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Published: October 21, 2021 | Edit

Listen Here is well underway. I am getting ready to listen to R.Murray Schafer’s 8th String Quartet as a prompt for free-fall writing leading to couplets, leading me to a new ghazal. I plan to write a ghazal for every quartet. .Extensive research continues, as does listening. The first seven ghazals in the collection are complete, and I’ve written an introduction for the book including the other sections in the manuscript called “Dispatches from the pain room” and “The Jimmy Bang Blues Project” to crystallize my thinking and outline my work for the next three months.

R. Murray Schafer died in August 2021. He was 88. Here he is pictured with Quatuor Molinari and his spouse Eleanor James.

August 14, 2021 

I am in an angry and sad place right now. I’m sad that R Murray Schafer has died. He was 88 and has done a lot of good work so it’s a tempered sadness as I work on gazhals prompted by his string quartets. I am sad that Dave Barber has died. He is my age and has done a lot of good work so I am sad on a personal scale for having lost him as a friend and colleague when at work for the Winnipeg Film Group, and for the loss of his programming expertise for Cinematheque.

Mostly I am angry and sad about what’s happening in Afghanistan. This could easily have been and probably was predicted by advisers to Dis United States administration. I agree with the general sentiment that it’s time that the USA stopped being the policeman of the world, or building empires. I am however sad that the United Nations has not come back into the country when Dis United States departed leaving the country to the Taliban.

The Taliban took Afghanistan so quickly it could only have been agreed to before hand with many of the local population tired of the corruption common in this so called attempt to bring democracy to Afghanistan. It’s a law and order government that’ll happen, it will subjugate women almost certainly.

At the moment there is a promise that women will be able to educate women just like midwives are women and are allowed to touch women in childbirth but male doctors are not which still means that there is more death in childbirth and high infant mortality rates higher then in many or most countries. Wait and see.

I know I know killing to support  human rights doesn’t make any logical sense. “But if I had a rocket launcher…” Or life is unfair and we should just accept it as such. I am a lucky man. This is where I run into my problem. Under the Taliban the rights of women to free speech, freedom of movement, freedom to be educated will be wiped out within months.

Yes I know I know that was already happening. I think the best suggestion I heard about this was to arm the women. And see what happens, it can’t be any worse. Teaching them to grow food has not stopped the collapse of human rights, which could never ever even be mentioned when I was there in 2008.

And that’s the essential conundrum in Afghanistan explained to me. It’s a choice between bad and worse. It’s not a choice between good and bad it’s a choice between bad and worse. At the time when I was in Afghanistan in 2008 that meant the occupation was bad, but the Taliban is worse. Yes that’s now present tense, but we’re told this is Taliban 2.0. speaking Urdu not Pashto. Educated, and from Pakistan who will be the new occupiers. Pakistan? Likely they’ve negotiated an end to drone strikes there as well.

So Prime Minister how will you bring 20,000 vulnerable Afghans to Canada now, in the middle of an election, a pandemic and wildfires? Triage.

I can’t watch; and start thinking how to raise money to help educate girls and women wherever in the world they are not treated as human equal to men. This means in our Canada too, where Indigenous girls and boys too often do not have equal opportunities for clean water, housing or an education.

Today I do not feel up to the challenge, happy the lives of my granddaughters will be better than my mother’s, and better than the girls’ in Afghanistan. I am sad and angry about racism in our Canada, about the need of clean water, housing and education for Indigenous peoples. In Canada I can see a bit of hope now and then, there has been some movement towards improvement, however slow. In Afghanistan life will fall back,  likely moored in teaching of the uncleanliness of women, and the superiority of men.

So we teach our Canadian children human rights and reading,  and support others risking their lives to teach girls and women around the world, teachers under threat of death and dismemberment. Triage.

My manual wheelchair disintegrated under  my butt, and our handicapped equipped van broke down likely for the last time. The left channel on my amplifier is gone and there are too many passwords keeping me from my work as a writer and as a consumer. My puny sorrows. I am a lucky man.

