Adelaide and I

From 1887, we present 'Spinning a Yarn' by anonymous. Picture if you will, a group of sailors sitting around the capstan swapping stories and poems in those days of wooden ships and iron men.





'He took the anchor on his back,
And leaped into the main ;
Through foam and spray he clove [1] his way,
And sunk and rose again.

"'Through foam and spray a league [2] away,
The anchor stout he bore ;
Till, safe at last, he made it fast,
And warped [3] the ship ashore.'

"Such was the tale that was told to me
By that modest and truthful son of the sea ;
For he ain't like some of the swabs [4] I've seen,
As would go and lie to a poor marine."



[1] clove - past tense of cleave -to pierce or penetrate
[2] league - A unit of distance equal to 3.0 statute miles (4.8 kilometers)
[3] warped - nautical - to warp a ship or a boat into position
[4] swabs - slang for sailors aka swabbies
[5] capstan - An apparatus used for hoisting weights, consisting of a vertical [or horizontal] spool-shaped cylinder that is rotated manually or by machine and around which a cable is wound -- like the anchor chain

Extra…Extra…Extra…Extra…Extra…Extra…Extra


New Haven, CT…December 2, 2010…Unsigned

…Begin

Poets Henry Wadsworth Longfellow and Steven P. Turi today published their first collaborative effort, Christmas 2010, amidst mixed reactions and threats.

“How rare indeed,” mused a renowned literary critic found fishing at a local watering hole. “Such an effort fascinates the imagination and attests to the concept of concise circumlocution with charming meet her…err…---especially from that new fellow, Turi. Beertender! Pease mix me for another dree martiny!”

Mr. Turi, who was still licking stamps for his literary submissions, was unavailable for comment, but we did listen to the lengthy message on his unused answering machine. Mr. Longfellow, on the other hand, has been dead for the past hundred and twenty-eight years.

Copies of Christmas 2010 were fortunately limited in number and are no longer available. Consequently, this news item has not been written or released---and therefore does not exist.

…End



Christmas 2010

By Steven P. Turi and Henry Wadsworth Longfellow




Introduction: by the New Fellow

My Christmas now as Christmas then
Is filled with color bright of hue.
But all my green be numbers low,
Hence humble words result for you.

Two poets, though far their years apart,
Join palettes brushing words of taste,
To speak of past or now to be,
Brought forth in peace and hope encased.



Christmas Bells by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

I heard the bells on Christmas Day
Their old, familiar carols play.
And wild and sweet
The words repeat
Of peace on Earth, good will to men!

And thought how, as the day had come,
The belfries of all Christendom
Had rolled along
The unbroken song
Of peace on Earth, good will to men!

Till, ringing, swinging on its way,
The World revolved from night to day
A voice, a chime,


A chant sublime
Of peace on Earth, good will to men!

Then from each black, accursed mouth
The cannon thundered in the South
And with the sound
The carols drowned
Of peace on Earth, good will to men.

It was as if an earthquake rent
The hearthstones of a continent,
And made forlorn
The households born
Of peace on Earth, good will to men!



And I despair I bowed my head:
“There is no peace on Earth,” I said.
“For hate is strong
And mocks the song
Of peace on Earth, good will to men!”

Then peeled the bells more loud and deep,
“God is not dead; nor doth He sleep”
The Wrong shall fail,
The Right prevail,
With peace on Earth, good will to men!






Postscript by the New Fellow again


Alas! I mourn this year of scanty fare
Which brought no sign nor proof of wealth.
Yet, heart still beats the meter strong
To wish long life, peace, hope, good health.

Merry Christmas to you with whom I share
Email and voice, rare use of pen.
To join the he and she we are
For peace on Earth, good will to men!




The real end.

No, I didn't dry up and blow away. I've been through some of the travails of life. For several weeks I had the flu. For several more weeks I tried to nurse my computer back to health. But I failed. And so did my hard drive. I lost a lot of data I forgot [or couldn't find] to back up as well. Thus I spent time in search and recovery---and recovered nada. Dell sent me a new hard drive, but didn't install it as I had been led to believe. By the time [which by the way, was progressing day by day] we got it installed, I was far behind in my reconstruction of what data I could figure out. Some of the lost data included much from my mail program and the data base I was using for my blogs. Thus, the delay in writing more blogs. I've researched and have made sure all of my important data is now being backed up [called shutting the barn door after the horse in gone] where I can find it. But since I lost all my blogging notes, I'm pretty much starting from scratch. Politically, everything's going the way I expected, so I should still have plenty to write about. For my personal blogs, life still has its quirks to write about. I'll be back soon with more important thoughts.

