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editor
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 Posted: Tue Feb 28, 2006 11:51 am Post subject: |
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Winter
Paperback
By Patrick Lane
| Quote: | Winter 18
Naked in the empty room
the young girl offers herself. Such a forlorn gift,
such a hopeless dance; so incomplete
with only innocence to offer. Her love, so awkward
without wantonness, leaves him
with two possibilities: transgression or transformation.
A simple defeat.
How he makes himself holy in order to suffer loss.
If there is anything in him
resembling love
it is for the two with pom-poms on her socks
which is all she wears on this cold floor
as she moves around him,
so much like the snows of early fall.
(-- p. 18) |
| Quote: | Winter 21
To be under ice in the dark is just
one more way to believe, as a fish must who leaps
from water in the wrong season, suddenly
finding no way out. To relinquish movement.
That kind of decorum, the one
without imagination,
the one the Japanese have, their tradition being
the repetitive, the struggle to do something
so perfect no one wil ever know.
Kamikaze.
No wonder he loved their deaths in the war.
All that duty turned into loss. No wonder
he wonders at his garden as the wind
carves it into the shapes
that do not matter, a kind of chaos,
perfection
being the one thing the wind does not know,
just as ice does not know it is only in the eye of a fish
another form of sky.
(-- p. 21) |
More gambling Hosers, eh?
Link to this entry
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editor
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| Posted: Tue Feb 28, 2006 12:20 pm Post subject: |
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The Bare Plum of Winter Rain
Paperback
By Patrick Lane
| Quote: | THE MACARONI SONG
I remember macaroni,
the end of the month,
the last week
when there was so little.
I made up
a song for the children.
The Macaroni Song!
I can't make the song
work now on the page,
just remember, we
laughed so hard.
My wife stood
over the grey metal
where the macaroni boiled.
She never sang the song.
It was always six o'clock.
The children would cry:
Sing the Macaroni Song!
And I would sing.
One night
I stole three tomatoes
from Mister Sagetti's garden
and dropped them
into the curl of water.
My wife.
She loved me.
We worked so hard
to make a life.
Three tomatoes.
I still dream of them.
We were, what you
would call now, poor.
But when we danced
around the table,
my sons and my one
daughter in my hands
and sang the macaroni
son, God, in that moment,
we were happy.
And my wife at the grey stove
spooned the pale bare curls
onto each plate
and that one night
the thin threads
of three tomatoes.
I still dream of them.
Mister Sagetti, dead,
wherever you are
I want to say
this poem is for you.
I'm sorry I stole
your tomatoes.
I was poor and I
wanted, for my children,
a little more.
(-- pgs. 12, 13) |
Find heirloom tomato seeds at Seedy Saturday outdoor markets.
Keepers LIVE
CD Audio
Featuring Guy Clark and the track,
Homegrown Tomatoes.
Link to this entry
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editor
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| Posted: Sun Mar 05, 2006 3:47 pm Post subject: |
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Fortune
Magazine Subscription
The Tragedy of General Motors
By Carol J. Loomis
Beginning at p. 59
Feb. 27/06
| Quote: | GM, though was always in this picture, because it and Delphi are virtually joined at the hip. The separation agreement back in 1999 included deals between GM and the union that made GM contingently liable for post-retirement benefits (mainly pensions and health) owed to certain employees if Delphi ever failed to provide them. With Delphi now in the soup, GM is on the hook -- though for how many dollars is uncertain, because other Delphi/GM transactions figure in, too. At the latest oracular word on Delphi, GM was estimating a total cost between $3.6 billion (an amount indeed taken as a special pretax charge in 2005) and $12 billion, with the most probable figure toward the low end of that range. Whatever the cost, most of the need for cash will hit GM slowly, because it will be liable for the retirement benefits only as they come due.