Covid-19 infections are way up in our valley as wildfires torch the surrounding forests. Hurrah for the front line workers, the firefighters, the paramedics!  Our house is safe and insured. Triage.

And then there are the ruins of capitalism observed in tin cocoons by billionaires circling the earth life is good they say life is good. Triage.

EXCERPT FROM THE MEMOIRS OF SUSANN ENNS

In spring preparations for Mennonite Collegiate Institute (MCI) Sängerfest and Graduation took place. I was given parts to perform in both. The big Sängerfest was held in a big tent rigged up and supported by poles. We had no sound system and had to learn how to project our voices.  Naturally a big thunderstorm blew up and gave us 60 students quite the competition. How I wished some of my family would come too. Graduation was held in a separate Sunday. I had to speak again. Of the Schulfest (Sängerfest) my memories seem to be of a Chemistry laboratory demonstration in German. One quotation I made which has stuck with me was: “Reden ist Silber, Schweigen ist Gold!”

My graduation day was a frustrating one. My Mom and sisters and brother Andy (as driver) preferred to go to a distant cousin’s wedding in Morden. I was to milk the four cows and do the chores before going to Grad for

7 p.m. The cows had to be driven home from the pasture a mile down the creek and since I had to start earlier than their usual time, they objected and did not want to go. At any rate, after all was done, I took the bike and headed for Gretna.

Mrs. Siemens was anxiously waiting for me. I had left my graduation dress, made by Sister Betty and Mom, here. So I quickly washed up and changed. (The dress was made of Voile- 25 cents a yard. Our sewing machine had decided to quit for making it and so it was done mostly by hand.) Mrs. Braun had my bouquet ready for me! At school, Mr. Peters was impatiently waiting. They had been waiting as long as possible to take pictures but it had been getting dark and so they took them without me.

At the banquet table in the school “Dorm,” the principal discovered that I was alone. He was rather taken aback and I can still hear him exclaim: “Oh, du armes Kind! Mutti nicht einmal hier!” He would not let me sit alone like an orphan, so he and Mrs. P{eters took me between them! This was a rather hard experience for me.  Everybody else’s parents  were there.

PASSIONFLOWER

September 22, 2012

Shelagh Carter’s feature Passionflower opened at Cinematheque last night.  A strong story about a child coping with her mother’s mental illness, good casting (all local actors, with Darcy Fehr turning in another stunning performance as the father), and superb art direction made for a memorable experience. 1962 Winnipeg was never so believable, well probably since the films of John Paizs who was one of the mentors on the project during the time that Carter was at the Canadian Film Centre.  The film though, is all Carter’s who wrote the script from personal experience and directed the film produced by Polly Washburn.  It’s screening tonight and tomorrow. Check http://www.winnipegfilmgroup.com/cinematheque/default.aspx forPASSIONFLOWER – blog screen times.

EXCERPT FROM THE MEMOIRS OF SUSANN ENNS

In spring preparations for Mennonite Collegiate Institute (MCI) Sängerfest and Graduation took place. I was given parts to perform in both. The big Sängerfest was held in a big tent rigged up and supported by poles. We had no sound system and had to learn how to project our voices.  Naturally a big thunderstorm blew up and gave us 60 students quite the competition. How I wished some of my family would come too. Graduation was held in a separate Sunday. I had to speak again. Of the Schulfest (Sängerfest) my memories seem to be of a Chemistry laboratory demonstration in German. One quotation I made which has stuck with me was: “Reden ist Silber, Schweigen ist Gold!”

My graduation day was a frustrating one. My Mom and sisters and brother Andy (as driver) preferred to go to a distant cousin’s wedding in Morden. I was to milk the four cows and do the chores before going to Grad for

7 p.m. The cows had to be driven home from the pasture a mile down the creek and since I had to start earlier than their usual time, they objected and did not want to go. At any rate, after all was done, I took the bike and headed for Gretna.

Mrs. Siemens was anxiously waiting for me. I had left my graduation dress, made by Sister Betty and Mom, here. So I quickly washed up and changed. (The dress was made of Voile- 25 cents a yard. Our sewing machine had decided to quit for making it and so it was done mostly by hand.) Mrs. Braun had my bouquet ready for me! At school, Mr. Peters was impatiently waiting. They had been waiting as long as possible to take pictures but it had been getting dark and so they took them without me.

