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Poems and Thoughts by Frank Maurer

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Music

Exchange between two Philosophies opus 114

F. May I read you a Shabbat poem or is that considered work?

A. I avoid calls during Shabbat. Too tired now, will call later.

F. Hello. Yes, I know about calls on Shabbat, but I was 'urged'
   To read you a 'Shabbat thought' written on that day,
   Concerned with our lethargy to aid the Earth and thus us.
   I seldom break the 'rules', but this was an act of civil disobedience
   With a good motive. Remember, even Palestrina 'illegally'
   Slipped in dissonance now and then, despite the church!
   (Lower case 'c' on purpose.)

Rest well, dear friend.

F.

The Inside Windchime opus 167

When I discovered the magic and joy of windchimes,
I collected several: a deep booming one from Germany,
A triangular one with three tones, the steel of which came from old Maine ships.
And, of course, the one with the vibrating, organ-like long pipes.
For several years I loved my chimes out by my window.

Then, somehow, a lovely brass set arrived in the mail.
And I decided to hang it inside by my kitchen entrance.
As I walked by, I would stroke the pipes and elicit lovely, brief harmony.
Then summer hit with 100 degrees F temperatures.
I purchased a large floor fan, serendipitously aimed toward my chimes.
Guess what? I have 'artificial wind' aimed at my chimes,
Resulting in a constant chiming inside my home!
I recommend such a set-up to anyone to accomplish
The cooling of the house as well as the music of the muses!
Such joy prevails from a basic necessity, melding into a sweet concert.

(This summer, so far, I have used my AC twice, carefully situated in the house.)

Blacks and Country Music opus 169

I have heard several stories about Black singers getting into today's Country music.
(Remember Elvis and how he got into originally Black Rock and Roll.)
It seems to be more difficult for Blacks, being a minority, to 'quietly' be Country today.
Those Blacks who have done so and spoken out,
Tell of the hardships and negativity towards them,
For venturing into a genre which, on its facade, should be white.
(To go back again, remember that there were in real life--not movies--
Many Black cowboys.)

Humans are all the same species--Homo sapiens--with superficial variations.
All humans are imitators--from childhood, we take on behaviors of all sorts:
Our voices, our language, our behaviourisms, even our hand movements!
But humans are also gregarious joiners.
We must-- at least most of us--must be in some sort of group,
Which gives us identity to be part, with others, of some identifying category.
(Consider religion, politics, sports, caste, musical genres,
Racism, gender, educational level, profession, etc.)
This is just normal human, primate behavior.

Humans exhibiting differing polymorphisms, when entering a 'fixed stereotype' group,
Can ruffle feathers and cause anxiety and the blood pressure to rise:
Consider skin color, eye shape, various behaviors, accents, or hair morphology.
'They just don't belong here; they don't 'fit in' '
What is to be remembered is that we are basically all one species
With a few polymorphisms sprinkled in!

Australian Singer, Genesis Owusu opus 177

Genesis Owusu has won every musical award in Australia
And is now planning to start performing in the US.
His family emigrated from Ghana, Africa, when he was a child.
He had to learn as a black immigrant just how to fit in.
His second album, following his successful debut, is 'Struggle', featuring 'Roaching'.
In this new musical presentation he sings about the cockroach--
Its ability to survive against 'great odds',
And in passing, poses the question does god value such a creature.
He then compares the stubborn and powerful cockroach to the human struggle--
'Like the cockroach we shall overcome all adversity' {my paraphrasing}.

As a biologist, I extrapolated and generally wondered about the 'survival of things'.
Cockroaches have an incredible ability to reproduce and adapt to available space and food.
Humans are incredibly able to survive by their reproductive 'ability'
(Partly through continuous female receptivity) and with always newly developed technology--
Clothing, agriculture, the domestication of the horse, the wheel, control of fire--
Cooking and producing 'soft food' has even caused the evolution of reduced molars,
Loss of a second stomach (the appendix), loss of the sagittal ridge
(Bone on the skull to accommodate attached extra masticating muscle),
Reduction of canine teeth--all with the help and backup of an opposable thumb!

Remembering that a 'good' parasite does not kill its host,
Again, one extrapolates in one's mind, on the human population as the 'dependant parasite',
And the planet as the 'host'; Will humans adapt to less usurpation of the 'host',
By once again, fostering technology and behavioral adaptation,
Thus preventing us from 'killing our host'?

Just Wondering opus 209

I have always wondered
Why the Latin Roman Mass
Commences with Kyrie Elyison,
Followed by Kriste Elyison--
Both introductory phrases are in Greek!
    Benedictus.  Ahmen.

