The Daily Poet: July 2016

Sunday, July 31, 2016

Home

Home

You cannot take the city or the farm
from him or her who had been reared in one.
And those remaining in the forests or
the deserts or the mountains or the ice
have need of these to keep their beings whole.
But I have town and village in my soul.

Give me the city and the countryside—
the honking cars and blessed quietude,
the sunless toilets and the fragrant trees,
the towers and the open fields and sky—
and set these things, so contrary, beside
each other, as the breath drawn in and out,
and I will be content, between the two,
to live awhile—and then, in peace, to die.

******

Within a bustling city, I was born,
and in the cities I have worked and lived,
yet only when my soles had touched the earth
and when, in turn, the waters and the sky
had touched my soul, and villagers my heart,
could I perceive that I was home at last.

The city’s spawn may sneer at small-town folk,
as these in turn look down on villagers.
And peasants too may view as primitives
the ones who live in forests or in hills.
But I have dodged the city’s traffic and
have slowly walked on winding forest paths.
I’ve heard the city’s roar, been hardened—sinned,
then gentled, cleansed, by water and by wind.

******

Some tribal folk maintained unbroken lines
of culture, through the ages, even though
the empires, rising later, came and went.
They might appear as “simple”, yet they know
the precious things that we have sadly lost.
New empires rise—and beings pay the cost.

From teachers in the city’s schools, I learned,
and from the books in libraries and stores,
but just as much—perhaps, in essence, more—
I gleaned from kindly folk with rustic roots.
Our cities’ schools and books have been, at best,
an overlay on what was there before.
So though we post things on the Internet,
there’s still no substitute for local lore.

******

In Beijing’s narrow lanes, the rickshaws ply
and those who pedal greet the ones who sit
in summer evenings on those darkened streets.
But in Shanghai the lanes of traffic flow,
as advertisements shine from towers of glass,
and few are asking, “Where did China go?”

The traffic and the crowds and all the rest,
the canyons of the city, libraries,
the silent alleys at the end of day,
the coffee shops where poets still may meet—
these all are part of me, and yet there is
that treasure of the past that’s precious too—
that place, where all the faces there were known—
that village which, for humans, was their home.

strophes 1-3, on a bus in Beijing, July 8th, Fri.
strophe 4, on a plane from Beijing to Shanghai, July 9th, Sat.
strophes 5-6, on a bus nearing Nanjing, July 9th, Sat.
strophes 7-8, in our apartment in Brooklyn, July 31st, Sun.

Tuesday, July 26, 2016

On Ignorance and Apathy

On Ignorance and Apathy

https://empathological.wordpress.com/2012/03/17/emotion-and-ignorance-and-anedotal-correlation/

Ah Ignorance, how sweet you taste!
It's said that you are bliss.
And Apathy, I sing you to you,
Though others boo and hiss.

We go to school and even go
To college, yet we are
As ignorant as one could be,
In matters such as war.

And truly, what can people know
Except the things they see?
So who knows what has happened in
A place across the sea?

And even in our cities, we
Now live secluded lives.
We're ignorant of what goes on
Within our busy hives.

We go to work, in offices,
But there, because we're busy,
We do not know what others do,
Unless we're types who're nosy.

And when we hear a worker is
In trouble, then we shun
That person—as, from insects, we
Now see our children run.

And as for other neighborhoods
Or regions far away—
We do not know. How can we know
Of such things, could you say?

******

I read, at work, the NY Post.
I’ve heard it’s Murdoch’s own.
I get my news from it, my friend.
The rest, I now disown.

The workers in the factories
Are surely useless bums.
They're lazy, like the migrants who
Now crowd the city's slums.

The workers in the government,
The teachers in the schools—
They’re feeding on our taxes and
They’re lazy, worthless fools.

And as for all those Hindus and
Those Muslims, Christians, Jews—
They're all a bunch of murderers,
According to the news.

And atheists? And socialists?
Do spare me those, my friend!
It's better that we're rid of those.
Let's pray their lives will end.

The world is full of primitives—
Not advanced, like you and me.
The others, they are jealous, so
We cannot let them be.

It's better that we take the wars
To them, than they to us.
The peaceniks, they are full of s**t.
To hell with all their fuss!

http://www.differencebetween.net/miscellaneous/difference-between-ignorance-and-apathy/

We're doing well, we're doing well—
With gizmos, buildings tall…
This business about nature, well—
You're welcome to it all.

