Saturday, October 26, 2013

Jose Marti; Celia Cruz Birthday; Guantanamera; Pete Seeger; My son's favorite poet - a fall sonnet; Leather; i thank you

i thank You God for most this amazing

i thank You God for most this amazing
day: for the leaping greenly spirits of trees
and a blue true dream of sky; and for everything
which is natural which is infinite which is yes

(i who have died am alive again today,
and this is the sun's birthday; this is the birth
day of life and of love and wings: and of the gay
great happening illimitably earth)

how should tasting touching hearing seeing
breathing any—lifted from the no
of all nothing—human merely being
doubt unimaginable You?

(now the ears of my ears awake and
now the eyes of my eyes are opened)

This is item number 1 due to it's being the luck of the draw on Saturday Writers Almanac,  10/26/13


"i thank You God for most this amazing" by E.E. Cummings, from 100 Selected Poems. © Grove Press, 1994

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HALLOWEEN GREETINGS
FROM THE SEWER RACCOON NEWS

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JOSE MARTI

 wrote these words:

"With the poor people of this earth
I wish to share my fate;

The streams of the mountain
pleases me more than the sea."



Cuban singer, Celia Cruz


On Google today. (10/21)

HAPPY 88TH BIRTHDAY CELIA CRUZ
....HAD YOU LIVED; the song and inspiration LIVES

Úrsula Hilaria Celia de la Caridad Cruz Alfonso de la Santísima Trinidad (October 21, 1925 – July 16, 2003) was a Cuban-Americansalsa performer. One of the most popular salsa artists of the 20th century, she earned twenty-three gold albums and was renowned internationally as the "Queen of Salsa" as well as "La Guarachera de Cuba."
She spent much of her career living in New Jersey, and working in the United States and several Latin American countries. Leila Cobo ofBillboard Magazine once said "Cruz is indisputably the best known and most influential female figure in the history of Cuban music."  (WIKIPEDIA)


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I first heard of Pete Seeger when he came to the University of Wisconsin in Madison in 1954.  I was a freshman.  There were some protests against his being given entree there.  Some thought he was a C-O-M-M-U-N-I-S-T.  (Horrors!)

The Young Republicans for one example, were ag'in him. So was The John Birch Society.  He was singing with The Weavers,
surely a communist outfit, some thought.  They sang such songs as:



  • 1. Wimoweh




  • 2.Wreck of the John B




  • 3.Tzena, Tzena, Tzena
  • 4.On Top of Old Smokey
  • 5.Kisses Sweeter Than Wine
  • 6.The Roving Kind
  • 7.Old Paint (Ride Around Little Dogies)
  • 8.When the Saints Go Marching In
  • 9.I Know Where I'm Going
  • 10.Around the Corner (Beneath the Berry Tree)
  • 11.Midnight Special
  • 12.Lonesome Traveler
  • 13.Hush Little Baby
  • 14.Suliram (I'll Be There)
  • 15.Hard, Ain't It Hard
  • 16.The Bay of Mexico
  • 17.Along the Colorado Trail
  • 18.The Frozen Logger
  • 19.So Long (It's Been Good to Know Yuh)
  • 20.Goodnight Irene

I attended the Seeger concert, and was changed, beginning then, and gradually forever.








and here's one where Pete's grandson
sings it with him:



Play:  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1EJ1kZ0yBzg

The song by Marti has been adapted

in many different ways:

*http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pAs7U1dyesQ

and always resonates!


Again, happy birthday Celia Cruz.




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Sonnet 73: That Time of Year Thou Mayst in Me Behold


That time of year thou mayst in me behold
When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,
Bare ruined choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.
In me thou see'st the twilight of such day
As after sunset fadeth in the west;
Which by and by black night doth take away,
Death's second self, that seals up all in rest.
In me thou see'st the glowing of such fire,
That on the ashes of his youth doth lie,
As the death-bed whereon it must expire
Consumed with that which it was nourish'd by.
This thou perceivest, which makes thy love more strong,
To love that well which thou must leave ere long.


"Sonnet 73: That Time of Year Thou Mayst In Me Behold" by William Shakespeare. Public domain


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From Raccoon stringer
Rev. Tom Bentz

This fall-themed recall from his formative years
an Email rec'd today (10-21-13) with video clip:


"Our 25-year-old prodigy pianist, organist, composer and church music director
just sent me his music for November
as my favorite fading month of October goes  
while I try to remember
September
and the late Jerry Orbach
and seeing him in Carnival, my first musical on Broadway,
on my high school senior trip 50 years ago,
turning me into a carny . . ."



...

Bentz
bent
not broken



(he lived)


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From son Lee's Facebook:


#Leather. So hot right now. #nyc #kindergarten #fashion
Like ·  ·  · 6 hours ago · 

Saturday, October 19, 2013

Guthrie's Dirt God; Holy Hill

....is gonna get you!



The Dirt God
by Wis Guthrie 1965
has held forth in a variety of homes -
when I got it I was living above the Decoratory
downtown here on Grand Ave.

Then it migrated yon and hither, eventually
 frightening our children, first in their home
on Arcadian Ave

and now it is back downtown
at the Odd Fellows Hall on The Five Points.

This year at Halloween season the never-dusted effigy
(we were advised by Wis)
has ascended to the top rung of a tall step-ladder
and is lit by a high intensity lamp
 to maximize the fright

even on the far Five Points streets below.
We paint the 18 foot high walls 
to our satisfaction only
with stilted scary shadows
and they are easily-removed, 
erased at the flick of a switch.


The 'ears' of the Mickey Monsterous creature
are formed by the vacuum cleaner brush eyes
Wis may have found in one of his junk troves 
or dumpster-dives.

