tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-77428791198438569392024-03-12T18:35:40.050-05:00Not Dark YetCharles Kinnairdhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07651225996573989932noreply@blogger.comBlogger2559125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7742879119843856939.post-17882027617607343952023-05-03T05:00:00.000-05:002023-05-03T05:00:00.135-05:00Robbie Robertson on How Dylan and The Band Got Together<p> </p>
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-</div>Charles Kinnairdhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07651225996573989932noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7742879119843856939.post-67152405997797722212023-04-26T05:00:00.003-05:002023-04-26T05:00:00.142-05:00Jazz and Jack Kerouac (with Steve Allen)<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">The pioneering broadcast journalist Fred W. Friendly once said, “Television makes so much at its worst, that it can’t afford to do its best.*” Steve Allen, one of the television pioneers working in front of the camera was an exception to Mr. Friendly’s observation, as we see in this television interview he did with Jack Kerouac. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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* Quoted by Garrison Keillor on<a href="http://www.garrisonkeillor.com/radio/twa-the-writers-almanac-for-october-30-2019/" target="_blank"> The Writer's Almanac</a>, October 30, 2019.<br />
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-Charles Kinnairdhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07651225996573989932noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7742879119843856939.post-47303154474984881852023-04-18T05:00:00.000-05:002023-04-18T05:00:00.189-05:00The Singing Bowl by Malcolm Guite<p> </p>
<div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture; web-share" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="360" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/pCkl-79wns8" title="YouTube video player" width="640"></iframe> </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>-</div>Charles Kinnairdhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07651225996573989932noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7742879119843856939.post-12493898756954108532023-04-14T05:00:00.032-05:002023-04-14T05:00:00.182-05:00"Let Love" by Rumi (translated by Haleh Liza Gafori<p><span style="font-size: medium;">Haleh Liza Gafori is a rare gift for the English-speaking world interested in the poetry of Rumi. She is a poet of Persian descent who speaks Farsi. Born in New York City to Iranian parents, she grew up hearing Persian poetry recited and has been translating various Persian poets for a decade. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">She is a poet who is eminently qualified to convey Rumi's work to us. Her 2022 publication, <i>Gold</i>, is a translation of some of Rumi's ecstatic poetry. Here she offers her English translation and then sings Rumi's verse in the original Farsi</span>. </p><div style="text-align: center;"> <iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture; web-share" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="360" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/G3wVNu0Wb5s" title="YouTube video player" width="640"></iframe> </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>-</div>Charles Kinnairdhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07651225996573989932noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7742879119843856939.post-76822960950529949712023-04-12T05:00:00.001-05:002023-04-12T05:00:00.212-05:00Mother and Son Poet Laureates' Becoming a poet laureate is a coveted role and rare honor. Rarer still is having two laureates in the same family. PBS's Jeffrey Brown traveled to Philadelphia to meet with a poetic family and hear how a mother-son duo is working to bring poetry to a wider public. It’s part of the PBS arts and culture series, "CANVAS."<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIWfWb-aLOLFwIyisboUhGlX6eTtdqvPm_aAK0cqksutcRyShvALiORKKFRjAkjPiwU0N6irVSG0SnKNKfeiI1ra2Xpxan6NkZDdCnwyo9IWz-Hwfr1OWI3XVP6yxV8vpqbXFmr8h3ZApJ-8NsR7gAqcKccl6s4eIP8Jc74IxgoyaaNPBQaUhcWenw/s1007/Mother%20and%20Son%20poet%20laureates.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="559" data-original-width="1007" height="259" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIWfWb-aLOLFwIyisboUhGlX6eTtdqvPm_aAK0cqksutcRyShvALiORKKFRjAkjPiwU0N6irVSG0SnKNKfeiI1ra2Xpxan6NkZDdCnwyo9IWz-Hwfr1OWI3XVP6yxV8vpqbXFmr8h3ZApJ-8NsR7gAqcKccl6s4eIP8Jc74IxgoyaaNPBQaUhcWenw/w465-h259/Mother%20and%20Son%20poet%20laureates.bmp" width="465" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><div><div>To see the six and a half minute episode go to the link below:<br /><a href="https://www.pbs.org/newshour/show/mother-and-son-who-are-both-poet-laureates-work-to-inspire-others" target="_blank">https://www.pbs.org/newshour/show/mother-and-son-who-are-both-poet-laureates-work-to-inspire-others</a></div></div>Charles Kinnairdhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07651225996573989932noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7742879119843856939.post-14553146406128663602023-04-05T05:00:00.001-05:002023-04-05T05:00:00.193-05:00John Trudell: Crazy Horse<span style="font-size: medium;">The late John Trudell, Native American poet offers poetic wisdom from the Lakota shaman, Crazy Horse</span><div><br /><div style="text-align: center;">
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-</div></div>Charles Kinnairdhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07651225996573989932noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7742879119843856939.post-72454860493509004392023-04-02T05:00:00.003-05:002023-04-02T05:00:00.214-05:00Poetry Unites Alabama<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZP2EhDzBtH0DF9hed6iV3hLDFBqPrpIL98KTdiWGYWmJKznXo3ZANYIzeB42II0kLVhrxz_NHY9GfcVr2Gjwo8FGoBgVCHG_6vr61D7S4MIPzSUrGY9fSpt645_OEX0Dyxuh4zux5q618WJuBmG6SCdUzcSUZVhodsprd5fSZl3WICWXeX7Zt7FO1/s1868/Poetry%20Unites.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="748" data-original-width="1868" height="160" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZP2EhDzBtH0DF9hed6iV3hLDFBqPrpIL98KTdiWGYWmJKznXo3ZANYIzeB42II0kLVhrxz_NHY9GfcVr2Gjwo8FGoBgVCHG_6vr61D7S4MIPzSUrGY9fSpt645_OEX0Dyxuh4zux5q618WJuBmG6SCdUzcSUZVhodsprd5fSZl3WICWXeX7Zt7FO1/w400-h160/Poetry%20Unites.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p></p>
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</div>Charles Kinnairdhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07651225996573989932noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7742879119843856939.post-59117074148936180992023-02-27T05:00:00.010-06:002023-02-27T05:00:00.190-06:00Monday Music: In the Summertime (Bob Dylan)<p><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>A Shot of Love</i>, ironically is an album that is usually not recognized and one of Dylan's best, yet it has some of his most memorable recordings: "Every Grain of Sand," "Lenny Bruce,"The Groom's Still Waiting at the Altar," and "In the Summertime."</span></p>
