From Panama to Cambridge

In my country of Panama it is a tradition to move out every so many years for an extended period of time. In honoring my country's tradition, I have moved to Cambridge, Massachusetts for a stay of unknown length at this time.
I don't mean to be secretive, but, as we say in Panama, too much information given is too much information received.
Wise words from the most wonderful place on earth.
Let's just say that I've chosen one of the more prestigious art schools for the location of my new residence.
I am fortunate.
I am surrounded by beautiful watercolors, sketches, photography, paintings and portraits.
Celebrated artists come here every Monday night to share in the exuberance of creation!
I may even grow a beard while I am here.
I may learn to play the lute.
I may decide to strive for a better translation of Tolstoy.
I won't be incognito, if I tell you more.
Perhaps those of you who really need to be in touch will persuade me to reveal my exact location.

Eduardo

ANGELICA

I just finished reading Angelica by Arthur Phillips. If you love traditionally wrought fiction loaded with conflicts and final resolutions, so that the fate of all the characters is revealed by the end of the story, forget this novel. Angelica has been described as a cross between Rashomon and The Turning of The Screw. It is a story told by an initially unrevealed narrator. There are four segments to the novel; actually four novels within a novel. We read the first character's reality and we are left with certain, fairly fixed perspectives. Then we move on to the other three points of view, and we are suddenly never too sure of what is real, what is imagined, who's "right," who the villain is, whose narration is closer to the truth, if indeed the truth can ever be learned. So if you can't deal with irresolution, then don't even start this book.
But as a literary novel it certainly pleases. There are so many issues examined in this setting of Victorian society, from vivisection to male and female sexual roles, to spiritualism, to mystery, to science vs. the metaphysical that there is never a loss of interest. Occasionally the narration bogs down, particularly if you soon realize that it is headed toward a dead end of not knowing what's what. But the speculation more than makes up for the certainties we may seek. In fact, this is a novel that should be read twice, so that you can examine each point of view with a keener eye, so that you can decide on your take of events and find the narrative clues to support it. I'm not sure if the author has made it possible to do this with any certainty. But, that's exactly what he intended!

Anonymous Bosch

Burnt Sienna

Burnt Sienna is still sienna,
Singed in one of three degrees.
Is first the worst?
Or third to fear
When sear is no longer sienna.


Sesquicentennial

Sesquicentennial -
One hundred years minus, plus a few.
Or else shaped into geometrical form.
Modified, museumed, mausoleumed;
More interesting than biennial
As puzzling as quadrihedron
Alas, not as bad as quasiheathen.
To say nothing of Tipi Hedron.


Facings

Your impassive face speaks
Through my inference.
I read into and about it
In vexing speculation.
Oh, wear your heart upon your sleeve;
And show me implications, Face!


Horse Sense

Slip shod
One horse shay
Horse poorly shod
Surely slips
The wagon breaks apart
And we wonder why we tumble out.


Sixteen and Counting

Lincolnesque -
In form, in action, perhaps
Not always, exactly in fashion.
A quality devoutly
To be wished.
Obamaesque, Arabesque
Think Gettysburg, Inaugural Two -
Slaves whose chains are broken.
One man can make the center hold?
Bold!
William Butler sound retreat!
No, wait. The century sorely sags.

In Extremis

Olive slips upon my tongue;
Adheres in repetition:
Olive, olive, O-Live.
Omega oils and dry martinis.
To live is to embrace extremes.
Oh, live within the middle, Fool!
Middlemarch, Bourgeoisie
Petit and otherwise.
Bring many martinis
On this happiest of hours.
And hold every goddam olive.

Anonymous Bosch

Germanic Rumination


Of Prussia I am confused
I seek old maps to find its where
A Google, and there it is.
Prussian armies, Old Kingdoms,
Dotted lines.
A northern slice of Germany?
Hessians, Prussians - One in same
Who helped, who hurt our Revolution?
King of Prussia, Pennsylvania
What's with that?


Is It the Mother Board?

Suspend your animation,
An inner voice decrees.
Means movement and routine
Abide on sparse electricity.
Lowered amperage,
Weakened wattage
Walk, run, sleep, cry -
All settings default to
Depression
A brain gone slightly,
Awfully awry.


Puppet Tear

I've fallen --
Don't you pick me up!
I've bootstraps
Here somewhere.
Never used, never worn
Unlaced --
Hence, I've fallen.

