothing and hair-styles.

And there are angry people: bullies and thieves. My dad was sitting by a door one winter day, wearing a Russian lambswool ushanka, a very elegant version of the traditional winter hat, and when the doors opened at a station, someone exiting grabbed the hat off my dad’s head, and was gone with it as the doors closed.

There is courage, too, of people standing up to the bullies, of whole cars looking after the target of the bullying. There is simple kindness and generosity: I saw a report of a man taking off his own T-shirt and giving it to another man who looked homeless, who had no shirt at all.

There is connection between strangers on the subway: I was once rushing from home in freezing weather, late for an appointment. I had run out into the cold before my hair was dry from the shower, and by the time I was seated, my hair had frozen, and I sat there brushing ice out of my locks! More than one person smiled at the sight, which was odd and funny, and I also laughed.

Basically, when you shove a batch of people together in a closed space for a time, human things happen, good and bad. It is, from one station to the next, a captive audience, and people will be people.

Disconnection

I dreamed a house…
bright within and filled with folk,
their happiness and quarrels
and blessings and trials,
laughter and tears,
and all the things of life
as folk live it,
and though I sought around,
front and back and sides
seeking a door,
even a window left ajar,
no way in was there
that I could find.

A feast I dreamed,
lavish and bright with
shining goblets of gem-like drink,
aromatic steams arising
from fresh breads and meats;
fresh fruits arranged in pyramids,
dainties and desserts arrayed
like sweet fantasies…
an endless trestle filled
with gleaming dishes;
I reached out
but the feast fell back
and I woke hungry still.

It is as if I dwell,
with my own quiet company
in my own house
filled with things
particularly gathered there
yet on a different plane
just a bit removed,
a little sideways from
the world of feasts and folk;
I dream asleep or waking
of what I can see
but cannot touch
nor imagine how to shape.

2019