<div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture; web-share" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/7yFcMKYId-k" title="YouTube video player" width="560"></iframe> </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>-</div>Charles Kinnairdhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07651225996573989932noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7742879119843856939.post-22857588506149692902023-02-20T05:00:00.001-06:002023-02-20T05:00:00.224-06:00Monday Music: Angel from Montgomery (John Prine and Bonnie Raitt)<p> </p>
<div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture; web-share" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/8TQK2h2BPNM" title="YouTube video player" width="560"></iframe> </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>-</div>Charles Kinnairdhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07651225996573989932noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7742879119843856939.post-26542604554605263692023-02-18T05:00:00.000-06:002023-02-18T05:00:00.197-06:00Saturday Haiku: Grand Tetons<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjGyzMEMmg9MG4C0wkuB8I383NK08Gu01k8UJZqQ81JqtaXueFihtaW-7PvTw0vYajh9M23NOsmZ8-zlJvp4cuivKBpKJODVMTGp1075QuuZY6Mc75rsO4IUYlAQI7WAwB3ROMESSUVqpOepRz1rptJ6qseFw0eDF_j_vYkbm_KBMwC7XMGXrTWjuL2=s1296" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1296" data-original-width="982" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjGyzMEMmg9MG4C0wkuB8I383NK08Gu01k8UJZqQ81JqtaXueFihtaW-7PvTw0vYajh9M23NOsmZ8-zlJvp4cuivKBpKJODVMTGp1075QuuZY6Mc75rsO4IUYlAQI7WAwB3ROMESSUVqpOepRz1rptJ6qseFw0eDF_j_vYkbm_KBMwC7XMGXrTWjuL2=w303-h400" width="303" /></a></div><p style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: center 3.25in left 366.75pt; text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT Black","serif"; font-size: 17pt;">green spruce
trees gracing<br /></span></b><b><span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT Black","serif"; font-size: 17pt;">a golden
mountain meadow<br /></span></b><b><span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT Black","serif"; font-size: 17pt;">beneath snowy
peaks</span></b></p><div><b><span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT Black","serif"; font-size: 17pt;"><br /></span></b></div><div><b><span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT Black","serif"; font-size: 17pt;"><br /></span></b></div>
<p></p><div style="text-align: left;">_______________________________</div><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Image: Grand Tetons National Park, Wyoming</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Artist: <a href="https://tonybennett.com/arts.php" target="_blank">Tony Bennett (Antony Benedetto)</a>*</span></p><p><br /></p><div><span style="font-size: large;">*The legendary Tony Bennett retired from performing at the age of 95. His career spanned eight decades. Famous for his singing career, he also had a passion for painting. Today's post is part of <a href="https://notdarkyet-commentary.blogspot.com/2021/10/tony-bennet-and-me.html" target="_blank">a series of haiku</a> inspired by Mr. Bennett's artwork (when he paints, he uses his given name, Antony Benedetto).</span></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>-</div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>Charles Kinnairdhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07651225996573989932noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7742879119843856939.post-80875284720865867592023-02-13T05:00:00.012-06:002023-02-13T05:00:00.180-06:00Monday Music: Arthur's Theme (Best That You Can Do)<p><span style="font-size: medium;">Burt Bacharach <a href="https://apnews.com/article/burt-bacharach-dead-at-94-c1526b7c1b9b4389b17a3e657676b391" target="_blank">died last week at the age of 94</a>. Growing up and coming of age, we boomers heard his music everywhere we turned: "Close To You" sung by The Carpenters, "Walk On By," sung by Dionne Warwick, and "I'll Never Fall in Love Again," sung by just about everybody. There was "The Look of Love" (Dusty Springfield), "Raindrops Keep Falling on my Head" (B.J. Thomas), and "Magic Moments" (Perry Como -- we heard that one on TV commercials). </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">The prolific songwriter collaborated with Carole Bayer Sager and Christopher Cross on the theme for the movie <i>Arthur</i>. He picked up one of many awards for that one. I could do a year's worth of Monday Music posts just on Burt Bacharach's music, but I'll settle with "Arthur's Theme" for today because of the great delight I took in the song and the movie back in the day.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p>
<div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture; web-share" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="360" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/qG7K78sKpJQ" title="YouTube video player" width="640"></iframe> </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>-</div>Charles Kinnairdhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07651225996573989932noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7742879119843856939.post-52698424764739965302023-02-11T05:00:00.031-06:002023-02-11T05:00:00.192-06:00Saturday Haiku: Collapse<p> </p><p></p><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKxicmNJKS-74KqboBq6paWmDlNn-f16--2FDhjyajRSmNzogVr0Y9lEtbQ-o2eExrmq7g0I_k0c9OqottxSuoPzg8kMpov5EEOBDJGJ4AMJVS55NxrzLyPIzFsj5v1FGp8HzRMhHnaDXwKZaCcF99ED0PUULiJ5OyUcGS_QvCIVPmCQR2xK4qFB2D/s600/Turkey_earthquake.webp" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" data-original-height="338" data-original-width="600" height="290" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKxicmNJKS-74KqboBq6paWmDlNn-f16--2FDhjyajRSmNzogVr0Y9lEtbQ-o2eExrmq7g0I_k0c9OqottxSuoPzg8kMpov5EEOBDJGJ4AMJVS55NxrzLyPIzFsj5v1FGp8HzRMhHnaDXwKZaCcF99ED0PUULiJ5OyUcGS_QvCIVPmCQR2xK4qFB2D/w513-h290/Turkey_earthquake.webp" width="513" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><h2 style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><b><span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT Black","serif"; font-size: 17.0pt;">sometimes the
earth shakes<br /></span></b><b><span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT Black","serif"; font-size: 17.0pt;">disagreements
forgotten<br /></span></b><b><span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT Black","serif"; font-size: 17.0pt;">in the search
for life </span></b></h2>
