Wolf Talk

Andrew Susser December 25 at 11:24am

“I’m really not into this right now Tristan,” I say to you as you antagonize me for a drunken rumble in my old garage. i push you backwards and we go tumbling into the garden, where we broke an artichoke heart from the ground. do artichoke hearts grow in the ground? we stop fighting when we see a police car in the driveway. Looking towards the basketball net, we spot people inside a large fence. They claim be to be hunting down the wolf, I saw earlier in my dream. Are you the wolf? Or am I?

Tristan Wright December 26 at 12:45am

The wolf can be all of us if we allow it to be, or rather if we do nothing to keep it from being. The real question is in how you perceived and reacted to the wolf both initially and upon discovering that the creature was indeed being hunted. Was it relief you felt that the beast might be brought in, or were you sorry about the notion of its potential taming?

Remember, it was not me in the dream whom you fought, but the perception of yourself through the filter of an emotion brought about by the distorted memory of our past antics. You fought yourself disguised in my own clothing, and for that matter I suppose you also fought yourself in a wolf’s disguise. Those men were not hunting the wolf, they were hunting you, and for that reason it is no surprise that your were both pleased and distraught over the idea of its capture.

Every day is a careful dance along a thin wire where we bend ourselves ever so slightly towards imbalance while striving not to stray too far from our center because we know how hard it is to regain this once lost. But realistically most of our time is spent to the left or the right of our true balance, which we quickly pass from time to time while continually shifting our dangerous weight above the unknown.

You hear discussions about men as mice and mice as men. There are conversations about wolves like there are conversations about sheep but if you ask me there are only masks behind masks and there is no difference between a wolf in sheep’s clothing or a sheep dressed as a wolf. You can only define one from the other through personal opinion, and opinions are the breeding grounds of all dreams. Dreams are where true opinions are formed because they are experiences that are accessible to all but unique in every way to you alone. When you make a decision about a memory of a dream you are making a decision about yourself and no others.

If the wolf is hunted is it really a wolf, or was it the men behind the fence who were the wolf, just like the drunken Tristan was also the wolf, just as the you who perceived these hunters from behind a fence was also a wolf watching and waiting for the opportune moment to move forward into other dreams and later waking leaving these past dreams dead memories.

Tiger Lilly came out for tea the other week and spoke about the evening like it was a location, then I realized evening was the restaurant’s name and it all made sense. I didn’t judge her but she judged me, and I have a definite opinion about that. The light was blue and we both spoke yellow while a cabbage rolled down the street like a tumbleweed. Only this severed vegetable actually had somewhere to go. I miss our drunken boxing matches in the basement, but not the drunken brawls made in the streets.

It’s Christmas but there are no fireworks in New Jersey tonight.

Don’t let books tell you what to do because that’s just you repeating yourself.

Abiento,

Tristan

Holiday Spirits

Two men in wool overcoats quickly kiss in front of an office building. A simple departing kiss. An “I’ll see you later, have a good day” kiss. A middle aged man in a worn ski jacket vents “faggots” in their general direction. And a twenty-something year old overhearing this, rejoinders “judge not you surly bastard.” Everyone walks away from the scene thinking.

Kaddish part one w/ John Zorn accompaniment

Like many of Ginsberg’s long poems, I find that every time I listen to or read “Kaddish,” I enter a theatrical or cinematic space. This poem in its entirety is not only a eulogy to his mother, but also a history of their family, & more specifically Naomi’s alienation from the family through her struggles with schizophrenia. When I read “Kaddish,” I see Ginsberg in his early twenties, sitting at a type writer, while memories hover in photographic quality above his head. And in this moment, as in so many other moments in his work, he uses the imagination to enter the memory of another or an entire collective. In this case it’s his mother, the “little girl from Russia eating the first poisonous tomatoes of America, frightened on the dock.”

By “Dreaming back thru life,” her time and his own, he is able to weave memories into a cinematic poetic real that unravels images has you read the poem. I’ve always thought Kaddish should be somehow adapted into a short play. Or perhaps a short film made with Ginsberg as narrator. Well, last year in Philadelphia, I took a recording of part one of “Kaddish,” read at San Fransisco State University in the winter of 1959 and mixed it with a John Zorn composition from his album “Dumas/Duchamp.” The piece seemed to compliment the poetry in such a profound way that it illuminated the drama of the poem. I did nothing myself. Although, being as technologically illiterate as I am, it was a major success. Click on the link below to hear it.

Kaddish

Kaddish part one: All rights reserved. Allen Ginsberg 1959
City Lights Press.
Duras: Troisieme Livre: All right reserved. John Zorn 1997
Tzadik records.

Chanukah Wisdom

When was the last time you stared into a lamp? Probably not since childhood when you instantly realized that it was not a good idea. Light is something we often take for granted. Before electricity and the light bulb, homes were lit by candles and it can only be imagined that they caught the attention of the mind and mystified it.

Chanukah is a time to reflect on light and darkness—to consider the
light in our own home, both literally and metaphorically. To flick a
switch and there suddenly be light is a convenience, one we should not take for granted. When your not physically in a room, let the room remain dark. When you return, let the room become illuminated by your presence and the present of modern technology.

Sunrise, Sunset.

“For a sunrise or a sunset, you’re either coming or you just left

But you’re always on the way
Towards a sunrise or a sunset, a scribble or a sonnet
They are really just the same
To the sunrise or the sunset, the master and his servant
Have exactly the same fate.”