For might is right. That's how it is.
This world is ours to use.
It says so in our holy books.
To listen, we refuse!

The species rise, the species die.
And so it always is.
So if we’re killing more, why that
Is just the way it is.

We need resources, so to hell
With primitives resisting.
It’s time they got more civilized.
What’s obsolete, needs fixing.

The forests must be cleared. With tribes
And critters, they’re infested.
In timber and in mines, my friend,
It’s time you were invested.

I’ve heard that water now is hot.
Privatization, yay!
The world can’t run on rum and Coke.
It now is water’s day.

And climate change? Organic food?
The ocean turning acid?
They’re hoaxes! So invest in Shell
And BP and Monsanto.

*******

It's all a fake—a ruse, you see,
To make us number two.
But we are number one, my friend.
And that is me and you.

And some may raise, at intervals,
An issue out of history.
But since we weren't there, the truth
Remains, for us, a mystery.

We went to school and learned that we
Have built a land of glory.
So what if, as they say, the start
Of this was rather gory?

Let whiners whine. It’s onward, ho!
See other countries learning!
So what, if there’s a bit of smog
And forests razed or burning?

Ah ignorance, how sweet you taste!
And apathy? Why that
Is what you need, or else this world
Will leave you knocked out flat.

We’re all conditioned to believe
And to behave by those
Who flood us with their ads and more.
But now, it's time to close.

And if you find I've contradicted
Everything I've said,
It's all because I'm ignorant
And will be, till I'm dead.

2016 July 26th, Tue.
Brooklyn, New York

Monday, July 25, 2016

You and I can Laugh

You and I can Laugh

The empires rise, the empires fall.
Let’s vote to curse them, one and all.
And bigots, with their twisted hearts,
Are all a bunch of worthless farts.

We shudder at what empires do
And at the zealots’ actions too.
But though we often weep at this,
We also loudly boo and hiss.

Some bomb from up on high and lob
Their missiles, while some other yob
Straps on his belt and so can blow
Himself and others up, below.

So women, children burn and die,
As all the politicians lie.
And you can ask the reason why,
Or murmur, “My oh my oh my.”

But also, you and I can laugh,
And break the loaf we share in half,
And chew on what we have and think,
“The empires and the bigots stink.”

And if we’ve fermented the grape,
We then can our ancestors ape,
And drink, in times of woe, a glass,
And say, “This Trump’s a blowhard ass!

“That Sanders shed a spot of light,
But didn’t get a chance to fight.
And Clinton, sadly, ain’t the best.”,
Then toddle, darkly, off to rest.

The world, that humans make, is worse
Than we can limn in paint or verse.
But we have heard an ancient rumor:
“They cannot rob us of our humor.”

So we can lose our friends and kin
And see a world that’s plunged in sin.
And though our tears are flowing, still
We laugh, because we’ve kept our will.

And though they try to break our hearts
As well as bodies, with their arts
Of horror, still, with toothless grins,
We smile, but don’t forget their sins.

There's laughter, in the times of joy,
And humor that we still employ
When all around is horror. Laugh,
For laughter breaks the devil's staff.

They might destroy, they might defile,
But you and I can stand and smile.
And though we dangle each from ropes,
They cannot rob us of our hopes.

For others still might well recall
That empires rise and empires fall,
That bigots too are doomed to die,
But truth persists, despite the lie.

2016 July 25th, Mon.
Brooklyn, New York

Sunday, July 24, 2016

Cin Dexe Bhro`mon'-চীন দেশে ভ্রমণ-Visit to China

Note: The phonetic transcription and the translation to English have not yet been done.
-------------------------------------

চীন দেশে ভ্রমণ

অনেক বছর বাদে,
চললাম ছুটির দিনে,
হাওয়ার জাহাজে চড়ে,
এই পৃথিবী ঘুরে,
অন্য এক দেশে৷

তাজ্জব হয়ে, দেখলাম সেখানে
চলছে মানুষ বেগে—
কেউ বা হেঁটে, কেউ বা সাইকেল-স্কুটারে,
কেউ বা গাড়ীর ভেতরে৷

জানিনা সে দেশের ভাষা,
জানিনা সে দেশের লেখা৷
শুনলাম অনেক কিছু,
বুঝলাম লবডঙ্কা,
কয়েক ছুটির দিনে,
প্রাচীন-আধুনিক চীনে৷

বেইজিং শহরে আজ
নেই আর মহারাজ,
নেই আর সুন য়াত সেন,
নেই আর কুয়োমিনতাং,
নেই আর মাও জেদং৷

গেছে একে একে সবাই৷
রয়েছে পুরোনো প্রাসাদ৷
রয়েছে মূর্তি, ছবি৷
রয়েছে কি আর কবি?