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">___________________</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div>Photo from <i>The Wall Street Journal </i>via <a href="https://www.livemint.com/science/news/how-the-turkey-syria-earthquake-occurred-behind-the-science-of-the-catastrophe-11675775042838.html" target="_blank">Mint:</a><i> "</i>Civilians look for survivors under the rubble of collapsed buildings in Kahramanmaras, close to the quake's epicentre, the day after a 7.8-magnitude earthquake struck the country's southeast, on February 7, 2023." (Photo: AFP)</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>-</div>Charles Kinnairdhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07651225996573989932noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7742879119843856939.post-91219605019010486732023-02-06T05:00:00.004-06:002023-02-06T05:48:27.316-06:00Monday Music: Kyie (Emmylou Harris with John Paul White)<p> From the YouTube site:<br /><br /><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>Performed by Emmylou Harris with John Paul White. Produced by Phil Madeira. Written by Emmylou Harris & Phil Madeira. From "Mercyland: Hymns For The Rest Of Us, Volume II" on Mercyland Records, LLC</i></span>.<br /><br /></p>
<div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture; web-share" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="360" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/NSD1t1eOR8c" title="YouTube video player" width="640"></iframe> </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><div>Bless the Mothers and the Daughters</div><div>The Fathers and the Sons</div><div>Whose Journey’s now ended</div><div>Whose Journey’s just begun</div><div>The helpless and the holy</div><div>Who do and don’t believe</div><div>Bless us in Thy mercy</div><div>Where all come to grieve</div><div>Kýrie eléision</div><div><br /></div><div>Bless the found and the forsaken</div><div>The fearful and the bold</div><div>The children of the ages</div><div>The broken in the hall</div><div>The callous and the caring</div><div>The weary to the bone</div><div>Bless us in Thy mercy</div><div>As we walk this world alone</div><div>Kýrie eléision</div><div><br /></div><div>For we all are bound together</div><div>In our sorrow and despair</div><div>Bless us in Thy mercy</div><div>O, hear our humble prayer</div><div>Kýrie eléision</div></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>-</div>Charles Kinnairdhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07651225996573989932noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7742879119843856939.post-55385806761282661392023-02-04T05:00:00.003-06:002023-02-04T05:00:00.183-06:00Saturday Haiku: Winter Storm<div><i>My haiku post from 9 years ago. after a paralyzing storm in Birmingham, Alabama. I have friends in Texas who experienced a similar winter storm this past week. - CK</i><br />
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<span face=""Verdana","sans-serif"" style="font-size: large; line-height: 115%;"><b> nature casts her icy net,<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span face=""Verdana","sans-serif"" style="line-height: 115%;"> brings a fierce sabbath</span><span face=""Verdana","sans-serif"" style="line-height: 115%;">.<o:p></o:p></span></b></span></div>
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Photo: <i>Birmingham News</i> photo, "when a snowstorm brought travel to a halt."<br />
Credit: Joe Songer at <a href="http://blog.al.com/spotnews/2014/01/birmingham_winter_storm_qa_for.html">http://blog.al.com/spotnews/2014/01/birmingham_winter_storm_qa_for.html</a><br /></span>
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-</div></div>Charles Kinnairdhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07651225996573989932noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7742879119843856939.post-86815764850419608802023-02-02T05:00:00.038-06:002023-02-02T05:00:00.211-06:00Open Wounds and Soul Distress – Again<div class="MsoNormal"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsKI4IRlaRPHXeWXpDkRKbvsF5If1zgVDjy3lPQANdAZmesB_xweK-HbGl2_ahFQJNjclbio_TtQK8LlGqZg2MduXV4q7gG2OLLsWGzv2PQURlkyWT6FHdyRvAaWwnJe9zHZYDOhc7RBIKSFPbXbyP4LfUIOxH4aUR2T6ppSRIwb88UUFvNb6CZ6EO/s2048/Tyre%20Nichols.webp" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="2048" height="288" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsKI4IRlaRPHXeWXpDkRKbvsF5If1zgVDjy3lPQANdAZmesB_xweK-HbGl2_ahFQJNjclbio_TtQK8LlGqZg2MduXV4q7gG2OLLsWGzv2PQURlkyWT6FHdyRvAaWwnJe9zHZYDOhc7RBIKSFPbXbyP4LfUIOxH4aUR2T6ppSRIwb88UUFvNb6CZ6EO/w434-h288/Tyre%20Nichols.webp" width="434" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption"> Tyre Nichols, 29, died in a Memphis hospital on Jan. 10, three days after he was <br /> beaten by officers during a traffic stop.<br /><div style="text-align: right;">Credit: Scott Olson/Getty Images</div></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 13pt;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 13pt;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 13pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "serif"; font-size: 14pt;">It is an all too familiar refrain in the social fabric of America that brings to light the senseless brutal killings of young Black men on our city streets. When events unravel such as we witnessed last week in Memphis, before that in Minneapolis, before that in Ferguson, and before that in countless other tragedies, some of us wish that such tragic and sorrowful events were not our present reality.</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, "serif"; font-size: 14pt;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal"><p class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-family: Georgia, "serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">His Name was Tyre Nichols</span></b></p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">According to an <a href="https://www.npr.org/2023/01/28/1151504967/tyre-nichols-memphis-police-body-cam-video" target="_blank">NPR report</a>,<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">Nichols,
a father of a 4-year-old son, was known to his family as an avid skateboarder
and nature photographer from Sacramento, Calif., according to The Associated
Press. He arrived in Memphis just before the pandemic, and later started a job
with FedEx, a major employer there. Nichols had been with the company for about
nine months before his death, The New York Times reported.<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">"He
was one of those people who made everyone around them happy," Nichols'
step-grandmother Lucille Washington said at a memorial service.<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "serif"; font-size: 14pt;"><b>Many More Names</b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "serif"; font-size: 14pt;">In 2014
in Ferguson, Missouri, <span style="color: blue;"><a href="http://notdarkyet-commentary.blogspot.com/2014/08/open-wounds-and-soul-distress.html" target="_blank">his name was Michael</a></span>. In 2020 in Minneapolis,
Minnesota, <span style="color: blue;"><a href="http://notdarkyet-commentary.blogspot.com/2020/06/when-he-called-for-his-mama.html" target="_blank">his name was George</a></span>. Last week in In Memphis
Tennessee,<span style="color: blue;"> <a href="https://www.npr.org/2023/01/28/1151504967/tyre-nichols-memphis-police-body-cam-video" target="_blank">his name was Tyre</a></span>. In Mississippi in
