Examine close reading of The Hound of the Baskervilles: Another Adventure of Sherlock Holmes with textual references and critical perspectives.
Arthur Conan Doyle’s crime novella is a canonical work of speculative fiction and detective literature that explores the hellhound of the Baskerville legends as a diabolical agency, huge creature, luminous, ghastly, spectral devil phosphorus painted baying werewolf spirited beast haunting the legacy of Baskerville estate and suburbians of Dartmoor Grimpen mire. In reality the mystery behind this superstitious supernatural phenomenon is a death entrapment laid down by Rodger Baskerville II in the disguise of Jack Stapleton. However the antithesis of superstitious mythicism is shrewdly contested by the skeptical detective Sherlock Holmes, and thus supernatural gothicism is challenged to the core of realistic cosmos. Selden, the absconded convict, kinsman to the Barrymores, is suspiciously implicated for his fiendish notoriety of Notting Hill case “ferocity of the crime” and “wanton brutality of the assassin”; but lately acquitted from allegation through befallen excruciating death perpetrated by the baying hound. “Barren waste moors, chilling winds and darkling skies” foreshadows saturnine funebrial macabre as envisioning of the literature of gothicism and foretelling chronicles of sublime detective fiction.
The popularity of the impeccable detective hero Sherlock Holmes foregrounds intuitive logic, astute observations, perspicuous inferences to reveal the murder mystery of the heir to the Baskerville fortune in The Hound of the Baskervilles. Diabolical supernatural agency of the hellhound is a core paradox fabricated within the threads of this occultist murder mystery. Sherlock Holmes cast as the voice of reason and rationality to challenge the swashbuckling psychorama. In this detective fiction, archetypal plot twists occur along with the progression of the storyline, in anticipation of a reverse chronology, in which the murder mystery of Charles Baskerville is committed surrounding a close circle of suspects before a gradual reconstruction of the past. Contemporaneous detective novels of Arthur Conan Doyle is diversified canon of hybridized and fluid genres involving stereotyped characters within middle class family settings, duelling and feuding in all likelihood for identity and individuality, vindictive salvation and retributive justice, freedom and equality, importance of knowledge and the discovery of buried family ties. Central characters and formal elements of the Hound of Baskervilles is a conglomeration of thrill, mystery, suspense, horror, terror, spookiness, creepiness, grisliness and wonder. However, unlike Gothic literature, wonder and terror of the supernatural, fantastic and romantic worldview: suspension of disbelief is silhouetted into obscurity; ie, the murder mystery spectacle of Gothic tradition. Afterall, the real monsters weren’t the supernatural beasts of legends but the darkness hiding within human hearts.
Howcatchem and whodunit of the Devonshire is interwoven by scientific empiricism and human psychology, bringing to the fore: epistolary chronicles between duo Holmes and Watson; weathering the taste of time; entrenched within themes, motifs, settings and psyches of Victorian England. Sherlock and Watson formulated after all, Rodger staged as Stapeton in order to get rid of the competitor rivals to the family estate and legacy of Baskerville fortunes. However, the fin-de-siecle of the prophetic rhetoric implied in the diction of Dr. James Mortimer is lucid and succinct, “there is a realm in which the most acute and most experienced of detectives is helpless.” The shoplifting of money in South America by Rodger as the imposter Vandeleur of preparatory educator of East Yorkshire and entomology research fellow of the Museum is the retrospective foreshadowing of the modern detective fiction. Jack Stapleton is the aftermath of his wedding with Beryl Garcia in Costa Rica and simultaneous settlement in England upon the voyage home. Vandeleurs occupied the Fraser’s fortune and eventually sank from disrepute to infamy. Fallaciousness of the specious identity of Vandeleur and/or Jack Stapleton alongwith the baronet’s ‘mastiff hellhound’s flaming jaws and blazing eyes’ limelights fin-de-siecle detective masterpiece.
Further Reading, References, Endnotes and Podcasts
The Hound of the Baskervilles pp. 75
Chapter Title: In the Closet of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle: The Private Life of Sherlock
Holmes (1970), Book Title: A Foreign Affair, Book Subtitle: Billy Wilder’s American Films, Book Author(s): Gerd Gemünden, Published by: Berghahn Books. (2008)
Studies in the Literature of Sherlock Holmes, Robert Knox, Bluebook, Oxford lectures, (1910)
Introduction: What is Crime Fiction? Charles J. Rzepka
Degeneration, Fin-de-Siecle Gothic, and the Science of Detection: Arthur Conan Doyle’s The Hound of the Baskervilles and the Emergence of the Modern Detective Story, Nils Clausson, University of Regina, December 2005, Journal of Narrative Theory 35(1):60-87, Eastern Michigan University, pp. 1-25
Sherlock Holmes Codes the Social Body, Rosemary Jann [George Mason University], ELH, Vol. 57, No. 3, Autumn 1990, Johns Hopkins University Press.
