Presidential Libraries

Now that President Obama has achieved his One Hundredth Day and had his "Hallmark Holiday"--or was it his "Kodak Klap on the Back"? Or his "Kutsie Klap on the Barack"? I could go on if you don't stop me.

Seriously now, readers, the following was originally written as a letter to the editor at the Washington Post but was not picked up by them, so instead you have the chance to read my words of wisdom on the vexing topic of Presidential Libraries. Get ready.

Back on December 5, in that unearthly twilight zone between Barack Obama's November 4 election night victory, George W. and Laura Bush packing their stuff up and vacating the White House, and Obama's historic inauguration back on January 20, the Post ran an editorial entitled "President Got-a-Buck? Bill Clinton's secret fundraising for his presidential library was wrong--and so is George W. Bush's."

So (big intake of breath). . . let us ask the hard question, "Why should every single new U.S. President get a Presidential Library?"

President George W. Bush was our 43rd President and Obama is our 44th President. All presidents in the modern era have had a library built in their name, beginning with the 31st President, Herbert Hoover (per the National Archives website on such libraries; hit the title above to go there. . .). But imagine if a new library was to be built for the next 44 United States presidents? Isn't this getting a bit absurd? Each time a new presidential library is built it exponentially increases the number of staff needed, not to mention equipment and other requirements, at today's spiralling costs.

True the building of yet another such library creates jobs but surely the money for building and staffing the library could be put to better use if in future the papers of presidents were to be consolidated in one location. Doesn't that sound a more reasonable solution? So in these straitened financial times, will President Obama be public spirited and be the first modern era president to found a generic United States Presidential Library that will henceforth hold his papers and the papers of all succeeding presidents?

How about if former President George W. Bush, instead of founding his own library, agree to share the library of his father, past President George Herbert Walker Bush, our 41st president, in College Station, Texas? Actually, in those circumstances, the library could remain the "George Bush Presidential Library and Museum", could it not? Or would Hillary Rodham Clinton, if she should become president, agree to share a library with her husband? Something to think about.

In this perilous world economy when we citizens of the United States and people worldwide have to tighten their belts, how about if U.S. Presidents were to be reasonable about the need to build future presidential libraries each in their name? And one other thing, concerning the mere matter of bucks, to get back to the theme of the Post editorial, "President Got-a-Buck?", couldn't the donors who are donating to build yet another presidential library put their funds to much better use giving it to humanitarian charities or other worthy causes.


Dad Never Read Novels

He was more of a Newsweek-
Huntley-Brinkley-Cronkite man,
but before he died when ill he read
steamy big gamehunter type novels,
on the scent of rhino and cougar.

Dad would rage about the plots
just like he'd rage at the news and
the folk who "climb on the taxpayer's
back." I found a couple of saucy
paperbacks hidden in his closet,
checked the well-thumbed bits.

He read my would-be novel,
offered persnickety edits,
always missed the big picture,
complained that I was being mildly
porno (tho' it was more pun-
ography). He had begun in the UK as

an English socialist, grousing
about Harold Macmillan and
people who "never had it so good."
Argued about America's need for
socialized medicine. But latterly

he'd developed a passion for
talk radio. I feel certain
he'd long forgotten Labour.
I have the notion that today
he'd love Rush Limbaugh.

Christopher T. George

Softly, Softly, April Morning

Softly Softly, April Morning

Ah! I'll settle for tulips, after
being told off last evening by
a fellow rider on the Marc train
for allegedly trying to photograph
passengers. The blooms won't object!
Won't sue or make me feel blue: I
just stand in the D.C. rain and snap
away in the Smithsonian Gardens,
just me and my cellphone cam
under my umbrella with the raindrops
pit-patter above my head, whoah whoah.

Christopher T. George


























Poe's Statue, University of Baltimore

Newly out in The New Yorker is a fine essay, "The Humbug: Edgar Allan Poe and the economy of horror" by Jill Lepore in which Lepore provides a good perspective on the writer. The essay might anger some Poe fans since it paints him as a habitual liar and con artist. What else is new? Access Ms. Lepore's article through the link in the title to this post. Do NOT throw ripe tomatoes at your computer screen!!!! And don't forget my upcoming talk and tour on "The Mystery of Edgar Allan Poe" in Baltimore. I am depending on you to sign up for the talk and tour. If I don't get enough people to sign up, I might just have to do it in cyberspace. Ha ha.