In the meantime, the bankruptcy court has told Delphi, GM, and the union to come up with a plan by August for getting Delphi, GM, and the union to come up with a plan by August for getting Delphi out of bankruptcy. "This is three-hand poker," says Wagoner with a small grin, and the stakes for these struggling parties are way beyond Vegas. Delphi wants to emerge fit for competition; GM wants to hold its bailout costs to a minimum and also extract better prices from Delphi; and the union wants the highest pay possible. Talking about the cardholders at this table, Steve Miller allows that he, Wagoner, and the president of the UAW, Ron Gettelfinger, have the three toughest jobs in Detroit. His listener waits for the kicker, and it's surprising. "The job that's the toughest," Miller says, "is Gettelfinger's, because he has to get elected." (-- pgs. 74-75) |
Link to this entry
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editor
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| Posted: Sat Apr 15, 2006 11:20 am Post subject: |
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The Ultimate Collection
By Hank Williams
CD Audio
| Quote: | I'll Never Get Out of this World Alive
By Hank Williams and Fred Rose
Capo: 1st fret key: f# play: f
Now you’re [f] lookin’ at a man that’s gettin’ kind-a mad
I had lot’s of luck but it’s all been bad
No [c7] matter how I struggle and strive
I’ll never get out of this world a-[f] live.
My fishin’ pole’s broke the creek is full of sand
My woman run away with another man
No matter how I struggle and strive
I’ll never get out of this world alive.
A [bb] distant uncle passed away [bb7] and [f] left me quite a batch [f7]
And [bb] I was livin’g high until that fatal [bb7] day
A lawyer [c7] proved I wasn’t born
I was only hatched.---[f]
Ev’rything’s agin’ me and it’s got me down
If I jumped in the river I would prob’ly drown
No matter how I struggle and strive
I’ll never get out of this world alive.
These shabby shoes I’m wearin’ all the time
Are full of holes and nails
And brother if I stepped on a worn out dime
I bet a nickel I could tell you if it was heads or tails.
I’m not gonna worry wrinkles in my brow
’cause nothin’s ever gonna be alright nohow
No matter how I struggle and strive
I’ll never get out of this world alive.
(additional verses)
I could buy a sunday suit and it would leave me broke
If it had two pair of pants I would burn the coat
No matter how I struggle and strive
I’ll never get out of this world alive.
If it was rainin’ gold I wouldn’t stand a chance
I wouldn’t have a pocket in my patched up pants
No matter how I struggle and strive
I’ll never get out of this world alive. |
Link to this entry
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editor
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| Posted: Mon May 15, 2006 9:26 am Post subject: |
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The Narrow Corner
Hardcover
By W. Somerset Maugham
| Quote: | | 'Well, we sailed all the way up the coast, inside the Bank, of course, fine weather and all that, nice breeze, and I said to the kid: "What about a game of cribbage?" Had to pass the time somehow, you know, and I knew 'e'd got a good bit of money. I didn't see why I shouldn't 'ave some of it. I've played cribbage all me life, and I thought I got a sort of thing on. I believe the devil's in them cards. D'you know, I 'aven't 'ad a winnin' day since we left Sydney. I've lost a matter of seventy pounds, I 'ave. And it's not as if 'e could play. It's the devil's own luck he's got.' (-- p. 67) |
Link to this entry
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editor
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| Posted: Mon May 15, 2006 10:53 am Post subject: |
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A Few Quick Ones
Paperback
By P.G. Wodehouse
| Quote: | Bingo, always on the lookout for omens and portents, leaped in his seat. Any lingering doubts he may have entertained as to the advisability of arranging that loan with Algernon Aubrey vanished. Obviously this was going to be his lucky night, and he would be vastly surprised if on the morrow he would not be able to pay twenty or thirty pounds into the other's wee little deposit account.