Lonely wings barely held her in the air as she searched
unable to find him on the ground below a gray sky
As a heart so wounded felt destined to give up
it discovers a fragrance in a Spring breeze calling…
She heard the tune of her love as he searched for her
longing for the caress that would comfort his heart
The song found her over the sounds of crashing waves
with words formed like a melody from a hollowed-out flute
His yearning heart found her beyond the clouds above
and sang her name through the tears rolling down his face…
Their embrace told a story no words could ever express.
Written in the Stars
When two beating hearts claim each other
no stranger can penetrate that powerful force
It was written in the stars from the beginning
and a golden ring of love surrounds us through eternity
I will never leave you, nor will I ever break our vows
for my passionate heart would break without you
All I cherish and want is what you have given me already
and through life and through death will our story remain
because some stories, like ours, were never meant to end.
Ours was a rare fairytale, made to be told through the ages…
My One True Love
Every beautiful memory has you in it
You fill my heart like an unforgettable melody
that plays over and over in my head
You are, and will always be my one true love
and in your arms will be where I will remain
In my darkest moments you are the light that saves me
and our life together is effortless and comfortable
I have no other wants in life but you
and my heart will never belong to anyone else
We have shared many dream over the years
and you have shielded me from any harm
I will never ask you for more than your love
You are the most beautiful colors of true love
which I will keep tucked in my heart through eternity.
With love always…
Kristy Ann Raines is an American poet and author born in Oakland California, In the United States of America.
She is an accomplished International Poet and Writer. Kristy has two published books on Amazon titled, “The Passion Within Me”, and also an anthology written with a prominent poet from India, Dr. Prasanna Kumar Dalai titled, “I Cross my Heart from East to West.”
Kristy has also written two fantasy books titled, “Rings, Things and Butterfly Wings” and “Princess and The Lion”, her biography and a collection of thoughts on her life called, “My Very Anomalous Life”, and a few books of children’s stories waiting to be published.
Kristy has received many literary awards for her unique style of writing and for her work as an activist and humanitarian.
Kristy is married, has two children, three beautiful granddaughters, and is awaiting the birth of a great-grandson due in July!
Using English fluency formula to improve student’s speaking skill
Olimova Shahina Botirjon qizi
Students of Uzbekistan State World Language University
Scientific advisor: Kaljanova Gulmira
Teacher of Uzbekistan State World Language University
Abstract: Speaking is a crucial skill for English learners, especially students who intend to study at international universities. Unfortunately, most students come across challenges with speaking skills. Mainly, the cause of the problem is lack of English practice. In social media, many videos and podcasts try to give secret methods and new ways to learn English, but the principles are quite simple and mostly nothing new. Students get a bit confused about which is the best, but nobody explains to them how to practice. The English fluency formula is one technique that provides a special way to improve speaking skills.
Аннотация: Умение говорить является важнейшим навыком для изучающих английский язык, особенно для студентов, которые собираются учиться в международных университетах. К сожалению, большинство студентов сталкиваются с трудностями в умении говорить. В основном, причиной проблемы является отсутствие практики английского языка. В социальных сетях множество видео и подкастов пытаются дать секретные методы и новые способы изучения английского языка, но принципы довольно просты и в основном не являются чем-то новым. Студенты немного путаются в том, что лучше, но никто не объясняет им, как практиковать. Формула беглости английского языка — это одна из методик, которая обеспечивает особый способ улучшения навыков разговорной речи.
Annotatsiya: Ingliz tilini o’rganuvchilar, ayniqsa xalqaro universitetlarda o’qish niyatida bo’lgan talabalar uchun gapirish juda muhim mahoratdir. Afsuski, ko’pchilik talabalar nutq qobiliyatlari bilan bog’liq qiyinchiliklarga duch kelishadi. Asosan, muammoning sababi ingliz amaliyotining etishmasligi. Ijtimoiy tarmoqlarda ko’plab videolar va podkastlar ingliz tilini o’rganishning yashirin usullari va yangi usullarini berishga harakat qiladi, ammo printsiplar juda oddiy va asosan yangilik emas. Talabalar qaysi biri eng yaxshisi haqida bir oz chalkashib ketishadi, lekin hech kim ularga qanday mashq qilishni tushuntirmaydi. Ingliz tilini ravonlik formulasi nutq ko’nikmalarini yaxshilashning maxsus usulini ta’minlovchi usullardan biridir.
Keywords: English fluency formula, speaking skill, practicing English communicative skills.
Ключевые слова: формула беглости английского языка, навык говорения, отработка навыков общения на английском языке.
Kalit so’zlar: Ingliz tilini ravonlik formulasi, so’zlashuv mahorati, ingliz tilida kommunikativ ko’nikmalarni mashq qilish.
Introduction: English is an international language that is mainly used in social media networks, and most information on websites is given in English. Apart from that, English is the main communicative language across the world that can help students to build strong relationships with international students. Effective speaking skills improve social interactions and help build relationships and built confidence. The English fluency formula could help them not only to improve their speaking skills but also to enhance their language source. This formula consists of 3 parts, including studying, practicing, and time, which result in fluency.