Don't lift me, please!
There are rosebuds here
Upon the fallen ground
To gather, while I may
Only my goddam bootstraps
Are in the way.

What's this?
You tack my boostraps
To my arms and legs
All straps lead to a board
Upon your palm.
Remember though,
I'm yours forever
Once a marionette.

Back in Panama

I am most happy to report that I am solidly back in Panama. Don't know whatever possessed me to go to Mumbai. We do drink heavily here in the Canal Zone, as you probably guessed if you've read the recent addition to Jeanne's blog. I've stopped devolving, by the way. The Panama sun has scorched the remains of any absinthe that was left in my body. It's good to be clean, straight, and back on the wagon.

Mumbai Bound

To all of my faithful readers, you are the first to know that it's time for a change.
I'm moving once again.
After watching the Oscars last night, I became inspired.
I have seen the movie, Slumdog Millionaire quite some time ago.
And I've been aware of the buzz all around it.
It only cost 14 million to make.
It has already earned over 100 million. And this is before tonight's Oscar.
It elevates India as the new place to go for those of us ever searching for a Promised Land here on Earth.
Mumbai. I had to place pebbles in my mouth in order to pronounce it. Ah, the Greeks knew how to settle elocution issues.
But it's also Bombay!!
This is exciting. ---Where am you headed, you ask?
--- To Mumbai! (be careful of the spewing pebbles.)
---Say where?
---To Bombay!
---But I thought you said....
---I've swallowed the last of the pebbles, fool, so from here on in, it's Bombay!

Then, I notice the look of awe that comes over you. You like my esprit. You think, hhmm, didn't he just settle into Panama? And I nod, but tell you I am taken up with the spirit of Slumdog Millionaire. I am ready for Inja's sunny clime. I intend to place myself exactly in the spot where "it's at." I always do. I will be like a giant spanning bridge connecting the Old India with the New. The evolutionary link between Bombay and Mumbai!!

I will not be discouraged by any poverty I find there. Lord knows I've seen it in Panama. Yes, but you say that there is nothing as desolate as India's downtrodden. Well, I reply. I'll just go on the Indian version of Who Wants To Be A Millionaire, like the young boy in the movie did. It will be life imitating art imitating life imitating reality show, imitating legitimate show, imitating what's left of the rot we have to watch on T.V.

Ask Jeanne. She knows how much trivia my teeming brain contains. There probably won't be a love story attached to my appearing on the show like there was in the movie, but it doesn't matter, this will be the version for the rest of us. I will walk away a millionaire. I will lavish money and beauty on my little corner of Mumbai. And, by then, it will probably be time to move.

The View from Panama

To all of you who have faitfully been following my Blog:
Yes, it has been a long time since the last entry here.
Why? You ask.
I've been moving to Panama, where I currently reside somewhere in one of the many meandering bends of The Canal.
I had to jump a cruise ship to establish residence.
I landed in a wonderful spot on The Canal.
Thank God we gave it back.
But there are so many Americans here with me that I think there is a plan afoot to reclaim it.
Fortunately, I am able to access the The Hampshire School of Art from my computer here.
I don't know what I'd do without it.
I am currently reading a wonderful anthology put together by Joyce Carol Oates. Love the author and you'l love her choices in the anthology. I've discovered so many excellent writers through this large volume.
For those of you who hang on my every word and recommendation, the official title is:
The Ecco Anthology of Contemporary American Short Fiction. (Not to be confused with Eccho La Barba, the famous opera) Slections are by Joyce Carol Oates and Christopher R. Beha. I think he was included so that he could pick a story by Joyce Carol Oates, since it might have looked a bit egotistical for her to include herself. Although, I personally, do not see any wrong in that.
One of my favorite authors thanks to Kirk is Charles Baxter, and he's included.
Others, including Manny: Pinckney Benedict (No relation to Arnold), T.C. Boyle, whose short stories are better than his novels, E.L. Doctorow, also easier on the eye in the short story genre, Deborah Eisenberg, Louise Erdrich, William Gay, Antonya Nelson...just to name a few and not the entire contents page.
I'm hoping that if any of you are around The Canal in the near future, please jump ship, come visit me. I'm not difficult to find. Keep looking for the giant "I support The Hampton Street Art School" poster near the water's edge.
Jim, just one of La Perdutta Gente