At the banquet table in the school “Dorm,” the principal discovered that I was alone. He was rather taken aback and I can still hear him exclaim: “Oh, du armes Kind! Mutti nicht einmal hier!” He would not let me sit alone like an orphan, so he and Mrs. P{eters took me between them! This was a rather hard experience for me.  Everybody else’s parents  were there.

CHRISTMAS 2020

God writing the Bible
As told to Nebbish the first Phoenician

God was sure he had a book in him. He wanted advice, in moments of self doubt he felt like an imposter, and needed reassurance and some help with his selling um spelling  and grammar.  They were very new.

God:                    Hey Nebbish, come sit down awhile.

Nebbish:          Why call me nebbish, you hardly know me. I’ve disappointed you?

God:   Nah no idea even, where the name came from, to me you look like a nebbish, so I call you nebbish. I am the name caller and the decider. You worry too much.

Nebbish sighs, sits on a rock next to God.

God:          That’s it, take the weight of those those….feet, the feet.
Have you heard the one about when the feet smell and the nose runs you’ve got a problem?

God : (Jumps up and does the kids song about karma knees and Toews.)

Nebbish says, “Geez, you’ve got a name for everything. ”

God: Yeah,  I’m sure enough names for a book.
Nebbish: A list of names?
God: Well a list of begats you know like Nabokov.
Nebbish: Might be logical but boring, I would think. Nobody ever read Ada.
God: Oh there is another name. Ada and Eva. The First mothers! But really there have not been THAT many begats yet! And the names they could come with characters, to develop. And of course we’ll need some conflict a narrative arc a climax, a resolution, but not too much closure…always leave it open for a sequel!

God : So Nebbish you’ve been around a glyph or two. Can you take dictation? and l I may need  some help with the details.  I’m not much of a detail person, Ideas, big picture thinking more my thing.
Nebbish: Oh, so now you want illustrations too?
God ( who looks like everybody and is a shape-shifter, all races, all genders, all a\sexual orientation fluidities).) Not right away, but maybe when we could add a bit of colour in another millennium or two. Turns yellow, readjusts his invisibility cloak, brilliant flashes of lightning) ...
Nebbish: (Sheilding hizs eyes) Geez I wish you’d stop doing that.
(retrieves a chunk of tablet and a chisel. Or a scroll and a quill)

Nebbish: Ok, God shoot.
God: ….Once upon a time…
Nebbish: Godda ring to it, but what is time?
God: not sure, but I’m sure it ‘s slipping away as we sit around jawing…
Nebbish: so start againish:

God: Ok. ok. hm…. getting nothing here, I thought inspiration just came into your brain and then you wrote words down.
Nebbish: That’s what you asked me to do.
God: Right so what have we got so far?
Nebbish, Nothing, a void…..
God: so once upon a time is out? What  other way could I start.
Nebbish: ok … how about “”In the beginning?”
God: Sounds good, short and snappy, laughs …

Nebbish…what?
God: I can just imagine the scholars trying to figure that out!
Three words in and we got a puzzle without an answer.
Nebbish: how’s that?
God: Well what came before the beginning?
Nebbish: It’s turtles all the way down.
God: what’s that?
Nebbish: I heard it at a pow wow last weekend. Explanation good as any, we could use a little diversity.
God: We’re what, Three words in, and there’s no diversity! (Turns a shade of brown or black) How about this? (Genitalia changes under invisibility cloak change, thunder) There, now  what we got.Nebbish: So nix on the turtles.
God:  later ……later….not ready to name creatures yet anyway.
So…In the beginning….in the beginning…there was me! How about that?
Nebbish: Sounds a little narcissistic….how about….hm…pauses then
“In the beginning was the word, and the word was God!”
God: Triumphantly. Yeah yeah,  I like it. Glad I thought of that. You getting that down!
Nebbish begins to chisel on the tablet….
GOD: Thunderously. IN THE BEGINNING! THERE WAS THE WORD! AND THE WORD WAS GOD!!!!
God: Does a little skip, steps on his robe, wobbles. Steadies himself, looking around to see if Nebbish or anyone has seen. sotta voice: Gotta be careful, too many of those and I’ll be in a PCH before moonrise. Nobody knows how old I am. Happy enough for senior discounts but the end game is not so pleasant.
Nebbish: What? You’re mumbling. Are you not using your hearing aids?
God: Sighs. What I was saying, what YOU didn’t hear was : Well that’s a full days work.
hmmm yeah 11 words. Let’s say when I’m interviewed.