Don't Go Quite As Far

I don't drive quite as far, in the Spring air,
--travel north of Bel Air, to the old Booth
mansion, where John Wilkes dreamed his
dreams. At B and N, to promote my Poe talk
(coming class I hope to teach, signups low),
I hand out all my flyers, to each and each.

Deliver my fervent promo, keep dreaming
my dream. Then, seeing I am at B and N,
I pull my punches on that Larkin poem
(the one about parents who "eff" us up),
read the milder "Annus Mirabilis" instead.

But then, up springs a young pup, borrows
my yellowed High Windows, and, surprise!
thank God, bowdlerizes it for all it's worth!

Christopher T. George

Spring Issue of Loch Raven Review Is Published!

The Spring 2009 issue of Loch Raven Review is now live. To visit us go through the link in the title above. The issue features:

Poetry by Bob Bradshaw, Dan Cuddy, Dawn Dupler, Liz Gallagher, Bernard Henrie, Guy Kettelhack, Larry Kimmel, Andrea Potos, Casey Quinn, Doug Ramspeck, Paula Ray, Oliver Rice, Michael Salcman, Arthur Seeley, KH Solomon, and Ray Templeton.

Fiction by Stephanie King and John Riebow.

Five poems by Ernest Bryll translated from the Polish by Danuta E. Kosk-Kosicka and a story by Al Mahmud translated from the Bengali by Ahmede Hussain.

Christopher T. George interviews C.E. Chaffin and reviews Chaffin's Unexpected Light: Selected Poems and Love Poems 1998-2008, while Dan Cuddy weighs in on Stranger At Home, An Anthology: American Poetry With An Accent, edited by Andrey Gritsman, Roger Weingarten, Kurt Brown, and Carmen Firan.

Here is a powerful little poem by C.E. Chaffin:

Baby

It’s 4:30 AM, pitch-black and cold.
I spoon against your body
wishing there were no cotton
to separate us, not even skin.

I want to crawl up your tunnel
and hide deep in your belly
before the sun exposes me.
Let me re-gestate, please.

Maybe this time it will be better,
maybe this time I won’t end up
clinging to you like a life raft
in the shipwrecked night,
forty and terrified.

If you should wake
and want to make love
I may stay inside forever.

C.E. Chaffin



C.E. Chaffin with his dog, J. Alfred Prufrock, whom he describes as “my little English butler with a Japanese provenance.”

Upcoming Events Featuring Christopher T. George

Barnes and Noble Poetry Book Fair, Bel Air, Maryland, Sunday, April 19 at 2-6 p.m.



A smorgasbord of featured readers, open mic, and music hosted by Harford Poetry Society. Readers include Christopher T. George, Clarinda Harriss, Leslie F. Miller, Dr. Michael Salcman, and Colleen Webster. Barnes and Noble, Tollgate Marketplace, 620 Marketplace Drive, Bel Air, MD 21014. Tel. 410-638-7023.



Edgar Allan Poe in 1848

Also poet and historian Christopher T. George will be teaching a one-evening class with a day tour of sites associated with Poe in the Kaleidoscope program at Roland Park Country School on "The Mystery of Edgar Allan Poe." The class will discuss the mystery of Poe's death here in Baltimore in October 1849 as well as his many connections to the city.

Class night Thursday, April 30, 7:00 pm to 9:00 pm, with field trip, Saturday, May 2, 8:00 am to 4:00 pm. Download the Kaleidoscope program in pdf form through the title to this blog listing or call (410) 323-5500 x 3045 with any inquiries.

Happy Christmas, Everyone!

Santa Comes But Once A Year But to the Jolly Old Elf It Feels Like a Lifetime--You Try It, Pal!

bells!
candles!
frosty!
Santa. . .
punch!
-- drunk!

"Wake up, Ma and Pa, Santa's
drinking the spiked eggnog!"

"I need shhhhomethin'
strong!
It's cold lugging
all these
presentsssshhhh
from place
to place!
Not to menshun
trying to get
down those
chimblies
with my
big fat tum!

"So, ho ho ho,
kiddies, I'll just
have another
lil nip to
warm myself up."

"Presents!!!!!
Presnentshhh!!!!!!
Preshenshhhhh!!!!!!!!
Prushunshhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!
Spruchunzzzshhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!"

*Hic*

Christopher T. George


Let me wish you all the best of the season. Happy holidays and a great 2009 upcoming. I hope the new year will be everything you hope it will be. Good health and prosperity!

