April 2019
Featuring...
June 2019
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Handicapping the "Dems"
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Picture a Haiku
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The Death of George and Other Extinctions
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Picture a Palindrome #7
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Relearning the Alphabet: A Reprise
muse-letter \’myüz-‘le-tər noun
1: a personal message, inspired by a muse of one's own creation, addressed to a person or organization, in the course of which, the sender becomes absorbed in thought; especially turning something over in the mind meditatively and often inconclusively.
2: a letter from a poet, or one who envisions oneself as such, in which he or she “muses” on that which is perceived to be news, or newsworthy in some ironic or absurd way.
Picture a Haiku
In a wedding gown
through a field of daffodils;
the groom at the church.
The Death of George and Other Extinctions
“The first documented extinction of 2019 occurred on New Year’ Day, with the death of a Hawaiian tree snail named George” …
… read the opening sentence in THE TALK OF THE TOWN section of The New Yorker last month. What such news was doing in a section so entitled, is a bit curious. Is the death of a snail really something that has a whole town talking? Even on Facebook?
Though even in the very issue of the magazine lamenting his passing, one of its cartoons referenced what has now become a clichéd pejorative: “snail mail.”
Funny. But as the piece in “TALK” is titled “Last Chances,” in the plural, there are more ominous implications that go beyond the extinction of one particular breed of snail. Which I’ll slowly get around to.
I’ve always been fascinated by snails. They not only carry their house on their backs (if a snail can be said to have a back), but seem to tote as well, a metaphor of "heavy" implication. A slow and insignificant moving through a realm of existence?
I’ve even implied as much in a haiku I wrote (JUNE, 2013 MUSE-LETTER) and embedded, in a photo I took at the Staten Island Botanical in Snug Harbor. (“Poetry provides the one permissible way of saying one thing and meaning another.”— Robert Frost.)
Lonely in life, George has lots of company pending, since his demise. There's been lots of buzz about the plight of the bumble bee of late.
"Since 2006, the population of bees has declined considerably. Pesticides, disease, parasites and poor weather due to global warming have played a major role in this worrying decline..." as per Greenpeace International."
Another poem of mine (The Death of a Snail, MAY, 2007 MUSE-LETTER) begins:
I crushed a snail underfoot. I said "Sorry."
I was walking the dog — so small and all —
who in God's name could see it?
It happened almost as I stepped out the door.
The dog was straining at the leash to go pee.
This demise via an “unnatural order,” struck me as being analogous to the “collateral damage” incurred in war. With blame for such obliviousness lying elsewhere. In this case, with the dog. (“I have never started a poem yet whose ending I knew”— Robert Frost.)
When I read of George’s death, it gave me pause. Not only because of past attempts at poetics regarding the likes of him, but that he “put a face” on something of so little regard. So much so, that he became a celebrity of sorts. At least to the locals in Oahu.
Over the years, hundreds of kids had been taken along by teachers and parents to see this achatinella apexfulva, which is the scientific name for George's species. Translation: yellow-tipped tree snail.
His backstory had a sense of a cursed cruelty of fate about it, though not quite Shakespearean (“I have scotched the snail, not killed it.” Macbeth 3.2. 13-15). But researchers at the Snail Extinction Program where George was housed and cared for, attempted for over a decade, to find him a mate. And couldn’t. (“Under love’s heavy burden do I sink.” Romeo Act 1, Scene 4.)
All literary fun and games aside, what role do snails play in the ecosystem? Why the concern for the extinction of George and his ilk? Here's a few snail bits of info we may want to consider the next time, before ordering escargot.
“These terrestrial mollusks feed upon a wide variety of organic material, mainly green or dead
herbaceous plants rotting wood and fungi, bark, and algae.
They glean calcium from their food, concentrate it their shells, and pass it up the food chain
as they are consumed by predators.
They also combine their slime with particles from the ground and improve structure of the soil.”
(Carnegie Museum of Natural History)
Poor George would probably have become extinct in the wild, even sooner. It's a snail-eat-snail world out there. This is one death that can't be blamed on human negligence. To the contrary, some are not giving up the ghost on the idea of a future resurrection.