...The police raid on Number Forty-Three Magnolia Road took place, oddly enough, just as Bingo was preparing to leave. He had lost the last of his borrowed capital at the roulette board owing to a mistaken supposition that Red was going to turn up, and was standing at an open window, trying by means of some breaths of fresh air to alleviate that Death-where-is-thy-sting feeling that comes to gamesters at such times, when suddenly bells began to ring all over the place and a number of those present, jostling him to one side, proceeded to pour out of the window in a foraming stream.
..."This is the fourth or fifth time this has happened to me," she said peevishly, as she slid into the barrel's interior. "Why can't these rozzers have a heart on and not be forever interfering with private enterprise? Do you know what? I had a quid on sixteen, and sixteen came up, but before I could collect the bells began to ring and it was Ho for the open spaces. Thirty-seven pounds sterling gone with the wind. Shift over a bit, will you."
Bingo shifted over a bit. (From The Word in Season at pgs. 99-101) |
Link to this entry
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editor
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| Posted: Wed May 24, 2006 10:15 am Post subject: |
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James Joyce
Hardcover
By Edna O'Brien
| Quote: | | For entertainment they walked. The could not afford to anything else. Yet he was not blind to what he saw - the watchtowers, the murmuring waters, the fishful stream and the empathy of the mighty dead. He was not to assign it to paper until long after but he saw and noted it all. He saw the space of the sky, the ever-changing evening violet, the dark dripping gardens with their ash pits, the soggy flower beds, the stables where a coachman combed the horses and of course the sea, the seaweed, the warm sand, the wavelets, the sharp shingle, the water nirroring the high drifting clouds. Next day she wrote to say that in his company she always felt herself to be, her spirit took leave of her body in sleep, and the loneliness which she felt in his absence faded away in his presence. He recognized at once that these high-flown sentiments were not the words of a country girl who invoked charms and made beds and emptied chamber pots for a living. He had guessed rightly. She had copied the letter from a book of etiquette at the time. He loved her even more -- "God becomes man becomes fish becomes barnacle goose becomes featherbed mountain." Nora personified "the most beautiful and simple soul in the world." Her kisses were like the singing of canaries. he was her brother in luxuriousness, her Christian brother and agonizing Jew. As he saw more of her he felt obliged to tell her how much he hated and disavowed mother church and how he had caroused with the ladies of Nighttown. She did not want to know. She must. She would have to know how august he was and how flawed. She would have to know that he enbtered the social order of Ireland as a deliberate vagabond. There was Stephen the acolyte and Bloom the lecher and they alternated. One day it was her knickers and the next it was his soul on the brink of hers and by morning it was himself making covert halfhearted plans to run away with an actors' company. But he was already bound to her. The proverb that Lermontov quotes in A Turkish Tale was true for Joyce also -- "Whereupon is written upon a man's forehead at birth he is not fated to forgo." Maybe it was those dog's eyes of hers. Like Anne Hathaway, she hath a way. By cock she was to blame. She had put come hither on him. He would sleep with her glove beside him and had to remark that it behaved itself very properly, like its owner. He would buy her a gift of gloves but where to get the money? He hoped to be paid for a short story which had been accepted by the Irish Homestead, to which he gave the alternative title "Pigs' Paper." He was scrounging in the name of the crucified Christ and getting volleys of refusal. No rhymed with woe. (-- pgs. 39-40) |
Without question the best of the excellent Penguin Lives series.
Link to this entry
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editor
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| Posted: Mon Jul 03, 2006 9:27 am Post subject: |
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Joan of Arc
Hardcover
By Mary Gordon
| Quote: | Joan symbolized victorious rescue; when she started to lose, her symbolism lost its potency. For a while, Joan could inspire the soldiers to fight against ridiculous odds, unpaid and underfed. But not forever. By the time the army was marching to Auxerre from Rheims, and certainly on its march to Paris, the poorly provisioned and unpaid soldiers had deserted in large numbers. Charles was unable to unwilling to give Joan the resources she needed to conti8nue a difficult campaign; she couldn't make it work on air forever.
