Characters frequently appearing in this drama:

• I - your humble narrator, sometime writer, poet, and translator, also journaling as lnhammer and prettygoodword (online pronouns: he/him/his)
• Janni - spouse and writer (online pronouns: she/her/her)
• Eaglet - nom de internet of our child, formerly known as TBD, not yet a writer (online pronouns: they/them/their)

I subscribe to interesting-looking journals to put them on my reading list, with no expectation of reciprocation. Feel free to, but no pressure.

Holy crap, how did I only notice this AFTER posting yesterday’s links?!? The people who brought us Krill Waves Radio posted at the start of last April a 1-hour mix of skeleton shrimp to headbanging to instrumental metal, under the Kriller Waves Radio label.

People. They just invented Brinecore. As an April Fools joke.

And it RULES.

---L.

Subject quote from Let’s Go Crazy, Prince and the Revolution.

This famous post is doing the rounds again:

my favorite thing i’ve learned in college is that way back in ancient china there was this poet/philosopher guy who wrote this whole pretentious poem about how enlightened he was that was like “the eight winds cannot move me” blahblahblah and he was really proud of it so he sent it to his friend who lived across the lake and then his friend sends it back and just writes “FART” (or the ancient Chinese equivalent) on it and the guy was SO MAD he travels across the lake to chew his friend out and when he gets there his friend says “wow. the eight winds cannot move you, but one fart sends you across the lake”

This story is so Chinese.

It’s a real incident, btw: the guy was Su Shi, a Song dynasty poet/artist/essayist/statesman sometimes better known by his art name Su Dongpo, the "friend" was his Chan (Zen) master Foyin, the abbot of a temple across the lake where he was staying, and 屁 means both “fart” and (idiomatically) “nonsense.” Very Zen.

Edit to clarify: Foyin was not just a friend but Su Shi's master, who taught him meditation. Which means my man was crossing the lake to chew out his Zen master, and somehow thought this was going to go well for him. Smh.

---L.

Subject quote from Cruel Summer, Bananarama.

A few musical links, from various traditions:

A 1-hour mix of Chinese lofi tracks from Lofi Girl. Excellent. (via)

A 1-hour mix of jazz arrangements of traditional Iranian music. There’s lots more on the channel. Dig it. (via YT sidebar)

A 2-hour mix of the Pokémon Red/Blue soundtrack covered as Japanese jazz fusion. Ooo-kay then. (via YT sidebar)

---L.

Subject quote from Me and Bobby McGee, Janis Joplin.

For Poetry Monday:

She Says, Being Forbidden:, Leonora Speyer

And was there not a king somewhere who said:
“Back, waves! I do command you!” I forget
His name, beloved, or his race, and yet
I know the story and am comforted.
The tides will rise, are rising—see, they spread
About your robes, your ermine will be wet,
Your velvet shoes, your dear dear feet! Ah let
Me warn you, sir, the waves will reach your head!

My king, my kingly love, how shall we stay
The bold broad lifting of this lovely sea?
What is the master word that we must say
To bring these roaring waters to the knee?
The other king went scampering away!
Will you so do? Or will you drown with me?


Hat-tip to conuly. Ah, Cnut, we hardly recall ye. This is from Speyer’s 1926 collection Fiddler’s Farewell, which won the Pulitzer Prize for Poetry.

---L.

Subject quote from Respect, Aretha Franklin.

For Poetry Monday:

The Llano Estacado, John Poch

How much soil do you plow to soothe a conscience?
If you’re a staked plains, dry-land, long view man:
a sky’s worth. Some even sow the dry playa
mid-summer with sorghum, the cotton plowed under
after early hail. Thus, not every farmer keeps
an old broken homestead sacred as a graveyard.
Today, no Sharpshin on a pivot for an omen,
no stoic farmer on a turn-row changing water.

Among a little wind grit, in a grid on a grid, somewhere
like the crossroads of outer space and Earth, Texas,
a handful of ragged elms withstand a long sway
of heat and wind. These old guards of a home haunt
the field but wither even as ghosts must. Honor them
with a walk among homesick bricks, and prophesy good.


