It’s easy to get cute when you’re writing a poem with a point. It’s fine if you can pull it off, but sometimes a piece can come out sounding “plotted,” as Stephen King says. In his book On Writing, King explains that he mostly does not know how his novels will end — he simply starts with an intriguing premise, probably based of some question of the human condition, and then sees where the story goes from there. A poem like the one below by Don Johnson may seem plotted, but my guess would be that he started off with a premise (his first glimpse of a dead body) and then went along with the story, bringing it back to the woman with the final line. In editing, one would likely pay more attention to the “plotting” aspect of the piece. Most importantly, the last line of the poem should be the strongest. It’s very important that this line encapsulates the emotion of the entire journey, and therefore it would be the most potent. If you had to cut every line out except for one, and you still wanted to capture the most specific message or feeling you are trying to convey in the poem, it should be the last line. There are no epilogues in poetry, and every word counts, so put your best work at the end where you can make the most impact and serve your reader’s reflection wholly.

Two Hawks, a Body, a Torn Dollar Bill

That summer the rain lingered
at our back door
like the tramp
my mother had been kind to.
Cicadas returned from a time
I could not remember
and I tore up a dollar bill
while watching two hawks
torment a snake in mid-air
above the barn.

I had gone to the store
for sugar, but sneaked
into Gatens’ Funeral Home
to view my first dead body,
a woman whose husband
had shot her the day before.

She lay in a black dress,
her small white face
smooth as church music,
her mouth a ripe melon’s
heart. I had just touched
the platinum curl below her ear
when a floorboard’s creak
sent me home

where steam from my mother’s
canning blistered the kitchen windows.
She did not know where I had been,
but paid me the dollar
for chores. Her hands,
rough as turkey wattles, glowed.

On the back step
I watched the hawks jostle
and collide above the weather
cock. In the seconds
between one’s letting it go
and the other’s taking it up
the snake writhed

in free fall. Cicadas pulsed
in the wood lot. And not
looking down, I fished
that dollar bill from my jeans
and spent it blindly on
the heavy air — for her, for her.

Don Johnson

–Jean Cocteau, 1889 – 1963

Jean Cocteau was a French poet among several other occupations, in which he was also French. His most famous work may be The Beauty and the Beast which he wrote for film in 1946. Jean was convinced that Hitler was a supporter of the French arts and thereby defend der Früher in a few of his works, before finally stating quote “My bad, guys.” Cocteau had a prolific career in film, literature and poetry, earning himself a spot in the Belgium and French academy of the arts (also a testament to his work across the continent). Cocteau died at the age of 74 from a heart attack, reportedly after learning of the death of another friend. Such is the artist’s compassion, I guess.

Does anyone remember when Bill O’Reilly said that he liked Stephen Colbert? It was a long time ago so I’m having trouble finding the exact quote, but essentially O’Reilly played right into Colbert’s trap. The sheer obliviousness of certain people just astounds me: I mean, Colbert makes a living off playing a grotesque character of O’Reilly and yet O’Reilly thought it was conservative humor. This my friends is what I like to call the “Satirical Disconnect.”

This topic has thus tasered my muse to the point of expression. It’s just unreal that in this day and age some people can be offended by satire, or miss the point all together. For example, the New Yorker cover with President Obama fist bumping his wife. (I personally prefer the Colbert – Stewart rendition.) Isn’t it a little more outrageous that this illustration sort of encapsulated what conservative pundits had been suggesting about Obama for a long time?

Anyway, old news. I just thought that that cover got my point across. Satire is an essential form of commentary. And it just becomes that much stronger when people don’t understand that it’s comedy.

Is This A Yoke?

I wish I had a stamp
with SATIRE in bold
steel font
so I could brand
the seriously confused
serious persons.

Sure
it’d take awhile
but if an explanation
went unexplained
I would miss out
on a promising opportunity
to slap those people
silly
their minds racing
like fat cattle.

February 2011

On the second weekend of the program, we went on as a group to Weimar and Dresden. Weimar was where Goethe and Schiller did all of their important literary work from 1794 to 1805. In Weimar we got to see both Goethe’s and Schiller’s house, plus a youth hostel that Hitler apparently stayed in (I think it was the Free Wi-Fi that finally got him). Because I’m sure Hitler was one to come to the origin of 19th Century philosophical literature and contemplate the complexities of Franz in Die Räuber.

