Poet in my Pocket, by Grant Snider

Reference: Poet in my Pocket.

I love Grant Snider's work.  He is our modern-day philosopher, who makes me think of Henry David Thoreau and Ralph Waldo Emerson.  He is clever and deft with words, and isn't a bad cartoonist in the least.

Here, he captures the essence of the poet that I am.  I can write about anything and everything, and I did, when I lived in Dubai alone and had time to myself.  I write sonnets and sestinas well, and on occasion on I dabble in free verse.  I plan to write haikus this year, based on an idea I came up with last year:  Dew Haiku.  

"All My Pretty Ones" (4)

Part 4

In traffic once, I shuddered when I saw

A mother at the wheel, her little daughter

Standing behind needing to be looked after,

Clearly without seatbelt.  I was in awe –

For the interior lights were on, and more,

The Mom was on the mobile long before!

This one took the cake, as I truly shuddered at the sight.  It was triple whammy risk that this mother took:  (1) by not making sure her daughter stayed seat belted; (2) by keeping the interior lights on – various images reflect on the windscreen, side and back windows, all of which can hinder the driver’s vision; and (3) of course by talking on the mobile, preventing her from paying attention to her daughter’s and her own safety.  To top if off, they were headed toward Sheikh Zayed road!

From "All My Pretty Ones," Part 4 © Ron Villejo

Note. I wrote this four-part poem in March 2009, when I was living in Dubai.  It was an accounting of things I saw parents do, in relation to their children, which made me shudder.  The title, “All my Pretty Ones,” comes from Shakespeare’s “Macbeth,” uttered by the shocked Macduff when he heard that Macbeth had his wife and children killed.

"All My Pretty Ones" (3)

Part 3

I see more than a few times now

Some children sitting in the front

On mothers’ laps, while fathers plough

Their cars so fast and fierce they grunt

Through traffic – oh, they need to see

They frankly risk fatality! 

Families must be schooled not to have any of their children sit in the front seat.  It’s dangerous enough, when parents speed or drive recklessly.  But even in a minor crash, the airbags deploy to cushion the driver and the front passenger from slamming into the wheel, dashboard or windscreen.  However, these very airbags can kill a small child, because they deploy almost explosively.

From "All My Pretty Ones," Part 3 © Ron Villejo

Note. I wrote this four-part poem in March 2009, when I was living in Dubai.  It was an accounting of things I saw parents do, in relation to their children, which made me shudder.  The title, “All my Pretty Ones,” comes from Shakespeare’s “Macbeth,” uttered by the shocked Macduff when he heard that Macbeth had his wife and children killed.

"All My Pretty Ones" (2)

Part 2

Along a trafficked stretch toward the mall,

A family was walking in the middle –

The boy and girl scurried ahead like mice,

Another boy trailed with his labored crawl,

Their parents so far back for sure they piddle

Away their duty just like rolling dice.

For one thing, this family should not have been walking on the median, especially on such a busy road toward the Mall of the Emirates.  But if they must, the parents need to be very watchful and hold their children’s hands to keep them from running into traffic.

From "All My Pretty Ones," Part 2 © Ron Villejo

Note. I wrote this four-part poem in March 2009, when I was living in Dubai.  It was an accounting of things I saw parents do, in relation to their children, which made me shudder.  The title, “All my Pretty Ones,” comes from Shakespeare’s “Macbeth,” uttered by the shocked Macduff when he heard that Macbeth had his wife and children killed.

"All My Pretty Ones" (1)

Part 1

A little boy goes down the lift alone,

His school’s possession neatly tucked inside

A backpack on wheels à la trolley ride,

As happy as a puppy with a bone.

I do not think he should be by himself –

Is Mom or Dad just sitting on the shelf? 

Young children must be accompanied by their Mom or Dad or other guardian – to and from the bus, to and from school – to keep them always from harm’s way.  

From "All My Pretty Ones," Part 1 © Ron Villejo

Note. I wrote this four-part poem in March 2009, when I was living in Dubai.  It was an accounting of things I saw parents do, in relation to their children, which made me shudder.  The title, “All my Pretty Ones,” comes from Shakespeare’s “Macbeth,” uttered by the shocked Macduff when he heard that Macbeth had his wife and children killed.