Chris

Chris George Speaking on the War of 1812 tonight in New York City

Friday evening talk
November 14, 2008
7 pm to 9 pm

Scottish, Scots Irish, Irish, African Americans and Jews in the Battle of Baltimore, September 1814

Christopher T. George, The War of 1812 Symposium

Room 6-495
CUNY Graduate Center
Fifth Avenue at 34th Street
New York City


I will be in New York City Friday and Saturday. Starting on Friday morning, I will be taken around New York City by NYMAS members in a silver Lincoln, no less, to see sites associated with the NYC area Revolutionary War battles. The reason I am doing this, in addition to interest in the events of that time, ins that is has some relevance to the talk I will be giving, in that the first slide I will show in the Powerpoint presentation I will give relates to a British soldier who was involved in events both in New York in 1776 and later in Baltimore in 1814. Full details to be revealed tonight.

Bad Blogger

Yes I know I really don't keep this blog up as I should. It's no secret. I am involved in too many things, such as leading a War of 1812 tour of Baltimore last weekend. Here I am at the beginning of the tour outside the Star-Spangled Banner Flag House in Baltimore, photograph courtesy of Californian Daniel Slosberg during the tour at A Banner Weekend. Thanks, Daniel.

Daniel is in the process of writing captions for the photos. I have though added a number of comments to go along with some of the photographs. Daniel is working up a presentation on Francis Scott Key and the writing of "The Star-Spangled Banner." He is a re-enactor and musician who performs "A Musical Journey Along the Lewis and Clark Trail" (see http://www.cruzatte.com/). He wanted to know what connection California might have to the War of 1812 and I was able to tell him that Commodore Robert Field Stockton, for whom Stockton, California, is named, was an aide to Commodore John Rodgers during the Battle of Baltimore.

Last Sunday was a brilliant sunny day for the tour, just perfect, and the timing of the day just turned out just right. I plan to do a lot more of these tours as I ease from doing "real work" and wish to spend my retirement giving tours and lecturing.

Christopher T. George, Baltimore Reading, Sunday, May 18: Come and Hear Me!

New! 2 HEADS Series
Clayton Fine Books
317 North Charles Street
Baltimore, MD 21201
Tel. 410-752-6800


The concept of this series is to feature writers with "day jobs" that, for the most part, appear (at least at first glance) to be different from their artistic proclivities. Each featured writer will share his/her work interspersed with comments/insights as to how that work is or isn't influenced by the "day job." An audience/writer Q&A follows the reading.

The 2 HEADS Series will take place at (and in support of as it's closing in 7 months and will be a loss dearly felt) Clayton Fine Books (Cam and Donna Northouse, proprietors). This bookstore/café (just a hop, skip, jump from the Enoch Pratt Free Library), in a charmingly renovated two-story building, offers some 35,000 out-of-print books in literature, fine arts, history, and biography.

The 2 HEADS Series is offered on the Third Sunday of the month at 3 p.m. - beginning May 18 and running through October 19.

So, please plan to join us and grab a sandwich, soup, or snack while sipping some of the amazing coffees and teas at the wonderful café that’s part of Clayton Fine Books.

May 18 ~ The 2 HEADS Series opens with Christopher T. George ~

Christopher T. George has had poetry in Poet Lore, Smoke, Bogg, Lite, Maryland Poetry Review, and online at Crescent Moon Journal, Electric Acorn, Melic Review, Painted Moon Review, Pierian Springs, the poetry (WORM), and Web Del Sol Review. His work has been anthologized in Poets Gone Wild Anthology (Wild Poetry Press, 2005), Mind Mutations: A Collection (Sun Rising Press, 2005), and Living on Hope Street, a collection honoring the naming of Liverpool, England (Chris's home town) as European Capital of Culture 2008.

Chris is also the editor of Desert Moon Review and an editor at Writer's Block Poetry Workshop Additionally, he is co-editor, with Jim Doss, of the electronic and print magazine Loch Raven Review.
~~ Day Job: Medical editor at the American College of Obstetricians and Gynecologists in Washington, D.C. since 2000.

Your cheerful hosts for The 2 HEADS Series are Reginald Harris and Rosemary Klein - operating under the aegis of The Maryland State Poetry & Literary Society (MSP&LS) and Three Conditions Press.

First Snowfall, Union Station, Washington, D.C., December 5, 2007

First Snow: Union Station

Eddie the Baseball Umpire disgorges
me from his Red Top Cab; I'm staring
down at pansies drowned in wet snow;

snap the vignette with cameraphone
despite sleet pinging my cheek.
I'm going home on wings of eagles!

