To thine own self be true

It all went well
till I got to the end
of Thompson Drive
which ran out of houses
at the edge of the prairie.

No 518. Thompson proper
began in the 400s.
In -30 I trudged
aimlessly
back and forth on Ness
wondering at the glitch:
a customer without
an actual house.

Some 15 minutes
until I noticed a black speck
a football field away
across the barren field.
Could that, irrationally,
be it? It was north
of 400s after all.

The Arctic wind blew
unforgiving from the North
raising snow to
sting and freeze my face
but I got there.
The iron numbers frostily
upon the house: 518.

And was welcomed
by a bent, suspendered man
with thick green glasses:
Mr. Steele, Francis.
Frank, his wiry wife
called him.
She was Dorothy–
Dot, in that last year before
the old guy’s death.

They insisted I come in
and sat me by the window
with a hot drink
looking back toward civilization.
They were grateful
I had come bringing
the news of the world.
The new carrier.

I sat and listened to them
quietly argue for 20 mins.
The old man was nice
and congenial.
She did what he told her
but I wouldn’t have
trusted her for a minute.

Another strange beginning
that winter of yore
being taken in abruptly
to that isolated life.
I wondered at how
they survived
and walking back, realized
why the previous carrier
had quit the route
after Christmas tips.
…………………………

If you check Google view of 518 Thompson Dr., Wpg, you’ll see that a street goes right through where that little house on the prairie was in the late ’50s. That and a light pole and a red fire hydrant. All that’s left of 518, Steeles, and my paperboy youth.

This here skating biz,
it`s enough to put anyone
on edge.
Bladed ballet for some–
kissing ice for me.

My program is necessarily
a short one: squeezed feet
& aching sacro-iliac.
My style arched & forever
braced for collision.

Free skating–that`s me for sure.
It costs nothing to watch me
circle a pond monotonously.
Nothing fancy–no spins
jumps or lifts.

I love to take the air,
but know too well
the gravity of my situation.

I prefer my etchings on paper,
safe, solitary– a dance on flat white.
Rask, rask–my pen scrawls.

Far safer for everyone, I figure.
Who needs trials or stress fractures?
There`s enough ice & theatre elsewhere.

Still I dig my novice status,
something about lacing up those Bauers
& the piped-in oldies.

To say nothing of the prospect
of going solo again on
the Lake Placid of my brain.

…………………………………………….

Lake Placid-–past scene of a famous winter Olympics

Written and read at a Stroll of Poets event on a rink stage during a national ice skating tournament at the Northlands Agricom. As said earlier, some roles suit us and some we do in our limited individual ways. Ice skating, as seen on the sports channel, is a bladed ballet for some and very much a performance, like so many things we do in life. Writing this poem and writing, period, is a similar ‘risky’ performance–I’m probably better at that than when I’ve been on skates in the past. And yet it was fun to read at the event and to write a poem for it; in short, to imagine and perform vicariously. But as Dirty Harry said, “A man’s got to know his limitations.”

(for J. Merrick, 1862-90)

Wearing his Sunday best
the thing sits upright
on his bed beside
the open black dressing bag.
His smooth girl’s hand
gently strokes the razor
shoehorn & cigarette case–
the mirror long since removed.

Picking up a brush
he combs the wispy hairs
of his cauliflower head–
fancies himself a lover
in cool evening shadows.
From overgrown lips
come no spluttering noises–
only poetry & affectionate song.
(The lady in question
accepts his proposal.
They marry in a cardboard church
which Joseph has constructed.)

The reverie passes–
the thing sighs.
Lonelier than ever
he limps about his cell
gazing at the bric a brac
his noble friends have sent him.
Sitting by a casement
he looks to the sky
his child-like soul thirsting
for vistas, woods & lawns unseen:
birds, fish & flowers.

Then tired of pining
& out of time & hope
he lies down on the bed
‘like other people’
& closes his woeful eyes.
In his latest dream
he beholds asylums for the blind
& distant lighthouses
twinkling in the dark.