Piazza of Poets (3) My Commentary

Wole Soyinka, Nobel Laureate

Traveller, you must set out
At dawn. And wipe your feet upon
The dog-nose wetness of the earth.
Let sunrise quench your lamps. And watch
Faint brush pricklings in the sky light
Cottoned feet to break the early earthworm
On the hoe. Now shadows stretch with sap
Not twilight’s death and sad prostration.

From “Death at Dawn,” poem by Wole Soyinka

Oh, Nobel Laureate, this sonnet is for you –

          Expansive when the road is stretching far,

Contracting when it punctuates a point of view.

          Your traveler of dawn is who we are –

From birth, as children setting forth, and growing with

          Each tick of every minute of the day.

I do not know, but I can sense Nigerian myth

          Of hoe and trumpet, cock and earthen way.

Along our journey, bustling markets here and there,   

          Death does occur, as much a part of life

As life itself, and we progress with women’s care

          Of warmth at home, as sister, mother, wife. 

Dear gentleman, of captivating hair and beard,

Forever live with us, wherever words are geared.  

Piazza of Poets, Part 3. My Commentary © Ron Villejo

On attending a poetry soirée at the Madinat Jumeirah Theatre, during the Dubai International Poetry Festival (2009)

Piazza of Poets (2) My Discourse

Image credits: Jack and Oliver.

It didn’t matter that I didn’t know Arabic, for words are just one segment of experience.

How they said what they said and what bridge I constructed between my left and right brain determined my understanding:

·       Tone with which they sound and modulate their voice – its quality, pitch, accent

·       Harmonics as they recite their poetry – from fundamental to overtone frequency, music wafting in the theatre

·       Drama as they enact their words – posturing in space, gesturing with face and hands, connecting eyes with us

·       Spirit of who they are – emotions carrying, translations to English, meaning for each of them

It is ironic that I relegate words to just one segment of experience, for my poetry is so secured on the printed page and in my left brain. 

In truth, this Festival was, for me, a broadening – an opening of my very doors and windows to a richer, more complicated experience.

Much of the poetry was translated – on PowerPoint slides, translator from a headset, once with translator on stage alongside poet.

I tried to follow, as the poet recited and performed, but ultimately found the translation distracting and diminishing.

It was best, I felt, to soak myself as fully as I could into their very recitation and performance, to close my eyes, to listen with my soul. 

·       So, this, too, determines my understanding – soul of mine, soul of an audience enrapt and grateful

Piazza of Poets, Part 2. My Discourse © Ron Villejo

On attending a poetry soirée at the Madinat Jumeirah Theatre, during the Dubai International Poetry Festival (2009)

Piazza of Poets (1) My Read

Sheikh Mohammed, Ruler of Dubai

Dubai International Poetry Festival (2009)

Gathering

Of voices

For our soul

Wole Soyinka –

Afro and goatee

Glowing cotton puffs

Surrounding dark face

Nigerian tract

          Words rising

          From the page

          Life we know

         

Agus Sarjono –

Small Indonesian

Features angular

Dialogue in print

Staged “Democracy’’

          Poetry        

Like Mozart

Opera

           

Ricardo Domeneck –

Sao Paolo in Berlin

Mélange of English

German Portuguese

Eliot “Wasteland”

 

          Arabic

Hosts speaking

From our home

Muhammad Balabd –

Engineer by trade

After hours poet

Patriotic plea

For the Emirates

Piazza of Poets, Part 1. My 'Read' © Ron Villejo

On attending a poetry soirée at the Madinat Jumeirah Theatre, during the Dubai International Poetry Festival (2009)

What is Life, by Lee Hynes

paper poem, by Lee Hynes

I simply Google poetry, and I discover this poem, from a series called Art Journal, January 2011 (Day 23), Paper Poems.

Hamlet meditates agonizingly on his father's murder, and among his lengthy meditations is his musing about the nature of man.  Lee Hynes, in visual poetry, offers his in a matter of lines.

What poetry is... to me

music

There is innate music in our language, regardless of what language we speak.  Poetry finds the rhythm, and makes music of words.

brevity

What a storyteller speaks in a few pages, a poet parcels out in a few lines of verse.  For his or her craft is marked by economy of words for maximum expression.

mystery

Poetry may seem obtuse or quizzical to some.  That is because it dares to probe below the floorboards, look behind closed doors, and follow the shadows we hardly notice.