" VISIONS OF THE SUBTERRANEAN IN THIS RUN - DOWN ROOMING - HOUSE OF THE SOUL " AS RIPPED FROM " TALES OF CAFE APOLLINAIRE "

" VISIONS OF THE SUBTERRANEAN IN THIS RUN - DOWN ROOMING - HOUSE OF THE SOUL " AS RIPPED FROM " TALES OF CAFE APOLLINAIRE "


PAINTING " MEISTER VOM HIMMEL " BY MICHAEL SOWA
Posted by Picasa

PAINTING " MAN WITH WASP " BY MICHAEL SOWA
Posted by Picasa

PAINTING " HUMMINGBIRD MAN " BY MICHAEL SOWA
Posted by Picasa

PAINTING " FLOCK OF PIGS " BY MICHAEL SOWA
Posted by Picasa

Anyway here are the last sections of the poem " Visions of the Subterranean in this Run-Down Rooming-House of the Soul " ripped from the long poem " Tales of Cafe Apollinaire ".

III

The Subterranean daily lines up
with the other outcasts
at the little soup-kitchen next door
for his & their only meal of the day
on the street the rush-hour traffic
bumper-to-bumper slowed to a crawl
of those passing through
cursing swearing banging their steering-wheels
fearing their time being wasted
& their time is money returning
to sterile suburbia their eyes focused
straight ahead rendering these outcasts
invisible having found success
coming from working in their Glittering
Towers of Glass in the City's Centre
which nightly they abandon in this run-down
rooming-house of the soul-

The Subterranean in this run-down
rooming-house of the soul over-shadowed
in the long autumnal shadows
of the tall Glittering Towers of Glass
visions revealed of the mind
a lotus flower blossoming
lifting the burden off the soul
ripping away the razor-wire coiled
around our hearts left dreaming love
believing in essence we are more
than these bodies we inhabit
being prismatic streams of light
in this run-down rooming house
of the soul-

IV

Visions in this run-down rooming-house
of the soul revealing numerous
entangled intertwined roots
the more we dig uncovering
veins of gold in the root-cellar
beneath this run-down rooming-house
of the soul-once you had a plan your
life laid out for you from A to Z
from beginning to end
wondering if it is your life
you are leading Walking crawling
on broken glass & egg shells
in this run-down rooming-house
of the soul where nocturnal creatures
give free advice & counseling
unraveling threads of images
bombarding us in ambushes
of a down-pour of disconnected
images & word-filled winds rushing
all about us against our faces
stinging us chilling us to the bone
passing through us trapped inside
our muddled chaotic bric-a-brac stuffed
jumble-jar in this run-down rooming-house
of lost & forgotten souls-

How is it that so many claim to find
meaning insisting on purpose in this dreary
run-down rooming-house of the soul
where giant leopard slugs
lurk in the shadows performing
secret ancient rituals in the bushes
just outside under our windows
sacrificing dogs & cats
dragged into the shadows
their terror too much for us
in this run-down rooming-house
of the soul -

V

The Subterranean having visions
of the Valley of slaughter
where human carcasses are tossed
where the Vultures of Heaven feed
where the living envy the dead
where we feed off Wormwood
where we drink the waters of Gall
where our faces have become flames
where flames give birth to faces
in this run-down rooming-house
of the soul-

That all for now,
GORD.

" AN EPIC FOR OUR TIME : A REQUIEM " PART XI "DREAMING CAFE APOLLINAIRE "

" AN EPIC FOR OUR TIME : A REQUIEM " PART XI "DREAMING CAFE APOLLINAIRE "




















MOULIN ROUGE BY LAUTREC

Anyway here is part XI of my poem in progress " AN EPIC FOR OUR TIME "
So stay awhile-

“AN EPIC FOR OUR TIME : A REQUIEM ”
PART X : " Dreaming Café Apollinaire "

