Wednesday, October 7, 2020

The Red Diary: a cycle of poems inspired by the Diary of Anne Frank (part one of four)



The Red Diary

A cycle of narrative poems inspired by the diary of Anne Frank
by Margaret Gunning

Part one of four



                                                            To the memory of Anne Frank

I remember my affliction and my wandering,
the bitterness and the gall.
I well remember them,
and my soul is downcast within me.
Yet this I call to mind
and therefore I have hope:
Because of the Lord’s great love we are
not consumed,
for his compassions never fail.
They are new every morning;
great is your faithfulness.

                                                                    - Lamentations 3: 19 - 23

                                                        INTRODUCTION

      Very early on a summer morning, I had a long and strange dream about Anne Frank.
     This came after what seemed like an eternity of dryness and lack of inspiration in my work, when the ground was so parched the flakes of earth curled under the sun.  In the dream, I was incarcerated in a Nazi prison camp.  I was very earnestly trying to put together a book of my own, a sort of diary, only it was being compiled according to a rigid set of specifications, many of which made no sense.  I was (as it were) only following orders.
     In this dream, I had a certain awareness that I would soon be executed, though I was not sure what I had done to deserve it.  This caused me more resignation than fear.  Then I was looking through the original of Anne Frank’s diary, only the pages were made of a very sheer, fragile, almost iridescent glass, and were full of photographs and ghostly, glowing images.  There were no words.  I said to someone beside me (perhaps a fellow prisoner), “This life means something, no matter how short.  It stands for something, and it will be remembered.  It is a lesson.”
     Then I was actually standing in the presence of Anne Frank, small and dark and intense, exactly as she appeared in her famous photographs.  Without speaking the words aloud, I asked her, “You know how this ends, don’t you?”  She knew, and I knew that she knew, even though she did not say a word.
     There was an extraordinary feeling of touching her essence, as if there were no real border between us, even though in this dream I was not myself, but a soldier, a man.  The rest of the symbolism and puzzles of this dream remain a mystery, some riddle my psyche would rather I not resolve.
      At about the same time, something unexpected happened: I began to see a lot of newspaper and magazine articles about Anne Frank, as the world marked the 60th anniversary of the discovery of her hiding place in Amsterdam.  She would have been 75 years old at the time I was writing, probably a mother and a grandmother, and it is impossible for me to believe that her remarkable writing would have stopped in her youth.  This sense of anniversary and of what might have been made the writing experience especially poignant for me.
     The strange vision I experienced on that summer morning was so vivid it affected me almost like an electric shock, forcing me to take a look at the extremes of human valour, humble self-revelation, sacrifice, art. . . all the things I admire and crave, yet fear that I lack.   My immediate reaction was feeling that I was not worthy to write about this, that I had no claim on Anne Frank or anything she stood for; I am not a Jew, I don’t remember the war, and at the time of the dream, I had not read Anne’s diary for some thirty-five years, so my memories were hazy at best.
     But something compelling was set in motion by this dream, and I did begin to write, even in the face of my doubt and fear.  The dream also compelled me to re-read the diary, this time in the “definitive edition” of 1995, which includes a wealth of material not present in the carefully edited version I had read as a girl.  It seems that the world is now ready to encounter a more human Anne, sometimes angry and critical (especially towards her mother), and always true to her name in her frankness about sexuality, spirituality and all the abiding mysteries of life.
     Daily I would read a section of the diary, no more than twenty pages at a time, as more than that would have been overwhelming.   Daily I struggled to respond in poetry to this astonishing document, so well written that it would be the envy of any mature professional writer.  At the same time, I was reading biographical material from other sources to fill in the background.  I also discovered the superb Oscar-winning documentary film Anne Frank Remembered, which I highly recommend to anyone interested in this compelling subject.
     Through writing this long poem, I began to re-experience traumatic events in my own early life, and I had a decision to make as to whether to include them in the work.  In the final analysis, I felt I had little choice, as the material kept presenting itself, more and more insistently.  It was a creative risk I had to take, in spite of my continued struggle with an unresolveable dilemma: how dare I claim to have suffered in the face of the horrendous abyss of the Holocaust? 
     Though I did not completely lay this internal battle to rest, I did continue with my poetic response to Anne’s diary until it was completed to the best of my ability. Though much of the original dream remains a mystery to me, I believe it was a gift of sorts, as well as a creative spur. I was being asked, even invited, to take a deeper look at something powerful, something ultimate, perhaps even transformative.  In the face of my own doubt and fear, I had to follow this bright red thread wherever it would lead me.