Her defeats, then, occurred when symbolic action was insufficient, when the reality drowned the image and the dream. When Joan actually began making tactical decisions -- in Paris and at La Charite, for example - her lack of experience, her native impetuousness, betrayed her. She was not a professional, and there is something to be said for professionalism as a way of getting through the long haul. (-- pgs. 75-76) |
| Quote: | On the thirtieth of May, Joan walked in chains to the marketplace. She was executed by the secular arm of the English government, although her trial was ecclesiastical. Since the time she had left Vaucouleurs, she had been surrounded by adoring crowds; now a jeering mob lined the side of the road, clamoring for her death. She walked in silence, barefoot, her head down. When she arrived at the marketplace and saw the pyre, she wept. She was led up some stairs to the stake to which she was tied. She asked to have a crucifix held in front of her, and an English soldier put together two sticks and gave them to her. Her loyal cofessor, Martin Ladvenu, rushed to the church and brought a golden crucifix, which he held in front of her eyes. The fire was lit; soon she was invisible within the flames.
The executioner reported: "Once in the fire she cried out more than six times 'Jesus!' and especially in her last breath she cried with a strong voice 'Jesus!' so that everyone present could hear it; almost all wept with pity." (footnote omitted) Her end was a slow one. The executioners had been told to keep her a distance from the flames so that the death would be as difficult as possible.
After Joan died in the fire built for her in the market square at Rouen, her body, charred, but still recognizable, and still tied to the stake, was displayed so that the crowd who had come to see her execution could examine it. They were looking in order to certify that she was, in fact, female. Our knowledge of this comes from an enemy of Joan's the Bourgeois of Paris, who records it in his journal. (-- pgs. 128-129) |
This one's a close second.
Link to this entry
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editor
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| Posted: Mon Jul 10, 2006 10:17 am Post subject: |
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Strange Times, My Dear
The Pen Anthology of
Contemporary Iranian Literature
Hardcover
Edited by Nahid Mozaffari
Poetry Editor Ahmad Karimi Kakkak
| Quote: | The Sale
I wrap a scarf around the moon's head,
slip the world's bangles on her wrist,
rest my head on the gypsy sky's shoulders,
and say good-bye.
But I don't wish to look.
No.
I won't look
to see the radio and all its waves
finally gone,
and the decorative plate, priced high,
not sold.
The bed was taken,
and the bedding - now asleep on the floor -
is full of fish without a sea.
Don't haggle - I won't let go
of my messy homework on the cheap,
and that book, The Little Black Fish, is not for sale.
"Always a few steps untaken.
The latecomer carries away nothing
but his own chaos and mess."
What remains is only a crow
in love, and never tamed.
You've come too late,
I gave my shoes to a cloud - a keepsake
to one who does not crush lovesick ants.
You're too late.
Nothing remains but a dress
invaded by vagrant moths.
Remember the gown that was home to tame butterflies?
Always a few steps untaken,
and so much time passes
that we begin to fear mirrors,
to stare at our childhood hair
that now plays a gray melody -
string by string.
We have forgotten our dance beneath this sky,
a sky dying of a black hacking cough.
It's time to leave.
In their letters they say the sky
is not this color everywhere.
The day my plane takes off with a sigh,
hand an umbrella to the clouds
to shield them from my tears.
If you see someone returning from night roads,
returning to seek her old bits of pieces;
if you see a girl who without a reason
whistles to herself and to the moon;
That would be me.
I'd be coming to gather the torn pieces of tomorrow,
to glue them together before it's time for dawn prayers.
That day, go to my house and water the geraniums;
perhaps spring will come
and then in five minutes I'll be there.
I'd close the door because
the moon always comes in through the window.