“In 2017 , a tiny piece of George’s 'foot' was cut off and sent to scientists with the San Diego Zoo Institute for Conservation Research’s ‘Frozen Zoo’ to provide DNA should scientists ever desire to
clone him— which isn’t currently possible, but likely will be in the near future.”
Yes, such people exist in such places. And there are even laudatory events for the dedicated layman such as the Annual Beaver Lake Snail Walk in Ithaca this June 8th. "Who's in?" (I wonder, how long is a "snail walk" anyway?)
In the meantime, the Monarch butterfly, a swarm of which I once had a surprising encounter at a personally trying time which instantly lifted my spirits, might also be in trouble. This creature goes far beyond its beauty. How far? It's been known to travel up to 250 miles in a day. Which I'll take on faith as one can only wonder how such a journey could be tracked.
By comparison, it takes a snail over five days to go a single mile, if it were so inclined. Which is all too much more ground to cover today.
So much extinction, so little time.
Picture a Palindrome #7
Pulling up in the rear and such longshots, that no odds are posted...
Candidate Odds* Handicapping Notes
Biden 4.5-1 Household name, but not in Anita’s. Blue-collar centrist. Wire-to-wire? Obama effect?
Sanders 5.5-1 “The Top 1%” outcry continues. Out-aged by Biden, but kids still feel the Bern.
Buttigieg 10-1 Intelligent! Many be too? I have socks older than him. 1st Gay. Is America really ready?
Harris 11-1 Great interrogator. Indian-Jamacan woman all-in-one. Another “ready question?”
Warren 20-1 Plans out the wazoo. Intense (bobbing head while making a point). Too Hillary?
O’Rourke 20-1 Couldn’t “Cruz” to victory. Too soon. Stop apologizing. Stop standing on tables!
Klobuchar 50-1 Centrist, Mid-West. Too mild-mannered to deal with Trump? Ask Kavanaugh or her staff.
Gabbard 50-1 1st: Samoan/Hindu elected to congress. A woman. Crowded diversity field. Hindu vote?
Booker 55-1 No “Sparticus moment” of late. Verbose. Theatrical passion. No Obama. Relax. Try ’24.
Gillibrand 66-1 Grating voice. Moralistic Liberal (ask Al Franken). First appointed to Hillary’s seat.
Castro 100-1 Too far from the inside rail. VP on a ticket? Latino and youth appeal. A twin brother.
Hickenlooper 100-1 With a name like that he has to be good. Trump would have a field day with it.
Yang 200-1 Asian. Still another first. Running on “Human-Centered Capitalism” theme. Which is?
*As of mid-May 2019
Bennett Would introduce “opt-in-government-run" health plan. Obamacare without the hyphens?
Bullock Governor of Montana. A remote credential. But re-elected in a state Trump won.
Delaney “I think I have some big ideas. I think I have something to say.” I think no one cares.
de Blasio No NYC mayor has ever become president. Annoyingly tall. Always late. Easy to dislike.
Inslee Climate change obsessed. Handsome Governor. Could also be cast to play one on TV.
Messam Reason he's running? African-American who’s no Booker, no 'bama, no candidate maker.
Moulton Former Marine. 4 tours in Iraq war. Maybe Department of Defense post?
Ryan Lost to Pelosi for House leadership in 2016. Though everyone loses to Pelosi.
Swalwell In the middle of congresional Trump investigations. A full time job. Finish that first.
Williamson Presided over my friend’s memorial service many years ago. Spirituality won’t work here.
For all the discussions about needing new blood, the nomination usually goes to someone well known, who is “next in line” and less of a risk. Less so in the Democrat party that has turned to relative newcomers and some surprises going back to JFK in 1960. Followed over time, by the likes of Carter, Clinton and Obama.
The Republicans have always played it closer to the vest. That is until Orange Apprentice, with no experience, entered the 2016 race two decades ago (or seems that way). At worst, it would be good for his brand. Secretariat of State, from the same stable as Lewd With Lewinski, was expected to win it all. But he won in an upset, Russian to the finish line.