1955 <span style="color: blue;"><a href="https://www.loc.gov/collections/civil-rights-history-project/articles-and-essays/murder-of-emmett-till/" target="_blank">his name was Emmet</a></span>. In
Ralph Ellison's 1952 novel, <i><span style="color: blue;"><a href="https://www.pulitzer.org/article/cold-shoulder-invisible-man" target="_blank">The Invisible Man</a></span></i>, his
name was Clifton. Ellison's novel illustrated the fate that too many Black men face in this country.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "serif"; font-size: 14pt;">In 2014
with the death of Michael Brown in Ferguson, Missouri, I wrote <a href="http://notdarkyet-commentary.blogspot.com/2014/08/open-wounds-and-soul-distress.html" target="_blank">an essay</a> that I posted on this blog. I lamented the
military-styled police forces that had come about in so many cities. “The move
toward the military outfitting of local police,” I said then, “came after 9/11
with certain provisions of the Homeland Security Act. In essence, out of fear
we sold our freedom and headed toward a police state. Is it too late now to
turn back? I hope not.”</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "serif"; font-size: 14pt;">The crux
of the unrest, however, in Ferguson then and across America today goes deeper than
oversized military-styled police responses. It runs through our history as a
wound that we have not been able to heal thus far. I cannot pretend to offer
any solutions. I cannot even pretend to claim understanding. I have been
trying, however, to listen. The only recommendation I can offer is that we stop
and listen.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><b><span style="font-family: Georgia, "serif"; font-size: 14pt;">His Name was Clifton</span></b><span style="font-family: Georgia, "serif"; font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "serif"; font-size: 14pt;">I
mentioned in that 2014 post that I had recently read Ralph Ellison’s, <i>The
Invisible Man</i>. Near the end of that existential 1952 novel there
was a passage that I was particularly struck by. The passage is the
protagonist's eulogy for a fellow member of “The Brotherhood” who was shot in
the street by a policeman:<o:p></o:p></span></p></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“...His name was Clifton and they shot him, and I was there to see him fall. So I know it as I know it.</span><span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2CtLEfqy4EqpZdfwELlBcdZ83gs-SIfIFxZzZ4x48YRV_o9FGDFsY89xZdmou0qjuRKrg2V9Ma9l1J4Aaw6LOWCOMwQGAB0Mcx2ePg2uEzXm3KVXoQYiJqpwtrJM1RiPmpYb-LSb4CPs/s1600/Ralph+Ellison.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="188" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2CtLEfqy4EqpZdfwELlBcdZ83gs-SIfIFxZzZ4x48YRV_o9FGDFsY89xZdmou0qjuRKrg2V9Ma9l1J4Aaw6LOWCOMwQGAB0Mcx2ePg2uEzXm3KVXoQYiJqpwtrJM1RiPmpYb-LSb4CPs/s1600/Ralph+Ellison.jpg" width="200" /></a><span style="font-family: inherit;"> <span style="font-size: medium;">"Here are the facts. He was standing and he fell. He fell and he kneeled. He kneeled and he bled. He bled and he died. He tell in a heap like any man and his blood spilled out like any blood; red as any blood, wet as any blood and reflecting the sky and the buildings and birds and trees, or your face if you'd looked into its dulling mirror -- and it dried in the sun as blood dries. That's all.They spilled his blood and he bled. They cut him down and he died; the blood flowed on the walk in a pool, gleamed a while, and, after awhile, became dull then dusty, then dried. That's the story and that's how it ended. It's an old story and there's been too much blood to excite you. Besides, it's only important when it fills the veins of a living man. Aren't you tired of such stories? Aren't you sick of the blood? Then why listen, why don't you go? It's hot out here. There's the odor of embalming fluid. The beer is cold in the taverns, the saxophones will be mellow at the Savoy; plenty good-laughing-lies will be told in the barber shops and beauty parlors; and there'll be sermons in two hundred churches in the cool of the evening, and plenty of laughs at the movies. Go listen to 'Amos and Andy' and forget it.Here you have only the same old story. There's not even a young wife up here in red to mourn him. There's nothing here to pity, no one to break down and shout. Nothing to give you that good old frightened feeling. The story's too short and too simple. His name was Clifton, Tod Clifton, he was unarmed and his death was as senseless as his life was futile. He had struggled for Brotherhood on a hundred street corners and he though it would make him more human, but he died like any dog in a road.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">"All right, all right," I called out, feeling desperate. It wasn't the way I wanted it to go, it wasn't political. Brother Jack probably wouldn't approve of it at all, but I had to keep going as I could go.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">"Listen to me standing up on this so-called mountain!" I shouted. "Let me tell it as it truly was! His name was Tod Clifton and he was full of illusions. He thought he was a man when he was only Tod Clifton. He was shot for a simple mistake of judgment and he bled and his blood dried and shortly the crowd trampled out the stains. It was a normal mistake of which many are guilty: He thought he was a man and that men were not meant to be pushed around. But it was hot downtown and he forgot his history, he forgot the time and the place. He lost his hold on reality. There was a cop and a waiting audience but he was Tod Clifton and cops are everywhere. The cop? What about him? He was a cop. A good citizen. But this cop had an itching finger and an eager ear for a word that rhymed with 'trigger,' and when Clifton fell he had found it. The Police Special spoke its lines and the rhyme was completed.Just look around you. Look at what he made, look inside you and feel his awful power. It was perfectly natural. The blood ran like blood in a comic-book killing, on a comic-book street in a comic-book town on a comic-book day in a comic-book world.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">"Tod Clifton's one with the ages. But what's that to do with you in this heat under this veiled sun? Now he's part of history, and he has received his true freedom. Didn't they scribble his name on a standardized pad?His Race: colored! Religion: unknown, probably born Baptist. Place of birth: U.S.Some southern town. Next of kin: unknown. Address: unknown. Occupation: unemployed.Cause of death (be specific): resisting reality in the form of a .38 caliber revolver in the hands of the arresting officer, on Forty-second between the library and the subway in the heat of the afternoon, of gunshot wounds received from three bullets, fired at three paces, one bullet entering the right ventricle of the heart, and lodging there, the other severing the spinal ganglia traveling downward to lodge in the pelvis,the other breaking through the back and traveling God knows where.