saudades
(deep, deep
heart- and soul-felt
connection and homesickness;
melancholy yearning)

i have a love for o Brasil
like no other place

it’s blending of peoples,
brazilian portuguese
(the singing phrases of the nortestinos;
the “sh, sh, sh” of cariocas, o povo adoráveis de Rio Janeiro;
the “(a)rs” of the mato grossenses;
the “trems” of mineiros;
the “ches” of gauchos)
its landscape of praias, montanhas, cerrados, grandes rios, cachoeiras, selvas
the very basic but intriguingly varied
mandiocas e outras comidas

i have a love for o Brasil
like no other place

………………………………
sacanagen
(a dirty trick
played on someone …
sort of like trump, bolsonaro, duterte, et al.)

i have a love for o Brasil
like no other place

nevertheless
brazilian culture
can be confounding;
it can play dirty tricks on you

indigena, africana, orientais, europeus …
são uma BELA mistura
de samba, jeitos agrícolas, espiritualismo, e muito mais…
but there is also
terrible racism
terrible disparity
terrible walls … and tough to break bubbles. …
(one small matter
perhaps flippant
but confusing to our texan minds
when we arrived in campo grade 1981 …
at least initially …
“Não! … Fica! Fica! … Stay! Stay!”
really meaning
“Damn, you’ve been here for hours.
Go home!”) …

brazilian culture
can be confounding;
it can play dirty tricks on you

understanding tricks, jeitos maus, piadas, palavrões …
understanding culture, tribe, a country
to a large extent
means learning the language …
and learning it well!
my about twenty to forty words
(or fewer)
in Polish or Lakota definitely won’t do.
my command of Portuguese and Spanish
has to be improved.
i even need to work
much harder
at English and Texan
(as spoken in various regions, Lands, barrios, …)!

brazilian culture
can be confounding;
it can play tricks on you

…………………………….

my dear friend sylvia
has introduced me to a wonderful poet
Elizabeth Bishop
and i intend to get to know her better
(that feeling is truly intense!)
gringa Elizabeth knew and loved …
leme and copacabana and flamengo and ouro preto and especially petrópolis
places near and dear to my own heart … especially petrópolis … and its strudel
i know so little of Elizabeth
but of this i am sure
she and i have been victims of …
brazilian saudades … AND
sacanagen

Elizabeth wrote …
“Is it lack of imagination that makes us come
to imagined places, not just stay at home?
Or could Pascal have been not entirely right
about just sitting quietly in one’s room?

Continent, city, country, society:
the choice is never wide and never free.
And here, or there… No. Should we have stayed at home,
wherever that may be?”*

…………………………..

of this i am sure
Elizabeth and i have been victims of …
brazilian saudades AND sacanagen
victims of deep longing love
as well as dirty tricks

victims of the saudades e sacanagen
of much on this earth … on this eaarth

***************************************

*From: “Questions of Travel” by Elizabeth Bishop.

pbm 6/17/20
[ 7 S’s / VV->^^ ]

https://www.newyorker.com/books/page-turner/elizabeth-bishops-misunderstood-brazil
https://www.theguardian.com/books/2010/sep/11/william-boyd-elizabeth-bishop-brazil

though in our bubbles
behind our walls
in our psyche (of supremacy)
it might not seem so

in this anthropocene

seguin really is a mess!
texas is a mess
the u.s.a. is a mess
and like no time before
the whole world is a real mess

but i received a wonderfully refreshing call
filled with saudades
this sunday morning
from an old entomologist friend–
co-worker in georgia,
the mato grosso do sul,
and texas–
Shashank S. Nilakhe

life is good!

……………………….

embora em nossas bolhas
atrás das nossas paredes
em nossa psique (de supremacia)
pode não parecer assim

neste antropoceno

seguin realmente é uma bagunça!
texas é uma bagunça
os estados unidos. é uma bagunça
e como nenhum tempo antes
o mundo inteiro é uma verdadeira bagunça

mas recebi um telefonema maravilhoso e refrescante
cheio de saudades
esta manhã de domingo
de um velho amigo entomologista –
colega de trabalho na geórgia,
o mato grosso do sul,
e texas–
Shashank S. Nilakhe

a vida é boa!