  
                                                       DREAM OF ANNE FRANK

Dream

when I opened your book of pages
a glass butterfly with manifold wings
I knew I had no pages
except according to directions
that made no sense:  I was only following orders!
but you were there, a slip of a girl
a slice of pure meaning
pure illumination
and sacrifice
and I wondered how I dared to look – knew
I was not worthy to look,
but had to look – could not avert my eyes,
as you could not avert your
steady brown gaze, those eyes that saw
to the core of so many things.
I was some sort of broken soldier
imprisoned,
except I was on the wrong side,
always in the wrong. . .  and commanded
to make a book that had no meaning,
according to illogic’s rules.
And I obeyed.
I always followed orders,
so that my book had no meaning
and no sense.
Your book shone like
gold teeth, like eyeglasses
in a heap,
frail hoarded visions,
all the images
of the millions
who can no longer see.
How could you know at fourteen
what we lose when we age, the clarity
that saw through surface grumpiness,
bad smells, bad temper
to shining selves in a war for integrity.
Shut away, you blossomed.
Impossible.  Impossible that you could
bring forth such clarity, such an account:
you were only telling what you saw,
but you said everything, held nothing back.
Such hard truth.  Such audacity.
Destroyed:  yes, snuffed out
by other humans; will my mind ever
comprehend the reeling contradiction?
Is this why I despise myself?
What sort of Nazi am I, that tramples the
butterfly,
that pulls out gold teeth by the roots?


 

 Forgiveness

 Is forgiveness impossible
in being on the wrong side?
Can I shut up the yammering Hitler in my
head?
My dreams are grimy newsreels
of pompous oppression
and silently shrieking crowds
that fall into lockstep,
the fresh-faced, wholesome youth
who gaze up smiling
at the face of their saviour.
Anne floats above all.  Freed.
Not held to this earth,
this place of pain.
But we needed her.  We needed her to stay.
Her vacancy is like the cavity of a
pulled tooth.
We will miss her forever.
My heart slowly turns
inside-out
and I am eviscerated,
my body an empty cavity
through which a raw wind blows.

I am not a Jew

 But I never knew her.
She was never mine.
What claim do I have on her?
I am not a Jew.
On the wrong side.  The other.
Not the one who saved.
Not the one who redeemed.
I would not hide a Jew.
I would not risk that shadow in my house.
My heart skulked, scurried like rats.
My neighbor left a loaf of bread on the doorstep
daily until the famine was over.
I kept the bread for myself:  shooting Jewish dogs
in the head.
My soul writhes.
There was no other.
I was the Jew.But I could not see.

 Anne

You appeared to me
quite early in the morning,
and for all the world
it was as if I was looking at you
straight and clear
as you were in life,
small and dark and neat,
graceful as a young tree,
with a charming smile and a dimple,
lively eyes
and a brain like chain-lightning.
Such small frail shoulders to support
so many millions,
the fragments of hope,
just enough,
just enough to carry on.
For these words, these words,
I will live another day,
I will not end this,
twist though my heart might
in anguish,
all meaning flown away.
One small pure flame of integrity
will sustain my life, will carry me through
the long
and impossible night.