To be honest, my favorite part of Weimar was this one meal: Spiced vegetable soup followed by rinderroulade with German dumplings. Rinderroulade is sliced beef, bacon, onions and pickles, rolled in a mustard, red wine, tomato paste. And then grilled. Praise Goethe, it was good. And these dumplings were sort of an odd, moist-cake like texture with a small drop of beef in the center. Unreal. If that wasn’t enough, we went to this ice cream place where I got Coffee, Haselnut, and Dark Chocolate. I never thought that there could be an ice cream combination that would top Coffee-Peppermint Stick Hot Fudge Sundae*, but I digest.

I don’t know why I felt the need to post this. I’m sure no one is really interested in what music I’ve been bumping lately but maybe the point of this post is that we have really entered a song-centered era of music. Q-Tip was saying the other day that no one really does “projects” anymore. It’s all about making the dopest 3 minutes — what can get you on the radio the fastest. It’s like these ghost written pop songs come out and then people blast them for about a month, and then never listen to them again. On the b-side, we got Midnight Marauders which people still listen to almost two decades later. And when you listen to it as a whole album, you sometimes forget where the track breaks are, because the album or “project” is that good; it flows seamlessly. Q and the Five Foot literally talk over track breaks, leading nicely into the next verse. Or for example, on the album Yankee Hotel Foxtrot you can sometimes here haunting or queer versions of the next song, but on the previous track (see Ashes of American Flags into Heavy Metal Drummer).

Even though I’m not the biggest Kanye fan, I would say that he is a more “project” oriented artist whereas maybe someone like Ludacris is definitely not. A lot of albums now a days grab producers from all over the map. I’m all for giving new producers a chance, but it’s less often now a days that you find true artist collaborations like NaS and Dre on It Was Written... or something like that. That might be my biggest problem with Lupe Fiasco right now: The Cool, which was a concept album, had several similar themes or concepts on each track that went together smoothly — at least what I took out of the whole album is that Hip Hop has indulgence and savior within it. The Cool sort of embodied the former. LASERS doesn’t really have a direction at all — there’s not even an intro track to the album, which pretty much says from the start “I didn’t design or think about structure of this project.”

Anyway, that’s enough ranting. Here are some of the albums that I’ve been appreciating to from top to bottom recently:

-Ready to Die, The Notorious B.I.G.
-Labor Days, Aesop Rock
-ATLiens, Outkast
-Lucy Ford, Atmosphere
-Tronic, Black Milk
-Sky Blue Sky, Wilco
-Resurrection, Common
-Finding Forever, Common
-4:21… The Day After, Method Man
-Black On Both Sides, Mos Def
-Yankee Hotel Foxtrot, Wilco
-Crash, Dave Matthews Band
-Midnight Marauders, A Tribe Called Quest
-Aquemini, Outkast
-Revolutionary, Vol. 2, Immortal Technique
-The Marshall Mathers LP, Eminem
-Lupe Fiasco’s Food & Liquor, Lupe Fiasco
-God Loves Ugly, Atmosphere
-Reasonable Doubt, Jay-Z
-OK Computer, Radiohead
-Chroncitis, Slightly Stoopid
-Slightly Not Stoned Enough To Eat Breakfast Yet Stoopid, Slightly Stoopid
-Acoustic Roots, Slightly Stoopid
-Brushfire Fairytales, Jack Johnson
-Mos Def & Talib Kweli Are…Black Star, Black Star
-It Was Written…, NaS
-Distant Relatives, NaS and Damien Marley
-Illmatic, NaS

On the third day in Germany, one of the cultural directors at the University took us into Berlin for a tour of the city. This sounds fairly average but Berlin is one of those places where there’s really no good way to see everything in one day. There’s not a “Times Square” of Berlin, and the most important sites are all over the place. But of course I forgot that we’re William and Mary students, we can do anything! Or basically anything we’re told: so we fit all the sites into one long tour.

Although we were tired and not used to swallowing so much German at once, the tour was well-done and we somehow hung our little jetlagged asses in there. We began the day by learning that our students ID’s got us free rides into the city and on the bus systems (free access to Berlin? Okay I sense many a quick-impulse and probably ill-advised trips into the city in my future…that is, my past-self’s future).