“Yes, Mr Gzsowki , 12 words a day without fail That’s what I did but only with help of Nebbish my scribe.
Gzowski: It’s a big book, must of taken a while.
God:Yeah first I had to create light. Then the alphabet. And the book, well we had to make it all up it all from nothing.
Gzowski : So it’s fiction?
God: Well I’d call it audience fiction. They live a good story!

…Nebbish (finishes could be a scroll) Well you will need to sell it,
God: The book?
Nebbish:Yeah, that too. But I see a placard waving…no…, sorry wrong millennium… you need, no to soon for billboards and banner ads….
Startled with a thought. Word of mouth!  How about  that, eh? In the beginning was the word! and we sell it by word of mouth!
God: Charlton Heston maybe? Spokesperson.
Nebbish: Maybe in the beginning,” …falls over laughing
in the beginning, get it! No. Not Heston he has a messianic complex and a fetish for guns..
Nebbish: How about disciples? You know you get 12 people, and  they get 12 people more.
God: No guns?
Nebbish: No guns. How about fishers…they could be fishers of men…
God: All right whatever. I’m all wrung out (sounds of rain)_
God is getting tired of this and gets up to leave.,
God: Well, I’m bagged. Same time tomorrow?

Nebbish. Ok. How long do you think this will take?
God:  Who knows? God knows! (laughing)Forever and ever, dancing away.
Nebbish: Yells….Watch out! You Have to be careful!
God: I know how it ends, I’ve seen the movie.
Nebbish, God you’re annoying when you’re manic! I’m meant careful, be careful!  you were about to dance off the turtle’s back!…………

  I wrote this last night, as a note so I wouldn’t forget the bit. This is still very drafty, off the top of my head, without checking my Concordance Bible for my references. There needs to be more character development, and getting the shape shifting more into the foreground. More jokes, always more jokes! I’ve put in another two hours and that’s all I got.

undated

A forgettable day, except for knocking my coffee flying. Now I can’t turn the below into normal type. Probably need to purge my cache. My kitchen smells like a kitchen bacx in the day; pork chops, potatoes, carrots.  A pear for desert, the exception. Listening to Holger Peterson Jazz show. The blues I write are too sad to sing. I have completed acceptable first two draft ghazals inspired by String Quartets 1 & 2 by R.Murray Schaffer, cognizant of what I’m learning from Ravishing DisuUities and Hungry Listening. I enjoy composing in modern ghazal forms, and have plenty to learn. The rhyme scheme is more comfortable with every outing, and the disunity between couplets is a strength in my work. The rhythm of line and couplet  is proving to be the hardest to learn. I took a week or two between ghazals to collect my uncollected poems  called Spontaneous Combustion, for now. My whereabouts for now, will be largely spawned by my imagination, but the physical me be staying right here, in Gimli, writing in place.

Thursday, Oct 22, 2020

I realize my website fantasy will only ever  border on reality at best. I realize I want to blog for every heading in my banner. So for now, I am double posting my blog, aka my daily flog or fog until I can be sure the “first” blog has settled in under B in the archives. That’s not all, I plan to blog for “Listen, Here,” for sure and then create content unsteady as he goes for MLIP (My Life In Pieces) which will largely be video and audio podcasts, “pain room,”attempting to become an outsider art show, and annotate The complete Jimmy Bang,which now has many more new and blues poems the original 32 punk poems. And what to do with the Mennonite Book of the Dead, aka Dead Mennonites, Boundary Creek, He was the kind of guy and What Men Do.