 Forced bloom

 You said so much
about life in captivity.
You said so much about proximity
forced by circumstance
(cruel, unusual)
and forces of history
meted out in matchsticks, daily bread
and bickering over the least of things.
Bread, and soldiers
and marching steps
and radio broadcasts that crackled with static
and import
you must have known where you were
in history
even as young as you were,
that someone had to do it,
to bear witness to the dailiness, the strain,
the tiny flashes
of inextinguishable joy.
What gave you such steadiness?  I quail before you.
My head spins in astonishment.
Life had not taught you that you couldn’t;
and so you could, and did.
Barely in your teens, your gift was full-blown;
you knew you were doing the work.
And what is more, you had the valour
and the persistence
to keep getting up in the morning
to face all those people
who got on your nerves
who barely comprehended you
(even if they loved you),
who could not tell you anything,
offer any hope, any sense of a way,
a way back to life in full.
The overpowering tectonic forces of history
molded you, matured you
before your time,
forced like a rare orchid
into rich bloom
in a stifling corner.
A certain fearlessness
sustained you,
though the grownups must have been
paralyzed with anxiety,
barely able to sleep or work or make love
in the shadow of unspeakable fear.
Was it your youth, your spirit,
was your courage so much greater,
or did your daily words, your task,
put the heart in you
while the others sank
in anguish and despair?           


                         

                                                                  THE DIARY 

It is a holy document.
One would expect a grand binding
of leather and gold,
or parchment paper with gilt edges,
but instead it’s a jolly little thing,
gaily covered in red-and-green plaid
with a lock and key for privacy.
An ordinary girl’s diary, a birthday
present, a potential, a book of pages,
and for you, with such a gift,
a companion.
Kitty, you called it, and it looks like a Kitty
in a bright stylish coat,
fun and flirtatious,
tossing her dark hair, light and careless of heart.
And the early entries
are all about bicycle rides,
and boys,
and testing out your power
as a woman,
though even in this time of freedom,
you felt the menace closing in.
Jews must wear a yellow star,
must badge themselves
with this symbol so strangely beautiful,
two triangles, a double trine of fire,
a requirement, a signal, a delineation,
a branding of otherness,
of look, look, I am a Jew, I cannot hide
what I am,
I must wear it all the time on my breast
right next to my heart
so the enemy can watch me,
can keep his eyes on me,
and use my own symbol of power
and covenant
against me.
Jews must wear a yellow star,
Jews cannot go out at night,
Jews cannot visit with Christians,
Jews must not go to the market
in the day time. . .
and on and on, the restrictions,
the confinements,
closing in like a hand.
Inside this bright plaid coat
fear lurks,
death lurks
yet walks with light step, defiant.
Like klezmer music,
a light spirit is ultimate resistance,
a refusal to be bowed.
And so you sat and wrote:  Dear Kitty.
And this girlish, kittenish companion
caught all your thoughts, received your days.
She sat and listened.
She was fascinated with you.
You focused down, you became absorbed,

and you wrote what you saw.






Monday, October 5, 2020

"Fainting, I follow: lovers who run with the deer


   




A snow white doe in an emerald glade
To me appeared, with antlers soft of gold, 
And leapt two streams, under a laurel's shade,
Near sunrise, in the winter's bitter cold.
To me she appeared wild treasure so fair
I was so distraught my eyes fell to stare,
As if, poor miser pursuing his gold,
I might find relief for grievance of old.
I spied on her neck, "No one dares touch me",
Graven in topaz and diamond stones,
"For Caesar wills I should always run free."
The sun had ascended to zenith, and she
was gone in a flash, lost in its pale gleam.
While I still chased her, I fell in that stream!

Petrarch Sonnet 190







Whoso List to Hunt

Whoso list to hunt, I know where is an hind!
But as for me, hélas, I may no more.
The vain travail hath wearied me so sore,
I am of them that farthest cometh behind.
Yet may I by no means my wearied mind
Draw from the deer, but as she fleeth afore
Fainting I follow. I leave off therefore,
Sithens in a net I seek to hold the wind.
Who list her hunt, I put him out of doubt,
As well as I may spend his time in vain.
And graven with diamonds in letters plain
There is written, her fair neck round about:
Noli me tangere, for Caesar's I am,
And wild for to hold, though I seem tame.

