Posts tagged ‘history’

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April 4, 2010

The showing of humility.

by jhon baker
I found out last night that I may be receiving an award today. 
I was humbled by the knowledge and have now accepted this from Patrick Tillett.

In his words – “Jhon writes some of the best prose and poetry I’ve ever read. Many of his poems have the cadence of a fist fight and hit just as hard. This is no “roses are red, violets are blue” drivel.”

more than the award I love this comment and description of my writing. So First I want to say Thank you to Patrick and provide this link for all my readers to find him. His link will forever be connected to the picture above on the side of my blog as well.

I usually never post on a Sunday unless there is a death but this is a confirmation of life – my life. Today I will post a few things before checking out for the remainder of the weekend.
Patrick Tillett writes about his experiences and life. Quite often fascinating and harrowing. Occasionally funny and bombastic. I love to read his blog and have often found it just what I needed to read when I clicked over.
Again, thank you my friend, I hope you are truly well when you read this as I know you will.

Today’s post.

Today in 1968 James Earl Ray became infamous.
today in 1968 the world loses one of it’s
          greatest lovers.
today in 1968 @ 6:01 PM Martin Luther King Jr.
          went home.

the most peaceful of men,
the most violent of deaths,
the most peaceful of men,
has died for all time.

– Hoc Scripsi

I think there is only this to add now,

Vincent Van Gogh only painted while stable. I skipped my meds yesterday as I fear being too stable. I suppose it would have been hard for him to paint while having fits of seizures and sitting near comatose. I think not seeing the world through these eyes would make all writing difficult.

one more thing, if you will permit me this.
Thank you.

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March 24, 2010

thinking that small, hole in the walls are better for overnights than a Hilton.

by jhon baker

I only wish we had made reservations at some off beat hole in the wall instead of Hilton’s  Hotels. The service leaves much to be desired and there is nothing close to a feeling of comfort for us.
Today we climbed the large hill to the Wright Brothers Memorial and walked the 836 feet that compromised the fourth flight. In all we walked just under three miles according to the folks at the museum. I killed myself doing so and now cannot walk without using two canes instead of the normal one. It is only 4:40 ish and I am ready to go to bed.
I love this Concerto, I only listen to Classical or Jazz when I write, if I listen to anything at all. Hearing others words only obfuscates my own intention. A lot of my work ends up have a tint of a great composer or musician to it, This is also why most of my work is not in a standard meter, Classical fans and Jazz fans usually find the beat.

BRUCH’S V. CONCERTO NO. 1 IN G MINOR

caught up in
Bruch’s violin concerto
no. 1 – in g min., the adagio,
five minutes into
brings tears to eyes
swell to chest
at six minutes a near resolution
but turning, turning
at seven minutes I want
to put a gun to my head,
in my mouth,
but it is only
temporary.

– I wrote this.

The ocean view in this hotel is beautiful and I think that we may stay in tomorrow, skip DC and go home.
Don’t forget to visit here for my Theater Underground publication, titled ‘why don’t they shoot more poets?’  This is possibly my favorite title of my more recent endeavors, and I do believe it. We, as poets, need to be more of a threat to whatever it is that wishes our work to distract the populace.

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March 23, 2010

ntitledU

by jhon baker

NTITLEDU

John Lennon never sounded so
good as when he laid his
guitar against a live amp
walking away with Eric Clapton
following suit.

Federico Garcia Lorca never
was more poetic than
being assassinated either in a darkened
room or while gazing at the moon.

the death poems of Zen masters conveying
a perfect final message while
summing life and making
obsolete the same life.

not fearing death as it has already
located me without seeking.
is this poem the final
perfect summation of?

– I wrote this.

Lewis and Clark started their homeward journey today in 1806, two years after the journey had begun. I miss my wife’s cooking and my own bed. I fell in love with the visceral Appalachians on my way out here and am living in anticipation to begin the journey through them again. but that will have to wait.

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March 10, 2010

1933

by jhon baker

Well, Corey Haim is dead, an OD I guess but I am not going to write about that. He was 38 and knew better, he fucked up, I am unaffected.
What I did think about today is the first time I learned about the Nazi concentration camps. I was quite young, maybe sex or seven, when I saw a tattoo on the forearm of a somewhat random person in a restaurant. I asked about it and learned of the artrocity that this person had gone through. Later in life my sister married into a family contained another survivor, Helena, a wonderful, funny, beautiful lady whose life had seen more horror that I could ever live through. What she told me and witnessed is/was beyond the pale, I had nightmares for weeks and still occasionally remember in horror what she experienced. I will save you the description. These things pain the human in me that shares the same chemical makeup as those killed, tortured, and made witness (it is these my heart breaks most for) – I am also made of the same things as the murderers, torturers, the ugliest of men – I cannot reconcile these things and am unsure that anyone can. Buddhism teaches us that we are all the same, all seeking the same ends, all made of the same things and in the end all our bodies are is a combination of aggregates that make up a reclamation and waste disposal machine. I imagine the monsters that created Dachau and the people held there all had to shit and piss now and then, only the prisoners who were told that work would set them free had to live in theirs. Some of us embody the processing plant that we are better than others.
On today’s date in 1933 the first camp opened in Dachau, truly an infamous day if there ever was one.
Thank you for reading, I had to get that out of my mind.

the moon and sky

the moon and sky:
those are my freedoms now that
they take my freedoms.
the moon and sky:
those are my freedoms now that
there is dispensation.
the moon and sky:
those are my freedoms now that
my voice is giving out.
the moon and sky:
those are my freedoms now that
impertinent children are crying.

the moon and sky:
those are my freedoms now that
there is deprecation.
the moon and sky:
those are my freedoms now that
winter defines the lily.
the moon and sky:
those are my freedoms now that
wars are fought again.
the moon and sky:
those are my freedoms now that
the term ‘freedom’ is censored.

the moon and sky:
those are my freedoms now that
five in the afternoon is forgotten.
the moon and sky:
those are my freedoms now that
I am in pains bondage.
the moon and sky:
those are my freedoms now that
I may be no-ones child.
the moon and sky:
those are my freedoms now that
they take my freedoms.

– I wrote this.

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