Formula: (S+P) x T=F
S=study
P=practice
T=time
How to study
The study part of the formula has two main secrets. Firstly, students need to try to study in context and avoid word lists. For example, if learners use a grammar book, they need to utilize it as a reference; they should not study the whole book.
Study steps:
1.Know current level.
Students could know their level through online tests or ask teachers to check their knowledge.
2. Choose the text at a suitable level.
It can be an audio text, video, or written text. It has been suggested that the chosen text or video should be above the learner’s level. If it is appropriate for the learner, it will be more engaging for them to learn English. Students could find their own resources, or even better, they can choose a coursebook. The coursebook is a great way to boost speaking skills because it’s all in one place.
3. Read, listen, and watch.
In that place, students need to watch English content for enjoyment instead of analyzing it. They should just read, look, listen to the video or film, and not overcomplicate the process. Because if they watch videos for only academic purposes, they can get bored with studying, and they will not be motivated to carry on.
4.Analyze the text.
In this part, students do a deep analysis of selected text and try to find new vocabularies as well as grammar structures in the text. After that, they search for new knowledge on the internet to know the exact meaning and learn how to use it.
How to practice
The main concern among students is how to practice speaking during the learning process. As technology is developing day by day, students have more options for practicing with other learners. One of the best ways is using ChatGPT. In that program, they can choose one topic to discuss, and they convey ideas, and ChatGPT asks questions to facilitate a discussion. Additionally, students may engage in structured debates on various topics that allow them to articulate their ideas. It not only helps to improve their speaking skills but also broadens their horizons and improves critical thinking.AI programs could help students with pronunciation practice. Students read passages aloud and ask to give feedback on pronunciation and suggestions. Most importantly, after speaking, ChatGPT gives feedback on areas for improvement, such as vocabulary usage, sentence structure, and pronunciation. Through this, students know their mistakes and can correct them with enough practice.
There are two main ways to practice:
1.Alone.
In that case, students can efficiently use YouTube for improving their speaking ability. While watching one video, students can pause and repeat the sentence that they hear. Sometimes they can change words, tense, or even the structure of sentences. It is like a shadowing technique that helps students to boost their speaking skills.
2.Practicing with others.
Students can speak with people who intend to learn English. In this method, they need to choose a person who has the same level as them. They can use Google to find topics, and they should have 20 minutes of talk a day.
For alone practice, there are kind of three good ways:
1.One of the controlled ones, where students should just repeat sentences in the video.
2.Semi-controlled.
In this way, students may change the structure, vocabulary, and words. While they are repeating, they can change a word, or they even can add some new information.
3.Free practice.
This way is wider as compared to others. Students need to find some phrases that they have not seen before. After that they will make a story, trying to use those phrasal verbs. It is always a good idea to record when they are practicing alone. They have a chance to listen back and find mistakes. This method is helpful for lone learners because they can not get feedback from others.
Research and discussion:
The English fluency formula is one of the effective techniques that helps students to develop improved communication skills. The research was conducted in a university class. For observation, first-year students were taken during 2 weeks. Every lesson, teachers tried to teach using the English fluency formula. In the first week, they selected one interesting YouTube website and started to watch one video every lesson. The video was about educational theories; students independently chose it based on their interest. In the second week, they began to analyze the video and found new vocabularies as well as grammatical structures; they wrote all of them down. Additionally, students imitated characters with gestures. Teachers requested to learn deeply what they had written. Finally, when teachers got interviews from students to check their speaking ability, improvements were seen in vocabulary, pronunciation, grammar, and fluency.
Conclusion:
Speaking is a vital skill in learning English that needs to be mastered by students. Most students have problems with lack of practice with others, which makes students levels low. The English fluency formula aimed to help learners improve their English language skills and enhance fluency. Based on research given above, it is proven that the English fluency formula can help students to improve their fluency, pronunciation, grammar, and overall ability to speak. During research, students were able to learn new knowledge and find more information on topics they were interested in. Lastly, with the imitation technique, students can speak more like a native speaker and learn more phrases that are usually used by natives.
References:
1. 1. Ur, Penny. (2012). A Course in Language Teaching: Practice and Theory. Cambridge University Press.
2. Nation, I.S.P., & Newton, J. (2009). Teaching ESL/EFL Listening and Speaking. Routledge.
3. Lazaraton, Anne. (2001). Quantitative and Qualitative Approaches to the Study of Language Learning Strategies. In Language Learning Strategies in Independent Settings (pp. 25-50). University of Michigan Press.