Thomas Wyatt 
 

 

Wednesday, September 30, 2020

Stephen Fry, Stephen Fry

 


Since this is a lovely and balmy day,
Let's look at a certain man today.

Not just any man, you see
But a man who is funny, ho ho ha hee.



Stephen Fry, Stephen Fry
When you come on public television,
it's almost like I die.





















When you talked about Wagner
and Hitler and such,
I saw your green jacket
and just liked it so much.

You lost a lot of weight there,
you great big kermudge,
But I'm glad you found a shrink or
your brain might now be sludge.
























Stephen Fry, Stephen Fry
When you go off to Bayreuth it just makes me cry.
When you sat down to play that piano so great,
It made my heart kaboom and palpitate.

And you surely got my sympathy vote
When you tried to hit one key and got the wrong note.


And when you did that show on bipolar disorder,
It made me just pack up and run for the border.



Stephen Fry, Stephen Fry
You drive me all nutty, I don't know just why.
Maybe you're crazy, that's part of your myth,
And even if you're gay I just wait for your kith.

























I found out at last why girls like you so,
And boys of course too, vo-do-de-o-do.
Your face is all craggy, it looks so unique
Like Easter Island or a great mountain peak.





















Yes, you have that Stonehenge look, you know
That makes the women moan very low.



I don't know how you do it, so effortless it seems,
So forever, silly person, you will dwell in my dreams.

 

(I confess right here and now that this is a repeat! But it was inspired by some of the recent interviews I've seen of SF. My passion has not changed!!)

Monday, September 28, 2020

Songs unsung: my lyrics, all undone


The following poems started life as song lyrics: songs which for the most part never found a tune, because my collaborator Bill Prouten was (at the time, maybe he's a changed man) too scattered to turn his brilliance towards writing the music. So no Prouten-Gunning, no Gunning-Prouten, or much of anything, except these words - which tell the story of my love for him, all those years ago. 

Lyrics without tunes are a bit sad, like orphans wandering around in the wilderness. But here they are anyway, or some of them, my favorites. Bill is in another universe of time now, and has fulfilled some of his dreams, but not all. I have broken my heart wide open, and repaired it over and over again, as well as I can. I look back at a distance of some eighteen years - the age of a grown person, really - but is my love for him now grown up? It has never even grown out. 

 

  



A NEW KIND OF SONG

The stars are aligning like jewels in the sky
The world is all juicy, like cherry pie
I feel such a rapture, at last I belong
For this is a new kind of song

And the bees in the trees make a buzzy old hum
My heart is dancing to a different drum
The door is more open than ever before
And there’s more -
More joy than I’ve tasted before

My life was a planet deserted and dry
And troubles came knocking, don’t ask me why
But something is changing, it cannot be wrong
And I’m singing a new kind of song 

A song that speaks of a love that lifts me high
A song that proclaims a hope that will not die
For the tide’s rushing in, and the desert will bloom
And the saints are all chasing those prophets of doom
And the wheel is a-spinning, it pulls me along
For this is a new kind of song

And the bees in the trees make a buzzy old hum
My heart is dancing to a different drum
The door is more open than ever before
‘Cause there’s more -
More blessings than I’ve ever known before 





A SLICE OF THE PIE

You got to know
When to roll out that dough
Don’t touch it too much
And such –
Catch my eye
Get a slice of the pie

You got to know
When to pluck those cherries ripe
The big juicy type
So ripe -
Look, say hi
Get a slice of the pie

If you wanna bake
Or maybe make some good love with me
Baby, let’s try
To scramble or fry
Our destiny

You got to smell
When it’s coming so well
Come taste the sweet
It’s nearly complete -
Good enough to eat

Come and dig in
It’s a sweet kind of sin
Got to live ‘til you die
Make some love on the sly
Get a slice of the pie 



 
 
 A SONG UNSUNG
 
“I love you” can never be unsaid 
And what’s done is done -
Then why do you run
I took the greatest risk with you
One soul can take with another
Forsaking all others
So why is it all so unstrung