Dreaming Café Apollinaire where once we talked of revolution
filled with fire & passion
rowdy loud & boisterous
our cigarette smoke circled round our heads
becoming the tzars of the café
acting the fools of the café
believing everyone was corrupt
believing not everyone was corrupt
believing in justice & brotherhood
having gone on a march or two
making fun of those who still go on a march or two
and other silly nonsense
feeling so superiour
believing in nothing
believing in art & poetry
discussing theology & philosophy
wandering through Plato’s Cave & Dante's Inferno
always accompanied by our muse -



later with our student days at university behind us
becoming patrons of more upscale fern bars
where the toilets always over flowed
sitting with our drinking companions
our friends of the moment
telling of our adventures of hunting for deals
of the newest gadgets & home renovations
to which there is no end
arguing about films of the pretensious sort
or some predictable prepackaged Hollywood bit of fluff
fast food for the mind always the same
or repeating lines from some popular tv show
did you see this weeks episode they ask
forgetting the rules of the game after one too many drinks
admiring the works of Hemingway Orwell & Kerouac
drifting into De Sade & Sartre
arguing about St. Augustine Nietzsche Freud & Marx
circling round to Baudelaire & Rimbaud
always writing the same poem
art collapsing in upon itself
then down upon the heads of the patrons of Café Apollinaire
someone takes the stage reading real poetry
unveiling the heart & soul of poetry
not just the trivial & the quaint
divorced from stilted academia
twisting the knife into the champions of the status quo
where meaning is not lost in obscurity
or buried beneath a truck load of erudition
or taking shelter in forms & styles long dead
searching instead for what is truly felt & thought
seeking substance over style -

later again falling back on old habits
having left the life of ease behind
becoming jaded & cynical
searching for a new role to play
drunk every night for years on end
being tossed out of the best & the worst bars
in the shadows of towers of steel & glass
sitting in noisy smelly bars
dreaming of the girl in the yellow angora sweater
lusting after the Goth girl in leather boots
an original then becoming a fad as common as dirt
they suck the fun out of everything
all those guys marching for this or that
just to get laid growing into empty headed accountants &
cynical lawyers only in it for the money &
willfully blind bureaucrats hiding in those towers of steel & glass
( passing by the whores hanging out on Hollis Street
do the whores still hang out on Hollis street )
now we are old & complacent
living in a world of gadgets
dreaming of acquiring a thousand new improved gadgets
to fill our empty over-sized house
always in the act of renovating
never quite satisfied
we’ve seen it all before
knowing just where it will all lead
more shattered dreams more broken hearts -

where once we joked about revolution
lost in our glibness & cynicism
surrounded by the walking wounded
surrounded by the walking dead -

as we watch our numbers dwindle
as we watch our friends disappear
as we watch them confess their faults
major or minor or just imaginary
in public trials staged for the media
for family & their new & more impressive friends
those of the right sort -

See you later,
GORD.

MYSTERY FLIGHTS : RENDITIONS BBC

Anyway here is part one of the 2007 BBC documentary Mystery Flights about US Renditions program .



So more of this film next time.

Will those in the Bush administration and their cronies and their death squads ever have to face justice . Will Hillary or Obama make sure that justice is done or are they too beholden to the statue quo.

At Bush's state of the Union address Hillary Clinton showed her true colors stood up with the other sheep and applauded President Bush while Barack Obama stayed defiantly seated . Hillary Clinton like Bill Clinton is just one of the elite and has little interest in truly changing America's delusions of grandeur . Oh yes she might tinker with the system but otherwise she like Bush wants to make sure her and her rich friends continue to increase their wealth and power.What can one expect of a former CEO of Wallmart .

And so it goes,
GORD.

La Vie En Rose Film of Edith Piaf's Life

Here's some clips from the beautiful and sad film about the tragic and triumphant Life of the French Singer Edith Piaf: La Vie En Rose:

for more see:Official Move Site , La Vie En Rose


La Vie En Rose- Trailer
From the streets of the cutthroat Belleville district of Paris to the dazzling
limelight of New York's glamorous concert halls, Edith Piaf's life was a constant
battle to sing and survive, to live and love. Raised in abject poverty, surrounded by hookers and pimps, Edith's magical voice made her a star on both sides of the Atlantic. Her passionate romances and friendships with the greatest names of the period -- Yves Montand, Jean Cocteau, Charles Aznavour, Marlene Deitrich, boxing world champion Marcel Cerdan -- made her a household name as much as her memorable live performances and beautiful renditions of songs she made famous internationally, "La Vie en Rose", "Milord", "Hymn to Love", "Non, je ne regrette rien" and many more. But in her audacious attempt to tame her tragic destiny, the "Little Sparrow" -- as she was nicknamed -- flew so high that she could not fail to burn her wings



La Marseillaise from the film of the life of Edith Piaf : La Vie en Rose



La môme - Je ne regrette rien
I Regret Nothing



and here's the first known film recording of the wonderfully stirring French song La Marseillais :

La Marseillaise - 1905
good picture and sound given it's age- must have taken some effort to clean it up .



see you later,
gord

Langston Hughes (1902-1967)- " A Dream Deferred "

What happens to a dream deferred?