Or just the mudslush MARC, ha ha.
Slurred footprints in snowgrass,
sugared holly, oak--holy smoke!

Cabs stream and surge, bus lurches,
grim commuters haul their lives;
giant wreaths hang like bagels

on facade. Whisky-breath, sackcloth bum
craves a buck. I refuse, smoke my cigar,
watch him lurch through the glass doors.

Then I bustle for MARC to the Big B:
bum's passed out on the marble floor,
Smoky-Bear-hatted cops bent over him.

Christopher T. George













Here are some cellphone photographs of the light snow covering we received yesterday in Washington, D.C., the first snow of the year in the Baltimore-Washingon metro region. My Samsung camera is out for the count... maybe needs a new memory card - I change batteries and it just seems dead, and i don't have a power cord (got the cam second hand). If anybody has any ideas, let me know. :(

All the pics are at Union Station after I was dropped off by the red cab driven by Eddie the Umpire, as noted in the poem. Eddie, an older black cabbie, surprised me by saying that when he doesn't drive a cab he is a baseball umpire.

First a shot of pansies in a flowerbox covered by the snow through shots of the front of the station and forecourt with taxis and buses and the Columbus monument in the distance, ending with a shot of one of the three large Christmas wreaths hung on the station facade before I ran for my train to Baltimore!

Peace Is Just a Word

Peace Is Just a Word

I stroll the National Mall this cool fall morning;
yellow leaves sift from an elm as joggers crunch

pebbles between the white Capitol dome, surmounted by
the effigy of Liberty with eagle-headdress, sun-rose-

red needle of Washington's monument. A group of U.S.
Marines thunder by, scarlet banner flapping, gripped

by the lead runner. They holler, "Sound Off!"
Swathes of sweat stain gray tee shirts; they thud

by the Hirshhorn museum's outdoor sculpture garden,
no-nonsense bronze of a Henry Moore nude, the grim

figures of Rodin's "The Burghers of Calais." A plump
mockingbird ascends to the contorted topmost branch

of Harry Lauder's Walking Stick and commences to sing.

Christopher T. George


Thanksgiving is tomorrow and there is much to be thankful for and there is much to regret and decry. Life as ever is alloyed, never truly joyful nor totally bleak. Lord save us.

Charles Carroll of Carrollton's 270th birthday celebration, Baltimore, September 22

It's unusual for me to find an event in which I can combine my interests in creative writing and history, but I will be doing just that, reading a number of recently written poems with a historical theme for the Charles Carroll of Carrollton 270th birthday celebration on September 22nd here in Baltimore.

The Carroll Mansion at 800 E. Lombard Street in Old Town, Baltimore, is pleased to announce Charles Carroll of Carrollton's 270th birthday celebration on September 22nd. Charles Carroll (1737-1832) had many accomplishments throughout his long life: the last surviving signer of the Declaration of Independence and only Catholic signer; lawyer and politician; Maryland delegate to the Continental Congress; United States Senator. (Click on the title above to access the Wikipedia entry on Charles Carroll.)

The organizers have separated his accomplishments and interests into several themes. Artists and poets have created works that express the concepts of industry and innovation, revolutionary thinking and building a new nation, and the strength of family.

John Davis, Danny Jones, Brian Kaspr, Mike McNeive, Molly McNulty, and Carlos Vigil will all be exhibiting work for this one time event. I, Christopher T. George, along with Anne Bracken, Shirley Brewer, and Matthew Smith will share our respective works as they relate to the themes of Charles Carroll's life.

The organizers say, "Join us for light fare and drinks as we celebrate history, art, and poetry."

Following are a couple of the poems I have written especially for the event:


The Last Signer

To Charles Carroll of Carrollton (1737–1832)

Yes, I outlived them all:
the great and the powerful,
John Hancock, old Ben Franklin,
George Washington, Tom Jefferson. . . .

Born in an era of coaches and saddles,
I lived to see railway lines straddle
the land, even saw gas lights
illuminating Old Town at night!

Such new-fangled things in a new nation!
As faith brought promise of salvation
under the great dome of our Basilica,
we’d steamboats and Maryland rye liquor!

So far now we have come from our unease
with the King’s taxes. I was pleased
thus to sign for our Independence:
Yes! I signed my name, clear as a song:

"Charles Carroll of Carrollton"!