I have also wondered why our moon
Seems to never rotate,
Always facing the earth.
On this one I finally learned
That the actual rotation of the moon
Is timed to be in sync
With its orbit in the monthly/yearly
Rotation around our earth!

Realizing the horrible waste and destruction
Which war results from human conflict,
Why have humans generally never learned
From wars' actual consequences throughout history?
Think of the many countries once in conflict,
Which, when all was finalized,
Became allies and staunch trading partners!--
A strange, meaningless enigma.

Lastly, in so many social situations,
Where tasty food, social communication,
And live, musical entertainment commingle,
One of these three often unfairly dominates.
I performed jazz in social situations decades previously--
Always attempting to comfortably 'fit in'.
These days, when I rarely attend such social events,
I am mostly overwhelmed by the horrid volume of music.
It appears that musicians care less about a 'good' performance,
But rather value volume as the means to gain praise and attention.
Of course the result is that the masticating, imbibing conversationalists
Can barely hear each other because of the selfish volume producers,
Oblivious in their own self centeredness.
I compare this present sound pollution,
Literally causing (future) hearing problems of all sorts,
Including tinnitus and, in extreme cases, deafness--
Much as smokers selfishly created in years past,
Resulting in asthma, lung cancer, or even death.

Music To My Ears, I. The Early Days opus 210

Since I was tiny, I always had music in my life.
My mother played the old upright piano
During the day at times and later, to put us to sleep.
At five, I started piano lessons with a neighbor teacher.
I advanced some, even recording a duet,
"The Happy Farmer" with my mother.
Mrs. Winkler, married to a Swede who sold knicknack stuff,
As near as I remember, from his car, was my teacher.
She was stiff and formal
And I soon decided at six or seven years to stop.
My mother told me, Winkler had said I would never play music again!
In the meantime, I discovered at six
A big, deep cabinet my father had hand constructed for my mother,
In which were classical 78 record albums--
Tchaikovsky, Mozart, Beethoven, and perhaps Wagner;
Large albums of three to five 78 records--six to ten sides with complete works.
I played them all over and over again.
Once, when I was deep in thought, musically,
My mother came by and said, "Why don't you go out and play?"
Another time she came by and asked, "What are you thinking?"
I seriously answered her, "I am contemplating death."
(I had raised and butchered rabbits from the age of six,
So I knew the 'birds and bees' of rabbits (and humans!)
And how to ready a rabbit for the pot in 20 minutes--
I got faster 'as I aged'!)
At ten years old, I attended dance school with Mrs. Cohn.
I always sat near the trio of men who talked with me--piano, sax, and drums.
In sixth grade at Hyde Elementary School,
They needed an upright double bassist.
I had been given a 'Seashore Test' to check musical prowess and ability--
I may remember it was administered to my whole class.
Well, the music teacher approached me to join the orchestra and play bass.
We had an hour and a half lunch hour between sessions.
Instead of going home for lunch, I practiced by myself
And after one half hour, I walked home, two blocks away,
Lunched and walked back to school.
This continued in Junior High School, when I finally got my own instrument.
It was a big, old, very dark heavy bass,
Which had been, not delicately, reconstructed.

In High School, I went to a private music school for lessons--
My mother drove me and the bass, four miles to the school each week.
My teacher was Mr. Spinney, an older, dark haired,
Very soft spoken man, whom I respected very much
And from whom I learned techniques and fingering.
(He helped prepare me for the school's annual concert--Grieg's piano concerto.)
After about three years he told me I was ready for a more advanced teacher.
He suggested a bassist in the Boston Symphony!
I was about to graduate and leave for Antioch College, Yellow Springs, Ohio,
So I did not follow that advice--who knows what that might have led to!
I left Newton, Massachusetts, and my first wonderful girlfriend,
Seta DerHohanessian, an incredible flautist, whom I loved dearly.
I will always remember my first date, when I drove my parents' car to Seta's home.
We, with others, played the Bach Flute Concerto in B flat.
I was in heaven, with her and being allowed to drive alone--
My wilder, younger brother, John, was not allowed to drive until after 16!
(Seta and I lost track until 30 years later, when we met during my 50th HS Reunion.
She was a year older, so I actually attended two Senior Proms!)

One outstanding memory was when Donald March, HS orchestra director,
Allowed me to conduct the orchestra for some piece, which I remember not;
Yet another moment of being in musical heaven.
I was indeed very content with those early musical years
And, indeed, with almost every day of my youthful process, becoming an adult.