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">"Such was the short bitter life of Brother Tod Clifton.Now he's in this box with the bolts tightened down. He's in the box and we're in there with him, and when I've told you this you can go. It's dark in this box and it's crowded. It has a cracked ceiling and a clogged-up toilet in the hall. It has rats and roaches, and it's far, far too expensive a dwelling.The air is bad and it'll be cold this winter. Tod Clifton is crowded and he needs the room.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">'Tell them to get out of the box,' that's what he would say if you could hear him. 'Tell them to get out of the box and go teach the cops to forget that rhyme. Tell them to teach them that when they call you nigger to make a rhyme with trigger it makes the gun backfire.'<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">"So there you have it. In a few hours Tod Clifton will be cold bones in the ground. And don't be fooled, for these bones shall not rise again. You and I will still be in the box. I don't know if Tod Clifton had a soul. I only know the ache that I feel in my heart, my sense of loss. I don't know if you have a soul. I only know you are men of flesh and blood; and that blood will spill and flesh grow cold. I do not know if all cops are poets, but I know that all cops carry guns with triggers. And I know too how we are labeled. So in the name of Brother Clifton beware of the triggers;go home, keep cool, stay safe away from the sun. Forget him. When he was alive he was our hope, but why worry over a hope that's dead? So there's only one thing left to tell and I've already told it. His name was Tod Clifton, he believed in Brotherhood, he aroused our hopes and he died."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Charles Kinnairdhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07651225996573989932noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7742879119843856939.post-71887756470147242052023-01-30T05:00:00.000-06:002023-01-30T05:00:00.216-06:00Monday Music: René and Georgette Magritte with Their Dog After the War (Paul Simon)<p><span style="font-size: medium;">Last year I posted a wonderful <a href="http://notdarkyet-commentary.blogspot.com/2022/03/monday-music-rene-and-georgette.html" target="_blank">live version</a> of this Paul Simon tune. Here is the original studio recording accompanied by artwork by René Magritte and including the photo that served as a prompt for Paul Simon to write the song.</span></p>
<div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture; web-share" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="360" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/1vUk8L17A8Q" title="YouTube video player" width="640"></iframe> </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>-Charles Kinnairdhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07651225996573989932noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7742879119843856939.post-26097831715752725082023-01-28T05:00:00.002-06:002023-01-28T05:00:00.222-06:00Saturday Haiku: Winter Blue Sky<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAMVJ0ek8TKDUZNcEHJ2CYSLE1a2H5zNUibdOu0m4opgpAAKCDj2DKEkRK1GZ_dMTuiFKYoXVtatoagJMneVxeKGXB6fp_Zez-1gzAsJMH5PuQloVyohGfiPlxkOWRFm6PVtztWi2jpCCB8XX60PzIGNRykXx2MnwZfOgBvlyT2MtzvkE--Z62KdLy/s5152/IMG_3089.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3864" data-original-width="5152" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAMVJ0ek8TKDUZNcEHJ2CYSLE1a2H5zNUibdOu0m4opgpAAKCDj2DKEkRK1GZ_dMTuiFKYoXVtatoagJMneVxeKGXB6fp_Zez-1gzAsJMH5PuQloVyohGfiPlxkOWRFm6PVtztWi2jpCCB8XX60PzIGNRykXx2MnwZfOgBvlyT2MtzvkE--Z62KdLy/w400-h300/IMG_3089.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br /><h2 style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: center 3.25in left 366.75pt; text-align: center;"> <b style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT Black","serif"; font-size: 17pt;">bare oak
branches sway<br /></span></b><b><span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT Black","serif"; font-size: 17pt;">under a blue winter sky<br /></span></b><b><span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT Black","serif"; font-size: 17pt;">remnants of a
nest</span></b></h2><p></p><p>
</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p>__________________________</p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Photo by Charles Kinnaird</span></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p>-</p>Charles Kinnairdhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07651225996573989932noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7742879119843856939.post-14132205239894610542023-01-25T11:28:00.007-06:002023-01-26T05:15:19.323-06:00"Let Love" (Rumi)<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">I've been reading <i>Gold, </i>a Rumi translation by Haleh Liza Gafori, and I
am quite excited by this new find.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">Haleh Liza Gafori is a rare gift for the English-speaking
world interested in the poetry of Rumi. She is a poet of Persian descent who
speaks Farsi. Born in New York City to Iranian parents, she grew up hearing
Persian poetry recited and has been translating various Persian poets for a
decade. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p>
</p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">She is a poet who is eminently qualified to convey Rumi's
work to us. Her 2022 publication, <i>Gold</i>, is a translation of some of Rumi's
ecstatic poetry. Here she offers her English translation and then sings Rumi's
verse in the original Farsi. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></p><div style="text-align: center;"> <iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture; web-share" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="360" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/G3wVNu0Wb5s" title="YouTube video player" width="640"></iframe> </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>-</div>Charles Kinnairdhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07651225996573989932noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7742879119843856939.post-90804542451628241962023-01-23T05:00:00.066-06:002023-01-23T11:49:39.456-06:00Monday Music: Remembering David Crosby<p><span style="font-size: medium;">When you see the southern cross for the first time, you know you have crossed into another realm. When you hear David Crosby's harmonies, you know he can transport you to another musical realm. <a href="https://www.rollingstone.com/music/music-news/david-crosby-dead-obituary-1234664235/" target="_blank">We lost David Crosby last week</a>. He was 81 years old.</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture; web-share" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/IHL-6cUtZj0" title="YouTube video player" width="560"></iframe></span></p><p><br /></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Listen to Jason Isbell's introduction to "Ohio", and you'll see why we remember. RIP David Crosby.