From “The Scratching Post”:Playing softball

By Ken Marks

[Opening from the original on The Scratching Post, August 26, published here by permission of the author.]

I’m immunocompromised. It’s a fancy way of saying that my immune system is weak. There are 1.2 million others in the U.S. like me. Many of them were born that way, or they contracted AIDS, cancer, or diabetes. Not me. I chose to take drugs that would cause the condition. It’s not because I’m a self-destructive madman. I had no choice. It was 2017, and I had just received heart and kidney transplants. I rejoiced that I would have more birthdays, but I was aware of a nasty downside: my immune system would never accept the new organs; it would work ceaselessly to reject them. If I wanted to keep the organs, the only known solution was to make my immune system less efficient. And so the drugs.
    Our current Covid vaccines all do basically the same thing. They cause the immune system to make Covid antibodies, which keep the virus from taking hold. But if you have a compromised immune system, it will make an insufficient number of Covid antibodies, and possibly none at all. Everyone with a transplanted organ is stuck with this Catch-22.

[Read the whole thing on The Scratching Post.]

Copyright © 2021 by Ken Marks Ken Marks was a contributing editor with Paul Clark & Tom Lowe when “Moristotle” became “Moristotle & Co.” A brilliant photographer, witty conversationalist, and elegant writer, Ken contributed photographs, essays, and commentaries from mid-2008 through 2012. Late in 2013, Ken birthed the blog The Scratching Post. He also posts albums of his photos on Flickr.

Iceage (a novel): Chapter 3. Deep Freeze

A work in progress.
Chapters will be posted
as they are written.

The first year of the freeze wasn’t that bad. The wild game were still close enough that we had plenty of meat, and the crops were doing very well. The Balkars were a gift from God. They had hunted animals on the mountain for years. They knew every trail and hiding place. We came across a wide, grass-covered area in the middle of the ice field where the magnum from the volcano was close to the surface. It was like a green oasis. It gave us hope that some of the game would stay close to that food. But for that to happen, the other predators would have to go.

All Over the Place: The Set of Her Body

By Michael H. Brownstein

I look at the set of her body, the style of range, the linoleum on the patio, the robin’s nest in the eave of the front porch, the wino sipping whiskey out of a glass bottle in a paper bag on the front stoop. She is afraid to go outside until he leaves. I go outside and sit next to him.

Acting Citizen: Trio of Trumpism’s Comic Tragedies

By James Knudsen

Eight months into President Biden’s first term, millions of Americans remain convinced that:

1. Biden is not the legitimate President and COVID isn’t real, but if you are feeling a little under the weather, horse de-wormer is the remedy you want, and
2.  “If things stop being normalish and don’t get worse, we will make ’em worse, ’cuz we’ve been preppin’ for over a decade and if we don’t start in on that pallet of pork ’n beans, they’re gonna spoil.”

    All this has some of us wondering, “What is the endgame for these folks?” As luck would have it, I have been able to find out.

Interview: The Jeff City Five

Poets in Collaboration

Bob Boldt

Michael H.
Brownstein

Dick Dalton

Kurt Groner

Maik Strosahl

Interviewed by Moristotle

Of the five poets pictured above, you’ll likely recognize Bob Boldt, Michael H. Brownstein, and Maik Strosahl as staff members of Moristotle & Co. Dick Dalton & Kurt Groner are new to us by virtue of having participated in the collaboration “When We Were Savages,” which appeared here over the last five days. In this interview, I hope to investigate that collaboration.
    Welcome, Jeff City Poets, and thanks for agreeing to be interviewed!
    My questions are set in italics, and each of you is invited to speak up and be heard.

When We Were Savages – V (A collaborative poem by five Jeff City Poets)

V. Who Really Were the Savages?

By Maik Strosahl

At Circus World in Baraboo,

we played the freaks,
we were the baboons,
the ferocious feline

stalking the bars of a cart,

back and forth,
while mom laughed,
snapping pictures
of her captured monsters.