Windchimes by my Window opus 214

I loved sailing as a young man--
The invisible power of the wind, moving a vehicle.
I also flew kites as a child.
One was so large it nearly lifted my brother off the ground!
On our frozen lake in the winter,
I sail skated with a gigantic kite held on my shoulder.
Often as I conducted my field work in Wyoming--
I raised two or three kites simultaneously, tied to my van.

With a quieter life on my farm, but still with wind,
I collected windchimes--always lovely, each very different.
I sit outside under the tree which, now large,
Was one of my mother's living Christmas trees,
Enjoying the chorus of chimes as I read and pen my thoughts.
Also, as I am doing right now, I awake very early to write,
Listening to my family of chimes outside my window--
Remembering all of my life's encounters with the wind.

Music To My Ears, II. Middle Years; Antioch College opus 223

Adding a bit more from High School, I was serendipitously introduced to jazz.
(1956).
The Newton High School was performing the 'Connecticut Yankee' musical.
After the final successful performance on that Saturday evening,
I was encouraged and invited to go to someone's home,
Taking my upright double bass with me and jamming!
I had never done such a thing--just extemporaneously playing by ear.
I knew all my musical keys, so knowing such with each tune,
I thought I might be able to 'fake it' somehow.
In fact, it really worked and that was the beginning--
I performed jazz, along with the classical through Grad School!

Well, I arrived (1959) at Antioch College, Yellow Springs, Ohio.
I jumped right into classes--music, science, literature, religion.
Of course, I joined the orchestra, led by David Epstein,
A good, clear conductor and later, I would learn, was a violinist.
We had many hours (and years!) of playing together.

One quarter, it was announced that David would temporarily have leave
And Donald Keetes, music history professor, would take his place.
Keetes was a light, indecisive conductor,
So I almost immediately switched to choir!
It was for only the quarter, and I missed my bass,
But I learned much about using my vocal cords,
Rather than fingering on large gut and steel strings.
The following quarter, I met Keetes again as professor
In a music history class--no singing notes, just notes.
He was a student of Hindemith and very knowledgeable.
My term paper, being deeply into religion and seeking a personal god,
Was a comparative study of the Masses of Mozart, Beethoven, and Stravinsky.
I remember hiding away to write at Lady Alice Bingle's apartment downtown.
She had nursed my father during his illness while he was
A student at Antioch, years previously.
I trepidatiously handed in my paper to Keetes,
Who surprised me with a big, fat A!

During my fifth and final year (I had taught in Switzerland for a year abroad),
David Epstein came to me after one of our rehearsals,
Asking if I would conduct a movement of Bach's Brandenburg Concerto #3,
While he performed the solo violin part in its designated musical movement.
Remembering my one opportunity in High School
And how wonderful the experience turned out to be,
I immediately said 'yes' and got to work, studying the score.
A real score, so complete, with one page containing the entire ensemble.
So you can imagine, the pages were turned quickly!
The graduation concert, including my conducting debut, went very well.
At this point in my life, I was struggling with career choices
Between religion, music, and biology to earn my future keep in the world.
After much thought, I chose biology, which, as it turned out, was a wise decision.
Music, however, continued to be a large part of my life.

Music To My Ears, III. Later Years. Cornell opus 232

Well, I began applying to Grad Schools--Duke and Cornell being two.
I decided on Cornell in Ithaca, NY, near my maternal grandparents farm on Seneca Lake.
(When I started flying, I flew to visit the farm,
Repeating the Republic Seabee (pontoon) flight with my father,
When I was about 10 years old, first gliding over that same farm!)
The Cornell program was experimental,
Allowing certain students to skip Masters and proceed straight to Ph.D.
My professor was Charles Sibley in the Conservation Department.
He was an ornithology specialist and we studied that group, using starch gel electrophoresis.
I was being trained in the techniques,
And before I made a decision for a study subject,
Sibley decided to transfer to Yale.
I decided to stay and study with Daniel Q. Thompson, a conservation professor.
So, I took up the torch, working with the vole, Microtus pennsylvanicus.