And a song unsung
Is no kind of song at all
The music undone
Dark horses running towards a fall
The words pulled loose like thread
Unbinding the fine tapestry
Is this hollow feeling
What it really means to be free 

Giving your all
Is such an irrational act
A pledge, and a fact
I gave you more than I had
And my heart was glad
To make the sacrifice
More than once, more than twice

And a song unsung
Is no kind of song at all
Our plans undone
Dark forces pushing us to the wall
The love pulled loose like thread
Unbinding the fine tapestry
Is this hungry feeling
What it really means to be free

Then give me slavery –
This kind of free
Is the last thing I ever
Want to be 
 




CRAZY HORSE

Oh why you running after me
When I have no strength to run
I’ve told you I’m not interested
In your kind of fun

If you don’t hold your horses
You’re going to lose this race
You must be plain addicted
To the thrill of the chase

And you’ve got to
Get down off that crazy horse
Right now before I burn
Those letters that you sent me
You know it’s not your turn

If you don’t stop we’ll soon be at
The point of no return
Get off that pony, rider
You’re smart, but you don’t learn

Oh why you keep on chasing me
When my race is almost run
Keep up the pace, and my resolve
Will quickly come undone

Don’t want to get my hopes up
I’ll get to see your face
So run right by before I go
Commit some great disgrace

And you’ve got to
Get down off that crazy horse
Right now while I return
All those presents that you sent me
This tide will never turn

If you don’t slow down to a walk
I’ll start to crash and burn
Get off your high horse, rider
You’re smart but you don’t learn
Jump off that horse and hit the dirt
You’re smart, but you don’t learn 





DAY BY DAY

Since you’ve gone
I have to take things
Day by day

Can’t make plans
Can’t see ahead to
some other way

And I know
I’m looking backwards into
yesterday
I have to take things
Day by day

Day by day
It takes a lot of work to
Get me through
And I sigh
My watercolor’s
All one shade of blue
You were joy
But now my dream has
All come untrue
I have to take things
Day by day

And why
When we were planning something
That we thought would stay
Oh why
When I revealed my soul to you
Did you decide to stray

These days
Hang long and heavy
and my heart is sore
I try
to find the sunlight
and an open door

You’ve gone
but no one else can
love you more
day by day
Because there is no other way –
I have to take things
day by day day by day 



 
DIRTY MOON

The Moon is not so very sweet
In fact it’s down and dirty
You’re sweet, but kind of salty too
Mercurial and flirty
For in the sky, I see the why
Of how our love got started

We’re moonstruck fools, don’t know the rules
Tomorrow’s all uncharted
And that ol’ Moon Man is dirty
We better wash his face
We’ll shine up all the galaxies
As if we own the place

You’ll blaze just like a shooting star
Across the midnight sky
I’ll chase you ‘round the nebulae
So far, so wide, so high

The Moon’s not so romantic
It’s a great big hunk of stone
But rock can roll, and in your soul
You hate to be alone
We’re balls of cosmic fire
Colliding in the night
A beautiful disaster
Blindsided by the light

And that ol’ Moon Man is dirty
We better wash his face
And tip the constellations
Until they fall from grace
You’ll blaze just like a shooting star
Across the midnight sky
And I’ll chase you ‘round the nebulae
Until we feel so high

We’ll both go supernova. . .
So far, so wide, so high 



 
FORGIVING

To err is human
Your sins can’t be much worse than mine
And though I’m no saint, I won’t keep score
For love is a thing divine
A part of all that’s holy
A tender mystery

Glowing through the shadows we can see
And forgiving
Is the thing that lets us start our lives anew
Releasing
The anguish and the shame that we once knew
Forgive me
And I do promise I’ll forgive you too
Then please forgive yourself
It’s the hardest and the best thing you can do

To stray is weakness
Temptation a powerful spell
And when you gave in, said yes to her
It took us straight to hell
The things I said were slashing
They cut you to the soul
There’s only one thing that will make us whole

Forgiving
Is the key to letting all this heartbreak go
For living
Takes more compassion than most people know
I love you
Embrace me and this cup will overflow
Forgiving
Is God’s own wish -

Let’s make amends, and let our feelings show

 

 
GALAXIES

When we walked at midnight
Your eyes threw back the light
I took your hand
And we rode the starry night. . .