……………………………

aunque en nuestras burbujas
detrás de nuestras paredes
en nuestra psique (de supremacía)
puede que no lo parezca

en este antropoceno

¡seguin realmente es un desastre!
texas es un desastre
ee.uu. es un lío
y como nunca antes
el mundo entero es un verdadero desastre

pero recibí una maravillosa llamada refrescante
lleno de “saudades”
este domingo por la mañana
de un viejo amigo entomólogo
compañero de trabajo en georgia,
el mato grosso do sul,
y texas
Shashank S. Nilakhe

¡la vida es buena!

**************************

pbm 6/14/20
[ 7 S’s / VV->^^ ]

Day One.
o perfect potatoes and onions prepared delicously over mesquite coals in a cast iron skillet “aromafying” the rio frio campsite
o a brisk refreshing two hour-swim by this arthritic old fish from the dam at Garner State Park at ten that morning
o a thoreau walk … and learning about concerted natural living with elementary youth
o asking all we meet their place of origin? where they went to high school? and their livelihood?
o zipping freely like a tour de france racer on my trek two-wheeler across the handsome hilly homeland landscape
o melting like a beat-up rag doll into the tent cot for a long night’s rest

Day Two.
o this most southern appalachia has to be the earth’s most perfect, lindissima!!, landscape
o the early morning sunlight kisses the leaves of a diversity of sweet gum, maples, hickory, buckeye, dogwood, and more … surrounding our mountain campsite
o let’s hotfoot it to ana ruby falls and pass in surprise those in their youth
o oh if only i’d made (sustainable) ag entomology in tifton, georgia a lifelong livelihood
o to bed, to bed. we MUST get some rest!
o and we’ll immensely enjoy tender flavorful venison cooked over a hickory fire in the morning

Day Three.
o now i’ll mind-travel to the east of saint george island with my beautiful beebopping bets’ for a week’s rest
o we were here about 50 years ago, newly-weds … in our youth
o a powerful tropical storm has ecologically, successionally disrupted the landscape
o but we find an assortment of beautiful molluscs looking like jewels on the white sands … and arthropod horseshoe crabs and echinoderm sand dollars strewn around our campsite
o collecting is our imaginary livelihood
o then dreaming mexican gulf wave-induced perfect, peaceful visions until morning

Day Four.
o warm and tasty pão de queijo (perfeito … better than chipas mato-grossense, i think) for café da manhã in Leme, Rio de Janeiro this morning
o brown beauties—with a sprinkling of gringos, both the elderly … and the youth
o beach athletics and enjoyment is their livelihood
o the atlantic is like sparkling glass this eve … a wondrous mountain-embraced landscape
o tonight we will get no rest
o carnival on the praia copacabana will be our “incrível” campsite

Day Five.
o going to intriguing places, lugares perfectos, like La Paz to learn—even if on el tren do los muertos—is an important part of a sustainable livelihood
o indigenous women with their bowler hats and colorful alpaca blankets laid down on the walkways as a “campsite”
o laid down for making life-giving sales (incluyendo de hojas de coca) … AND for rest
o for these hard-working astute leaders in bolivian ecological community … EARLY … comes the morning
o as with all sustainable cultures, they must knowledgeably, wisely, and prudently care for their up-and-coming youth
o at two miles up … perhaps we didn’t so prudently care for ours?—ages about two, four, and six, but my gosh, what an amazing people! what an amazing culture! what an amazing landscape!

Day Six.
o no, gatorland gainesville is not what it was in our youth
o but it is perfect–with the devil’s millhopper sinkhole, community ecologist archie carr’s paynes prairie, ichetuchnee springs, and our beloved immediate homeplace, lake alice–it continues to be a marvelous landscape
o as a struggling grad student with newborn son, lake alice’s corry village was our “campsite”
o in this period of the cia killing of allende, energy crisis, vietnam, kissinger, watergate, and khmer rouge, …we’d rise hopeful early in the morning
o in this small complex of basically one-room university apartments–we’d had just a bit of rest
o and with a new day we attempted to fortify our hope that we were getting closer to a sustainable livelihood