As all this was occurring, I joined the Cornell orchestra,
Led by the well-known conductor, Karel Husa.
I became first bassist, with many concerts following,
One of which was playing at the Kennedy Center in New York City,
For the one hundredth anniversary of Cornell University!
On about my third year at Cornell, with the Vietnam War raging,
I, remembering my conducting 'history', approached Karel,
And asked if I might conduct the orchestra at some point.
He was very kind, but said that there were many 'professionals' in the orchestra,
And that would really not be appropriate, but added
That if I took his conducting class, I would be obliged to conduct!
Such a wonderful person, who understood a person's real desire.
I took the course, learned many techniques, and prepared my score--
Brahm's Symphony 2 and one of its movements--I remember not which.
I do remember one portion was a delightful two against three rhythm.
After weeks of preparation, my time arrived.
I watched the 'real' music majors doing their stuff--
So weak, with no real strength in their motions.
(A couple admitted to me that they had no interest in conducting.)
I wore a blue Tom Jones large sleeve shirt
And went through the paces with great gusto!
Upon concluding, I was completely elated and on a musical high.

Well, a year passed and the end of the term was approaching.
I was waiting to be conducted by a new batch of student conductors.
After one of the rehearsals, Karel came to me
And asked if I would like to conduct again.
I was delighted and he invited me to view a score--
It was the 'Unanswered Question' by Charles Ives.
The piece had three tempi going on simultaneously!
Karel asked me how I would conduct this short, but complex piece.
I said I would cue the trumpet and then cue the four flutes,
While maintaining my continual conducting of the complete string section.
Karel, who was a flamboyant conductor paused
To check the Ives' notes in the score--
Karel (I suspected) expected that the instructions would be
That one would fully conduct the trumpet and the flutes,
While just cuing the whole orchestra. (Impossible, I thought.)
Goodness, Ives suggested just what I had proposed!
Later, the demonstration went very well,
Of course after much work on the score.
Karel, I guess, was impressed with my performance,
And asked me, since the piece lasted only 10 minutes,
To repeat the whole work once again.
I was honored and terribly pleased.
I left Cornell after my four years with a Ph.D.,
Having aspirations and anticipation for my continuing, unfolding life.

(It is interesting that in my much later (1980's) farm life in Davis, California,
I came upon a new bird guide with excellently painted bird figures,
published by a David Allen Sibley, undoubtedly, Charles Sibley's son,
who took up the ornithological mantle, not with the study of genes,
but through pigment and painting. The names in this book were being
changed as a result of the newest scientific DNA techniques, the
result from some of the work in electrophoresis by his father.
History repeats and spirals upwards!)

Music To My Ears, IV. Further Later Years; Turkey (now Turkiye) opus 234

Because of the economy and available academic jobs available,
I looked abroad and, since I had met Bryant and Betsy Harrell
On Nantucket Island, while I was trapping voles, researching for my Ph.D.,
And he had taken on a new deanship job at Robert College in Istanbul, Turkiye,
(Later to become Bogazici Universitesi),
He offered me a position in the biology department.
I accepted and moved to Turkiye and a new life.
As I and Maggi, my first late wife (killed in an auto accident later in Africa),
Drove through Germany, then Greece, and entered Turkiye,
I tuned the radio to a local station--it was like going to Mars.
I knew several languages, but I recognized not a word being broadcast.
As I said later, it was as though my tongue were removed from my mouth!
We settled into an apartment in Cucuk Bebek, an Istanbul suburb on the Bosphorus.
(See my 'Poems and Thoughts' on swimming the Bosphorus.)

After getting acquainted with my Constantinople Greek department head,
An elderly woman who soon died of cancer--
And I, having an appendicitis and a hospital stay,
I commenced through all that to learn much of my beginning Turkish.
(I actually learned from my Turkish ambulance driver how to count, 1 to 10.)
I discovered some fellow musicians and we befriended each other.
I soon had a leave for visa work and was in Saltzburg, Austria.
We went to an instrument maker and purchased an old 18th century 'cello.
Of course I had to learn the new instrument and its fingering.
Returning 'home' and with much practising, I approached Tom, a violinist,
His wife, Laura, violist, David, a pianist, and a flautist.
We started practising at an apartment in the shadows of the Rumeli Hisar,
A fortress constructed by Ahmet the Conqueror,
Who eventually conquered Constantinople and then all of Turkiye.
We practised every Friday evening from 5 to 11 with a 'gifted' dinner, lasting an hour.
We got quite good together and experienced marvelous evenings.
 I later came down with TB and was confined for many weeks in basic apartment isolation.
During that time I learned Esperanto, wrote, read, and learned the 12 tone system of music
Created by Schönberg, who migrated from Russia to Los Angeles, USA!
(When moving to California, I visited his 'reconstructed' studio at UCLA..)