Galaxies
Twinkling celestial, and coaxing in the dawn
Catch the purple glow before it’s gone
Galaxies
I see galaxies

The long black skirt of night-time
Blows around you like the sway of midnight trees
Stirred by soft breeze
And in your eyes reflected
A treasure-chest of jewels that could be stars
I see Jupiter I see Mars

The Twins hang cool and sparkling
In a misty pool of deep and darkening skies
My heart’s unwise
And your long shadow shelters
My darlingmost desires in reverie
(when you whisper, come with me)

The mere revere of being here
All tangled in the forest of your hair
My soul aware
The sweet shock of your laughter
Like bells that peal and wake the sleeping night
All sorrow will take flight 

And in my dreams, the firefly streams
Will trace the shining pathway of your soul
To make me whole
The future is unwritten
But something says we’re reaching for the moon
I know we’ll be there soon 




GOD AND THE DEVIL

The sun shone
For so blazing long
I almost forgot about the rain
I loved you
And it was so strong
I couldn’t remember feeling pain

But when clouds came
And the sky was dark
I couldn’t recollect the sun
Now I hang on
To that shining time
When God and the devil were one

And you were a mistake
I needed to make
A wrong turn I just had to take
A bad habit difficult to break
A road to nowhere. . .

When it’s so wrong
Yet so strong
Then reason abandons the scene
And I wasted
So much precious time
Just waiting for Fate to intervene 

When you hurt me
With your hard words
My life came completely undone
Now I hang on
To that shining time
When God and the devil were one

And you were a mistake
I just had to make
A bad road I wanted to take
A habit impossible to break
A road to nowhere
That led me somewhere
A place of heartbreak

And ache. . .


 
I CAN’T HAVE YOU

It’s sunny and fine here, I’m sipping the wine
Of far-flung places,
But in the blank spaces, still there are tracings of you.
Where we walked, and spoke to each other
You joked, and all the lies of love came true
It seems I can have everything, but I can’t have you.

I can have headaches,
I can have heartaches,
But I can’t have you.
And what good are kisses,
And smiles and near-misses,
When it all turns blue

It seems that the farther I travel
The nearer I come to you,
I can lose myself in cocktails and find myself in pain,
I can run down the drain with the rain
But I can’t have you.

I’m feeling so well here, the boys are all tanned
And the water’s fine
And when I get restless, there’s always the haze
Of another glass of wine 

And I’m sick of roses, and insincere poses
So it’s good that you’re gone
But one thing I don’t understand –
How will I go on?

For I can have headaches,
And I can have heartaches,
But I can’t have you.
It seems that I missed you
From the moment I kissed you
One and one did not make two. 

And why is it the farther I travel
The nearer I come to you
I can lose myself in cocktails and find myself in pain
I can run down the drain with the rain
But I can’t have you.

I can run down the drain with the rain
But I can’t have you. 



 
IT'S AN ART

It scares me so much to hear you tell the truth
You’re making too much sense when you say
It’s time for our goodbyes
These agonizing whys
Will only make us lose our way

When you’ve tried for all those years
And hidden all your tears
The cost is just too much to pay
I gave you so much of my time
But this poem will not rhyme
And it’s time for us to part, and seize the day. . . 