An Almost Perfect Almost-Week of Days.
o for perfect days we must have–as touched on herein—a sustainable livelihood and quality rest within a suitable nest
o we must experience some morning landscape of wonderous beauty
o we must learn to be learned along with our youth and truly take care of our campsite–for self for sure–but for all individuals of all species who are around and those which will come

pbm 6/10/20
[ 7 S’s / VV->^^ ]

i am just a plain inept insignificant pablo

seriously
i do know i am maladroit and very plain
la villa aggie buddy jimmy carlson told me so
affectionately in 1968 …
and i thought in realpolitik terms
“you know, he’s right.
pablo, you are plain.
realistically, pragmatically
accept it.”

“but don’t stop trying to move in solidarity with ecological community
to symbiotically, dynamically make changes toward
an ‘ideal’ homeostasis
for jimmy, Mom Louise,
for that little old mexican man
in the cardboard insulated very simple cold abode
one winter in devine
for tony cruz
for lacy and gene and pepe and ray gallegos
for Chrysopa and Trichogramma and Campoletis
for Schizachyrium and Bouteloua
for abe sanchez the joses, luna and lopez, hilario martinez”
…

yeah i yap and yap
(as i am doing herein)
but i do have some idea of the truth

because i do,
i try to identify with the browns and blacks.

sorry robert cruz lacy haywood
stick mccord alcides vieira de pinho cedric moon
i am a Have, white, german.
even though you whole-heartedly
and soulfully con grandes abrazos
welcomed me as amigo as brother
i’ll never totally fit

in the other world there have been moments
of grandeur and even accolades

at 16 … driving uncle peggy’s
rube goldberg ejote picking machines
and the powerful 409 semi “Big Red”
(but i wrecked poor ol’ Big Red twice in one night
between premont and freer
deadheading it back to devine)

all the awards my senior year in high school
(why is it that NOW I get invited to all the parties of the clique?)

getting to the state meet in texas stadium in the 440 yard dash
(it was pure luck that I came in second down in kingsville …
and in austin I came in dead last!)

naval air? i’ve wanted to fly since the first grade
i passed all the mental and physical exams
i was sworn in
and i soloed as an ensign
doing rolls, loops, immelmanns, and spins
(but i did almost crash several times …
and the military and i definitely were not are not a fit)

an award for being a top grant getter
at the coastal plains experiment station
(only because i was pasture entomologist,
Spodoptera frugiperda was devastating to grass crops
that first year I was there,
and usda research leader sparky sparks
who controlled some purse strings
took me under his wing)

father raynor wants me to be parish council president?
dolores avalos want me to teach ccd?
(don’t they realize I am a heathen??)

numerous recent awards and plaques
here above me at this desk
(but try as i might to communicate
most still don’t get this business of
positively ethical applied community ecology,
and we continue to kill and corrupt
through neo-liberal capitalism–
and enable   vote for   enable ”45s” —
both on the democratic and republican side.)

the ending herein is
plain pablo has had a wonderful life
he has felt real love
from blacks, browns, indigenous, whites …
and most of all
from that german gal
beebopping Betsy boo
with a johnny hoffmann smile
met on the quihi dance hall floor
christmas night
50+ years ago.

with love for her and ALL others (even 45*!)
pbm 6/7/2020
[ 7 S’s / VV->^^ ]
………………
*I do judge, but who am I, a plain paul, a plain pablo, to judge?

https://www.8toabolition.com/

Talk of real systemic change can freak folk out, or at a minimum result in their tuning out a speaker’s frequency. Many get extremely nervous when someone starts talking about an immediate undertaking of continuous revolution toward actually abolishing sins of War, guns, weapons of mass destruction, military, police, prisons, … and destructive neo-liberal capitalism. These folk often resort to words they think of as derogatory like anarchist, socialist, communist, heathen, non-patriot, bleeding-heart-liberal, terrorist, … (some of which are actually/de facto a complement).

Communicating what is profoundly good is tough!