Doggy in the window.

I am comfortable with the distance from Rasta mainly because he is with his right-hand mama. Still, I often think about him. I can see him at the front door watching Emily go to work. I can see him being lazy. I wonder all the time what he thinks happened to me. They say dogs do not have the same sense of memory as humans, but regardless of this fact, the amount of time I will be away must being effecting him profoundly. He knows I left, but does he understand that I’m coming back. And does he feel the same way about my absence now, as he did 3 months ago. Sometimes, I expect him to be next to me. He’s a shadow in my periphery. Does he dream about me like I dream about him?

Revisited poem:

ON WINTER DAYS
my dog likes to sit
by the front door
where he can see
the outside world
and where I can
see the bright rays
of the sun enhance
the golden hairs
of his large body.

he likes to sniff
the cold glass
being warmed
and sometimes
i will look at him
and he will tilt
his head back
and look at me.

Bad News Jews

Alright, so while this picture has nothing to do with anything I want to talk about, I had to post it. I google searched “bad news jews” and this is the photo I got. Whenever I have the chance, I head out to the sports fields to help out with the local baseball league. It’s really quite amazing. I’m a coach in training. The whole scene is balagan and a lot of fun!

post-post: They didn’t show up. Guess
Today, I went out and umped for a scrimmage. It’s nostalgic America at its best, reminiscent of all the sweet & sour moments on the Shrewsbury diamonds. Anyways, so I just pulled the most American jew move ever. I am tutoring this young religious guy, Daniel, who is really sincere and a great person. He really wants me to go to synagogue with him and I told him I would go with him this Shabbat.

However, it turns out that there is another scrimmage tomorrow against the Young Judeans. They are a bunch of 18 yr old Americans who are in Israel for the year on a gap year program. They cause trouble in town and now they are bringing it to the fields. I might have to pick up a glove and bat to help out my bad news jews. So I called Daniel and told him I couldn’t go to temple, but I would still like to come for dinner. He asked why? I said, “there is a baseball game.” Hahaha. So typical of an American to ditch God for a good ole’ ball game.

post-post: They didn’t show up. Guess we’re just that intimidating.

This is sad & beautiful

from NPR

On a July morning, Pfc. Donald Vincent grabbed a pen and picked up his new journal. He opened to the first page and wrote down these words in small, neat script:

I have a patrol in a couple of hours. I still haven’t had an opportunity to fire my weapon but I’m sure it’s coming. I have to say that it’s quite amazing out here. We have pretty much gone from oasis to oasis. Green fields of corn, okra, grapes and even marijuana. And in the distance you can see the desert surrounding us. There’s lots of life out here. Some beautiful birds, different lizards, cats, dogs and I’ve even seen a couple of camels. Well I’m going to go for now. I’ll write more after the patrol.

Vincent never wrote another word.

He was shot and killed on that patrol. The 26-year-old from Gainesville, Fla., was the first Marine from Fox Company to die in Afghanistan.

Then (1909), Now (2009). Tel Aviv.

In the beginning there was nothing

And then they said, “Build.”

Friday, day thoughts.

1.) I went to the pool for the first time today. Mid-day hours are apparently the geriatric swim club so I didn’t stay too long.

2.) Teaching is going really well. I’m slowly learning what methods work for each individual student. The other day, I began working with a Sudanese boy, name Louis. He is extraordinarily bright. It’s amazing to work with him because we both don’t know much Hebrew , so I rely on images to teach him English. He speaks one of the three native vernacular languages of Sudan, I couldn’t tell you which one. If you’re unaware, Israel granted asylum to Southern Sudanese and Darfurian refugees. It’s rather controversial. There is not a lot of money to give aid to their community and assist in the assimilation into Israeli society. But anything is better than their past situation. And at least they know they are safe – - -their homes won’t be burned down, villages pillaged.

Anyway, short anecdote. Louis had not spoken in class all year, mainly because he doesn’t understand Hebrew. He just sits in the back of room practicing by himself. Sophie, the English teacher, asked me a week ago, to let him sit with me and another student, to just let him listen to us speak. She said she would be shocked if I could teach him the alphabet by the end of the year. Well, it turns out, Louise knows the alphabet, can read basic sentences, and is the only student I work with that writes each letter correctly. Amazing!

3.) Cooking. I’ve been a cookin’ a lot. Tasty stuff. Shakshuka, Stir-fries, chicken wings!!!

4.) I went out to the fields by the sports center yesterday because my students have been begging me to come out to their baseball practice. They have a little pick-up league going a few times a week. And of course . . .their coach is from Philly, his name is Burt, and reminds me of every dad coach that ever decided to coach baseball. They use a softball to play baseball, but mainly because it’s their second year. That, and they want to strengthen their arms up for throwing grenades. I’m going to help out when I can, turn these bad news jews into real American sluggers.

5.) Last but not least, I need to start studying every day for the GREs. I’m taking them December 29th in Tel Aviv. I should be panicking more than I am, but I’ll study as much as I can and pray that my verbal scores make up for the lost points of math, grrrrr to math. Luckily, I have a calculator watch. And it’s going to whisper to me all of the answers.

Overall, life is good, trying to make it better. Listening to a lot of Johnny Cash & Dylan, and it really makes sense to me that prophets are only story tellers, & we idolize them even when they don’t ask for it, we just do, it’s a habit of our kind. LOVE to anyone who needs it.