When We Were Savages – IV (A collaborative poem by five Jeff City Poets)

IV. I Transform….

By Dick Dalton

Black
as moonless nights
without stars
I glisten
with diamonds of sweat.
Caged
in the land of the free
I transform…
coming soon
to the home of the hypocrite.

When We Were Savages – III (A collaborative poem by five Jeff City Poets)

III. Minik Wallace
(c. 1890 – Oct. 29, 1918)

By Bob Boldt

I lie here, one in a sea
of cots and coughing bodies,
heaving our last.

I lie, Minik, the first and last,

Inuit son of a mighty hunter.

When We Were Savages – II (A collaborative poem by five Jeff City Poets)

II. Ishi
(c. 1861 – March 25, 1916)

By Kurt Groner

I was a man of no name, from the Yahi people,

people who were brought to an end with the rush for gold

My people were no more, the last died at Three Knolls

I went to hide in the wilderness

When found by the white men,

my wrists were bound—

I just smiled and gave them no fight

When We Were Savages – I (A collaborative poem by five Jeff City Poets)

I. Ota Benga
(c. 1883 – March 20, 1916)

By Michael H. Brownstein

I was the hunter of elephants—

I fed my village for weeks at a time—

but I made two mistakes:

I welcomed the men with no skin

and I did not die a warrior’s death

when they killed everyone in my clan.

I fought hard and took many of them
before they captured me whole.
Why did they not kill me?
They told about lessons to be learned,
but they underestimated a hunter of elephants.

Iceage (a novel): Chapter 2. The Beginning

A work in progress.
Chapters will be posted
as they are written.

The wind was out of the North as we stepped from the barracks where that the Russians had housed us. We now faced what would be our new existence; Russia was an unforgiving place. The people had existed under the rule of the Tsar and communism. But the weather was the real test and they had survived even that. Now it was our turn.
    You can mistrust or even hate a government, but that is not the people. We were welcomed with warmth and friendship as the helicopter landed. Over a hundred people waited on the ground for our arrival. We brought business and much-needed money, but they could have been there even without a warm welcome, that was just special to us. I turned to Professor Upwight and asked, “Who are these people? Are they Russian?”

Goines On: Shortcut to 1976

Click image for more vignettes

The night following Goines’ successful experiments with shifting to past years from the 2021 calendar, his thoughts were troubled. Why was he even thinking about this? What did it gain him – or anyone else? As a painter had said to him when he touted his calendar mnemonic to her, “Just consult a calendar for the year in question!”
    And anyway, when did anyone even need to know what day of the week a date in some other year fell on? Wasn’t this mnemonic thing just a parlor trick? Poets – like that painter who hadn’t been impressed – concerned themselves with trees and flowers, light and shade, human and geological history, man’s failings and successes, life and death. 

Highways and Byways: Murder Creek

By Maik Strosahl

After you get your CDL, you find out you really don’t know very much about driving a semi. Most companies that hire drivers who have just acquired their license require them to spend a certain amount of time being trained by an experienced driver. I started my own such training in May of 2018.

Goines On: Those elusive leap years

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In the few days remaining before their flight to California, Goines wondered whether the solution to the problem of calculating the day of the week for dates in past or future years might be a lot simpler than he had been imagining. What if he just used his mnemonic for the current year (“Mi Ki Ko Ranch” rattles Miquel) and then “shifted” to the year of the date in question?
    The calendar for next year varies from this year’s calendar by starting either 1 day or 2 days later in January, depending on whether this year is, or is not, a leap year (2021 is not). Leap years have 366 days, or 35 weeks plus 2 days. Last year’s calendar starts a day or two earlier in the week for the same reasons. Goines wasn’t going to solve this before they left, so he tried to stop thinking about it and finish packing.

All Over the Place: Water and a Lack of Wire

By Michael H. Brownstein

Stress lines are not the stretch marks of love

the way a man is more notable from the outside

as if chicken wire can drill barbs into skin,

bring the power of anger against the scrotum,

the one point arteries open like clothing,

one lover to another, a moment of passion
an anger we do not need to know, but do.
Hang the foreskin from the flaps of the window,

bury the femur in piles of ash,
tear holes in the hairline for a mask.
Eventually everything is mad cow disease,
corn sugar, processed food, tiny parasitic worms.