এসেছিল লাল প্রভাত৷
এসেছিল কৃষকের আশা৷
এসেছিল মজদুরের দিন৷
এল তার সন্ধ্যে, ভাই৷
খুঁজেও পাবে না তাই৷

এসেছে লেনদেন৷
এসেছে বেচাকেনা৷
এসেছে, বহুতলা বাড়ি৷
এসেছে চকমকে গাড়ী৷

এসেছে হাইওয়ের গতি৷
গেছে গো সেকালের ধীর৷
রয়েছে এখনো হাসি৷
সেটাও যাবে গো, হায়৷

মনে মনে হলাম হতাশ৷
বয়েছে ব্যবসায়ি বাতাস৷
যদিও পূর্বের দেশ,
পরেছে পশ্চিমে বেশ৷

ডাকাত হয়েছে ধনী৷
লুটেছে শ্রমিকের মণি৷
বোঝাব কাকে এই কীর্তি?
হব তো দুদিনেই ফিরতি৷

রবিবার, ২৪ এ জুলাই, ২০১৬ খ্রি
ব্রুক্লিন, নিউয়র্ক
-------------------------------------

Cīna Dēśē Bhramaṇa

Anēka bachara bādē,
calalāma chuṭira dinē,
hā'ōẏāra jāhājē caṛē,
ē'i pr̥thibī ghurē,
an'ya ēka dēśē.

Tājjaba haẏē, dēkhalāma sēkhānē
calachē mānuṣa bēgē—
kē'u bā hēm̐ṭē, kē'u bā sā'ikēla-skuṭārē,
kē'u bā gāṛīra bhētarē.

Jāninā sē dēśēra bhāṣā,
jāninā sē dēśēra lēkhā.
Śunalāma anēka kichu,
bujhalāma labaḍaṅkā,
kaẏēka chuṭira dinē,
prācīna-ādhunika cīnē.

Bē'ijiṁ śaharē āja
nē'i āra mahārāja,
nē'i āra suna ẏāta sēna,
nē'i āra kuẏōminatāṁ,
nē'i āra mā'ō jēdaṁ.

Gēchē ēkē ēkē sabā'i.
Raẏēchē purōnō prāsāda.
Raẏēchē mūrti, chabi.
Raẏēchē ki āra kabi?

Ēsēchila lāla prabhāta.
Ēsēchila kr̥ṣakēra āśā.
Ēsēchila majadurēra dina.
Ēla tāra sandhyē, bhā'i.
Khum̐jē'ō pābē nā tā'i.

Ēsēchē lēnadēna.
Ēsēchē bēcākēnā.
Ēsēchē, bahutalā bāṛi.
Ēsēchē cakamakē gāṛī.

Ēsēchē hā'i'ōẏēra gati.
Gēchē gō sēkālēra dhīra.
Raẏēchē ēkhanō hāsi.
Sēṭā'ō yābē gō, hāẏa.

Manē manē halāma hatāśa.
Baẏēchē byabasāẏi bātāsa.
Yadi'ō pūrbēra dēśa,
parēchē paścimē bēśa.

Ḍākāta haẏēchē dhanī.
Luṭēchē śramikēra maṇi.
Bōjhāba kākē ē'i kīrti?
Haba tō dudinē'i phirati.

Rabibāra, 24 ē Julā'i, 2016 Khri
Bruklina, Ni'uẏarka

Hubris and Debt, Fools and Ghouls (and Trump, Obama and Clinton)

Hubris and Debt, Fools and Ghouls
(and Trump, Obama and Clinton)

Hubris and Debt, Fools and Ghouls
(and Trump, Obama and Clinton)

So many wars that will not end!
So many products still to vend!
We’ve murdered people, murdered whales.
We’ve raised the stocks and boosted sales.
What’s left of fabrics still to rend?
And who can hope to heal and mend?
We’ve birthed the storm. So hear the gales,
As hammers pound on coffins’ nails.