For no matter what was holding us together
The signs say we have to come apart
A will is not a way, that’s why I cannot stay
For love is not a science – it’s an art

And lately I feel like a boat that’s cast adrift
Like an angel that has only one wing
It’s a new pair of shoes
I’ve got nothing to lose
But this freedom is a lonely sort of thing

And no matter why fate tossed us together
The time has come for us to come apart
A will is not a way, that’s why I cannot stay
Though love’s an artless thing
It still is art. . .
For love is not a science – it’s an art 



LET’S JUST TALK

So much of life is taken up
With things we don’t want to do
With boredom and chores
And locked-up doors
And people that irritate you

I don’t want to chase you
Distract or embrace you
But wouldn’t it be a delight
To sit next to you
Admiring the view
And just shoot the breeze half the night

Let’s just talk
I’m tired of games and complication
Have a go
I think we’re due some
Sparkling conversation

Let’s just talk
I’m too old to tease and too wise to try
Please ignore me if I
Accidentally
Breathe a sigh

I know what you think about politics
It isn’t worth anyone’s while
I know what makes you furious
And I know what makes you smile

But I don’t know what you think of me
It’s none of my business, I know
So let’s just sit and visit a while
And take things very slow

Let’s just talk
I’m tired of all the old manipulation
I like you
You’re a source of mental stimulation
Let’s just talk
I’m too old to tease and too wise to try
Please forgive me if I
Accidentally
Breathe a sigh

 

 
ONLY A GAME

You act like you have no idea
You’ve blown my cool
Set my heart to flame
An afternoon’s amusement
A way to kill some time
To you, it’s only a game

And when I see you, how my heart howls
You don’t even hear the sound
With that smile of yours that would melt a stone
I can’t stand to have you around
You dangle my heart on a watch-chain
To please yourself
It’s cruel, this thing
And I can’t believe
How I sit here and wait
For the goddamned phone to ring

And when I see you, how my hope soars
Until it crashes in flame
You’re the devil in jeans, a demon in blue
A man with no sense of shame
Because for you, this wild thing’s
Just a game –
For you, it’s only a game.

 

 
SALTY SWEET

In blessings there are curses
So my Mama said to me
And just like that, your lucky streak
Can turn to misery

But do not be discouraged
Or lose your sense of cool
The biggest curse could be much worse
So listen to my rule:

You’ve got to take the salty with the sweet
Life is never so complete
You’re down but never out, my friend – repeat:
You’ve got to
Take the salty with the sweet.

The nasty turns of fortune
We’ll never understand
The sweetest jelly-babies
Turn to bullets in your hand

That great big fat bonanza
Is disaster in disguise
Rub the belly of the genie
And smoke gets in your eyes

So. . .you’ve. . . got. . .to. . .

Take the salty with the sweet, my friend
Life will never be complete, oh no it won’t!
You’re gone but not forgot, my friend,

Repeat:

Take the salty with the sweet.


When Pedro lost his girl friend
His burro was so sad
He wouldn’t run no more, and it
Made Pedro very mad. 

Until he hung a carrot
Before that burro’s nose
And now he runs, and when he’ll stop
Poor Pedro never knows!

Take the salty with the sweet
Life ain’t always such a treat (and here is why):
You die just as it’s getting good – repeat!:
Take the salty with the sweet!

 

 
SILLY BOY

You walked into my life
And left your footprints on my skin
I could never tell if loving you
Was joy, or sin

It seems that if I touch you, I fall right in
And so I stay away. . .

Silly boy
I never should have
Set my heart on you

You’re a dream
That has no hope of coming true
 
When you smile
The angels smile along with you
Silly boy

I thought you meant it when
You said you’d be with me a while
But staying close to someone
Is not your style
It seems I have a habit of self-denial
And so I stay away. . .

Silly boy
I never should have
Lost my mind for you
You’re a dream
That bathes my heart in shades of blue

When you smile
The angels smile along with you
Silly boy

And when you left without me
All my plans just blew away
I knew that my composure
Wouldn’t last the day
It seems it doesn’t matter if I try to pray
And so, I say:

Silly boy
You never should have
Played games with my soul
I’m a fool
Who has no hope of feeling whole
Now you’re gone
My heart’s an empty, aching hole
You stole my joy
You silly boy

Silly boy . . .




