Thursday, February 21, 2013

DAVID HASKINS


Death and Other Misconceptions.                                     



I was having a cup of tea when Death tapped me on the shoulder.
- Put on your travellin’ shoes, he said, and come with me.
- Where to?
- Wouldn’t you like to know, he said.

Death drove up in a pink Cadillac.
- Wanna drive?
- I’ll take my Mazda, I said.
- No Mazdas where you’re going, friend.  Only Cadillacs.  Planted nose down in the Cadillac graveyard.  We’re hoping that in spring they’ll sprout up, though they never do.
- Maybe you planted them upside down.

Death rode by in a black carriage drawn by two black horses.  He wore a black cape, and carried a sickle in his belt.
- Coming for me? I shouted as he passed.
- Not if you know where I can find Bergman.  He said he could use a cliche.
- Try the horizon, I said.  There’s a parade going on over there.

Death rode in on a scythe and landed in the hay field.
- Wanna be the centre of your universe? he said.
He ran around me in ever widening circles, flailing at the hay.
- That’s better.  You can’t see it, but from up there it will look really good.
- Is that where I’m going, up there?
- Just your head, he said, wielding his scythe like a battle axe.

Death showed up in a dream, wearing khaki fatigues and dripping sand.
- Time’s up, he said.
- Already? I said.  Can’t you let me sleep in? (I thought he was the sandman.)
- Well alright.  Just set the snooze button.  It’s opening night.  You won’t want to miss the fireworks.

Peter Pan flew in the open window and landed on my bed.
- Wait a minute, don’t tell me.  You’re not really...
- Peter Pan, he said.  I came for my shadow.
- What shadow?
- The Between the a’s and the b’s / Falls the Shadow shadow.  Between life and what’s next Falls the Shadow shadow.  The Shadow of Death, dummy.  Only mine fell... off.
- Did you try down in the valley?
- Funny.  I don’t walk.
- Like Superman.
- Who do you think taught him to fly?

         
Superman flew into the rail on my balcony.
- Hop on, grab onto my legs and I’ll fly you around the city while we listen to soft music and watch the fireworks and imagine we’re in love.
- But you’re a man.
- Super, he said.
- Do you do this often? I asked.
- No, but it’s my birthday, and I need to get out more.  Besides, I made a wish.  Get it?  A death-wish.
- Super, I said.
- There’s no such thing as Superman, you know.  Superman is really just me in a Superman outfit.  I used to dress up as the Grim Reaper on Hallowe’en, but people said, Oh, it’s that guy dressed up as Superman dressed up as the Grim Reaper.

The Angel of Death flew by on black wings, without any clothes.  He swirled his net above my head like a lasso.
- Have you seen my telephone booth?
- There’s one at the end of the tunnel.
- There’s a lot of things at the end of the tunnel.  No good to me, I’m claustrophobic, and besides, my eyes are shot; I can’t take bright light.
- Shall I get it for you? I asked.
- Don’t lie to me.  You just want to go there so you can tell everyone you came back.
- Pot calling the kettle black?

Death beckoned me to cross over to the other side.
- Of what? I asked. Looks the same over there.
- Wait till you get there, he said.
- If you don’t mind, I’ll wait here.

I asked Death
- Why do you get to choose?
- Haven’t you been at a rock concert where you can’t actually hear the bass, you can just feel it jump-start your heart and jiggle your eyeballs, and the bottom drops out of everything normal, and you think God, this is what Death must be like? And then some guy in the band picks up a guitar and strikes the first chord and brings you crashing back into this world. It’s not like the bass quit, it’s just that it’s not the whole story; it drives the story, but it’s not it. That’s Death, man. A bass beat. Deal with it.
- Deal or No Deal. So who comes for you, huh?
- The ice man.

Death’s list of undervalued benefits:
- an end to your student loan, the mortgage, spam, telemarketing calls, and the India Pakistan cricket final. 
- an end to worrying about whether it will rain tomorrow.  No one likes sloshing around in the mud with an AK-47.  Then again, if it doesn’t rain, the Taliban will be killing the coalition soldiers, the Americans will be killing the Iraqis, the insurgents will be blowing up themselves and anyone nearby, the Syrians will be killing each other, the Palestinians and the Israelis will be thinking about killing each other, and I’ll have bigger fish to fry.

Death rode by in a red wheelbarrow.
- I am the source of life, he said.  Depend on it.  It’s not for nothing that death rhymes with breath, or birth, well almost.
- You’re a load of shite, I replied.
- Right, he said.

Death is really a Tarot card, the thirteenth enigma (no variation).
- It’s the twelfth year; Jupiter has turned back toward the constellation of Cancer.  I am the end of an era, he said.
Then he died.
                                                                


The references: How many did you get?

Put on your travellin’ shoes - a Delta Blues tune about death callin’ on a person.    

Cadillac graveyard - in Amarillo, Texas, featured in Life Magazine circa 1961

Ingmar Bergman’s famous scene of Death leading a parade along the horizon in The Seventh Seal, I think.

Obviously, crop circles.

The sandman and fireworks are from Desert Storm

Falls the Shadow - from T S Eliot’s The Hollow Men

Yea though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death - 21st Psalm   

the light at the end of the tunnel - “near death” experiences                        

The Ice Man Cometh - Eugene O’Neil’s play

The effect of weather on war - in Jeremy Clarkson’s column for the Sunday Times

William Carlos Williams’ The Red Wheelbarrow
shite - manure - a traditional symbol of death spawning life

no variation - Elgar’s Enigma Variations

Thursday, January 31, 2013

MARTHA MESHBERG


Me and Vicki  (A monologue)


We were two of those kids that were
what our folks called: ‘tom boys’.