First published in Poetry issue July/August 2009. The Llano Estacado is a large mesa/plateau in west Texas and easternmost New Mexico, extending from Amarillo through Lubbock and down to Odessa. The name is often translated as “staked plain,” with a folk etymologies explaining that its dry grassland is so featureless that Native Americans supposedly put up markers to guide their way (and Coronado famously did find it confusing), but the actual origin is probably “stockaded/palisaded plain,” referring to the escarpments of its eastern and western edges. The sharp-shinned hawk is a common small hawk of the region. The elms, which are not native, would have been grown by a former homesteader by irrigation from wells.

---L.

Subject quote from Dreams, Fleetwood Mac.

(I’ve no idea how much sense this will make if you don’t know the book in question.)

I’ve read Ursula K. Le Guin’s Always Coming Home many times—annually from when I was 16 till my mid-20s, and at least six times (probably more) since then. This time I made an experiment and read it out of order: I skipped Stone Telling’s first two sections until I reached her final section, then with greater social context read it all together, in a single day, before continuing on to the end.

I expected this to not work, but I was curious just how badly it wouldn’t work. The answer is, nowhere nearly as badly as reading chapters of The Dispossessed in internal chronological order, which utterly fails—that story is built around experiencing events in the order given. There is some loss of experience, as between her first and last sections there are pieces expecting you to have read her story beforehand (including a poem by Stone Telling), but it’s not as catastrophic as with The Dispossessed.

And now I know.

One thing that struck me this time: Pandora’s informant about Kesh medical practice is Alder of Chumo and Sinshan—the name Stone Telling’s husband had when she was still Woman Coming Home, who presumably found his third name, Stone Listening, at the same time she did. We don’t know exactly how long Pandora spent on her field studies, but that she has just the one informant suggests it wasn’t years upon years. And yet, the Archivist of the Madrone, when Pandora had only experienced enough of the Kesh to find their concepts of time confusing, knew of Stone Telling’s written narrative. Not a gotcha, but a hmmm.

I want to know more about Giver Ire’s daughter and Ire herself. They reappear more than anyone. Along with Thorn of Sinshan, they may be enough to constitute a reasonable Yuletide request.

(I still wonder how homosexual marriages, which are mentioned in passing only twice, work in practice in a tightly matrilocal culture.) (Pro tip to readers: the soundtrack of music and songs of the Kesh, which was included with the original publication on a cassette tape, is still available on Bandcamp.)

---L.

Subject quote from Freedom! ’90, George Michael.

For Poetry Monday:

Tired, Langston Hughes

I am so tired of waiting.
Aren’t you,
For the world to become good
And beautiful and kind?
Let us take a knife
And cut the world in two—
And see what worms are eating
At the rind.


---L.

Subject quote from Vuelvo al Sur, Astor Piazzolla & Fernando Solanas, though I confess I prefer the Gotan Project cover.

For Poetry Monday:

No Such Thing As the Innocent Bystander, Andrea Gibson

Silence rides shotgun
wherever hate goes.


---L.

Subject quote from The Sounds of Silence, Simon & Garfunkel.

Chinese has a lot of suspiciously specific characters, most of them obscure, though in many cases the suspicion is because they’re the name of an object that’s no longer used, such as 铃, pronounced líng, which is a sort of bell used only for decorating an imperial carriage. And then there’s ones like my favorite: 虯, pronounced qiú, meaning a young dragon old enough to have grown horns.

There are characters that are more suspiciously specific, but this one, I keep circling back, inventing contexts that would require having a word for the concept. I mean, I can see farmers inventing shoat/shote so they can talk specifically about weaned pigs that are less than a year old, and getting them ready for market, but dragons aren’t farmed or hunted, or even fished.

虯 —that’s—huh. Yeah.

---L.

Subject quote from Safely You Deliver, Graydon Saunders.