</span></p><p><br /></p><div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture; web-share" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="360" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/rbeI1kI802M" title="YouTube video player" width="640"></iframe> </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">David Crosby had been one of the founding members of The Byrds. Here they are on The Ed Sullivan Show in 1965 singing their hit, "Turn, Turn, Turn" (written by Pete Seeger).</span></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture; web-share" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="360" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/W3xgcmIS3YU" title="YouTube video player" width="640"></iframe> </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>-</div>Charles Kinnairdhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07651225996573989932noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7742879119843856939.post-14223443303227268582023-01-21T05:00:00.006-06:002023-01-21T05:00:00.187-06:00Saturday Haiku: January Rain<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOedM8CZMGGri5a-85n-TqvB1r4BKR3bg0HGt-fyLollkwUp2fyoZYfFrCfdnWNzYl7eqCwGaKsCxpwkcSwlNoNGYD3z9kcYJMhwhwH8ARDxnd-GyqUYLqfSVkNgLfcOuRZL3A5On6XDn3duAShfHSMifw6XS030Vi1pTEfK7jOBOYkpG_m6v2nKsZ/s4431/IMG_3083%20(2).JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3410" data-original-width="4431" height="308" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOedM8CZMGGri5a-85n-TqvB1r4BKR3bg0HGt-fyLollkwUp2fyoZYfFrCfdnWNzYl7eqCwGaKsCxpwkcSwlNoNGYD3z9kcYJMhwhwH8ARDxnd-GyqUYLqfSVkNgLfcOuRZL3A5On6XDn3duAShfHSMifw6XS030Vi1pTEfK7jOBOYkpG_m6v2nKsZ/w400-h308/IMG_3083%20(2).JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: center 3.25in left 366.75pt; text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT Black","serif"; font-size: 17pt;">window tightly closed<br /></span></b><b><span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT Black","serif"; font-size: 17pt;">to the January
rains<br /></span></b><b><span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT Black","serif"; font-size: 17pt;">a robin appears</span></b></div><p>
</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p>_____________________</p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Photo by Charles Kinnaird</span></p><p><br /></p><p>_</p><p><br /></p>Charles Kinnairdhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07651225996573989932noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7742879119843856939.post-84496137705868677672023-01-18T05:00:00.031-06:002023-01-18T05:00:00.187-06:00War Dogs<p> </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEggAwmp4b7XXiDTTSg4Mg5BJp9c6azovjNLiCOzTe71pPhNn9c_2Lu9t2Fl4aI_M2zNBuu0PSg-9GtLFG8-pf5KP1sFrR6jL1iq_crVfP4kXQRZPI3xYx3JFj83kYXmhmB2evTsvg2UJ2kR3FCgSfaB27wXfnvyLmrmAL9dgfvPheJXbpYpw9QWWKB6" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="1200" height="411" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEggAwmp4b7XXiDTTSg4Mg5BJp9c6azovjNLiCOzTe71pPhNn9c_2Lu9t2Fl4aI_M2zNBuu0PSg-9GtLFG8-pf5KP1sFrR6jL1iq_crVfP4kXQRZPI3xYx3JFj83kYXmhmB2evTsvg2UJ2kR3FCgSfaB27wXfnvyLmrmAL9dgfvPheJXbpYpw9QWWKB6=w617-h411" width="617" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: start;">Rescuers work to free victims from the rubble. (Wojciech Grzedzinski for <i>The Washington Post</i>)</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 45.0pt; margin-right: 67.5pt; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 67.5pt 10pt 45pt;"><br />“As the city neared its midnight curfew Saturday,
dogs wearing specialized shoes to protect them from injuries were scaling the
mound of debris, sniffing for survivors.” (“<a href="https://www.washingtonpost.com/world/2023/01/14/dnipro-missiles-ukraine-injured/" target="_blank">When Russia bombs a building full of people, this is the aftermath</a>,” by Siobhán O'Grady and Anastacia Galouchka, <i>The Washington Post</i>, January14, 2023)<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 1in; tab-stops: 6.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">War
Dogs </span><i><span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 1.0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 0in 1in;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14pt;">“Man’s best friend” can
be trained<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 1.0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 0in 1in;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14pt;">to hunt, to guide, to
guard,<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 1.0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 0in 1in;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14pt;">to keep watch in the
night.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 1.0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 0in 1in;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14pt;">There are service dogs
and therapy dogs –<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 1.0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 0in 1in;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14pt;">all taking their place
to enhance the world<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 1.0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 0in 1in;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14pt;">where humanity’s
footsteps fall.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 1.0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 0in 1in;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 1.0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 0in 1in;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14pt;">War dogs are trained as
scouts,<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 1.0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 0in 1in;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14pt;">sentries and messengers.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 1.0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 0in 1in;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14pt;">Some are mercy dogs<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 1.0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 0in 1in;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14pt;">who find the survivors.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 1.0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 0in 1in;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 1.0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 0in 1in;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14pt;">With painful foresight<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 1.0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 0in 1in;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14pt;">in times of peace and
prosperity,<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 1.0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 0in 1in;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14pt;">mercy dogs are prepared
