Awakening

Who is here with me?

My mother and a dark brown man.

(I am writing this from the past.)

the dark man is not a man, but a statue,

just outside the limits of wood. My mother

is made of mother. She touches the wood

with her eyes, and the eyes of the statue

become her eyes.

(I am not dreaming this. I haven’t been born yet.)

There is a cloud in the sky

where my father sleeps.

When he wakes up he will

want coffee and a smoke.

My mother will set fire to the statue, and

from deep inside her body, I will tell her

to start the coffee.

For even now,

I hear my father’s breathing change.

Posted in Dreamtime, mindworks, Mythical and mysterious, poetry, time travel, visions from the dark side | Tagged , , , | 2 Comments

Antonio Gramsci, ‘I Hate New Year’s Day’

This text was first published in Avanti!, Turin edition, from Antonio Gramsci’s column “Sotto la Mole,” January 1, 1916.

Every morning, when I wake again under the pall of the sky, I feel that for me it is New Year’s Day.

That’s why I hate these New Years that fall like fixed maturities, which turn life and human spirit into a commercial concern with its neat final balance, its outstanding amounts, its budget for the new management. They make us lose the continuity of life and spirit. You end up seriously thinking that between one year and the next there is a break, that a new history is beginning; you make resolutions, and you regret your irresolution, and so on, and so forth. This is generally what’s wrong with dates.

They say that chronology is the backbone of history. Fine. But we also need to accept that there are four or five fundamental dates that every good person keeps lodged in their brain, which have played bad tricks on history. They too are New Years’. The New Year’s of Roman history, or of the Middle Ages, or of the modern age.

And they have become so invasive and fossilising that we sometimes catch ourselves thinking that life in Italy began in 752, and that 1490 or 1492 are like mountains that humanity vaulted over, suddenly finding itself in a new world, coming into a new life. So the date becomes an obstacle, a parapet that stops us from seeing that history continues to unfold along the same fundamental unchanging line, without abrupt stops, like when at the cinema the film rips and there is an interval of dazzling light.

That’s why I hate New Year’s. I want every morning to be a new year’s for me. Every day I want to reckon with myself, and every day I want to renew myself. No day set aside for rest. I choose my pauses myself, when I feel drunk with the intensity of life and I want to plunge into animality to draw from it new vigour.

No spiritual time-serving. I would like every hour of my life to be new, though connected to the ones that have passed. No day of celebration with its mandatory collective rhythms, to share with all the strangers I don’t care about. Because our grandfathers’ grandfathers, and so on, celebrated, we too should feel the urge to celebrate. That is nauseating.

I await socialism for this reason too. Because it will hurl into the trash all of these dates which have no resonance in our spirit and, if it creates others, they will at least be our own, and not the ones we have to accept without reservations from our silly ancestors.

– Translated by Alberto Toscano

I don’t agree with socialism as an automatic fix for this kind of rigid chronological thinking. I think people will always be prone to thinking in the arc of story and linear progression. It is part of how we cope with the uncertainties of random events, but the more we can pull ourselves away from fixating on turning points and rigid structure and see the flow and waves of interconnection and interaction that surround us all the time, the more we will be successful at solving the problems we face as humanity.

stuartelden's avatarProgressive Geographies

occupationThis text was first pub­lished in Avanti!, Turin edi­tion, from his col­umn “Sotto la Mole,” Jan­u­ary 1, 1916.

Translated by Alberto Toscano for Viewpoint.

Every morn­ing, when I wake again under the pall of the sky, I feel that for me it is New Year’s day.

That’s why I hate these New Year’s that fall like fixed matu­ri­ties, which turn life and human spirit into a com­mer­cial con­cern with its neat final bal­ance, its out­stand­ing amounts, its bud­get for the new man­age­ment. They make us lose the con­ti­nu­ity of life and spirit. You end up seri­ously think­ing that between one year and the next there is a break, that a new his­tory is begin­ning; you make res­o­lu­tions, and you regret your irres­o­lu­tion, and so on, and so forth. This is gen­er­ally what’s wrong with dates. (continues…)

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Posted in Check this out, delusions of progress, file folders and nut shells, Other peoples words, thinking in words | Tagged , , | Leave a comment

As I Come Upon a New Year

I have been reading through my notes and scribblings from this almost finished year and, as I have done in the past, I am editing and framing with an intent to hang them up for viewing. I am always at least a little surprised at what I have written and left because the crazy pace of life tends to pull me away before I have a chance to complete a thought or examine my early morning/late night journal entries. Now that I have a few unscheduled minutes in between work and PTA training, I have a chance not only to write some new stuff, but also polish up previous raw material into hopefully presentable condition. In the next few weeks, I will be publishing some new poems and odds without ends (endless odds?) and maybe a few doodly doodads and photos as well.  Here is my first installment from a journal entry in January.

Chiaroscuro Prayer

I am an archive of treasure.

My memories and experience overflow

into my present,

spilling gems and coins 

clattering and sparkling about.

When will I realize every life has worth,

even in failure and remorse,

even in dire tragedy.

Even as rough faces fade with time,

every shadow shapes the light into a form

 which can be deciphered and known.

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Willie Nelson Dream Song

This song played on the car radio in my dream. Willie Nelson was singing.The tune was similar to “Me and Bobby McGee”. I wanted to turn it up, but, you know how dreams work, you can never find the volume control or any control when you want it.

10 miles out of Abilene,

I stopped to look around 

at the desert and the night.

I got up on the hood

and lay back to see the stars

spread out and shining bright.

All around the ground shone back.

 I felt my edges fade away.

And I knew everything was going to be alright.

 Chorus:

Where is my big lonely place

where all my problems seem so small?

Everything that went on before

doesn’t mean a damn

just pictures and sounds along the street.

When I drive away from here

more life is out ahead

But I’ll get there at my own chosen speed.

Willie would probably write it better, but it sounded good on the dream car radio.

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65 million years away

God is 65 million years away.
Looking into a telescope at earth,

he sees dinosaurs.

EJ Koh: from the poem “Pledge of Elegance

I don’t know exactly what she means by this but today, when I read it, my mind started to hum. This is what poetry does for me, lifts me out of my usually mundanely buzzing thoughts into a place where questions form that have no answers. Poems, at least the ones I relate to, make me aware of the frailness of reality and incredible opportunities to find new points of view from which to think in entirely new ways. 

Posted in mindworks, my museum of inspiration, Other peoples words, paying attention, poetry, Questions and riddles, thinking in words | Tagged , , , , , | Leave a comment