Friday, January 30, 2015

And If It Happens that You Cannot Go On or Turn Back and You Find Yourself Where You Will Be at the End, Tell Yourself in that Final Flowing of Cold Through Your Limbs that You Love What You Are

Elric yesterday provided me a long list of why this blog sucks - and I could have been more gracious in baiting him to comment on Epod. Believe me, I'm aware of just how much this blog sucks - you think I don't know that nobody gives a fuck about Robert Wyatt's music much less his birthday? you think I don't know that nobody gives a fuck about the drugs I took in the early 80s or about the ex-girlfriend who stole all my albums? don't know that all but a very few of you don't give a fuck about the poetry I post - but he didn't mention my cats - you think I don't know that nobody gives a fuck about my cats? Still, Momcat is inside, that's her, last night, on the right, next to her son Nap, the first time she's ever come inside. Forgive me, after living in our yard for at least a dozen years, after only letting us pet her the last two years, after only crawling into my lap once when I sat on the front stoop, this gets a blogpost.

Have I ever mentioned I love Bonnie Prince Billy? I know - you don't give a fuck.


Mark Strand

Tell yourself
as it gets cold and gray falls from the air
that you will go on
walking, hearing
the same tune no matter where
you find yourself—
inside the dome of dark
or under the cracking white
of the moon's gaze in a valley of snow.
Tonight as it gets cold
tell yourself
what you know which is nothing
but the tune your bones play
as you keep going. And you will be able
for once to lie down under the small fire
of winter stars.
And if it happens that you cannot
go on or turn back
and you find yourself
where you will be at the end,
tell yourself
in that final flowing of cold through your limbs
that you love what you are.


  1. I thought about showing my appreciation in the comments section of yesterday's entry, how I could relate to almost all of those things nobody cares about in yesterday's entry. I could do that every day. Then it would be all about me. I give a fuck because it's not. Even though it is.

    1. 6 ..66 is davidly ,that was my thought.. in my flying flut through ..for the poetry ..a few lines of , cats, a man/of men jig, of in song, / j., you're still on the side list of jacob's ladder , your drumming is needed here ..daily , it is a diary for you , and if ..a moment.. able , a moment to look in for others .. . to wonder what pen k is doing , and john her man , et' , hello rob p. ,if', mis tah .. . , said the gir l balanc e

  2. Why be so hard on yourself? This blurg doesn't suck, and neither do you. Everybody has their own taste in music and you can't please everyone with what you like or don't like. I don't know what Elric said but does it really matter what Elric thinks? That's a great poem you published today and if it pleases you that's all that should matter. By the way, I'm in love with Fleabus, I wish I could give Fleabus a hug. As for people giving a fuck, most people only give a fuck about their orgasms, but then there are people that move beyond their genitals, no?

  3. yr cats r my favorite thing about yr blog!

  4. I adore your cats
    Your blog still makes laptop slow
    People hate haikus

  5. Thanks all, I realized after I posted this it came of as a cry for reassurance and praise, and of course it is to some extent, but this is true: every time I've a bout of why-the-fuck-am-doing-this (and I did have a bad one recently) someone, Elric in this case, one of my trolls in most cases, remind me that I write for me and mine. Dig or don't, it's all cool. And be Kind.

  6. Fuck not giving a fuck, and double fuck those who don't give a fuck. Why? Because there's plenty of fuck to go around - in fact, the world is one big fuckaround. Keep keeping, BDR.


  7. What I said yesterday came off as angry, crude, and a personal attack, and I sincerely apologize. Let me try to fix that.

    I used to come here daily for angry leftist politics and DC United news/griping, that made the (IMO) bad music, poetry (barf), and frequent mention of a particularly shitty part of my life (teens and twenties) bearable.

    Since the angry politics has become severely watered down, and DC United no longer exists, there's nothing here for me. That's why I rarely come around, I was just trying to let you know that it has nothing to do with any one event or anything like that. My days are a little pleasanter if I avoid this site (poetry does annoy me greatly). And if others like it here, good for them, have fun.

    I do really love kitties, though.

    I'll go away now.

    1. All's cool. These were things I was thinking about anyway re: standard bleggalgazing - this both prompts and thwarts creative efforts elsewhere, more prompt than thwart but thwart too.

      I enjoyed many of the times we shared in our teens and twenties, though I know my teens and twenties were easier than yours.

      Our wives seem to like each other, and if the four of us did something without the older generation involved we probably won't talk about Republic or Fellsburg. Let me know.

  8. the "sore that does not heal" that i gave chance after chance after chance to heal really was skin cancer (probably - to be established definitively by biopsy) and yesterday the dermatologist, as he prepared to numb my face and scrape off the offending lesion, surprisingly invited me to sing a song to pass the time (and distract me from the assault on my person, of course)

    although i did not sing it, i discussed the song that farmer hoggett sings to babe in the eponymous film, which has a tune taken from the organ symphony of Saint-Saëns (his symphony number 3) and lyrics written by a london jingle maker, name of jonathan hodge

    If I had words
    To make a day for you
    I sing you a morning golden and new
    I would make this day
    Last for all time
    Give you a night
    Deep in moonshine

    in the film, it is sung after babe has had revealed to him the awful dimensions of the porcine condition (by the extremely nasty cat duchess - the narrator tell us that all cats are not malevolent - but this one certainly was) and run away - he is found and retrieved from a graveyard

    the tune - and the dance performed by farmer hoggett - do not refute the facts, but rather affirm life despite it all, and serve to reconcile the little pig with the reality of his mortality - i suggest a similarity to beethoven's "ode to joy", the anthem of the european union, which expresses the aspiration of brotherhood which history belies

    it was not until i saw "babe" again earlier this week that i discovered the song was not original to the movie, but had been a chart hit - in a reggae version, no less

    i mentioned to the dermatologist that actor james cromwell had stopped eating meat after making this film

    seemingly uncomfortable with the direction the conversation had taken, he hastened to change the subject by mentioning cromwell's role in star trek - first contact

    speaking of changing the subject, not all people hate haikus, and here's my best, written in buffalo during the previous millennium, and posted on the internet by me four times, but not here - until now

    white nights are bright nights
    snowflakes slant through street lights and
    muffle my footsteps

    1. Shame you don't have a blog. Best wishes to you and yours.

  9. i watched the bonnie prince billie video and liked it

    isn't that an albert einstein mask on the dog

  10. No wonder you don't let Momcat in your house. Her eyes are super spooky orbs. Surprised haiku-ey Thunder missed that. Best wishes Doc Charley. Quick story: I took my kids to see a NYC matinee of BABE: PitC. There were only a few people there when we got there just as the theater opened. Were first in line for popcorn, and while waiting in line for the Concession Stand to open, I told my kids that this pic was one of the best kids movies of the year. And behind me a voice said, no it's one of the best pictures of the year. Period. I turned around to see David Byrne and his kid waiting for me waiting for popcorn. So cool. This was a Saturday or Friday, There were only 15 or 20 people in the whole theater down near Lincoln Center. Anyway, the next Monday night I saw him on TV in LA picking up his Oscar for The Last Emperor musics. I will continue telling this story till the day I die because David Byrne, Pig in the City, Talking Heads, just me and him going on about kids' movies. And Popcorn!

    1. speaking of Pig in the City, when mickey rooney died recently it was revealed that his earthly fortune at the end was something like thirty thousand dollars

  11. Oh yeah. Ignore BDR when he gets like this. JK