4. Kukulska-Hulme, Agnes. (2009). “Will mobile learning change language learning?” ReCALL, 21(2), 157-165.
Still from Gira, by Grupo Corpo. Photo: Jose Luiz Pederneiras
21 and Gira
Grupo Corpo
Zellerbach Hall
University of California, Berkeley
Gyres of Eshu
A review by Christopher Bernard
Cal Performances (the Bay Area’s most adventurous promoter of dance, music and live performance) delivered once again one late weekend in April, as part of its Illuminations: “Fractured History” series: Brazil’s formidably gifted dance company, Grupo Corpo.
Based in Brazil’s legendary Minas Gerais, and founded in Belo Horizonte in 1975, the company is driven by the synergistic talents of two brothers, Paulo and Rodrigo Pederneiras, house choreographer, and director and set and lighting designer, respectively, who have created, with their collaborators, an aesthetic that blends classical ballet and the complex heritage of Brazilian culture, religious and ritual traditions, the whole leavened by a musical culture that is wholly unique.
The company brought two ambitious dances to Berkeley’s Zellerbach Hall. The first was their breakout dance, from 1992, which put the company securely on the international dancing “map”: 21, a number that retains an enticing mystery to it. It also introduced one of the company’s musical signatures: the music and instruments of Marco Antonio Guimarães and the artists of the Uakti Instrumental Workshop. These last not only have a unique armamentarium of instruments, but even use their own microtonal scales, unless my ears were fooling me—essential elements of what makes the company’s work uniquely engaging.
21 was groundbreaking: a slow burn that used the entire company in a processus of simple chthonic motives, closely gripping the floor like the movements of wary but defiant jungle animals, on dancers at first dressed entirely in yellow bodysuits against a pitch-black background, appearing at first behind a misty transparent screen that creates a ghost-like effect, and rising midway through the work as the dance moved to illumination from mystery.
The dance began with a hypnotic monotony of group motions with slight variations against a polyphony of percussion and string and blown instruments entirely new to this listener’s ear, and gradually morphed into a succession of solos and increasingly elaborate duos, trios, and corps, by turns haunting, raunchy, and carnivalesque, until its energies, long simmering, boiled over and broke out into a joyously orgiastic conclusion that brought the Brazilian gods to the stage and the local audience to their feet.
The imaginative use of lighting and color, as well as the costume designs (which transmogrified from the monotone to the wildly polychrome) of Freusa Zechmeister, were as vital to the overall effect as motion and music.
The second dance, Gira (“Spin”), from 2017, takes the elements of spiritualist rite suggested in 21 and brings them unapologetically to the fore. The dance is based on the rituals of Umbanda (a merging of West and Central African religions such as Yoruba with Catholicism and spiritism) to the music of the jazz band Metá Metá and vocals from Nuno Ramos and Eliza Soares. The dance is based on rituals calling forth the spirit of Eshu, a deity who acts as a bridge between humanity and the world of the orixás of Ubamba, Condomblé, and the spiritualities they have in common. Eshu commands and drives the rite of the giras, or spinning, whose motions, like those of the dervishes of Islam, open the dancers to the gods and the gods to the dancers.
Gira evolved as a series of variations on the motions of the ritual, increasingly fugal, danced by the performers as if in the trance that the ritual aims, paradoxically, both to create and to emerge from. Both male and female dancers wore long white skirts and were bare breasted in a show of a curious mixture of vulnerability, beseeching, and seduction to bring forth the divine.
It’s a beautiful and evocative work, if overstaying just a little.
Not to be forgotten is the technical brilliance of the dancers themselves: masters of their gifts, and sharpened by the equal mastery of the company’s leadership.
____
Christopher Bernard is an award-winning novelist, poet, and essayist and author of numerous books, including A Spy in the Ruins (celebrating its twentieth anniversary in 2025) and The Socialist’s Garden of Verses. He is founder and lead editor of the webzine Caveat Lector and recipient of an Albert Nelson Marquis Lifetime Achievement Award.
the wind was something. I could hear it rattling outside and at least little parts of the sky blue showed themselves. I had a problem with the boot laces and changed them, using a lighter lace, a running shoe lace as I forgot to purchase proper laces. but I remembered going to Seneca College summer hockey camp and they showed us a video of Gordie Howe giving a few suggestions on equipment. he tied the lace before you do the loops, not once around, but twice, saying that if you do that it won’t come loose. I picked up on that then and always did that and felt I knew some secret about laces. Think about it and you will probably remember seeing someone in life holding down their laces with a finger or fingers in the middle of tying them. That’s because they can become loose before you are done. better to do Gordie Howe’s trick. I wonder how he learned it or discovered it himself. the old time people and figures sometimes know much.