I admit that I have only dabbled and wet my little toe a bit–during these 73+ years–in philosophy, anthropology, sociology, political science, ecology–and fully realize I am ignorant and naïve. Nevertheless, I did appreciate reading some years ago, and I believed, anthropologist Hugh Brody’s tale in The Other Side of Eden of indigenous Inuit peoples’ management of community members–who had murdered someone–through the local population’s working together for rehabilitation with those individuals and keeping a constant caring eye on them. I can also hear what conservative political analyst Yuval Levin is currently saying about a need for order and unity for sustainable quality life in ecological communities on a Eaarth of seven billion-plus humans, their domesticated species, and all their stuff. But because we have become an Eaarth which imminently threatens the homeostasis of quality life including humans, I strongly feel that the time is past due for orderly revolution and the tearing down of corrupt societal institutions in today’s 2020-world … in order to realize quality life for all and a new Earth.
https://www.theguardian.com/books/2001/jan/28/society https://www.washingtonpost.com/outlook/a-call-to-restore-americas-institutions-and-to-let-them-restore-us/2020/02/06/bae1fbe2-30c2-11ea-a053-dc6d944ba776_story.html

We must set idealistic goals and then work at communicating and organizing effectively to realize pragmatically, systematically, and significantly some of the goals of revolution in an orderly and timely manner. And we must always keep our eye on the prize of real social justice, humaneness, and true ecological sanity and tenaciously struggle toward that end.

pbm

[ 7 S’s / VV->^^ ]

Let America Be America Again
(Langston Hughes – 1902-1967)

Let America be America again.
Let it be the dream it used to be.
Let it be the pioneer on the plain
Seeking a home where he himself is free.

(America never was America to me.)

Let America be the dream the dreamers dreamed—
Let it be that great strong land of love
Where never kings connive nor tyrants scheme
That any man be crushed by one above.

(It never was America to me.)

O, let my land be a land where Liberty
Is crowned with no false patriotic wreath,
But opportunity is real, and life is free,
Equality is in the air we breathe.

(There’s never been equality for me,
Nor freedom in this “homeland of the free.”)

Say, who are you that mumbles in the dark?
And who are you that draws your veil across the stars?

I am the poor white, fooled and pushed apart,
I am the Negro bearing slavery’s scars.
I am the red man driven from the land,
I am the immigrant clutching the hope I seek—
And finding only the same old stupid plan
Of dog eat dog, of mighty crush the weak.

I am the young man, full of strength and hope,
Tangled in that ancient endless chain
Of profit, power, gain, of grab the land!
Of grab the gold! Of grab the ways of satisfying need!
Of work the men! Of take the pay!
Of owning everything for one’s own greed!

I am the farmer, bondsman to the soil.
I am the worker sold to the machine.
I am the Negro, servant to you all.
I am the people, humble, hungry, mean—
Hungry yet today despite the dream.
Beaten yet today—O, Pioneers!
I am the man who never got ahead,
The poorest worker bartered through the years.

Yet I’m the one who dreamt our basic dream
In the Old World while still a serf of kings,
Who dreamt a dream so strong, so brave, so true,
That even yet its mighty daring sings
In every brick and stone, in every furrow turned
That’s made America the land it has become.
O, I’m the man who sailed those early seas
In search of what I meant to be my home—
For I’m the one who left dark Ireland’s shore,
And Poland’s plain, and England’s grassy lea,
And torn from Black Africa’s strand I came
To build a “homeland of the free.”

The free?

Who said the free? Not me?
Surely not me? The millions on relief today?
The millions shot down when we strike?
The millions who have nothing for our pay?
For all the dreams we’ve dreamed
And all the songs we’ve sung
And all the hopes we’ve held
And all the flags we’ve hung,
The millions who have nothing for our pay—
Except the dream that’s almost dead today.

O, let America be America again—
The land that never has been yet—
And yet must be—the land where every man is free.
The land that’s mine—the poor man’s, Indian’s, Negro’s, ME—
Who made America,
Whose sweat and blood, whose faith and pain,
Whose hand at the foundry, whose plow in the rain,
Must bring back our mighty dream again.

Sure, call me any ugly name you choose—
The steel of freedom does not stain.
From those who live like leeches on the people’s lives,
We must take back our land again,
America!