for<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 1.0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 0in 1in;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14pt;">human devastation.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 1.0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 0in 1in;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14pt;">They are fitted with
shoes<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 1.0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 0in 1in;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14pt;">to protect them in their
search<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 1.0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 0in 1in;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14pt;">as they traverse the
smoking rubble<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 1.0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 0in 1in;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14pt;">and shards<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 1.0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 0in 1in;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14pt;">of respectable
neighborhoods<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 1.0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 0in 1in;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14pt;">devastated by war.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 1.0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 0in 1in;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 1.0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 0in 1in;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14pt;">In another time,<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 1.0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 0in 1in;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14pt;">they would have sniffed
out <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 1.0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 0in 1in;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14pt;">wounded soldiers.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 1.0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 0in 1in;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14pt;">Today they search <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 1.0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 0in 1in;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14pt;">for grandmothers and
children.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 1.0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 0in 1in;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14pt;">They seek surviving
citizens<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 1.0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 0in 1in;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14pt;">who wanted nothing more<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 1.0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 0in 1in;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14pt;">than to arise another
day<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 1.0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 0in 1in;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14pt;">to work an ordinary job,<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 1.0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 0in 1in;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14pt;">to hold their children
in the evening, <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 1.0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 0in 1in;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14pt;">to kiss their loved ones
<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 1.0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 0in 1in;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14pt;">and joke with their
friends.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 1.0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 0in 1in;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 1.0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 0in 1in;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14pt;">A traumatic day in
Ukraine;<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 1.0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 0in 1in;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14pt;">war dogs make their way.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 1.0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 0in 1in;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14pt;">They recognize, like
Hindu saints,<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 1.0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 0in 1in;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14pt;">the sacred light of
every person,<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 1.0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 0in 1in;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14pt;">looking for those who
may have a chance,<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 1.0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 0in 1in;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14pt;">finding people who still
have breath,<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 1.0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 0in 1in;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14pt;">helping humanity piece
together what remains.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 1.0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 0in 1in;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 1.0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 0in 1in;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 67.5pt; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 0in 67.5pt;">
</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 1.0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 0in 1in;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14pt;"> ~ Charles Kinnaird<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><o:p><br /></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><o:p><br /></o:p></p></div><div>-</div>Charles Kinnairdhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07651225996573989932noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7742879119843856939.post-6697384130714938332023-01-16T05:00:00.003-06:002023-01-16T05:00:00.231-06:00Music Of A Movement: I've Been Buked and I've Been Scorned/We Shall Overcome<p><span style="font-size: medium;"> Here are two videos of songs from the Civil Rights Movement that were among those shared by Dan Rather and Elliot Kirschner in "<a href="https://steady.substack.com/p/music-of-a-movement?publication_id=247881&utm_medium=email&isFreemail=true" target="_blank">Music of a Movement</a>."</span></p><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture; web-share" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="360" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/rZck6OXR_wE" title="YouTube video player" width="640"></iframe><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>
<iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture; web-share" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="360" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/Aor6-DkzBJ0" title="YouTube video player" width="640"></iframe> </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>-</div>Charles Kinnairdhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07651225996573989932noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7742879119843856939.post-33866790446533040132023-01-14T05:00:00.004-06:002023-01-14T05:00:00.209-06:00Saturday Haiku: Wintertime<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgW0JgLt4BIDiv6RbdJ_Z2oGeu3SL5i4NF2ZD78XnwipfQPUjljj17n4ZGdJEfu7nfyjCybs_cosIRUfFx5x8WNfNEhellcbLvNYPhn_lGLHK0ymhamdel9s1Jn1oim2HrwqQkdTg8LELStUSBtEW-qR_vBhnoT_7qSa9UGm4DzO2tkNKoGJvSSupXq/s720/FB_IMG_16722734469194157.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="416" data-original-width="720" height="370" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgW0JgLt4BIDiv6RbdJ_Z2oGeu3SL5i4NF2ZD78XnwipfQPUjljj17n4ZGdJEfu7nfyjCybs_cosIRUfFx5x8WNfNEhellcbLvNYPhn_lGLHK0ymhamdel9s1Jn1oim2HrwqQkdTg8LELStUSBtEW-qR_vBhnoT_7qSa9UGm4DzO2tkNKoGJvSSupXq/w640-h370/FB_IMG_16722734469194157.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><h2 style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; tab-stops: center 3.25in left 366.75pt; text-align: center;"> <b style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT Black","serif"; font-size: 17pt;">the still of
winter<br /></span></b><b><span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT Black","serif"; font-size: 17pt;">brings all the town
together<br /></span></b><b><span style="font-family: "Bodoni MT Black","serif"; font-size: 17pt;">to keep life
kindled</span></b></h2>
<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p><br /></p><p>___________________</p><div><span style="font-size: medium;">Image: Winter Landscape with Skaters (1608) at the Rijksmuseum in Amsterdam<br />Artist: Hendrick Avercamp<br />Medium: Oil on oak </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">-</div>Charles Kinnairdhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07651225996573989932noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7742879119843856939.post-84632383629513062562023-01-11T05:00:00.017-06:002023-01-11T05:00:00.208-06:00The Life of Poetry<div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14pt;">The poet often
taps into what Jung called our collective unconscious, giving voice to our
humanity and meaning to our struggles. A good poem, therefore, tells us
something we already know. When we read it or hear it we say, “Ah, yes.” An
exceptional poem tells us something we are on the verge of knowing. When we
read it or hear it, we say, “Oh my!”</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14pt;"> <br /></span><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14pt;"> ~ Charles Kinnaird</span></div>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14pt;">Consider
<i>Poems for Hungry Minds</i>, available at <a href="https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0BJYM7XJC/" target="_blank">Amazon</a>. Perhaps some of the poems will
make you say, “Ah, yes.” Maybe you will say, “Oh my!”</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxvW-6fEFwd2TQsm7geJcbDKGHbG4Ue1_qxi791chIWRy_kJSkEXCXvpgM38ezJ7rjHzWQAgSLYRaS98g01kR_ifE1LpRP3NSIf8btF0Gny70fgXDxs8-a5H-bNHdi6hav8raQkURxqVyc4DCaTSbbLG0J9c_m_7B5cV6s0cFKdy9AWvUX-3JJyplb/s2700/PoemsforHungryMinds-front.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2700" data-original-width="1800" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxvW-6fEFwd2TQsm7geJcbDKGHbG4Ue1_qxi791chIWRy_kJSkEXCXvpgM38ezJ7rjHzWQAgSLYRaS98g01kR_ifE1LpRP3NSIf8btF0Gny70fgXDxs8-a5H-bNHdi6hav8raQkURxqVyc4DCaTSbbLG0J9c_m_7B5cV6s0cFKdy9AWvUX-3JJyplb/w266-h400/PoemsforHungryMinds-front.jpg" width="266" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span><p></p><p><b style="font-family: Georgia, "serif"; font-size: 14pt;">From the Preface:</b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 1.0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0.5in 10pt 1in;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 21.4667px;">This anthology gathers the voices, wisdom, community, fellowship, and longing for a better world through awareness, deep examination, and the joy of poetry. The HIGHLAND AVENUE POETS are a long-standing community of southern poets meeting monthly to workshop, edit and collectively refine their work.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 1.0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0.5in 10pt 1in;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 21.4667px;">Poetry slows the urgent world and grants a focus on life within it. The discipline practiced by these authors has occasioned a kind of communal joy - poems that reflect a community of compassion for the world.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 1.0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0.5in 10pt 1in;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 21.4667px;">You are invited within.</span></p><p><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"><span style="font-size: 18.6667px;">* * *</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "serif"; font-size: 14pt;">To take a peek at the first pages, check out the Amazon site <a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B0BJYM7XJC/" target="_blank">here</a>. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "serif"; font-size: 14pt;"></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "serif"; font-size: 14pt;">Books may also be purchased at Barnes and Noble <a href="https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/poems-for-hungry-minds-steve-coleman/1142594716?ean=9798986981413" target="_blank">here</a>.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "serif"; font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "serif"; font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "serif"; font-size: 14pt;">-</span></p>Charles Kinnairdhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07651225996573989932noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7742879119843856939.post-35087114345317138902023-01-09T05:00:00.004-06:002023-01-10T18:33:12.919-06:00Monday Music: Old Man (Bluegrass cover)<p> <span style="font-size: medium;">The Travelin' McCourys</span><span> </span><span style="font-size: medium;">offer a fine bluegrass rendition of Neil Young's "Old Man."</span></p>
<div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture; web-share" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="360" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/eBdjDRxOTkc" title="YouTube video player" width="640"></iframe> </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>-</div>Charles Kinnairdhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07651225996573989932noreply@blogger.com0