How many left, who still are sane,
And not in jail or judged insane
By those who dance as puppets do,
While saying, “Dance!” to me and you?
And if we don’t, we suffer pain,
And find our efforts are in vain,
For labor must be service too,
To those who reign, as masters do.

How sad that this, our human race,
Must serve as serfs, with each in place
To work, produce—and buy, consume,
And all those qualities assume
That are expected, while we race
And vie for each coveted place.
We work—to fly and to consume
And then return—and jobs resume.

For now, vacations too are sales.
Our kids are swayed by seller’s tales.
They buy the gizmos, clothes and cars,
Cosmetics—even buying wars.
As elders quaff their wines and ales,
So youngsters guzzle sodas, sales.
As long as we are buying cars,
We also will be starting wars.

Who knows of science and history
And is intrigued by mystery?
Who dares to think and question why
We come to live and work and die?
We learn, in schools, our “history”,
But truth remains a mystery.
We lack in patience and in depth,
But not in hubris or in debt.

Where patience can be judged a vice,
There nasties rule, and those who’re nice,
Are seen as useless, worthless fools,
Who can’t be fashioned into tools
That aid those, who, ignoring price,
Would make decisions in a trice.
But who, we ask, are more the fools—
The slow—or those who serve the ghouls?

A few may feast on human flesh,
But others do on labor, fresh.
Our role, for them, is just to work,
To never raise our voice to irk
Their majesty, or rip that mesh
In which both France and Bangladesh
Are trapped. They view us as a quirk,
And squash us, as they smugly smirk.

Our role is labor and consumption,
Paying taxes, lacking gumption,
Lowing, bleating with the herd,
Being redneck, worker, nerd,
Being conditioned, drained of passion,
Trained to follow swings of fashion…
Injustice? If we’ve ever heard,
We’ve learned to flush it, like a turd.

The cannons boom, the bombs descend,
The drones deliver and ascend.
The helicopters dive and strafe.
And who, from all of this, is safe?
The fighters die, the migrants wend
Their way—and souls and bodies vend.
From poverty and death and rape,
They flee—but find there’s no escape.

Where capital, at speed, can flow,
There labor follows, stressed and slow.
The money drains from villages,
As those who did the tillages
Must find their ways to cities. So
The workers, to the anthills, flow.
But both in towns and villages,
The ghoul is there, who pillages.

He feeds on interest and rent,
And bribing is his special bent.
He views the worker as a chump.
He shows his underlings his rump.
The migrants, to his mills, are sent.
For a nickel’s work, he pays a cent.
And yet, if he is Donald Trump,
On migrants, he can take his dump.

“They’re rapists, murderers!” he cries.
And many chumps believe his lies.
And who is there to counter Don,
To ask, “What planet are you on?”
Why, there’s Obama, gals and guys,
And Hillary, who tries and tries.
But Wall Street says, “No Sanders- Warren!”
She bows and curtsies. She’s no moron.

2016 July 24th, Sun.
Brooklyn, New York

Friday, July 8, 2016

Fools—II (with pictures from Brooklyn and Manhattan, 2016 June)

Note: Some photographs, taken in June in Brooklyn and Manhattan, are included at the bottom of this post. Those pictures are not directly related to the topic of the poem. The initial post of July 8th had also included photographs from the first few days of our trip to China in July. I have now removed all but one of those pictures, so as not to overload the reader/viewer. I will try and post them later. -- Arjun, 2016-07-23
----------------------------------------------------

Fools—II

We’re living now in pressured times—
Been doing that for quite a while.
And so, we see our fellows frown
More often than we see them smile.

Where empires each extract their loot,
We hear the cracking of the whip.
We also note the racing, there,
Of mind and hand, of tongue and lip…

For “Time is money.” we are taught,
As clocks and coinage rule the lands.
The ones who rush get praise, while those
Who care and fuss get reprimands.

But here and there, among the serfs,
We find the ones who “play the game”.
They live on others’ labor and
They cheat and steal—and feel no shame.

And some among these folk may “rise”
To “oversee” the ones who toil—
To see that those “below” are squeezed,
As fish are pressed for precious oil.