It helps when you don’t have to change time zones. On the plane from Copenhagen to Berlin, I realized how lucky I was that I had already adjusted to the new sleep patterns that involved going to sleep before the sun had set. It did take a second to get used to the German Shepherds that sniffed me as I walked through customs, but don’t worry, I’ve been sniffed lots of times.

Through Berlin and into Potsdam, the whole trip from the airport took about 40 minutes. My host mother was there waiting for me in her small apartment, which somehow fit two other roommates, including another American from the William and Mary Potsdam Program. It turns out that my host mom actually worked as a professional tour guide in Berlin and Potsdam. She gave me and the other American, Chris, a full tour of Potsdam which began in Park Sansoucci.

This summer I’ve really had to come to terms with my sports addiction. Studying in Europe and staying in an internet-free apartment (it’s free! because there isn’t any), I have had myself several a knees-to-chest, rocking-on-the-floor, I-wonder-if-Gonzo-knocked-a-ribbie nights to myself. This Freizeit, as the Germs call it, has allowed me to accomplish many things, like my school studies and unfinished poetry works (and of course by homework I mean watch the first half of “How I Met Your Mother” … and by poetry I mean watch the second half.) Throughout it all, I found myself literally clamoring for my computer each morning at university to check the results of all the Bostonian field games of evenings prior. Yes, my tension was especially high during Stanley Yelnat’s Goblet of Ice*, but the feeling has extended into the Red Sox’s hot streaks… okay, and I sort of wanted to see Ortiz land a punch on Kevin Gregg (I know Paps only whiffed cuz I wasn’t watching. Pretty sure I’m also causing two lockouts — it’s okay guys, I’ll be back in like two weeks.)

This addiction sheds basically captures my summer in a hazelnutshell (nah, a lot’s happened, expect another blogite soon — by the way, hazel nuts are cool), but I also wanted to convey the thinking of the average sports fan, for this reason: It’s All-Star season. Now, I know what your thinking: The All-Star game is pointless, even in baseball where it technically has bearing on the WS. It’s basically a chance for superstars to pump their chests and shine their clubs — and also to clean their baseball bats. And it’s not like this is a novel or original sentiment. The Atlantic, one of the most down to earth and well-written journals I know, just published an article about why the All-Star game is become less and less relevant. In fact, this sentiment is not even novel in baseball — especially not in baseball. Think about all the haters that come out of the hardwood when the NBA All-Star game comes around. “It’s such a joke” “Lebron’s a bitch” “I though Shaq retired like three years ago?” etc. etc. And the Pro-Bowl — holy shite, the game’s barely played in season, and if you hit anyone harder than you hug your grandmother it’s like you committed felony or played race the strollers with someone else’s kids (way more illegal than you’d think, even in Germany).

So All-Star haters come out every year around the All-Star breaks of each respective sport (go figure) and many of them wonder why the annual game still exists at all. Okay, a few things: Come up with a new fucking suggestion if you hates it so much, brotha man. I’m not saying I lust the All-Star game, (which I don’t, by the way — that’s not my point at all…keep reading), but don’t just say it needs to disappear (see, I told you). Secondly, — okay so you just told me it needs to disappear (damn you). So you’re not completely suggestion-less after all? Here’s the issue with that: it’ll nevah happen guy. Not now, not nevah. Hey I got a lil riddly diddly for you: name a sports channel or sports fan that IS NOT concerned with individual statistics and accomplishments of sports players? And isn’t a girl**. Give up? That’s because they don’t exist (the unconcerned, not girls. Girls totally exist. I saw one last week.) Sports fans, and especially younger fans, absolutely love great players and great players together (Think about the Miami Heat demographic minus douchebags — they’re all kids!) Yes, the All-Star game may not actually harbor the best players in the game, and maybe viewership is down, but the game will never be cancelled (maybe irrelevant, but never cancelled) because the idea is too obvious and persistent. The prospect of putting the very best FAN-VOTED players on the field will simply not slip by any sliver-brained exec in any sports league. Even if it’s just a charade.