I ventured out and made my way to some
fields. I saw some leaves on trees and they seemed lonesome and strange, burdened by life. I imagined, a pure shameless projection, that they would rather be in Florida on a beach. I myself would have been. I imagined verdant palm fronds in a warm wind, talking slightly in their own way. How would it be? I would walk down some place and easy landscape and read campy pulp novels for fun, enough big thinking about literature and philosophy, spirituality and ideas. but sometimes I’d read a bit of Alexandr Solzhenitsyn and things to remain soulful and as sharp as possible. I’d head back to a patio and order a turkey club sandwich and a diet soda if I was getting hungry. maybe the next day I’d choose to eat at home and fix a sandwich myself. Outside I might hear the sea, and then take a break from eating that lunch, and go glance at the wondrous and whimsical ocean and coastline.
but I had to concentrate on the present and brought myself out of my daydream about the southern shores. I kept on and went over a small bridge. one could hardly discern this bridge from the ground as the snows that had come over the weeks of the middle winter were that high. but some planks wooden were still there, confident and reliable. I stood there for a bit and the wind got stronger, almost vexatious, and I took a few big gulps of it. I had read that Knut Hamsun had gone on top of a train when he was sick and was gulping all the air and helped cure himself. whatever the case, fresh air couldn’t hurt and could only help. then I composed a more ‘verse’ poem in my head:
those leaves/
crinkled and old, staying/
nobody notices such/ and beyond the
winter wind makes the evergreens move/
the working boots talk their talk I see/
and the white collars too/
a bird appears/ somehow displaced from home/ looking/ not at ease like the birds of the summer poet/ no/ looking for something lost
I didn’t have a title for the words then. but I would end up calling it simply, Leaves
there was a series of hills and I went up and then down them, bumps in an otherwise pretty vast and plain area. there were some spots near the far purlieu where some wild sumac lived, retaining that deep inspiring colour in all months. the snow had stayed on some of it, and the white/red made an interesting picture for its juxtapositions. when I had begun nature walking everything looked the same. as time went along I learned that there were hundreds, probably thousands of pictures and poems and stories to be had from woodlands and fields, even the sky and water. we had become friends, and my friends seemed to teach me through time not only photography and writing, but mysticism and maybe…do you know what is beyond mysticism itself, all forms of mysticism, and is the true and most noble and important goal? it is Enlightenment
, Moksha, Freedom, Awakening. Pick your word. I walked and walked. I had to take my time as the snow was deep. The main paths were too busy though. I’d take the snow. Like in life, the main path is easier but paved with mediocrity and predictability. I would make it my own way, somehow, in the snow, in the arts w/my work, and in spiritually and life itself. but, though on the monomyth journey, and the fool’s journey of the tarot, that entire seeker’s trip, i was also no fool, and so would remember to tie my laces like the great Gordie Howe did.
Time spread poems like butter on bread Springtime and long summer days, confusion and technological change
At a distance, the island appeared to be a tiered wedding cake with several layers of dazzling white topped by a castle and monastery. It was all for Tina. On arrival, the Portera on the bluff was open, seemingly to beckon both of us to walk through it into a new Ariadne smile. Radiant rays of sun poured through it. We walked the shores of Naxos. Cheese, carrots, and potatoes. It was 1963, and we were exhilarated by the cooling spray whipped up by the Aegean wind. We laughed and loved.
Do you remember Νaxos? Come let’s take a journey on sun-buttered bays of light. Plunge into waves of morning dance on the sands at night. And we shall arrive again at the place where we loved on trembling sand.
Listen once more to the wave’s music and the tide wetting the land. Feel the warmth of lost moments, feel the touch of our hands. Recline in the sun together, love, on the warm golden sand. Come let’s follow the rainbow pass through the colors of time. Listen again to your voice whispering your head next to mine. Feel the heat of rocks ageless baking in golden sunshine. And we shall lie down at midday, and I shall drink in your sweet wine. Follow the scent of the blossoms; look for the wisdom of vines. I will see you once more in the springtime before leaves leave on their flight. Before you weathered the winter before the cold darkness of night. I shall hear the lilt of your laughter snuggle up into your smile. Bathe in the gaze of your brown eyes all softness and warmth for awhile.
Come let’s take a journey over the widening years. Cool in the waters of morning, warm in the flow of our tears. And I will bring you my laughter blossoms from the bough of a tree. As we hold on to each other forever in love together youthful and free. The same girl Such a wonder have I dreamed and now perceived. That I have found and only lived in you. Could I today just find a way to say. You are the sunshine of my night and each and every day. Two fragments found in a forgotten place Chance it was when an awe-inspiring girl Crossed my path and I hers Our eyes pulling and could not draw back Two different lives were somehow interlocked I looked at the girl and Athens with my amazed admiring gaze, In their own time they gave me back their pulse, their breath, She walked with springtime grace Garlanded with warmth and an enchanting smile That I caught on to within her eyes, Through mine I gave her my captivated gaze, By chance she unlocked a door my charmed life Let’s hold on, search for the sun Enjoy it all with no show at all It’s all ours, ours for the fun Let’s find the road and just go Let’s look up towards the light Enjoy ourselves throughout the night The day and night are ours alone Let’s pass the hours, feel the warmth of home Let’s live life with what we have Not bother with what we have not What we have is precious love, a desire to live Let’s hold on we have the sun We have bays buttered by it too We have the sun and moon the rain We have our smiles, our laughter and the flowers We have our hearts our minds and thoughts We have our garden, no not Eden ours With trees for shade, a stream that runs through Plums and pears and tart apples too.