And there are those who might be slow,
Who question, think and answer, “No.”
And these, we note, will never “rise”.
They’ll suffer till their times to go.

For rackets, scams are “systems” now,
With doubters scorned as “slack” or ‘slow”.
The savvy, to the systems, bow,
And paddle deftly with the flow.

So virtue now is turned to vice.
By those "above", we’re viewed as tools
Or else as problems. Swindlers thrive,
While honest folk are seen as fools.

2016 July 7th Thu - 8th Fri
Beijing, China
(1st stanza: July 5th Tue - 6th Wed
35,000 feet above the Arctic Ocean)
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To view the pictures in a somewhat larger and clearer format, please single-click on any one image. Allow some time for the pictures to load. Then, to see each picture in turn, use either the right and left arrow keys on your keyboard or click on the thumbnails at the bottom of the screen. Captions will not be visible. To return to this post and read the captions, click on the white X near the top right of the dark background. Thanks.
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Sunset over Bensonhurst, Brooklyn, looking west along Bath Ave from 19th Ave. 2016 June 5th, Sun, 8:24 pm. © Arjun Janah

Sunoco gasoline station, at the corner of 19th Ave & Cropsey Ave, Bensonhurst, Brooklyn. 2016 June 5th Sun, 8:34 pm. © Arjun Janah

Laundry cycle-rickshaw, at a crossing in midtown Manhattan,
2016 June 6th, Mon, 7:09 pm. © Arjun Janah

Skyscraper, with clouds and reflections, midtown Manhattan.
2016 June 6th Mon, 7:10 pm. © Arjun Janah

Man using cellphone while striding past displays in upscale
Manhattan store windows, 2016 June 6th Mon, 7:12 pm.
© Arjun Janah

Skyscraper, reflecting buildings, midtown Manhattan,
2016 June 6th, Mon, 7:16 pm. © Arjun Janah

Two skyscrapers, one reflecting clouds, midtown Manhattan,
2016 June 6th, Mon, 7:16 pm. © Arjun Janah

Rearviews of Manhattanites, walking along 6th Avenue,
2016 June 6th Mon, 7:17 pm. © Arjun Janah

Garbage can and chained lids, 19th Ave, Bensonhurst, Brooklyn.
2016 June 14th Tue, 6:44 pm. © Arjun Janah

Our Italian-American neighbor Tony's tow truck, with a metaphor
and a pun, 19th Ave, Bensonhurst, Brooklyn,
2016 June 14th Tue, 6:46 pm. © Arjun Janah

(Single-click on the image to read the inscription. Click on the white X
near the top right of the black background to return to this post.)

Rear view of a woman walking a dog past a shiny blue car, 19th Ave,
Bensonhurst, Brooklyn, 2016 June 14th Tue, 6:48 pm. © Arjun Janah

Our neighbor from Szechuan, China. 19th Ave, Bensonhurst,
Brooklyn, 2016 June 14th Tue, 6:49 pm. © Arjun Janah

By chance, this man and his family were also once my wife's family's neighbors in Canarsie, a faraway section of Brooklyn. Their daughter was a physics student at Canarsie High School, where I taught for thirteen years, from 1989 to 2002, mostly while traveling an hour and a half each way by bus and foot. Of course, I was younger then.

The daughter is now a mother, with two boys. Her elder son is a student at Brooklyn Technical High School, in downtown Brooklyn, near Manhattan. I once also taught there, as a sabbatical replacement, for a term in 1988.

The daughter told me that her sons loved the scent of the spicy fish I used to cook in the evenings. So I gave them samples of that cooking. Her mother, also from (another part of) China, gave me hot peppers and other vegetables from their backyard garden.

David A. Boody Intermediate School (IS 228), Brooklyn,
2016 June 22, Wed., 3:15 pm. © Arjun Janah

I was one of a group of teachers who graded the NY State Physics Regents
exams here: June 22-24, 4 pm to 9 pm & June 25 Sat, 8 am - 12 noon.

Shadows, of tree branches and of a human with a book-bag,
cast on the pavement outside IS 228, Brooklyn.
Early afternoon, a day after the summer solstice,
2016 June 22 Wed, 3:16 pm. © Arjun Janah

(The human's unfinished cup of coffee is on
the pavement, in the shadows of the leaves.)

