Three things I like Thursday

My jaw has been hurting lately, bringing the first stanza of this poem to mind:

But now that I am used to pain,
Its knuckles in my mouth the same
Today as yesterday, the cause
As clear-obscure as who's to blame,

A fascination with the flaws
Sets in - the plundered heart, the pause
Between those earnest, oversold
Liberties that took like laws.

What should have been I never told,
Afraid of outbursts, you withhold.
Why are desires something to share?
I'm shivering though it isn't cold.

Beneath your window, I stand and stare.
The planets turn. The trees are bare.
I'll toss a pebble at the pane,
But softly, knowing you are not there.
- J.D. McClatchy, Pibroch

I also really like this song and the stories on this website.

Two things I like Tuesday

Out in this desert we are testing bombs,

that's why we came here.

Sometimes I feel an underground river
forcing it's way between deformed cliffs
an acute angle of understanding
moving itself like a locus of the sun
into this condemned scenery.

What we've had to give up to get here---
whole LP collections, films we starred in
playing in the neighborhoods, bakery windows
full of dry, chocolate-filled Jewish cookies,
the language of love-letters, of suicide notes,
afternoons on the riverbank
pretending to be children

Coming out to this desert
we meant to change the face of
driving among dull green succulents
walking at noon in the ghost town
surrounded by a silence

that sounds like the silence of the place
except that it came with us
and is familiar
and everything we were saying until now
was an effort to blot it out---
coming out here we are up against it

Out here I feel more helpless
with you than without you
You mention the danger
and list the equipment
we talk of people caring for each other
in emergencies---laceration, thirst---
but you look at me like an emergency

Your dry heat feels like power
your eyes are stars of a different magnitude
they reflect lights that spell out: EXIT
when you get up and pace the floor

talking of the danger
as if it were not ourselves
as if we were testing anything else.

- Adrienne Rich, Trying to Talk with a Man

And this song, by Loudon Wainwright.

Memphis, TN

There are two albums that my Dad introduced me to in my childhood that I still listen to today, Billy Joel's An Innocent Man and Paul Simon's Graceland. I really got a kick out of sliding around on the kitchen floor in my socks and belting out "I aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaammmmmmmmmmmm an innocent man" when I was a kid.

Although I still love Innocent Man (I just listened to it this morning), it's Graceland I identify more and more with as an adult. As a kid, I loved the "silly" song "You can call me Al," for what I saw as it's elements of pretend ("I can call you Betty and Betty, when you call me you can call me Al"), it's upbeat tempo, and it's confusing, but engaging imagery ("Mister Beer-belly [beer-belly] /Get these mutts away from me/I don't find this stuff amusing anymore). Now, as an adult, I hear that song as being about identity crisis. I like that I can still enjoy all the elements of Graceland that I did as a child and as an adult (with a larger vocabulary) I can find meaning in Simon's songs. (You can listen to You Can Call me Al here.)

What I also didn't know as a child, is that Graceland was caught up in some controversy involving UN resolutions against South African apartheid. It seems that at the time the album was made there was a cultural boycott of South Africa going on. Simon used South African artists on Graceland, but as none of the money from the album went to support the apartheid government and the album featured the work of black South Africans, Simon was cleared of any wrong-doing.

For some interesting reading on the history of apartheid please check this out. (This article is specifically about how computer technology was used during apartheid, but this page gives a brief general history of South African apartheid.)