We climbed a lot of trees, and
jumped off a lot of roofs and stole
a few more hens eggs
than we'd like to admit...
We still remember the incredible
ecstatic thrill
(and awesome guilt)
of smashing all them hens eggs
down the side of Isaiah Crippens
brand new tin shed.

Man, those eggs, they'd splat everywhere-
and then they'd ooze
down the side of the shed
all yellow and mucus-like, with chips
and specks- all dripping, gooey, sticky and wet
And wow: how
                 absolutely "fossilized"
                 those eggs became when they dried!

It was just
so coolly disgusting!

And we'd belly laugh loudly,
rolling around on the ground, throwin'
and smashin' them eggs again and again.
But what made it totally "the best" was:
they were Isaiah Crippens's eggs!
(Vickie would raid the coop
while I coolly kept watch...oooo, tsk,tsk,tsk.)

So, we kept this up for a week or two-
always drawn to that dastardly frolic
until one day, in the middle of our reverie,
Mr. Isaiah Crippens himself, made a
surprise appearance on the scene!

He was like a red hot poker
as he came charging our way
and we lit the hell outta there
barely escaping, by the seat of our pants,
scrambling ‘neath the rickety ‘ole fence.

He waved his arms and ranted and yelled,
Swearin’ he was calling the police
to have us put in jail!

Geeze...we ran faster than jack rabbits,
until we fell, scared, exhausted and spent
into the hay loft of Vicki's barn.

We hid out for hours... 'til way past dark...
then parted ways
(with our "stories" straight)
and crept quietly home.

We got through the night
and never did become ‘captives’
of the police.
(Darn good we made our selves scarce.)

Next day, we decided that: after all,
what we were up to, was really wrong.
It was stealin' and wastin’
perfectly good eggs.

‘N besides there were kids in the world
who had nothin' to eat!

So, we humbly apologized
to Mr. Isaiah Crippens
and mercifully paid for the loss
of them eggs
by cleaning Mr. Isaiah Crippens hen house

for two whole months!

We was really sorry for what we done
and went to church
and did a whole lot of prayin'

Well, I guess
we've been forgiven...
it's been all these years

and we ain't NEVER
stole nobody's eggs
er nothin'
EVER AGAIN!

Martha Meshberg
Copyright ©2002

Sunday, January 20, 2013

ED WQODS

Family Name

I fell from grace
a few times
and paid dearly
this is why I lead a path
straight and narrow
as if parents watch over me
not that they demanded
a good citizen
or example child
it was the embarrassment
of our family name
that would send a solid sting
my way to pay attention
to household details

Tuesday, January 15, 2013

Art Waves with Martinus Geleynse

The podcast of the interview is now online at:

 http://archive.org/details/MartinusGeleynseArtWaves175

There is also a brief 'about' section on Urbanicity's website at http://urbanicity.ca/story/


Martinus is one of the bright lights of Hamilton who strives to bring awareness of Hamilton with its many varied faces. Bernadette Rule, the host of Arts Waves, is a well known poet and teacher, originally from Kentucky but residing in Hamilton, Ontario.

Have a listen and enjoy!

Saturday, January 12, 2013

ED WOODS

Coordination


through a hospital window
a parade of jets
coming home
for the night
hours per day
to and from
departure or arrival
far and close
mother lays still
grasping every breath
to last
one more hour
time will be soon
for her departure
to far above the jets
where angels land
coordination
gets each flight
safely home

Sunday, January 6, 2013

MARTY BEERS MESHBERG



 

Martha (Beers) Meshberg


My artistic expression is motivated by my deep love of nature and it's infinite beauty. As well, my devotion to the writings of The Báb, Bahá 'u' lláh, 'Abdu'l-Bahá and the many Holy Texts of the world, inspire and deepen my work.

I am a singer, painter, poet and musician.

 
In my earlier years, (1958-1972 ) I performed professionally with The "Beers Family " Traditional Singers and am now the last surviving member of the Beers Family.

I was a partner in the/Husband/Wife team (Eric and Martha Nagler from the 1970's -'77 and performed solo through the mid 1980s. I have traveled world wide on Cultural Exchange Tours, Concert Stage, Television & Radio and at Music Festivals, Schools and Universities throughout the United States, Canada, India, South America and the Caribbean Islands.

Personal Highlights: CarnegieHall, Lincoln Centre, The White House
I have recorded with Columbia Masterworks, Folk Legacy, Biograph, Philo, and Fox Hollow Productions.

Though I no longer perform, The music and many memories of the rich rewards of travel through-out the world among many cultures, is one of the motivating factors of my art and poetry. I am currently preparing a volume of poetry for publication.
 
Editor's Note: Marty currently resides in Toronto, Ontario with her husband.

ALBERT MAGSUCI

Night Spirit
 

Here amid the trees
light and shadow
bathe the night.

The cool wind blows
lends comfort
an air of quietness enhances my spirit
a dream-like trance touch my senses
my shadow dances
as I walk within the park.

This cold somber
December breeze
swirls around my ears
audibly in melodious harmony
the rustling leaves whisper
"Come, cease your dreams
for a moment of solitude".

Oh Night Spirit
ease my day's burden,
let me find peace
and be one with nature,
a night alone with thee.

 
Albert Magsuci
January 6,2013