I composed, in my isolation, two pieces for flute and cello, the scores of which
I later discussed with Karel Husa at Cornell on one of my home leaves.
These two works I performed in the Harrell's
Huge living room overlooking the Bosphorus,with many local colleagues in the audience.
It was a step forward in yet another musical dimension.
The Harrell's were gracious hosts and all went perfectly.
I finally returned to California for yet another life,
My music basically hibernating from thereon,
With so many new agricultural changes pending,
Also, creating the Environmental Education Farm Foundation, a non profit,
As well as the Quail Ridge Wilderness Conservancy land trust,
Music was still all around me, but now played by others.
Each piece they play still yields some memory from my past life.

Variation on a Theme opus 264

Limits
    Even on a calm day
    if you remain quiet
    and hold your breath

    you still will not
    be able to hear
    the singing of the clouds.

So wrote Billy Collins
And I added:

Yes, even the cumulonimbus is silent--
It is the accompanying thunder,
Caused by the piercing lightening
That cries out with the opening theme
Of the Fifth Symphony.

(Billy Collins, Musical Tables, 2022.)

Musical Similarities Over the Centuries opus 331

As I have written, music has been a huge part of my life.
I was listening this morning to the music of Johann Sebastian Bach,
Celebrating his 31 March 1685 birthday, soon to come.
His winding, polyphonic, continuous musical-cadence sounds
Suddenly connected the musical sounds in my head
To other similar styles--at least for me--
Which have the same continuous flow, if seemingly different sound.
The first which comes to mind are Amish hymns,
Which I heard during a Sunday service in a midwestern,
Congregants segregated by sex, temporarily cleaned out barn.
Their singing took me back to the Khoisan (Bushman) people
Who sang for me one evening in the Kalahari with their profound magic.

Another important musical type for me is the beautiful
Continuous sounds of Scottish classical bagpipe pibroch style.
My mind then jumped to the similar continuous sounds
Of electronic music of my teenage years.
There are so many composers of our time with their own such style--
The 12-tone System of Arnold Schoenberg, for one.

All of these continuous styles from many centuries
Require attention and concentration to fully appreciate.
This is perhaps why our today's listeners are not capable of a full acceptance--
Our society now needs more and more instant gratification,
Which allows such music to be purposely ignored in our minds.
We need to play such music in our homes to our children,
So that such musical history is not lost to the common sounds of the masses,
And studied only by the esoteric musical scholars!

(Dear Readers--explore the genres presented here in a few minutes--not too fast,
And partake in beautiful musical styles which took me decades to discover!)

Condemned to a Possible Death Sentence? opus 335

I was listening today to Public Radio featuring
A narrative about a woman who was
Wrongfully convicted unjustly to a death sentence
For a crime she did not commit.
After 17 years of solitary confinement,
And pro bono help from volunteer attorneys,
She was absolved of the crime and released
To a new world of a lost family and a totally new start.

I was also condemned to isolation and possible death,
While I was living in Turkiye on my new teaching job.
Suddenly, I was coughing up blood and feeling very weak.
I had been travelling, and had to make it back to Turkiye.
Tuberculosis, probably from my childhood,
Reared its head and condemned me to several months of isolation
And several overlapping medications to stabilize my condition.
I was condemned and isolated in my little apartment,
Where my coworkers were wary of visiting because of the disease.
Just as the condemned woman kept herself busy,
I practiced several arts to occupy my mind and remain somewhat sane.

I had learned about the intentional language, Esperanto,
While travelling through Bulgaria.
I purchased a 12-Step 'Teach Yourself Esperanto' and 'went to town'.
After a few weeks, I ordered various literature materials
And started reading. The language is so learner-compatible,
That I read half a page, before resorting to a dictionary!

My 'cello was my musical companion, upon which I practiced
Each day to the point of evening exhaustion!
During this time, I also started composing
A flute and 'cello 12-Tone System duet.
At that time I wrote a couple of scientific articles,
Along with many letters to colleagues and friends.

Without these diversions, I would have been totally lost.
As with confinement, isolation of any kind must be contended with.
The gregarious behavior of humans is a very powerful need
And must always be pursued in all conditions.
To be completely isolated, is to gradually destroy all humanity in a person.

The Sacred Piano Keyboard opus 369

It is common to purchase a child size violin or cello.
Why is there such resistance to reduce the size of the piano keys?
The piano keys are too wide for the reach of children,
Those with smaller adult hands, and for many women,
Who are naturally, morphologically smaller.
To reach a spread of 10 keys is impossible for many--
Eight and sometimes nine keys are often achievable,
But with the potential that hand injury will result.
Realize that 80 percent of piano competitions are won by men,
While 75 percent of violin competitions are won by women!
Surely, no more evidence, need be presented.
Is there a possibility this is a male dominated 'pianist world'
To reduce the success and recognition of their fellow female musicians?