…………………………

One of several of my poems read on then-London, Ontario’s Sheila Martindale ’80s radio program Cabbages and Kings. My own passions in the ’80s were coalescing then with empathy and Keatsian “Negative capability” at the time this poem was composed.

John Merrick or Joseph Merrick (his birthname) suffered from the horribly disfiguring neurofibromatosis, a condition which left him with a strange mix of physical features. He did very much want to be a Victorian gentleman and was incredibly shy around women. He dreamed of romance and did, in fact, make cardboard churches. He was also visited by prominent Victorians who brought him gifts such as bric-a-brac. His final act was to lie stretched out on the bed “like other people” (his words), something which caused major internal injury, killing him.

It is important for us to remember that the handicapped, like those more fortunate, also have dreams and passions which motivate and keep them going in incredibly challenging circumstances. If I was to boil down what might be the most basic or fundamental human factor or element, it would be imagination, dreams, and passions.

(Recommended–Lemon flavor,  Shakespeare’s visage on every wrapper; Accoutrements, Seattle)

“Follow your bliss.” ”Live from your own centre.’”–Joseph Campbell

“Since in the world of time every man lives but one life, it is in himself that he must search for the secret of the Garden.”–Loren Eiseley

Alienation is a word which was very popular and in wide use in the 1960s. For example, “blacks in the United States are alienated from whites and should have the vote” or “Women are being alienated by male-dominated society by being underpaid”. Usually, then, the alienation called for and resulted in a variety of social changes–long-forgotten and taken for granted by subsequent generations in the decades that followed.
Alienation, then, often referred to the generation gap and the quite different experiences and behaviors of young and old.

The sense of the term alienation has long–going back to early modern thinkers–such as Fromm and Kierkegaard–referred to a significant separation between social, ethic, and gender groups as well as what might be referred to as ‘personal alienation’.
Personal alienation would refer to the sense and experience of being alienated from others–ironically, today in a wrap-around world of 24/7 smartphones, e-mail, and texting. In some ways these e-devices have made it possible for us to be and remain instantly connected, but do they give us a true closeness beyond a lot of ‘me-ness’ and otherwise, practical, convenient communication?

By and large, our experiences are best known by/to ourselves, no matter how many or how much others may ‘walk in our shoes’. Conversely, we may empathize and even sympathize with others, and have some sense, perception, understanding, or appreciation of their condition, but this will never be exactly, fully, the same as/identical to the actual felt and known experience of someone else. In other words, we are in a permanent state of isolation or alienation from one another–a fact that that usually becomes obvious when someone we know commits a serious crime, gets a divorce, or has a large agenda or crisis we were previously unaware of.

So the question quickly becomes, “Despite whatever apparent connectedness, how close are people really?” or “To what degree are people alienated from others in their lives?” (as in ‘how much alienation’)?

So the further question then becomes one of actual closeness and depth of connection or connectedness with someone else or others. How truly close are people beyond their roles in family, with spouses, friends, workmates, and other groups of people generally speaking?

There is, of course, much restlessness ‘out there’ today in the contemporary scene, that is, lots of ‘lost souls’, unhappy, chronically dissatisfied folks with (and here’s the cue for the next subtopic) many or large ’missing pieces’?

Alienation, finally, comes down to alienation from self. Those who are restless and incomplete or unhappy are usually separated from their dreams or goals. They are leading false, fakey lives which are largely just roles and performances. In other words, they’re living on and for surfaces, for images, for various self-delusions that often keep them going in some kind of permanent state of alienation from who they really are. In my opinion, roles and performance are easily about 80% minimum of what passes for daily life and immediate purpose and necessity.

Can one be authentic and true to oneself constantly and perpetually playing roles (in public, so to speak)? I think not, especially if following one’s bliss is not reflected in those surfaces. I think that only when one drops the roles and to, some extent, drops out, to find out who one is, without societal or work distraction, can one really begin to understand better ‘who I am’.