His admonition of NEVER DUST makes
this never-dusted creature well-suited for
a high ladder.  It is now v-e-r-y dusty.


signed by the artist
.......

Bony Maronie


A Winged Gourd
- named Bony Maronie -
from our own collection
of found objects, this time a 25 cent gourd
from a farmers market vendor two years ago
has gathered enough mould
by standing around 
to warrant final varnish finish
today.



The only paint added
thanks to the effects of time alone
have been the beak and eye
the latter picking up on the mould motif.
It stands (flies) on its own. (Bony-ly;  see it?)

The gourd bird hangs drying from a canoe
paddle secured by our HD vise
in the Odd Fellow loft workshop high above
the turgid commerce of the Five Points.

KD is eyeing the skylight for real birds.



I am working at the newspaper-covered old Samsonite card table
of Haynes and Ann Bunker's on Arcadian Ave.
Many activities have taken place on this table......


Uncle Lee, Mother Ruth, Grandpa Ray, Father Les playing cribbage.
.......

The Garden of Love

I went to the Garden of Love,
And saw what I never had seen:
A Chapel was built in the midst,
Where I used to play on the green.

And the gates of this Chapel were shut,
And Thou shalt not. writ over the door;
So I turn'd to the Garden of Love,
That so many sweet flowers bore.

And I saw it was filled with graves,
And tomb-stones where flowers should be:
And Priests in black gowns, were walking their rounds,
And binding with briars, my joys & desires.
"The Garden of Love" by William Blake, from The Complete Poetry and Prose of William Blake. © Doubleday, 1988

(The ages go dark and come light, alternatively. - D. Septix)

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HOLY HILL, HUBERTUS, WI



"..........NONE OTHER HAS EVER KNOWN."

Hubertus Oct. 2013 / A pleasant drive up Hy 164 from Waukesha to Holy Hill the other day took us near the double-wide trailer of John Helt, pastor of St. Paul's UCC and spouse Cindy Helt. John and I'd planned to lunch together at the Holy Hill Cafe but a death in his congregation stilled that idea. So I was content to solo it to the much-visited hallowed ground of the basilica and just pass near the neighborhood of John & Cindy in the process.  Their mobile home (in appearance only) lies in the shadow of the mighty cathedral.  See Illus. above.  A certain striking juxtapose, there.

John and his wife occupy a garden of their own after a few years back taking possession of their trailer located in the loosely-zoned Colgate subdivision where it sits, still, but now, converted through their sweat equity into a veritable Eden.  Subdivision neighbors regularly pass by in awe
over what John and Cindy have wrought.



We've written and photographed reams on the dwellings over the years of the Helts and their kin.  Above, their present front portal shows the door light of their perpetual welcome under a full moon, taken by us as we left them, just, as it later turned out when we saw the picture we'd gotten, at the right moment to maximize this current Trailurian Era resting place.

It is where they and their chicken Huldy, an egg-layer pet, are dug in for a duration.  The landscaping they've done - tree-planting, gardening, etc., make the current visage much different from the immediate shot above, an old picture emphasizing the trailer (just pretend) origin.



..........

Holy Hill continues:

We first spied the twin spires as we drove west on Hy 167, having turned off 164.  The view has been seen by millions, but we paused and snapped our perfunctory picture, such as it was.  The fall colors were not at their height (yet? anymore?) but is is always striking to see that topo-alignment.


And from the lower parking lot:











A discalced (sandaled) brother greeted departing worshipers as the basilica door. 

Wheel-chaired tour bus visitors wait outside gift store/ rest rooms/ main lobby entrance, catching the holy sunshine.


Inside the gift store, a bin of St. Joseph statues and a gazillion other religious items await.  I checked and the low price of this plastic Joseph
model is still what I paid, almost.  I bought many of them to bury in the yards of homes I was trying to sell as a Realtor.  Uncolorful, plain, suitable for underground committal.

Sometimes they worked.



This crucifix, one of many displayed, caught my eye.  Jesus appears to be putting a dove of peace to wing just prior to paying the ultimate price.


My minor gift store investment on this visit, during these current economic times,
was merely a Ten Commandment ruler that glows in the dark.
I confess my lifetime batting average in keeping these rules was low
in earlier days, and I expect to answer for that later. 


The cafe where John and I were to meet for lunch, but for the unexpected death in his congregation at St. Paul's UCC church, which is, again, just over a couple of hills from here.



With all the savory entrees, I chose a hot dog.  A very good hot dog.





Seating is available in the main dining rooms or in a sort of an enclosed veranda add-on.  Opposite my table, I noticed the rustic look of the original double-sash monastery windows in a once exterior wall.



A regular patron pilgrim from North Lake WI
was personable and allowed me to photograph her.
She even offered to take my picture. I demurred.
I was interested in the chartreuse Piggly-Wiggly shopping bag
she carried.

The blessed virgin stood in effigy beneath the spire in the distance.



The woman, a multi-mother, explained that she makes regular trips
to Holy Hill to refill many small holy water bottles
from the designated faucet.  The water was offered for free.  It cost money
in the gift store.

She told me that she keeps a bottle in each of her children's
bedrooms, plus she pours holy water around her house's foundation.

"In times like these," she allowed, "you can't be too careful!"

I said I thought that was probably right.

.......






.......

O sweet spontaneous
earth how often have
the
doting

               fingers of
prurient philosophers pinched
and

poked
thee
, has the naughty thumb
of science prodded
thy

         beauty                  how
often have religions taken
thee upon their scraggy knees
squeezing and

buffeting thee that thou mightest conceive
gods
         (but
true

to the incomparable
couch of death thy
rhythmic
lover

              thou answerest

them only with

                                spring)


"5" by E.E. Cummings, from Complete Poems 1904-1962. © Grove Press, 1994

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