There was a time when nothing seemed to fit, nothing made sense, and then came. It crept up slowly and then swallowed me. I sipped white wine and nibbled on food, and the hours went by. Suddenly, the words nothing is what it seems to be shouted themselves out at me.
None other heard, and I was not aware of others. Confusion awakened in the dark of night, I left my dreams behind. I stumbled towards day to find that nothing quite makes sense. But all are talking, mouths close and open, moving fast and slow. Devoid of sense with nothing adding up. And when it does, it adds up to represent some zero-sum. Yet all including me are writing. Typewriters tick and tap away, and sheets fall out. Pages littered with a’s and b’s and m’s and n’s not to forget the y’s and z’s.
With far more space than ink, like an unknown atom’s alphabet. Electrons in full chase around a proton-neutron epicenter that may not hold. Reams role for replication to multiply memos meaningless. But no one says a single word while all are talking, scribbling words on paper scraps.
Pursuing thoughts a sentence here a few lines there stretching a paragraph somewhere. With a little more teasing, it stretches to a page of typewriter fodder. Tick and tap, tap tap, and tick the memo shuntered to the replication tray.
Some memo of menace, so beware. Perhaps the country’s call for cannon fodder to feed some war. While controlled conversations behind closed doors. Much said, but making no sense at all. Where all action is delayed and mock decisions with certainty are made.
Confused not knowing what to do, perhaps put down my pen. Return to sleep, hoping to catch up in a better world of dreams. When I was young, I never thought of going to America. When I was still young, I did, and I loved it. I made good friends for life and went back as often as I could. One of my dreams is to make my American last stand in CHICAGO.
Strange notes between Chicago and Athens, from fun to serious and sometimes furious conversation. To be read for me by Ed at the International Club if he remembers, and with poetic aplomb instead of his typical reformer style. Tonight, I can think of no better place to be than to be with you, all of you. So let it happen in thought and memory. A moment of recollection, please, a minute only; I don’t want to take you away from a great chef’s food. Put down your forks, Erich, please put down your fork and lift up your glasses; I see that’s easy! We toast you from afar.
I remember you all so well and clearly: the Dean of Deans who tangoed with his wife in Argentina better than any dago, a medical educator who rants on poverty, a great working man’s doctor whose son is in Hollywood and a TV star. Erich with an h, Ed, and Captain who discovered the dread disease of carbitus, T&D, Tom with the wooden leg, Henry White and Linda Matilda, books and magazines stacked in stable perfection with a central window through which its holed-up occupant could be seen working in his office, and through which, if necessary, the phone could be passed. In my mind’s eye, I see Erich with Fran, Linda knocking back the margaritas in Mexico, Ed asking me mischievously on which side of the bed I wanted to sleep in front of the bellboy… Of course, there is George; his only phrase is “no salt,” said loudly.
My friends, my captain, Zhivago and Zorba have taught me much: that under no circumstances must I despair; to hope and to act is my duty. So here goes. The Jeff Lifetime Achievement Awards tonight go to two distinguished Americans jointly shared by Jolly Jean and Friendly Fran, with the recommendation that the boys keep the money implicit in this ever so meritorious award for an occasional coffee or for the tip of the night. Erich gets Dekano of Dekanos Award, and Captain our captain Ed gets the World Community Service Chalice.
From the eastern flank of the land of Ez [as in Eurozone]: No Dorothy here, only scared crows; no cowardly Lion, just lion-hearted politicians, pronounced in the King’s English as “lyin.” No Tinman, only pilfered copper… while the streets are full of rag, bone, and tag men collecting (that’s what it’s called) all things in reach in sight: street lamps, public telephones, cables…
don’t park your old car anymore here; coming back, your calls to insurance will go unheard… Many on the streets are insiders; some come from outside of Ez… some come from over the rainbow… while others are over the rainbow. Meanwhile, the government of Ez expects its patriotic people to keep coughing up to keep the coffers topped up and spilling over.
Meanwhile, all the Punch and Judies and the Black Georges wonder why the coffers are well below the Plum-rose line. While most are coughing up coin, our saviors circulate and drink wine… the Plimsoll line plummets and the basic basket grows smaller with less salad, no more salad, and no more salad with feta cheese…
Dear friends, you have helped make a difference…In celebration of her long life, many are the things that bound us together: from breakfast to Obama, from bagels to buns, from Chicago to Athens, from fun to serious conversation, from vodka (gin) and tonic with a twist to wine that sometimes tasted of the tar (Retsina), from hot- hot coffee to Greek coffee, from love and affection to affection and love. Her husband was my mentor and taught me neuro-physiology.
Leaning seemed to come easily as he handed out tall glasses of vodka and tonic with a slice of lemon topped up with perfect cubes of ice. As the sun sets or rises slowly in the western and eastern sky, we are confident that day or night will arrive, maybe thinking that the dawn of hope will come for man to live peace on earth, his ultimo besoin.