Christopher T. George


Eager to Serve

To Lt. Col. John Eager Howard (1752–1827)

Eager to fight the Redcoats at Cowpens,
to send Bloody Banastre Tarleton packing!

Eager to tell the old wagoneer Gen’l Morgan,
the day was still ours at Cowpens to be won!

Eager to allow the Frenchies of Rochambeau
to camp in my Howard’s Woods, good show!

Eager still to continue the fight at Eutaw Springs!
Although there my shoulder wound grievously stung!

Eager to win and woo my dearest Peggy Chew,
to unite Chews with Howards, Eagers, our few!

Eager to serve the people of my state as governor,
I sat in Annapolis and governed for many a year.

Eager when the Redcoats again came calling
to say that though I was too old to take the field

I’d rather see the city of Baltimore laid in ashes
and my four sons weltering in their own blood

than see the city taken by those Britishers!

Christopher T. George


I will also be reading some of the poems I wrote for the Liverpool 800 site since they fit with themes of Charles Carroll's era. Referenced in the above poem is "Bloody" Lt. Col. Banastre Tarleton, the Liverpool-born dragoon whose defeat at the Battle of Cowpens in South Carolina on January 17, 1781.




Banastre Tarleton by Sir Joshua Reynolds

Banastre Tarleton

Me name’s Banastre Tarleton; do you remember me?
I was "Bloody Ban" for all those things I did with glee
against the Patriots that George Washington thanked
for fighting to make Mad King George’s colonies free.

The son of merchant John Tarleton, a mayor of Liverpool:
I was a red-haired runt racking up debts at university,
headed to be a wastrel, a gambling, whoring, drunken fool,
but when I entered the army, all changed quite dramatically.

I was the smart dragoon in green uniform, plumed helmet;
I made my name capturing the Americans’ General Lee,
went down to the south and became the enemy’s scourge;
at Camden, Guilford Courthouse, I made the enemy flee.

Aye, I was Lord Cornwallis’s right-hand man, his enforcer,
I hunted down Buford’s men, gave them no quarter
at the Waxhaws. We cut them down: a sight to see.
We almost turned the tide in the south, dem me!

Got wacked by Morgan at the Cowpens, blast the fellow!
But I chased their celebrated Tom Jefferson from Monticello.
Then we British defeated Nat Greene at Eutaw Springs.
Argh, though I lost two of my blessed fingers, poor things!

Yes, I tell you truly, the war there was ours for the taking,
but the French, those yellow curs, once again did us dirty.
Rochambeau and Washington bottled us up at Yorktown.
On that sad, dishonoured day, we laid our weapons down.

I returned to Liverpool a hero: the dashing cavalryman.
I held up my mutilated hand and people cheered me on:
fishwives with branches of green shouted for Ban!
To them, I was no bloody fiend -- I was their champion!

I stood for Parliament; after a disappointment, took my seat!
As MP for Liverpool, Tarleton would never admit defeat!
I defended slavery -- you might see that as a blight on me.
It was the Tarletons’ trade -- ‘twas what made Liverpool rich!

The King made me a Baronet: Gen. Sir Banastre Tarleton.
Some prefer abolitionist Roscoe, by whom I was chastised,
but I died honoured. To Yanks, I’m Bloody Ban, yet I was
a warrior, never apologised for the colourful life I had led.

Christopher T. George


Because Charles Carroll of Carrollton lived into the Railway Age, his last public act being when he laid the cornerstone for the Carrollton Viaduct of the Baltimore and Ohio Railroad on July 4, 1828, I thought the following poem might be appropriate to read.

William Huskisson, Member of Parliament for Liverpool, was the first man killed by a steam locomotive. He was mortally injured at Chat Moss during the grand opening of the Liverpool-Manchester Railway on September 15, 1830. Author William Garfield in his book, The Last Journey of William Huskisson, chronicles the MP’s chronic accident proneness which afflicted him his whole life down to the accident which killed him.


Unlucky Husky

To be known as the first man
to be killed by a train
-- what awful luck!

You were our plucky MP,
in your prime when
you were struck,

as Stephenson’s "Rocket"
knocked you down;
now God’s got you
in his pocket.

Christopher T. George

No more billions for Mr. Bush's mistake

Dirty Deaths in Iraq

"They never told The Folks Back Home about
the filthy deaths. . . Dirty deaths were the
commonplace clowns smoking idle cigarettes
backstage at a circus filled with clowns."
Richard Condon, The Manchurian Candidate

You see a stop sign ahead and you accelerate
to avoid a roadside bomb; you're afraid you'll

end up a dirty piece of black bleeding flesh
in the wreck: head in Baghdad, feet in Basra.