Copyright © 2021 by Michael H. Brownstein Michael H. Brownstein’s volumes of poetry, A Slipknot Into Somewhere Else and How Do We Create Love?, were published by Cholla Needles Press in 2018 & 2019, respectively.

From the Alwinac: Encore: More Music by Ernst Jonas

[Click on image to
go directly to
the Alwinac’s home page]

[The Alwinac blog is part of the schroeder170 project, honoring the life and musical career of cellist Alwin Schroeder (1855-1928) and exploring the history of cello playing in the US.]


Back in June, I kicked off my series on Boston Symphony cellist-composers with a post on Ernst Jonas. Today I am excited to share another lovely Jonas piece, his Romance, Op. 36.

Listen to the Jonas Romance
Sheet music for the Romance

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Read (and listen) on….

Copyright © 2021 by Geoffrey Dean

Goines On: Fifth-wheeler

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Goines’ wife cautioned him, “Just think things like asking your primary care physician about cannabis (don’t waste her time). Or just think things like referring to me or someone else as your primary care ‘provider’ (which could be misconstrued). Just think such things, don’t act on them.”
    Goines would have to think long and hard about this, and might conclude he would have to take her advice…and act on it.

Goines On: King Kannabis

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The third time Goines drove past the King Kannabis shop in Coos Bay, a fun thought arose and he didn’t restrain himself from emoting to his wife, “Hey, you know what. Oregon has legalized cannabis and we’re here in Coos Bay with our kids and their spouses, so we ought to all have some cannabis, don’t you think?”
    “No, ought not!” exclaimed Mrs. Goines. “You don’t know what adverse reactions there might be with your meds.”
    Goines agreed that he did not know. “Well, then, I know what: I’ll message my doctor and ask her!”
    “How would she know? I’m sure she hasn’t studied medications’ interactions with cannabis.”

Highways and Byways: Fiji Musume (The Wisteria Maiden)

By Maik Strosahl

Earlier this year, Carolyn Files, a creative friend of mine, posted a picture of the wisteria in her back yard. She knows I am a sucker for a good photo, but in reality it was her comment that got me working on a piece.
    I met Carolyn on Facebook through Sandra Nantais, who has provided me with many pieces for inspiration. Carolyn commented on several of those pieces and through conversations, also started providing me with inspiration.

From the Alwinac: The Schroeder Brothers at Ballenstedt: Travel Log, Part 2

[Click on image to
go directly to
the Alwinac’s home page]

[The Alwinac blog is part of the schroeder170 project, honoring the life and musical career of cellist Alwin Schroeder (1855-1928) and exploring the history of cello playing in the US.]


On Saturday, August 10, 2019, we drove into the northern Harz Mountain town of Ballenstedt, once the seat of the Duchy of Alhalt-Bernburg and very near to Brocken peak, of witch- and ghost-story fame. We reached the local Tourist Office at its specified opening hour, and found it…closed. Undeterred, we walked past a bear-themed fountain (bears are big in Ballenstedt thanks to a 12th-century member of the local count's family, nicknamed Albert the Bear) and made our way up the tree-lined Schlossallee (at top left beyond the bear in the first photo, below) to Ballenstedt Castle, where the Dowager Duchess Friederike (1811-1902, seen in the second photo as painted by 19th-century Ballenstedt artist Caroline Bardua) had once inhabited the south wing (visible beyond the castle courtyard gate in the third photo) and, from 1868 to 1871, listened to chamber music performed by her resident string quartet, the Schroeder Brothers: Hermann, Franz, Alwin, and Carl (see Friederike’s music room in the fourth photo).

_______________
Read on….

Copyright © 2021 by Geoffrey Dean

From the Alwinac: Faux-Farewells: Schroeder Travel Log, Part 1

[Click on image to
go directly to
the Alwinac’s home page]

[The Alwinac blog is part of the schroeder170 project, honoring the life and musical career of cellist Alwin Schroeder (1855-1928) and exploring the history of cello playing in the US.]