By Granaz Mussavi
Translated by Sholeh Wolpe
-- pgs. 453-454 |
Actually, the most interesting feature of the book is its back cover written by Dick Seaver, editor in chief of Arcade Publishing. Get this:
| Quote: | | After Arcade contracted to publish this extraordinary anthology of fiction and poetry from Iran, a country that has been virtuall off-limits to Americans for the past twenty-five years, we learned that to proceed with its publication would subject us to a possible fine of $1,000,000 and ten years in prison. Indeed, the Office of Foreign Assets Control (OFAC) of the Department of the Treasury was demanding that to avoid these penalties we - or any other publisher - wouild have to apply to them for a permit. In other words, government censorship. |
The Little Black Fish
Paperback
By Samad Behrangi
Link to this entry
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editor
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| Posted: Wed Nov 01, 2006 12:17 pm Post subject: |
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The New Yorker
Magazine Subscription
The Talk of the Town
Hearts and Brains
By Hendrik Herzberg
Nov. 6/06
| Quote: | There's a lively debate among historians over the question of whether the record of the forty-third President, compiled with the indispensable help of a complaisant Congress, is the worst in American history or merely the worst of the sixteen who managed to make it into (if not out of) a second full term. That the record is appalling is by now beyond serious dispute. It includes an unending deficit - this year, it's $260 billion - that has already added $1.5 trillion to the national debt; the subcontracting of environmental, energy, labor, and health care policymaking to corporate interests; repeated efforts to suppress scientific truth; a set of economic and fiscal policies that have slowed growth, spurred inequality, replenished the ranks of the poor and uninsured, and exacerbated the insecurities of the the middle class; and, on Capital Hill, a festival of bribery, some prosecutable (such as felonies that have put one prominent Republican member of Congress in prison, while another awaits sentencing), some not (such as the reported two-million-dollar salary conferred upon a Republican congressman who became the pharmaceutical industry's top lobbyist immediately after shepherding into law a bill forbidding the government to negotiate prices for prescription drugs).
In 2002 and 2004, the ruling party avoided retribution for offenses like these by exploiting the fear of terrorism. What is different this time is that the overwhelming failure of the Administration's Iraq gamble is now apparent to all. This war of choice has pointlessly drained American military strength, undermined what had originally appeared to be success in Afghanistan, handed the Iranian mullahs a strategic victory, immunized the North Korean regime from a forceful response to its nuclear defiance, and compromised American leadership of the democratic world. You can read all about it, not only in the government's own recently leaked National Intelligence Estimate, which reports that the Iraq war has intensified the danger of Islamist terrorism, but also in a shelf of books - a score or more of them, beginning two and a half years ago with Richard A. Clarke's "Against All Enemies" and continuing through Bob Woodward's "State of Denial" - that document the mendacity, incompetence, lawlessness, and ideological arrogance surrounding the origins and conduct of that war. (-- p. 45) |
Link to this entry
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editor
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editor
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| Posted: Thu Dec 14, 2006 1:48 pm Post subject: |
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| Quote: | Anti-gambling drug takes a hit
San Diego-based firm Somaxon Pharmaceuticals has admitted that trials of a drug aimed at curbing gambling addiction have been a failure. Chief executive Ken Cohen called results 'largely disappointing' adding that the company would now evaluate the data from the trials before making any further determinations regarding the future of the program. (From an ATEOnline alert we received Dec. 14/06) |
More about the drug Nalmefene and the failed trials.
Link to this entry
http://pokerpulse.com/news/viewtopic.php?p=2626#2626
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editor
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| Posted: Thu Dec 14, 2006 2:05 pm Post subject: |
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The Very Best of Ray Charles
CD Audio
Featuring Ray's hit, Busted
| Quote: | Busted
My bills are all due and the baby needs shoes and I'm busted
Cotton is down to a quarter a pound, but I'm busted
I got a cow that went dry and a hen that won't lay
A big stack of bills that gets bigger each day
The county's gonna haul my belongings away cause I'm busted.