(On a similar, sexist point, remember, that it has been men fashion designers
Who have continually created high heel shoes, merely to augment
The bulge of the calf, and thus the result being mostly for male visual delight!
This, of course, is at the expense of the podiatry health of women.)

The Unfolding of Classical Music's Morphology opus 395

Palestrina -- Forbidden to add a touch of dissonant spice.

Bach, Vivaldi, Corelli, Handel, Scarlatti -- Lush harmonies of longitudinal
    interaction with not a single pause.

Haydn -- Father of the orchestra, but always locked into the motif.

Mozart and Beethoven -- Students of Haydn, but each morphed so
    differently--still locked into the motif--the former just a more
    brilliant form of the teacher; while the latter struggled with new
    forms,--still locked into the motif!

Mendelsohn -- Composing on the Christian side of a split family.

Brahms and Bruckner -- Giant, with so much more free form--truly Romantic.

Debussy -- The gentler tone poem--stories in a pleasant flow of notes.
    (e.g. La Mer).

Tchaikovsky -- A tortured man, but the flash of musical Russia is
    always there.

Shostakovitch -- New frontiers with his 12-Tone System.

Stravinsky -- New style and sound--Picasso-like. (Listen to his Mass.)

Now the electronics -- Several good composers have worked in this
    medium for years.

Modern freestyle -- Lose and often cacophonous and kaleidoscopic.

There is something for every listener, in any mood and/or with any emotion.

Norumbega ('Belonging to Norway') -- The Site of Vinland? opus 426

My father (and mother) loved to go fishing,
So he took us all (mother, John, Susan, and me),
To the Charles River (named after Charles I in 1614--
Charles was only a prince then, but explorer, John Smith
Had expectations for the lad--who later lost his head--
And then came the wicked Cromwell and thereafter,
The exiled , enlightened son, Charles II.)
(This is why the new British king is Charles III!)
Lots of history where I grew up--
I shall attempt to control my being an historiaphile!

At any rate, we often fished near a 40 foot fieldstone tower,
Built (1889) to pay homage to the supposed Vinland--
A Viking fort and settlement (1000 AD) started by Leif Erikson.
As children (and once as a returning adult) we, now I,
Often climbed the spiral staircase.
The Tower still quietly stands surrounded by comforting trees.
The fishing usually produced a sunfish or bluegill--occasionally a catfish.
Our family also enjoyed, at other times,
Norumbega Park's amusements across the river.

Later, in High School (Newtonville), I took classical double bass lessons
At the Newton Music School in one of the eleven 'Newtons'.
Our 'final exam' was the School's public outreach,
Performing Edvard Grieg's Piano Concerto in A minor, op. 16.
This was my first public performance with a large audience
And it was played in the very famous Totem Pole Ballroom at the Park.
(The Park itself survived from 1897 to 1963--the Ballroom, from 1930 to 1963.)

This Ballroom was to come twice again in my life,
When my first love Seta Derhohannesian, a senior,
Invited me to the Newton High prom,
Followed by Susan White, who accompanied me for my second senior prom.

Years later, for my 50th High School reunion, I returned to the Park,
But now (2008), I stayed in the Radisson Hotel now on the beloved Park's site.
The hotel's position was near the two bear cages I remember from childhood.
That year, while there, I looked up Seta and spent some lovely
innocent time with her.
We talked birds, as she was just starting some serious birdwatching--
I remember, hearing for the first time, in my hometown, Newton,
A Cardinal's vocalization--they have shifted north resulting from the
Climate Crisis!

The Park was a focal point--not planned-- throughout my life.
It was called one of the many 'trolley parks' from the 1890's,
Where many parks were created for business at the end of a trolley line.
This park at that time, and little known to me, had been declared
New England's finest amusement park--including the Totem Pole Ballroom
Which heard the music of Miller and Dorsey echoing through its walls.
I truly have lived a life surrounded by wonderful history,
Which has obviously nurtured my mental ontogeny!