Does it dry up
like a raisin in the sun?
Or fester like a sore--
And then run?
Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over--
like a syrupy sweet?

Maybe it just sags
like a heavy load.

Or does it explode?

Langston Hughes (1902-1967)

Poetry by Langston Hughes- The Weary Blues



see you later,
gord

Martin Luther King Day - Lynchings in America

Strange Fruit - Lynchings In America



For more on Historical oppression of Black People in America see:
America's Black Holocaust Museum

Here are some excerpts from Martin Luther King's " Letter From A Birmingham Jail "

I submit that an individual who breaks a law that conscience tells him is unjust, and who willingly accepts the penalty of imprisonment in order to arouse the conscience of the community over its injustice, is in reality expressing the highest respect for law.

History is the long and tragic story of the fact that privileged groups seldom give up their privileges voluntarily. Individuals may see the moral light and voluntarily give up their unjust posture...

We know through painful experience that freedom is never voluntarily given by the oppressor; it must be demanded by the oppressed.

We can never forget that everything Hitler did in Germany was "legal" and everything the Hungarian freedom fighters did in Hungary was "illegal." It was "illegal" to aid and comfort a Jew in Hitler's Germany. But I am sure that if I had lived in Germany during that time I would have aided and comforted my Jewish brothers even though it was illegal. If I lived in a Communist country today where certain principles dear to the Christian faith are suppressed, I believe I would openly advocate disobeying these anti-religious laws.


...A just law is a man-made code that squares with the moral law or the law of God. An unjust law is a code that is out of harmony with the moral law. To put it in the terms of Saint Thomas Aquinas, an unjust law is a human law that is not rooted in eternal and natural law. Any law that uplifts human personality is just. Any law that degrades human personality is unjust. All segregation statutes are unjust because segregation distorts the soul and damages the personality. It gives the segregator a false sense of superiority, and the segregated a false sense of inferiority. To use the words of Martin Buber, the Jewish philosopher, segregation substitutes and "I-it" relationship for an "I-thou" relationship, and ends up relegating persons to the status of things...

An unjust law is a code that a majority inflicts on a minority that is not binding on itself. This is difference made legal. On the other hand a just law is a code that a majority compels a minority to follow that it is willing to follow itself. This is sameness made legal.

An unjust law is a code inflicted upon a minority which that minority had no part in enacting or creating because they did not have the unhampered right to vote.

We will have to repent in this generation not merely for the vitriolic words and actions of the bad people, but for the appalling silence of the good people. We must come to see that human progress never rolls in on wheels of inevitability. It comes through the tireless efforts and persistent work of men willing to be co-workers with God, and without this hard work time itself becomes an ally of the forces of social stagnation. We must use time creatively, and forever realize that the time is always ripe to do right. Now is the time to make real the promise of democracy, and transform our pending national elegy into a creative psalm of brotherhood. Now is the time to lift our national policy from the quicksand of racial injustice to the solid rock of human dignity.

The Failure of the White Churches :

I felt that the white ministers, priests and rabbis of the South would be some of our strongest allies. Instead, some have been outright opponents, refusing to understand the freedom movement and misrepresenting its leaders; all too many others have been more cautious than courageous and have remained silent behind the anesthetizing security of the stained-glass windows.

I have heard numerous religious leaders of the South call upon their worshippers to comply with a desegregation decision because it is the law, but I have longed to hear white ministers say, "follow this decree because integration is morally right and the Negro is your brother." In the midst of blatant injustices inflicted upon the Negro, I have watched white churches stand on the sideline and merely mouth pious irrelevancies and sanctimonious trivialities. In the midst of a mighty struggle to rid our nation of racial and economic injustice, I have heard so many ministers say, "Those are social issues with which the gospel has no real concern." And I have watched so many churches commit themselves to a completely other-worldly religion which made a strange distinction between body and soul, the sacred and the secular.


In deep disappointment, I have wept over the laxity of the church. But be assured that my tears have been tears of love.

The contemporary church is often a weak, ineffectual voice with an uncertain sound. It is so often the arch supporter of the status quo. Far from being disturbed by the presence of the church, the power structure of the average community is consoled by the church's silent and often vocal sanction of things as they are.

But the judgement of God is upon the church as never before. If the church of today does not recapture the sacrificial spirit of the early church, it will lose its authentic ring, forfeit the loyalty of millions, and be dismissed as an irrelevant social club with no meaning for the twentieth century.

Martin Luther King Jr. "Letter From a Birmingham Jail, April 16, 1963"