But here’s the thing (there are so many things in this post I can’t even stand it): just the word All-Star has become a stat. Seven, eight, nine time All-Stars are highly respected. It adds juice to their stats (probably not a good choice of words) and  gives modern viewers perspective. What was the argument that Jim Rice was one of the most dominate players of his time, as heard by viewers my age and younger? People said it — like Poppy Gammons and Tim Kurkgem — but also, Jim’s an 8x All-Star. Numbers are most important, but it says something if a guy was appreciated or seen by fans as the best at his position in his time. And to not have that — to call it obsolete — well, it’s just not going to happen.

*The time difference is 6 hours ahead, here. I actually missed most of the Finals, for obvious 3 AM reasons and no internet, but for game seven my host mother lent me her internet stick (only works for one computer), which allowed me to watch the game — and celebrate alone…in a kitchen…at 5 AM in the morning. It’s how I celebrate all my most-important-playoff-hockey-games-of-all-time!

**Totally need a sports show with Victoria’s Secret reporters. Genius.

I’ve been guilted into posting something on The Pantry by Hermana, since she has become the avid family blogger. Unfortunately, I cannot promise consistent tastebites in the near future, but I can promise you that I’ll be having more fun than you’ll probably be  having this summer. Okay that’s the worst trade-off ever but I don’t even like you.

This poem is about…you know what, why don’t you just read it you lazy ass.

In Regards to Your Product and How It Was Used and When It Went Wrong

Dear Trampoline Manufacturer,
I want to start by thanking you
for the long summer slicks, the glinting black plane.
It was a barbeque high for my sisters and I
that lasted until the sun rolled down Ragged Mountain
behind the pond. We always returned to the living room,
elbow skin curled white
and ankles burned by the pinch
of your springs.

It has occurred, unfortunately,
that I’d like that time back. It seems
to have been misplaced. The trigger
promised so much: a spry bound over the net
like sheep to a night fence. We craned to see
the foreign coast, while my parents seesawed
in knotted maple, sipping white wine, the chair epoxy
winking like young ice.

One raw day he emerged
bearing wrench
and shears. As the netting fell
I skimmed my finger down the pane,
tracing his words, you’ve grown,
in the pond reflection. My father hauled all away,
his face that of a mariner
reeling a catch.
I’d like to have that time back.

November 2009

Is it just me or is there a big elephant in the room? Actually scratch that — is it just me or is the only elephant in the room an immovable rook on his sixth NBA team and named after an imaginary charm? After these Celtics moves, which I’ve had a few days to sit on, it seems like the Green Team is seriously lacking any size.

It’d be nice to imagine that Kendrick Perkins is not a necessary piece to win another Championship, but our imaginations would have a hard time forgetting last year’s Finals in which Perkins was injured for the remaining game and a half of the series (Spoiler alert: we lost). That’s about as empirical as you can get with that shit. I mean the Celtics are clearly talented, but as one of my fellow size enthusiasts noted (I’m so good and inadvertently making things sound perverted), one of the best arguments that the Celts had against the Heat was that the Heat had no size. Or a good nickname. And now everyone is calling them the Heatles!

Okay so the Heat still don’t have a good nickname or a good center beyond Big Z but neither do the Celtics (have any size or nickname. Let’s go…Lep..pees?!) Are we gonna start Nenad? Shaq? Green? Keep in mind that Green plays more like a SF than anything else. He will never make up for Perk’s mean muggin’ in the low post.

So basically I just don’t see how we can win it all this year without picking up some waived free agent vet big man. And considering we already have a couple of those useless contracts, I’m starting to get slightly worried.

Yes we opened roster spots, got a great talent in Green, picked up some solid draft picks from bad teams, made the best of the “Daniel’s Situation” and even finally got Luke Harangody off a team associated with the Luck of the Irish (Cleveland is about as far from lucky as you can get), but in the end these are all “future” type moves. Aren’t we the Celtics that won in ’08 and were in the Finals last year? What made this Green trade so necessary? And don’t give me the Perk contract stuff — we were built to win this season, there wasn’t a pressing need to build for the future. I’m just hoping this is going to be like the Vick Martinez situation and the Celtics make a great pick-up in the next month. Mark Blount anyone? That’d be the giraffe the in the room, I suppose.