Sunset over Brooklyn, taken through the wire-grill of a window
at David A. Boody Intermediate School (IS 228), Brooklyn,
2016 June 22 Wed, 8:28 pm. © Arjun Janah

Sunset over Brooklyn, with the Verrazzano Bridge to Staten Island at the horizon, 2016 June 23 Thu, 8:21 pm.
© Arjun Janah

(I placed my phone's camera-lens in a square in a window-grill in IS 228.)

At El Charrito Jr., a Mexican family restaurant near IS 228,
Brooklyn, 2016 June 24 Fri., 9:38 pm. © Arjun Janah

I used to stop here after work at nights for a soft taco.

El Charrito Jr., 2016 June 25 Sat., 12:11 pm. © Arjun Janah

(The restaurant was not yet open for Saturday.)

Fort Hamilton Parkway subway station, Brooklyn, 2016 June 28 Tue, 10 pm. © Arjun Janah

(Except in central NY City, the "subway" trains mostly run on elevated lines.)
I was going home after work at a federal election poll station, 5 am - 9:30 pm.

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Crossing over the Pole, on a Cathay Pacific flight from
New York to Hong Kong, en route to Beijing, China,
2016 July 5th, 6:14 pm EDT.

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Note: a related short poem, with the same title, is: Fools

( http://thedailypoet.blogspot.com/2013/05/fools.html )

Fools—II (with pictures from Brooklyn and Manhattan, 2016 June)

Sunset over Bensonhurst, Brooklyn, looking west along Bath Ave
from 19th Ave, 2016 June 5th, Sun, 8:24 pm. © Arjun Janah

Sunoco gasoline station, at the corner of 19th Ave & Cropsey Ave,
Bensonhurst, Brooklyn, 2016 June 5th Sun, 8:34 pm. © Arjun Janah

Laundry cycle-rickshaw, at a crossing in midtown Manhattan,
2016 June 6th, Mon, 7:09 pm. © Arjun Janah

Skyscraper, with clouds and reflections, midtown Manhattan,
2016 June 6th Mon, 7:10 pm. © Arjun Janah

Man using cellphone while striding past displays in upscale
Manhattan store windows, 2016 June 6th Mon, 7:12 pm.
© Arjun Janah

Our Italian-American neighbor Tony's tow truck, with a metaphor
and a pun. 19th Ave, Bensonhurst, Brooklyn, 2016 June 14th Tue, 6:46 pm. © Arjun Janah

(Single-click on the image to read the inscription. Click on the white X
near the top right of the black background to return to this post.)

Rear view of a woman walking a dog past a shiny blue car, 19th Ave,
Bensonhurst, Brooklyn, 2016 June 14th Tue, 6:48 pm. © Arjun Janah

Shadows, of tree branches and of a human with a book-
bag, cast on the pavement outside IS 228, Brooklyn.
Early afternoon, a day after the summer solstice,
2016 June 22 Wed, 3:16 pm.

© Arjun Janah
(The human's unfinished cup of coffee is on
the pavement, in the shadows of the leaves.)

Sunset over Brooklyn, taken through the wire-grill of a window at
David A. Boody Intermediate School (IS 228), Brooklyn,
2016 June 22 Wed, 8:28 pm. © Arjun Janah

Sunset over Brooklyn, with the Verrazzano Bridge to Staten Island at the horizon.
2016 June 23 Thu, 8:21 pm. © Arjun Janah

(I placed my phone's camera-lens in a square in a window-grill in IS 228.)

At El Charrito Jr., a Mexican family restaurant near IS 228, Brooklyn,
2016 June 24 Fri., 9:38 pm. © Arjun Janah

I used to stop here after work at nights for a soft taco.

Fort Hamilton Parkway subway station, Brooklyn, 2016 June 28 Tue, 10 pm. © Arjun Janah
(Except in central parts of NY City, the "subway" trains mostly run on elevated lines.)
I was going home after work at a federal election poll station, 5 am - 9:30 pm.

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Crossing over the Pole, on a Cathay Pacific flight from New York
to Hong Kong, en route to Beijing, China, 2016 July 5th, 6:14 pm EDT.

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Note: a related short poem, with the same title, is: Fools

( http://thedailypoet.blogspot.com/2013/05/fools.html )