You play with swivelled hand jeux de cartes
en ligne - Black Jack rules, $50 billion more

at stake without the turn of a voter's card.
You play the cards you're dealt because

you have no option: the clowns are laughing;
you want to win but you fear the joker.

Christopher T. George


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


"Bush Wants $50 Billion More for Iraq War"
Headline, Washington Post, August 29, 2007

Contact your Congressman and tell him or her:
"No more billions for Mr. Bush's mistake."

And today's headline in the Post reads "Report Finds Little Progress on Iraq Goals. GAO Draft at Odds With White House."

The ruinous war that Mr. Bush began just runs on and on, billions poured into the desert sand, billions of dollars and weapons unaccounted for. American GIs and Iraqi civilians and others continue to die in a chaotic and worsening situation. Leaving apart the misrepresentation of Saddam Hussein's danger to the world that the Bush administration was guilty of four years ago before the war, to both the United Nations and to the American people, this war is causing a grievous wound to the American economy as well as to the standing of the United States in the world. I know the fear among Congress and those running for President is that the United States cannot now leave the Pottery Barn (using the analogy that was attributed to then Secretary State Colin Powell) without fixing the mess, and that a regional cataclysm could ensue if the United States simply leaves. The point though is that the United States has done enough damage in the area. The war cannot be "won." It is now time to turn the Iraq over to the United Nations and for the administration to work with international agencies to calm the region and rebuild Iraq.

On a nicer topic, note the following deadline tomorrow:

This is to remind you that the deadline to submit work for the Fall issue of Loch Raven Review is fast approaching on Friday, August 31. We have had the pleasure of publishing a number of the fine poets and other writers in the past and we look forward to continuing to do so. Go to our website to check out our submission requirements and also the latest issue of our quarterly electronic journal.

We might remind you that we do print an annual print issue of Loch Raven Review so publishing with us is more than publishing with a zine, it is also print publication.

While we have quite a few submissions for the Fall issue already in hand we are still looking for quality work in poetry, short stories, essays, etc. We are also interested in translations. Note that in terms of original poems we prefer nonpublished work.

We are pleased to say that our literary journal is getting to be one of "the" places to publish. We hope you will submit if you have not already done so.

Best regards

Chris George and Jim Doss, Editors
Loch Raven Review

Happy Birthday, Liverpool!

Queen Elizabeth II and British Prime Minister Gordon Brown today led the birthday tributes to the city of Liverpool, as it celebrates its 800th birthday. Hit the title above to read some of the tributes.

Above: The dome of Liverpool's 18th Century Town Hall with Minerva as the allegorical figure at the pinnacle and the city's official 800th year flag celebrating its history 1207-2007.

Top: Official birthday cake for the city. Courtesy of Sayer's Bakery.

Bottom: Yours truly in my Liverpool FC regalia, pictured in our computer room. HAPPY BIRTHDAY, LIVERPOOL!!!!!!

Chris George in Mersey Minis "Longing" Anthology

I am delighted to say that I along with Yoko Ono Lennon and poet Roger McGough, and local writers such as Dave Calder, Gladys Mary Coles, Matt Simpson, and Dave Ward will have works published in "Longing," Volume 3 of the Mersey Minis series of books about Liverpool and to be given out for free as a present to the people of Liverpool on the city's 800th birthday, Tuesday, August 28. The launch of the book is to be at St. Nicholas's churchyard on that day: recognized to be the oldest place in the city to have been in continual use since the 13th Century. That's a view of St. Nicholas's Church up above, with St. George's Flag flying in a gale during the visit Donna and I made to the city in May.

The short impression that I am publishing in "Longing" concerns St. Nicholas's and is called "Beatles St. Nicholas Sonata" and was occasioned by coming back late to the Crowne Plaza Hotel after a Yo Liverpool forum meet-up at the Santiago de Alma in Penny Lane (formerly St. Barnabas Cottage where my Uncle Bill and his family lived some 80 years ago!!!). Donna and I had been on a tour of little known Beatles sites in the city along with Gerard Fleming, to whom the article is dedicated. Unfortunately I won't be able to make it back to Liverpool for the book launch but I have asked that Ged and a guest represent me.

The list of writers included in "Longing" and places to obtain the book in Liverpool city center can be found by clicking on the title above. It's a very well done series. I bought a copy of "Landing," the first book in the Mersey Minis series, while we were in the city and I have got a lot out of reading the impressions of writers famous and not so famous who have visited the city over the years.