SO ADDICTIVE

I don’t know what’s worse for me
Chocolate or gin
These cravings I fight
Want to pull me right in
I’m addicted to things
That are bad for my skin
And my heart –

I don’t know why love’s
Such a powerful drug
So cunning and baffling
It pulls out the plug
And though I’m resisting
I’ve still got the bug -
Not too smart!

And you’re
So addictive
A passion I’m trying way too hard to control
So addictive
A poison invading my sanity and my soul 

So addictive
I’d better seek help for it soon
Or I’ll break
And start howling at the moon

I’m twelve steps away from you
Trying to stay
On the straight narrow path
Though I’m losing my way
And I’m striving for faith
While I’m longing to stray
To your door

I’m feeling so powerless
Knowing it’s wrong
And why is recovery
Taking so long
Who knew that a poison
Could look like a man
I adore

Because you’re
So addictive,
A cocktail so potent I dare not take one drink
So addictive
I’m too buzzed to reason or even try to think

So addictive
That soon I fear I’ll slip
And take
Just a sip

Let me raise this glass
To my lip. . .

You’re so addictive.




Saturday, September 26, 2020

Abandoned Edsels




I heart old cars - and as a non-driver, I've never known exactly why. This passion only sprang up in the past few years, and in that time I've gone to numerous car shows, taken videos of vintage car "drive-bys", collected antique car photos, and even ridden in a few. But even more creepily fascinating are wrecks - the hulls and husks of ancient rustbuckets left to die in ditches and farmer's fields. Edsels carry a special significance as the white elephant of the auto world - a car so hyped that Ford thought it couldn't fail. Well - it did. Ugliest sucker I ever saw, with a thing like a toilet seat stuck to the front, but even more macabre when wrecked and rotting, its parts falling off and rusted through. 


Thursday, September 24, 2020

Unmet needs: why we're afraid to talk to our doctors

 


This is a Facebook comment that I want to turn into a blog post, because these are important issues, and I assume I am hardly the only one who is struggling. It's an unpopular view about which hardly anyone speaks, and I think this is due to guilt, shame and being intimidated by the labyrinthine nature of the medical system right now. It causes more stress than it solves, so I try to avoid it as much as I can, and avoiding medical issues and hoping they will go away is NOT a good strategy over the long haul - and I don't even think we're at the midpoint yet. I normally use a lot of images to break up text, but this is going down as is. 

I have one of those phoned-in "doctor's appointments" scheduled in a few minutes and am waiting by the phone with my stomach in knots, though I was told the call could come any time between 8:00 am and 5:00 pm. 

I am dreading it. After six months, I have so many unaddressed issues built up that I don't trust myself NOT to spill them, become angry and alienate the only source of help I have right now. She has a history of discounting and countering virtually everything I say. Medication is also a huge problem, and based on past experience I fear she will withhold some things in a way that "shouldn't bother me" because it didn't bother anyone else she has treated. 

I am being told, not WHAT to feel, but the only way TO feel, because, surprise surprise, there's a pandemic on and we're made to feel very guilty and even shamed for having medical needs that have gone unmet for half a year (and most of this stuff has been going on for 2 years or so while I have actively searched for a better doctor). 

In my case, it's psychiatric, so I virtually don't have a leg to stand on, and based on 50 years of dismal experience, this almost cannot go well. Everyone has their own bag of bricks to lug around, and each one is different, but I have been trying very hard to convince myself that this stuff isn't important, and I should just be a big girl and suck it up. That is the impression I get, anyway. 

I try to keep negative medical things off my Facebook page because it is NOT a popular view to criticize doctors, who have been lifted up to the status of selfless heroes when many of them are just not doing their regular jobs and are leaving people (not just me) with no safety net, which is considered some kind of indulgence, I think. My main hope is that she will have an anonymous intern handle it, which she has frequently done over the past two years. My encounters with her, though rare, are incredibly stressful and leave me feeling drained and discounted. And I can't "just get another doctor", so that door is closed to me. 

Wish me luck, please.