Life is a lot easier when one knows, mostly, their own self and identity, when one is listening to and acting out of one’s soul and spirit more simply and directly. Ironically, this may mean or lead to more social isolation or alienation, but to a large extent, that does not matter if one is more fully true to oneself–without kowtowing, masking, or pretending to others–a large %age of what passes for typical social interaction, And without projecting onto others authority and responsibility for one’s own unique, time-limited, ephemeral, ever-changing life. Basically, assuming authorship for one’s self and one’s own life.

Only then will the alienation within cease or be no more. Only then, free of unnecessary, distracting, limited/limiting people, conflicts and contexts, will one ever be truly free and autonomous.

………………………………..

“I must create a system or be enslaved by another man’s.”–William Blake

“The goal of the hero’s journey is yourself, finding yourself.”–Joseph Campbell

(reprint of Jan 27, 2013 entry)

Basically, what life’s about–those transitory, ephemeral possibilities which an individual chooses or passes on. Very seldom does the same opportunity knock twice. The riskiest and most alive feelings and experiences are those which occur when one accepts and makes the positive choice rather than hemming and hawing, second-guessing oneself, or just plain being lazy or cowardly. (And, thus, life sweeps by and often with it the best that might be or could have been.)

As quoted earlier in this blog, there is nothing quite so real as the things that one has actually done and the pleasurable self-actualizing choices one has made. In the end, we are most responsible for the scripts of our lives and our own personal happiness. True, attitude plays a big role, but so does the readiness for making things happen, and for choosing possibilities that bring pleasure or which may enhance one`s quality of inner life.

There will always be regrets and missed opportunities along the road anyway, but life process boils down to the choices and actions we did choose which made our lives what they are and have been.

…………………………………………

“What a man essentially is is revealed by the record of what he has done, and by what he is trying to make of himself at any given moment.”–Northrop Frye, “Myth I”
(reprint of April 7/2014 entry)

retired from teaching. Never a day of regret about regaining full control of my life and days. In the end, despite whatever sacrifices and losses, Freedom remains the best value of all. Calling one’s own shots, making one’s own personal choices without having to kowtow to stupid people, self-deluded power-hungry types, and people or organizations who could care less whether you live or die.

skin hacks.

(Polysporin under a band-aid overnight or use of O’Keefe’s Working Hands hand cream usually keep the hacks at bay during January, the worst month.)

(Another recommended, rare, interesting Kultur DVD)

This 2004 ‘talking heads’ video directed by Bill Hughes for Amnesty International is a collection of Wilde quotes and excerpts read by over 150 well-known media personalities, musicians (Philip Glass, Annie Lennox, Bono) and actors (Martin Sheen, Edward Asner, Geoffrey Rush. Liam Neeson). The memorable, impressive humour, wit, truth, and wisdom of Wilde is quite impressive; there is no question that he was and remains an important, seminal figure whose life and art can be assessed and appreciated by his words alone. Many memorable and obscure quotes are featured throughout. A treat for the Wilde fan or anyone who doubts his philosophical greatness.

What is left is a shell of surfaces with virtually no meaningful subject matter, ideas, critical thinking, or significant learning that increases or maximizes the possibilities and dimensions of a student’s life. The remaining political correct application and delivery system is devoid of any common sense and is a totally irrational deconstruction of anything that once had value in positive, constructive educational systems. In short, education has lost its way big-time and is a mere slave to political correctness and technology, ignorantly assuming that these two are the supreme prime goals of education. These two incredibly narrow agendas have crippled and decimated any remaining common sense, and any potential significant purpose for any students who would have been, otherwise, potential seekers of truth and wisdom in the old Robert Hutchins sense. Education is just a narrow base of propaganda now with a blind, ignorant allegiance to the phony authority of technology. So much for limitless possibilities, a vision of Truth and Beauty and a realization of personally and socially enriching, civilized perspectives and values.