Kris Kristofferson -- A Look-A-Like? opus 437

People I met in the 80's and 90's would often say,
'You look like Kris Kristofferson!'
I even had an encounter with a gentleman
Who traversed a large parking lot to verify
Whether or not I was indeed the great star!
All this amused me, but I was never sure just why.
Kris has just died at the good age of 88.
Upon checking on who he really was,
Impressed me beyond belief.
I had thought he was just a film star, but no:
Football player, paratrooper, helicopter pilot, boxer;
A Rhodes scholar, studying Shakespeare and William Blake!
He was disowned by his military parents,
For leaving that institution to write songs.
'His songs were like short stories.'
One of his quotes made me feel great kinship:
"I am a songwriter, but I'm also concerned with my fellow human beings.
And I'm real concerned with the soul of my country."
In the end, he had profound short term memory loss,
Something which for me, would be devastating,
But he persevered and was productive to the end.

I may have looked like Kris Kristofferson, but in my now older age,
I deeply understand that looks alone are meaningless.
He and I have some similarities in our accomplishments,
But in spite of his great fame, I would have still felt comfortable
To sit with him and juxtapose our philosophies together.
Kris, you are a great example of a human using your full potential, honorably.

My Ode to the Haggis opus 471

For many, 25 January is an important and meaningful date,
As it is the birthday of the great Scottish poet and lyricist,
Robert Burns (1759-1796).
He wrote Jeanie With the Light brown Hair, Auld Lang Syne,
An Ode to Washington, while his own country
Was fighting the new rebellious America,
As well as later, an Ode to the Freedom Tree
During the French Revolution--
This, while his country was opposing France!
A daring and romantic poet, taking many risks.
But on the lighter side, he playfully wrote the Ode to the Haggis.
Just what is Haggis, the 'national dish' of Scotland?
All cultures, being unwasteful of needed food,
Combined those animal parts, for us, sort of on the margin.
Wurst of the Germanics, Wieners (hot dogs) of North America,
And, of course, Mexican Menudo and Buche, both with small intestine,
And Haggis of Scotland--lungs, heart, kidneys, pancreas and so forth;
These traditional items combined are called the offal,
Collected by mainly amputating the esophagus
And pulling out all the attached organs thereto,
Then adding in those other goodies, such as kidneys and liver.
This mixture is diced, adding rolled oats, stuffed into a sheep's stomach,
(Remember, weiner material was stuffed into small intestines)
And baked to perfection--only combined taters and nips and Scotch are needed
To finalize the tasty combination--
So unwasteful and delicious, mated with the alcohol.

Just for fun, since I will be alone for Thanksgiving,
I have ordered canned Haggis to arrive soon,
Which I will combine with my purchased turnips and potatoes.
A half bottle of real Scotch awaits, sent to me last year by an old friend.
Quietly, alone, but not, I shall commune with Rabbie anticipating his birthday.

A Culturally Blending World opus 480

On the news this morning, it was announced
That the 'new' Syria, having just ousted its dictator (Asad),
Is even singing Christmas songs in their great joy--
Know what the carol was, chosen to be broadcast?--
'Feliz Navidad', a Mexican tune well known in the US!
So we have come to a Muslim country,
Celebrating by airing a Christian song in Spanish
To celebrate their hard fought-for political victory--
All influenced by a country--the US--
A multicultural friendly (basically) nation,
Attempting to be accepting of all diverse people!

The Romantic Tumbleweed opus 493

The tumbling Tumbleweed--a Western cowboy song
Which many are able to easily humm.
But sadly, and realistically, this innocent plant
Is a voracious non-native invader from Russia.
Tumbleweed seed was brought into South Dakota
In the 1870's by Russian immigrants,
Contaminating flax seed accompanying them.
Millions of dollars have been spent
To attempt to eradicate this ubiquitous weed.
The song romanticises the poetic tumbling of this floral form,
When actually with each tumble,
It is distributing yet ever-more seed.
This physical means of distribution is devastating,
Engineering yet another non-native to spread throughout the West.

Things are not always what they seem until time often passes,
And knowledge with accurate facts becomes known.

My Dear Childhood Friend, Frances Brown opus 516

Ah, Frances Brown. She was a friend of my parents,
But I was also included by her in our own friendship.
She had a deep chortle for a woman--early smoking?
She always had a nice middle-aged scent.
And she always paid attention to me when we were together.
She was the church secretary and wrote the chosen verse
In my new bible--'The man who builds his house on a rock...'
Her printing was impeccable and solid.

One adventure we had was a snowy trip to the Boston Symphony.
My father was dubious because of the weather,
But she laughed it off and said that her 'Bug' would make it fine.
It did make it fine, having a wonderful concert.
Afterwards I joined Frances and her husband, Morrie,
At their home for an 'overnight' and breakfast.
I remember the guest room and the fresh smelling sheets.