I have just realised the figure at the background on the graphic on the front of "Longing" is the statue of Eleanor Rigby in Liverpool by Tommy Steele.



The picture of me below was taken by Ged Fleming in St. Peter's Churchyard, Woolton, by a family grave that has the name "Eleanor Rigby" on it. It was in the church hall a few hundred yards away that Paul McCartney met John Lennon in August 1957 -- fifty bloody years ago! However Sir Paul has denied that the grave had anything to do with his use of the name in the song. The "Eleanor" part appears to have come from Eleanor Bron, an actress in the Beatles' 1965 movie, "Help!" It seems to stretch coincidence but it's nice to see the grave and to make the connection that Paul "might" have got the idea for the song from seeing her name on the grave. . .

Burting In Again

Crepe myrtle in bloom in Washington, D.C., on a recent morning. The flowering shrub, which also blooms in lavender and white, blooms at the height of the hot and humid U.S. summer.


Burting In Again

I got yelled at
on the DC Metro
for "burting in"
ahead of a couple:
he spoke with
a Dixie accent
like molasses.

Burt,
to ride Metro
that's what
you gotta do,
"burt in."

Did I have
my burting-in
face on

like Burt
Reynolds in
"Deliverance"?

I hope I did.

Christopher T. George





Watching Honey Bees Pollinate Lavender on July 4

I take out the trash--a Glad Bag bulging
with my wife's old shoes and shoe boxes.

And I stand smoking a cigar, pressed flat
against the Twenties wall of our apartment

house watching tawny bees pollinate the blue-
purple flowers on overgrown aromatic branches.

An ambulance rushes by, its siren blaring,
while the bees continue their essential work.

Christopher T. George



Zen Stream

a push, a pull
continual motion

the mill wheel turns
trout swim upstream

life's eternal duties
a baby in her booties

poems get written
sermons get delivered

one life begins and
another's severed

the song continues
a lullaby
a lament

lies and love

humans down here
and God above

Christopher T. George





Beckham's Parking Cars

Three days after Beckham made
another million coming off
the bench in a downpour to help

the LA Galaxy lose to DC United,
as I drive into the garage, I spy
Rodney with his cap and gold

tooth wearing the England
shirt of no. 7: "Beckham."
I greet him and he tells me

"That's my name,
Rodney Beckham."

Christopher T. George

Heat in Washington DC and the Liverpool 800 Poems Project

It has taken some days to get posting on the Blog back up to speed. Sorry. There was some glitch in the template that I could not resolve. My thanks to Charlene Dewbre for helping me solve the problem.

Top photograph yours truly this morning in my shirt from the first American Ripper convention held in New Jersey in 2000. It's getting up in the 90's here in Washington DC and the bosses where I work decided to allow us to dress down -- so those who wanted to come in wearing t-shirts and shorts! A photograph taken with my new Samsung camera phone.

Next photograph of a cheeky squirrel in the gardens of the Smithsonian Institution on the Mall in Washington, as per the poem below, a cinquain.




Squirrels
observed: cheeky
guys who pinch the veggies
from the Smithsonian gardens!
Look see!

Christopher T. George

I am presently heavily involved both in myself contributing poems in honor of the 800-year history of my native city of Liverpool, as well as helping behind the scenes in terms of proofreading and fact checking.

Organizers Roger Cliffe-Thompson and Billy Moon report that they presently have 522 poems collected so far with 278 to go to meet the target of 800 for the city's 800th anniversary on August 28.

To hear an interview with Roger and Billy go to the Radio Merseyside Interview at http://www.sparrowsteeth.com/billy/media/miscalanious/ .

New Jersey poet Laurie Byro and New Yorker George Wallace are among the poets who have contributed to the project. If you are interested in contributing a poem, go to http://www.poem800.com/

There are also talks underway to have a possible Liverpool - New York video or podcast link to celebrate the Liverpool anniversary and the links between the two cities. If things work out as planned, simultaneous readings will take place in New York and Liverpool later this year. Watch this space.



Photograph courtesy of Kev Keegan.

Lost in the Mail

It's steamy summer at Sudsville;
sparrow hot-bobs on the sidewalk
as I sit on a molded plastic seat
reading Bukowski's Post Office.

I've got Joe's letter from Christmas
as a bookmark; it glides under seat.
He wrote to say he'd see me at Easter
for a Bud at the Whistling Oyster;
but Easter's long come and gone.