This time… different horses… different stable… different race. Yet, the old warhorse Biden My Time--- make that the oldest warhorse ever to run for the roses--- is back for a third try. While he's now far ahead as was shown, any prediction at this point would be premature. (Remember when Jeb! was considered the front-runner?) The contest has barely begun. There will be gaffes. And will this wind up being, as a movie title once exclaimed, "no country for old men"?
I can hardly wait. As in 2016, this is my “must-see TV;” my Game of Thrones, to mix metaphors. Your viewing and voting habits may vary. But dare I say, that’s what makes for … a horse race.
Handicapping the "Dems"
Who doesn’t like a big horse race? Well, maybe the owner of Maximum Security who won the Kentucky Derby. For 20 minutes. Now he’s suing to have the result overturned and get back the roses that were unceremoniously removed from around his horse’s neck. But bigger than even that race, is any for the U.S. presidential nomination of a party. This year, it’s the Democrats. And it certainly has Trump’s attention. He’s already in juvenile name-calling mode.
As the first debate will take place this month on June 26-27 in Miami (yes, two nights), I thought I’d sort through and handicap the field; a ponderous task given the record breaking number of entrants. And after all, it’s just one man’s opinion. But obsessions knows no bounds.
At the moment, there are 23 horses in the race. Though it is unclear as to how many of them will be allowed at the podiums (or starting gates, to keep the analogy going). "Candidate viability" based on polling and campaign contribution levels, will determine who is allowed in this first run. I will spare the details.
In such a large field of aspiration, some such as No Way, You’re Joking, Hell Freezes Over, Delusion, Who's He and Impeachment Now, will not qualify. Which adds up to over half of the entrants. Some of them, if anything, do play a role in contributing to another nomination record: most diverse slate of candidates in U.S. history. (No exclusion! No exclusion!). Which may even have been a contributing factor for their entering the race in the first place, despite the bleak prospect of last place.
So here we go, recognizing that jockeying for better post positions will change even before the first debate(s). Even perhaps in the next couple of hours. But as of the third week in May, busting out of the gate— Biden My Time takes a commanding 19-point lead over Feeling The Bern, with Won’t Go On Fox maneuvering into third. Just behind her, and neck and neck, comes Answer Yes Or No and Budda’s Edge. Positions indicated by an average of five major polls shown on the tote board below.
"Track odds" according to Bovada, the recognized leading online betting site, are also posted to offer another perspective. Where no odds are are shown, that is to be read as "having a snowball's chance in global warming" of winning.
finito
Beta (Β β)
Delta (Δ δ)
Upsilon (Υ υ)
Morning becomes eclectic.
No longer the competing
with Mother Nature
for the affections of Father Time.
Or the conquest of The New York Times.
photos, illustrations, design by Ron Vazzano©
Omega (Ω ω)
Home is where Argos
now dry-nosed in the corner
welcomes us
with a wag of his tail,
before dying.
—Ron Vazzano
Chi (Χ χ)
A final toast from the Mt. Olympus
of a rooftop bar
to all that has been
and all that will be
by way of a retro potency
a Bombay Sapphire gin martini.
Psi (Ψ ψ)
Putting a pitchfork
into dactylic hexameter,
the devil has been in the details
of freed verse;
a modest odyssey is ending.
“Relearning the Alphabet”: A Reprise
This illustrated narrative poem appeared nearly year ago in the July Muse-Letter, and is being reprised as I will be returning to the island of Corfu after 47 years. It seemed once again, apropos.
In so doing, I’ve made a considerable number of revisions in style and content. Which confirms what French poet Paul Valéry once said: “A poem is never finished. Just abandoned.” The same has been said, more or less, of all art forms. I once posed the question: “How did Jackson Pollack know when a drip painting of his was done?” In this case however, graphic elements have merely been rearranged as one might the furniture in a room. Hardly an exercise in creative abstraction.
Feel free to bypass if none of this is of interest or believable.
Alpha (Α α)
…is for Athens.