Lines for a world day of peace It’s quite clear here, right at the center of it all. In Delphi, where the gods still prevail. It’s not too late to build back better, and a better one. Urged on by mountains tall and still agaze on Marathon. While Marathon still looks upon the sea. While here we stand with gods and free. On this most precious special day. Hopeful that we can hail in peace. Yes, it is clear; no, it is not too late.
To build for all mankind a better fate. Can we stop; slow down the undoing of our world? The burning, flooding and polluting of our souls Restore our world to glory in hope and splendid green-blue oceans, sunset’s red, rivulets, and flowing streams. Where men all and women too are equal and all free.
Can we redo our world? Improve it for all offspring. Such wonders are the words and phrases I can hear when I think They tumble forth differently each time but are always woven together as a captivating collage. They come mainly from a lyrical dialogue between East and West. If I can retain rhythm and musicality and remain recitative with recurrent words and transient, what follows may well be called a poem. I give you a bouzouki and three peacocks with bejeweled tails.
Cross-cultural musings I came to buy bread, 6 I am, and never left the street. The street is now renamed for the missile. Here where the clock stopped and Despots bicker over truth. Where lies and misinformation rule the roost. 15 I am a hostage, held because of my darker, deeper skin. Innocent on the threshold of life uninvited horror came to my door. No drip of water; now the pelican for me is dead. Earth has become a stray dog, kicked by a military boot. Carry my soul to the palm reader; take it to be fingerprinted. Two banks of one World River. The West is behind, but the East is not before. Devils are in the Orient, tyrants too, but the bleeding finger does not speak. The weavings of the winds are sparks that can kindle imperial cities. Listening to the stars is a singular experience multiple in meaning. Flames raging furiously, thoughts breathe, words burn, and wine intoxicates. What can we do with this already crumpled world? What can we do with this already unmade world? Underway is the way, and we can only finish the journey. On every path from desert to town, I wander with caravans. Trade in shawls, coffee, and musk. Through bazaars, past donkey carts lining the dirt road. With rosary beads draping my hand. And crimson shades, Eastern roses, the Roses of Shiraz. The cup of Jamshid, obedient water, and worlds contained within the wine. To sip, kiss over kiss. A rose of hope, the stupidity of hate, and hope in harm’s way. Insane shadows, I tasted them and spoke them, though I said I wouldn’t. Ruffled locks near midnight, you come in disarray. Return for a night as the moon turns full.
Fiery eyes and eyes of fire, the loveliest things she owns. Love, listen to me at night, most of all at night. The time will pass, all must change. What is human and what is stone? At dusk I stand beside the well in which the moon is trapped. Face darkness of the coming night, the terror of the waves. Look up to read the cosmos as a sacred text, a perfume that is love. To read the first alphabet that declares our human grace in Persepolis. A glance of the beloved! My ancient love is she asleep? Who lies beneath your spell, tonight? Loves, take me home again but not to that house, especially not at night. She still looks for the man who used to burn inside her blouse. His search is for the hundred qualities of a camel. To plunge into a lightning storm. Oh so rosy lips and cheeks, those lily hands of sheer delight to poets. More precious than all the gems of Samarkand. Gardens are not for those who do not crave to know the flower’s soul. Upon the fates will be bestowed a rose of hope. Return me to lemon trees in blossom and the cicadas call. The devil takes no interest in dry old bones that lie at peace. He fell through a smashed-in anger mirror. To find himself alone on the other side. On the edge of a forest, looking into a large swamp. Take me to the river where fish fall in love three times a day. Three times a day, they kill themselves. No better way to enter heaven, than a return to stone, no heart. In the crimson shade of stars, you’ll find my grief concealed in verse. A falling meteorite from high above connects heaven to earth. Whereupon unfold both sacred and profane in black stone. Where are you from, again the same old question. I am a prophet of myself, without religion or followers. Not even on myself do I impose my invitation. To sit in burnt-down places on either bank of the river of the world. While from today’s day and tonight’s night. Ask not to demand anything but what yesterday did bring. For up there upon the roof, up on the roof a peacock stands. A peacock stands upon the roof. Faraway places with gods in control. Once a young man from a faraway place used a big stick to beat upon snakes. Walking by day and by night, over tall hills and through lonely valleys, came upon coupled snakes in primeval thrill. Warmed by the sun’s rays, releasing such reptilian passion the young man tried hard to subdue a thrill and passion.