I always enjoyed, as a young one, intelligent adults.
Frances taught me about the 'older generation'
And that they had much to offer in their wisdom.
Frances is long gone, but I will never forget
Our comradely interaction and her kindness,
Helping me to grow into the adult stage of my life.

Our Fellow Bird Vocalizations opus 524

How loud is the peacock's cry breaking the dawn.
The lark follows with melodious vocalizations.
The robin on the lawn, hunting for worms,
Flies to a tree and puffs out its flute-like territorial melody.
A background chiming is uttered by the Song Sparrow,
Followed by the mellow but penetrating
Organ pipes of the Wood Thrush;
As night falls, the longing cry of the Loon.
And in the moonlight, the Pygmy Owl lets out
Its soft, decreasing series of hoots.
A symphony for those who know,
And would appreciate, throughout the daily cycle.

Seta opus 529

A Bach flute concerto plays on the air.
My first love was Seta, a flautist in high school.
Our first date was meeting and playing music at her home.
I knew her parents well; her mother,
An Armenian, soft-spoken woman;
Her father, a very short Armenian artist
At the Rhode Island School of Design.
I remember when he showed me
His plastered juxtaposition of egg cartons;
Beautifully conjoined to create an optical illusion.

Seta and I met at a 50th Reunion for Newton High School.
She had aged, but was soft and conversant.
Dementia hit and her son took her off to California.
I was never able to converse with her again.
The magic of early youth, lost at the end
In silence and an unfulfillment of words.

The White-crowned Sparrow--A Biannual Reminder in my Calendar (Dedicated to Melissa) opus 561

In my life of 83 years, I have always remarked about Spring and Autumn.
Tucked into that is another Spring-Fall phenomenon
And that is the annual movements of the White-crowned Sparrow.
For 47 years, I have lived with this wonderful bird in California,
Witnessing its East-West seasonal shifts, in and out of the Valley.
Today, we are still in April, and the marvelous companionship
With this species will be ending--it will make its return to the hills.
I must now wait until October to listen for
Its wondrous, teasing, raspy 'zwee-zwee-zwee' vocalization.
With its October return, its call will hit me from the ear to the heart.
I coexist and breathe the same juxtaposed air with my companion,
The White-crowned Sparrow.

Sounds for a Birder opus 562

The Neanderthal are gone by 40,000 years,
But there is still a link between us Moderns and the extinct ones--
The vocalizations of most of the birds we live with today.
As a population, the Neanderthal would have been far more aware
Of the varied, juxtaposed calls of their avian neighbors
Than Modern Homo would be in our present time.
These creatures were their alarm clock at sunrise,
Their lullaby in the Demerung (Twilight) as they attempted to sleep,
And their warning, denoting some occurrence
Of which they should be aware.
Birds were their constant companions, as well as their nourishment.
An intimate relationship with another creature for sure!

The Vicarious Conductor opus 580

Often, when musical sounds come within my ear,
I raise my hands in a conducting mode
And lead that imaginary musical group.
It brings me back to my period in music,
When I conducted an actual and real group of musicians,
Fully revelling in my heart, guiding such musical geniuses.

Dancing Days opus 657

The three-four of Strauss came into my ear.
Thoughts suddenly reverted back to my dancing days.
As a child I had formal dance lessons--
Fox Trott, Waltz, Fourstep, Cha Cha.
High School and College and early later life days
Spawned a formal/freeform; a rather dynamic style.
With a good partner, that great style allowed movement,
Which mesmerized many watchers and couples--
Most would simply stop to watch!

From Where Does He Come--'van' or 'von'? opus 698

His name was Ludwig van Beethoven.
He was born in Bonn, Germany, 1770.
If one looks carefully at his name,
One sees 'van'.  What is all that about?
Shouldn't it be 'von'?
'Von' in German, means 'from'.
But wait, 'van' in Dutch also means 'from'.
So the question is, 'from' where came Beethoven?
Most of us have never scrutinized his name in this way--
Just lovers of the written word, I guess.
So, if one checks out his genealogy,
One discovers that Beethoven's grandfather
Came from the Netherlands;  thus the 'van',
And it stuck with him on all his manuscripts!

Viva Flamenco! opus 761

Wonderful sounds of Flamenco fire my ears.
I sit, writing on this Valentine's Day,
Dancing in the memory of being accompanied
By a Swedish-Latvian friend to Spain.
We heard music all around us
And danced in the street, humming those rhythms.
Oh, if this ever-slowing body could move so, once again;
Yet, I am still able to dance and reminisce, thankfully,
In my tranquil, but ceaselessly-cogitating mind.