“We’re living it up
at the Hotel Carolina,”
55 Kolokotroni.
Eagles covered down the block.
A return to a place recalled
from 50 years ago—
give or take—
a few lives and wives.
Gamma (Γ γ)
No ants across the Acropolis this time
as there were in MCMLXXI:
In their hustle-bustle line
of worldly oblivion
and my entrancement with purpose
so Lilliputian
it drives the Greek gods crazy.
This time, it’s the scaffolding
with its stranglehold of
a Typhonian nature,
and it is we mortals
who are driven crazy.
We do not come for the history
of that which remains
so critically crumbled,
through brutalities in testosterone
and the corrosive actions of angry gods,
all given a free pass
throughout the continuum of time.
Epsilon (Ε ε)
Unpasteurized
unfiltered
double fermented
Kirki, a bottle
of crafted beer claims:
“to break the spell.”
As if that’s all it takes.
Zeta (Ζ ζ)
Back home the spell involves
running through rabbit holes
time piece in hand.
Then being pulled
through a looking glass.
Nothing a thick head of foam
can bring clarity to.
Eta (Η η)
A familiar beach
yet only pebbles of memory.
What little town by river or seashore,
Or mountain-built with peaceful citadel,
Is emptied of its folk, this pious morn?
When old age shall this generation waste…
Theta (Θ θ)
It gets early, late out here. To conversely quote
the great wisdom of Maharishi Mahesh Yogi...
Berra.
Iota (Ι ι)
We care not a one.
Off we go into a sea of myth
water wings left behind
along with those of flailing angels;
showers on and off along the way.
That we may sail as mates
beneath the stars and above the star fish
casting our nets to recapture the dreams
all too soon forgotten.
Kappa (Κ κ)
Landing on a new shore,
getting our bearings
we stumble upon a new church;
over-embellished and funereal.
We pause long enough
to light a long-tapered candle
in case Kirki comes up empty.
Lambda (Λ λ)
Braless, breasts bouncing
beneath a loose t-shirt
repeatedly crossing
the road dividing the taverna,
she dodges vehicles.
Look, but hold thy tongue
lest a line be crossed, for…
Nu (Ν ν)
A nearby shop girl
stepping out of her store —
her name, Nemesis —
will pick up our scent
and point us in
a vague direction.
Mu (Μ μ)
…this could be
Circe in the guise of a waitress
in #ΚαιΕγώ mode.
In response to her request
for an order?
“Make me a man.”
Xi (Ξ ξ)
A wrong turn
and we find ourselves lost
in an entanglement
of passageways
ancient options,
unforgiving stone.
Omicron (Ο ο)
Perhaps, by nightfall
Nyx will step in
to undo his daughter’s undoing,
to guide us rightly,
through that last narrow passage
the same one we came through
in the baby-step days.
Or is memory, myth?
Pi (Π π)
Infinity in silence,
familiarity in sound
dark hours with numbers;
a play on words.
Four and twenty blackbirds baked in a pi—
where others seek out orange skies
magpies bask
in the moon’s blue light cast.
In lieu of magpies in this magenta
of a night,
infinite mosquitoes.
Arrival has its setbacks
large and small.
Rho (Ρ ρ)
Serpentine steps lead to the top
this this Pythagorean theorem of a hill—
testing our fortitude in lieu of muscle;
no cab to hail
to lead to salvation:
You who have kept sacred for me always
the glow of your taxi top burning.
Sigma (Σ σ/ς)
We’re no longer near
where once we were.
Yet the meter is still running.
Tau (Τ τ)
Still, Aphrodite appears at dawn
along with a slight breeze
through the curtains:
Propelled by the fingers
Of memory—memory
As old as the first drop of water—
Fresh from out of the Aegean Sea
As if in an untapped frenzy
As the new day heralds her arrival.
Phi (Φ φ)
Fat cats bask in the sun
while donkeys do the heavy lifting.
No cars, nor mopeds nor bikes allowed—
come to Hydra
and like Leonard Cohen,
meet your Marianne;
write your anthem.
But remember as he penned:
There is a crack in everything,
that’s how the light gets in.
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