He could, should have left well alone, gone on, made his peace but without rhyme or reason he stopped the snake’s fun. How could he not have known that nothing goes unknown or unseen as when his stick was struck by gods all of Greece? Anger came fast to Hera and Zeus he said her you must play by my rules, preserve love and life, and ensure it for fools. You are he bellowed the goddess of the bridal bed and native bliss, get angry much more turn Tiresias into what you wish. The youth Tiresias changed place took up womanhood spent seven years in girlish form. She stayed like that and played the field until she met again by chance a pair of coupled snakes. Still young now worldly wise he downed his stick let them mate and whereupon Hera took away all of his womanly ways. Time passed, and Zeus to Hera said sex is enjoyed by women more than men which got her well worked up said tis not so. They bickered on and on in high dispute tis so says Zeus tis not Hera replied until abruptly they decided to ask someone. Someone who’d played both roles quite well enjoyed sex with a woman and sex with a man. One only they knew who’d lived both lives for sure the still young Tiresias who had lived life with and without a stick. So the young man from a faraway place who hadn’t let seven years slip idly by was now recalled to settle the case. Zeus and no other god had had such a unique fun stated clearly their query and loudly of his and of Hera’s Tiresias now far too big for his occupied boots delivered a verdict, women relish nine men only one if sex has ten part. Hell hath no fury like Hera’s and now greatly displeased decides to punish Tiresias with all loss of his sight Zeus now aghast but with his hands tied, no power to heal him and restore his lost sight so he granted him long life, Life of a wise seer expert on sex with his erudite knowledge Revered by Homer in faraway places and in Oedipus Rex.
At the heart of the Aegean on a small island called Pserimos, whose population is less than 20 but currently about 2000, as a result of tourism, the concept of smart islands was Once upon a time, children ran wild like cappers there, which gave the island its other name, Caparri. It also resulted in this poem dedicated to a wise teacher who years ago remembered 100 pupils in the local school. Her wisdom is larger than her island. And yet another image leaps to mind, with myriads of schoolchildren streaming down a narrow, dusty road towards home when school lets out. It was in Gaza!
Tranquil and reflective Aegean Isles Pserimos in summer, and the sun shines bright. Fiercely in early afternoon while slowly moving towards dusk and night. Day’s end is still yet one whole eternity away. But it will come as surely as the tide will turn.
Then will the sun descend to sink beneath eternal waves. A rising moon will lift off to ride above the darkening earth. Full bloom and full, full as if in high flown birth. Laced beams of silver, flitting through the citrus grove. Fireflies flirting in a purple painted light. Dry, blemished leaves, brushed arrestingly by the lemon’s yellow afterglow. Olives dancing shimmering upon gnarled ancient trees. Scintillations surprisingly softly falling on the eyes. Dreams to be remembered and tenderly recalled. Smells of strained soil with brave blossoms wafted by a breeze. Greek fire, warm drops in sand of pooling wax beneath an icon’s glow. Copper hammered cross by weight of age subdued. An old church whose eyes have within its gaze untold pain. Where the dark-eyed virgin mother of the world. Gives solace and sets in flight waves of worldly inspirational light. With Cassiopeia high above caught once again in the midnight flight. Caught up in Meltemi’s daytime forceful energetic wind. Declining to a cooling evening breeze. Caught up in the Aegean’s gentle fall and swell of tides. Wrapped in a silvery linings through the starry sky. Graceful and flowing along the wide stretching Milky Way. Those isles of Greece, the pleasing Dodecanese. Where mysteries of numbers and the universal harmony became known. To that ancient, awesome, penetrating, and thoughtful gaze. Where know-thyself was perceptively admired, esteemed, revered. Where Apollo’s sun and scepter were bright, Prometheus’s warming fire held sway. Attended by a sometimes sad and woeful moon, sometimes a simple silver sphere. Where the early morning and the evening stars became the same and one. Where lovely Aphrodite beguilingly arose above the ruffled waves. Where a cool Venus rose above and set within a wine-dark clouded sea. Where lovely Aphrodite and cool Venus rise from and descend within the sea. The Isles of Greece are the Isles of pure delight. Apollo’s light cannot be absent there for long. Pythagoras knew his numbers well and fled from Sammian tyranny there. Hippocrates who never harmed a soul, and Socrates, who knew yet knew not at all. Those Isles where philosophy survives and all is well. On a small isle and gentle Grecian site, called Pserimos. Poems end never, mine yes
My words come to an end but poetry goes on and will go on. Writing poems should start early, as early as possible. It is when young when our senses can register the earth-shaking and when our brain has the agility to make up its mind on the direction that life will be taken. If life is lived in freedom it comes easy to the few that take the road less traveled by. Far too many lives unfold in unequal worlds with ever-present, slavery to fear, and want, making it too hard to set free its abundant talent. In the twilight between those worlds, talent can be suspect as when a writer was hauled in by the state police and asks why, saying he has done nothing wrong?
You write books don’t you which people are reading, so you must have done something! When young the earth shakes while the bell rings for old men who continue to tilt at windmills as bell’s toll. As students in search of our Earth’s heart-beat, we learn that there are bridges over which marching soldiers have to break step to prevent collapse and that the flutter of butterfly wings in another place yesterday is the reason for the storm overhead, today.
Tomorrow will always remain unknown except to the poet, while philosophy can shed light in its early dawn.