So near
An oak stood I,
And heard soft rustle from
Zephyr-kissed leaves…O, sweet, relaxed
I was!

Drowsy
Sense persuaded
Me to lie at oaken
Trunk, and smiling midst scents of wild…
I slept.

Peaceful
Visions floated
Through my eager mind, and
I dreamt of she I knew…yet know
Not now?

Beheld
I a union
Of true beauties, and it
Was mysterious to me, for
I have

Seen her,
And now I see
Her not. Unturned face with
Unseen eyes; unheard voice…yet I
Knew her.

For, I
Knew her, though time
Advance us both…still, one
Past was with me: ethereal
Moments

Recalled;
Good times and bad;
Smiles, tear; world's end of song;[2]
And sad reality leading
Apart.

And they
Will not cease for
Me. These wispy phantoms
Coalesce to a sun-kissed One,
Known for

Wind-blown [3]
Name…now clad in
Rich crimson gown 'neath soft, [4]
Silver beams flickering ghostly
Lattice

Webs of
Shadows dancing;
Amid whispering leaves
Fresh fallen, I hear her tones
Once more…

But ne'er
In dreams, for there
She remains silent and [5]
Elusive where e'er I go. Yet,
I have

Glimpsed deep-
Souled orbs reflect
Bright-hued, scented blooms of
Orchid, Reddened Rose, Violet…
Lilac… [6]

A sweet -
Perfumed luster
Amid dewy tints…a
Rainbow scene steeped in starlight
Twinkle.

In dreams
I find her, she [7]
Turns, and as her long-lost
Visage begins to meet the light
My heart

Quickens
At nearness sight…
But ne'er success to be,
For dreams do fade at unwished times. [8]
Sadly

Did mine
Eyes awake to
Darkness still, but now were
Wild scents welcoming my senses;
Now were

Scarlet
Streaks amid blue
Gray sky etching ebon
Hills across painted scene. I sat [9]
Me up

And watched
Day's dying flame
Settle West, as Gale in [10]
Life would see anon: we'd share same
View…though

Displaced
Time doth delay.
Chill wind reminds me; off
To home, where dreams will e'er fall short…
Success

Denied
But yearnings
Return…as will I to
Oaken shade on morrow pre-eve [11]
To dream

Again.
Yes, dream again
With hopeful change of sweetened
Vista in thoughts ephemeral
To last

'Til life
responds: contact
real and view so true will [12]
end our wondering minds' unease.
I sleep

Again
In wooded copse
And dream with hope to find
Rare soul. To reunite for hour?
Or Day?

Ever?
Near oaken trunk,
I lay again to dream,
Not to wither my soul's growth
In one

Narrow
Plane. Does Gale dream
As I? Do our dreams join
As One in mysterious ways?
Do our

Hearts guide
Us in same or
Different directions?
Will flowing time reveal melody [13]
Unchained?

Or tunes
Apart? I shall
Consider answers and
Hope for beauty return…now and
Ever.

Paper
Hearts and cyber
Streams…all sincere…can ne'er
Supplant Erato-'spired discourse
For Gale.


***
[1] The poem is dedicated to Gale
[2] Our song was Skeeter Davis's 'End of the World'
[3] Her name is Gale, like the wind condition
[4] The strongest memory I have of her is being in a red dress
[5] She remains silent in all my dreams
[6] Her---and mine---favorite bloom is the Lilac
[7] I dream of her often
[8] I sometimes wake up in the middle of a dream
[9] I had slept thru to twilight
[10] Gale lives in California; I live in Connecticut
[11] I wanted to return to the oak tree the next afternoon
[12] I wanted to get together with her again
[13] A reference to Unchained Melody, from our teen years

Dawn was cool on a sunny morn,
Oh welcome the day Miss Gale was born!
Here in November,
I gladly remember.

October's birth and opal's mirth
Coupled to greet the lady of worth;
Lilacs in bloom
About the room.

Syringa hued satin all in a bow,
Borrowed from gardens where the salads grow;
Brought to the fore
At the nursery door.

Oh welcome the day Miss Gale was born!

Physical beauty is rare indeed
To each his own, to each his need.
Blest at the start
With stalwart heart.

Morns and eves of changing sleeves,
Warming trend no autumn leaves.
Joy and grief
Strain belief.

But annum new with a windblown view,
Sweet caring memory's billet-doux.
Bold heralds say:
Proclaim the Day!

Oh welcome the day Miss Gale was born!

c 2009