Two years ago to the day, I went on a weekend road-trip with my good friend from our IU-Bloomington days, Berlin-based composer Petros Ovsepyan, to several Alwin-Schroeder-associated spots in the Harz and Thuringia regions of Germany. Our first stop was originally the astonishingly well-preserved Medieval town of Quedlinburg, the birthplace of Schroeder’s mother and older brothers, but the road signs to Haldensleben persuaded us to exit earlier, toward Alwin’s own birth-town.
    A major landmark in Haldensleben is the statue of Roland atop a horse, in front of the town hall in the central market square. During their time there (1854-1863), the Schroeder family never lived more than three blocks away from this square, and the ready-to-ride Roland—a depiction unique to Haldensleben, among the many German towns where stone Rolands stand guard—correlates well with the traditionally itinerate town musician. Schroeder’s father Carl, a capable performer on both string and wind instruments with a preference for viola and clarinet, seems to have been adept at walking the fine line between serving his local patrons and asserting his freedom to either stay in Haldensleben or to pack everything up and move on.

_______________
Read on….

Copyright © 2021 by Geoffrey Dean

Goines On: Table manners

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At lunch, after Goines had finished cutting up all of the raviolis in his bowl in preparation to begin eating, Mrs. Goines told him that when they dined with their children next month, he was not to do that.
    “Do what, exactly?”
    “Cut up everything before you start. Do just one at a time.”
    “It would embarrass you for me to do that?”
    “Yes.”
    Goines considered this for a moment, and in a spirit of conciliation he agreed. “What else should I refrain from doing? Maybe you should coach me before we make that trip. I could take notes.”

Goines On: Stress junkie

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Goines told Bic he needed to finish the flyer that he was helping Bic with because the Goineses were going out of town for a week. Bic told him not to “stress himself” – if he didn’t finish before they left, it was okay. But the phrase brought Goines the realization that he wanted to get the job done before they left. Bic had just triggered the insight that when it comes to positive, creative stress, Goines was a junkie. He loved creative stress, he needed it!

All Over the Place: The Reach of Heaven Holds Many Kinds of Souls

By Michael H. Brownstein

and there go dream streams, popsicles of color,

rude shapes of violet red scarlet green,

ghosts of skin, happy teeth, excited eyes,

sand filling hourglasses, every hour of our lifetime.

Still the course is clearly marked, the inlet set,

the island chained between two paths of river.

Spring comes again into our consciousness,
the tall hickory, a Rose of Sharon, thick oak.
A jaybird stranded last November
welcomes the songbirds surrounding her
and we who have one gold coin fixed in our hand
let it fall onto earth to become seed.
None of us wishes to pay for safe crossing.

Copyright © 2021 by Michael H. Brownstein Michael H. Brownstein’s volumes of poetry, A Slipknot Into Somewhere Else and How Do We Create Love?, were published by Cholla Needles Press in 2018 & 2019, respectively.

Highways and Byways: Women of the Tempest

By Maik Strosahl

Last fall, an artist friend of mine who goes by the moniker Uni Verse posted a picture he painted to address the disappearance of Native American women from across the west and Canada. It was an issue I was not familiar with, but I had been driving through and around several reservations in Nebraska, so it caught my attention.

All Over the Place: The LSC Candidate From Hell

From My Teaching Book

By Michael H. Brownstein

We’re back in school for a couple of weeks and now it’s the first Local School Council meeting for the year. I’m not excited. Last meeting (I wasn’t there), the president of the council and one of the community reps resigned. The only thing of interest to me was: Who was still on the council?
    Some schools have tons of parent volunteers. Not us. We have one, maybe two volunteers helping during the school year. We even awarded money to the best parent volunteer of the year just to try to get more to help us out. It didn’t work. The playground used to be patrolled by a number of adults – mostly teacher aides – but we only have one now, so the assistant principal has to help each morning by doing outside duty. We asked for parents to help us there too, but no one really comes out.