I went to my brother to ask for a loan cause I was busted
I hate to beg like a dog without his bone, but I'm busted
My brother said there ain't a thing I can do,
My wife and my kids are all down with the flu,
And I was just thinking about calling on you 'cause I'm busted.
Well, I am no thief, but a man can go wrong when he's busted
The food that we canned last summer is gone and I'm busted
The fields are all bare and the cotton won't grow,
Me and my family got to pack up and go,
But I'll make a living, just where I don't know cause I'm busted.
I'm broke, no bread, I mean like nothing, It's over |
Link to this entry
http://pokerpulse.com/news/viewtopic.php?p=2627#2627
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editor
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| Posted: Thu Dec 14, 2006 2:47 pm Post subject: |
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Hoyt Axton Live
CD Audio
Featuring a favorite PokerPulse refrain from
the dark, dark summer past,
Boney Fingers.
| Quote: | Boney Fingers
See the rain comin' down and the roof won't hold 'er
Lost my job and I feel a little older
Car won't run and our love's grown colder
But maybe things'll get a little better, in the mornin'
Maybe things'll get a little better.
Oh! the clothes need washin' and the fire won't start
Kids all cryin' and you're breakin' my heart
Whole darn place is fallin' apart
Maybe things'll get a little better, in the mornin'
Maybe things'll get a little better.
Refrain:
Work your fingers to the bone - whadda ya get?
( Whoo-whoo ) Boney Fingers - Boney Fing-gers.
Yea! I've been broke as long as I remember
Get a little money and I gotta run and spend 'er
When I try to save it, pretty woman come and take it
Sayin' maybe things'll get a little better, in the mornin'
Maybe things'll get a little better.
Refrain:
Yea! the grass won't grow and the sun's too hot
The whole darn world is goin' to pot
Might as well like it 'cause you're all that I've got
But, maybe things'll get a little better, in the mornin'
Maybe things'll get a little better. |
Link to this entry
http://pokerpulse.com/news/viewtopic.php?p=2628#2628
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editor
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| Posted: Fri Jan 05, 2007 10:32 am Post subject: |
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Rumpole and the Reign of Terror
Hardcover
By Sir John Mortimer
| Quote: | 'This precious government of ours,' I had reached the climax, the final, as I thought, unanswerable argument of the one speech I was allowed, 'this government, which wouldn't know a constitutional right if it came up and shouted in its ear, has told us that the terrorists want to destroy our way of life, our civilization, everything we hold most dear.
'Well, all I can say is that our government is working night and day to collaborate with the terrorists. To help them to destroy our civilization and give away our most precious liberties.
'The terrorists would take away our right to juries and give us imprisonment without trial. "You can have it," says the government today. "You can have Magna Carta, we've got no use for it. And while we're about it, we'll throw in the presumption of innocence and the Bill of Rights."
'All I can ask Your Ladyship to do is to reject the illegal instructions of this lawless government and decide Dr Kahn's case according to the principles of a fair trial, which we fought and struggled for over the centuries. Let Dr Kahn be told the charges he faces and then let him answer them.'
'Mr Rumpole, have you anything more to say?' Her Ladyship asked me.
'Only this. Ask yourself what justice really means and then do it.'
With this, I wrapped my gown about me and sat down.
'A fine speech, Mr. Rumpole.' My client, who had nothing to thank me for, seemed curiously unperturbed by the result of our appeal. I was grateful for his praise; however, I was less grateful to my instructing solicitor, Bonny Bernard, who put the situation with brutal simplicity.
'Mr Rumpole always makes fine speeches,' he said. 'But, as I'm sure you understand, we lost the case.' (From Chapter 11 at pgs. 56-57) |
Former UK barrister now a knighted author and playwright weighs in on the excessive cost of recent anti-terrorist laws.
Link to this entry
http://pokerpulse.com/news/viewtopic.php?p=2660#2660
Last edited by editor on Mon Feb 11, 2008 9:41 am; edited 3 times in total |
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