O, yes,
I say it plain,
America never was America to me,
And yet I swear this oath—
America will be!

Out of the rack and ruin of our gangster death,
The rape and rot of graft, and stealth, and lies,
We, the people, must redeem
The land, the mines, the plants, the rivers.
The mountains and the endless plain—
All, all the stretch of these great green states—
And make America again!

From The Collected Poems of Langston Hughes, published by Alfred A. Knopf, Inc. 1964)

********************************************************

THE TALK
(for Carter, and all boys of color)

Sit down, “talk” time.
Boy, be polite if you’re stopped.
Don’t be the angry man.
Push that anger and confusion down.
Come home to me.

Why do we have to cry for another?
He sold loosies on the corner.
His jogging was a nuisance.
Her ex-boyfriend was a thug.
His music was too loud.
His neck looked too strong.
You see nothing matters, so come home to me.

Son, it doesn’t matter if you’re right.
Right can equal dead.
It’s an equation you can’t solve.
Not alone.
Not alone.
Come home to me.

Be smart.
Be respectful.
Be kind.
Your safety still not guaranteed.
Stand tall, if you still can.
And just come home to me.

……………………………

Darren Dunn

General Manager, Partner

KWED Radio AM 1580/Seguin Daily News

he has some characteristics of
nixon
wallace
thurmond
they were unethical immoral politicians
demagogues

but
they were intelligent
they did sometimes
truly look out for the interests of their constituency
they were decent populists sometimes statesmen …
even if they were mostly wrong

he is worse
absolutely narcissistic, corrupt, and empty of empathy
little      ignorant      shallow

yet
loraine graciella sharon sherry
enough others too many others
–folk I thought were good and decent—
elected him
still support him

they’ve enabled his killing
of souls, of living flesh
of soul
enabled the spilling of the blood of creation
eroding of soil,
polluting of air and water,
destruction of photosynthesizers and ecological communities
enabled biocidal ecocidal global climate change
enabled the elimination of species

empowered his
socially unjust      inhumane      ecologically insane
policies and actions

i feel much shame

i am so inept
at facilitating learning and the remolding of minds and eliciting good behaviors
(and yes … including within and from self)

i feel shame

using Ali’s very succinct poem …
it is “ME” not “we”
that they have in mind

in God, yes … in TRUMP they trust!
In Artificial in Synthetic
In War in Military Power in Police Power
In Guns in Nuclear Armaments
in Walls and Bubbles in TRUMP they trust
in white Power in DOMINATION!!!
in xenomistrust in only accepting the “norm”
in THEY they trust In TRUMP they trust in THEY they trust
in God, yes … in TRUMP they trust!

i feel shame

i am so inept
at facilitating learning and the remolding of minds and eliciting good behaviors
(and yes … including within and from self)

i feel much shame

pbm
[ 7 S’s / VV->^^ ]

i’ll get out of this horrible funk
elicited through coumo’s interview
of beautiful soul full Wanda Cooper-Jones
mother of Ahmaud Arbery

this howling, screaming, sobbing despondence

after all
i’m a Have, a U.S. citizen
white, male, catholic, straight

and i am a kneuper
i don’t have same depth of feeling
the wrenching passion
of the howl of Ginsberg
or scream of Munch

still
i ache to know
how did how do
my indigenous my black and my brown sisters and brothers
and others of color
those who don’t fit the norm of those in Power
here on turtle island
in américa central
e do sul
and elsewhere

how did they
how do they
snuff out
suppress
satisfactorily dodge
what must be
constant terrible funk

Lacy Haywood? Abe Sanchez? Andrew Brown?
Stick McCord? Pinho? Oldman? Stephanie?
Barbara Gay? Deyling Rizo? Luis Romero?
…

*********************************
pbm
[ 7 S’s / VV->^^ ]

 

 

i cry out for
“REAL!” “NECESSARY!” “IMPERATIVE”
short- and long-term
sustainable systemic change
for a dynamic homeostatic symbioses
for natural … for nature …

from my comfortable synthetic bubble

I’m so snug
even smug
in my artificial oikos
on terribly unnatural Eaarth

pbm
[ 7 S’s / VV->^^ ]