I risk the Timonium traffic to cross
York Road, headed for the Book Rack
to seek a book of Bukowski's poems;
but the store's empty: For Lease
sign on window--all-out-of-words.

Next door Party Shop's closed too,
St. Paddy's shamrock above signs
saying Exit, Thank you for your
business and Computers Down. Will
Open A.S.A.P. It's party-downtime,

rowdy-on-down time.

Christopher T. George

His Annual Diaries

This is another poem that I wrote about my uncle. His funeral service was held at Poole Crematorium on Friday, May 25, and was a Quaker service, my uncle having been a Quaker for the past 25 years or so. The crematorium was a brick building in woods on a hilltop northeast of Poole. Purple rhododendrons were in bloom as we drove up the driveway. The service was dignified and apt, with the Quaker silence and people getting up to speak from their hearts at intervals. I apologized for my aged mother's inability to be present and read my poem, Receptacle, that I had written about Douglas and his influence on me. Roger Gillet spoke about my uncle's Merseyside childhood and that after becoming a Quaker he had helped select the site for the Quaker meetinghouse in Poole, an old semi-detached house with a datestone of 1888. For years, Doug and his late wife Inge lived above the meetinghouse, and Doug continued to live there up until his final illness. The following poem was occasioned by my wife Donna and I having the opportunity to visit the flat before the funeral. I am thinking that one of the Quakers laid out his diaries on his bed since with his memory loss in his last years it is doubtful that Douglas did so.

His Annual Diaries

My uncle, age 92, is three weeks dead;
in a line, someone has neatly laid
his diaries on his narrow bed.

In leather covers of brown, green, and red:
reminder notes, the things he did,
names of friends who died,

promises and decisions made
-- a civil servant, retired, each bit
noted -- was this how he dreamed it?

Christopher T. George

All the Dear Dead

I am at that point in life in which I have known more people who have now passed on compared to people I know who are still alive. . .

I reported earlier on the death of my cousin, Kenneth Matchett, who had been manager of the Bournemouth Symphony Orchestra as well as later, the manager of a trout farm for Lord Shaftesbury near Knowlton in Dorset. Now my uncle, Douglas Matchett, a former civil servant, has died age 92 in Alderney Hospital, Poole. Here are a couple of poems about his passing.

To My Uncle Douglas, in a Coma

Now they call to tell me you've suffered
a massive stroke, cocooned in a coma
at ninety-two, an ocean-width from me.

In the sea off the pine-filled chine
of Canford Cliffs, I will prepare
to scatter your ashes. We sat by

the bowling green, sipped tea; a magpie
floated down from the pines, strutted
among the shiny black bowling balls.

You will never write your life story.

Christopher T. George

The "life story" was something that Doug often talked about completing in letters and phone conversations. However, he was not really a self-reflective person and such writing would have been very difficult for him. He could be a raconteur and tell a story well, but putting his ideas down would be less easy, and I think somewhat stilted. At any rate, Donna and I will visit Poole, Dorset, on 26 May and possibly I will see then whatever progress he may have made on his magnus opus. A term he used, incidentally, for a booklong autobiographical poem called Toxteth that I published in 1976.

My uncle had a lifelong problem with memory even before senility robbed his faculties in the last years. My mother tells an anecdote in which as a young man he purchased a book called Think Clearly to help him remember and that he came downstairs to tell visitors about the putchase of the book, then forgot why he came downstairs.

Grieving

Isolated in my grief, I drive downtown
to pick up Mom's prescription, decide
not to say her brother passed yesterday,
don't wish to spoil tonight's wedding
of the granddaughter of a late friend,
in which Mom will stand in for grandma.

Now, I am driving home. I'm wearing two
red baseball caps, in memory of my uncle,
famous for wearing two ties to a funeral.
The world's shot; it's all bad news today.
Yet, on a streetcorner, a poet passes
out fresh copies of The Daily Word.

Christopher T. George




The left photograph shows my Uncle Douglas holding me in April 1948 at my christening at age three months, and the right photo my Mom on the same occasion. Get a load of that hat!

Reading to the Masses, Part I

This past Friday, I appeared at an evening of poetry and jazz at the Load of Fun Gallery in Baltimore. As I listened to the jazz trio and the performing poets, my attention was drawn to a plant below the tripod of a video camera.

To a Yucca Dying in an Art Gallery

Poetry & jazz interweave;
words speak to the throb of
bass guitar, keyboard riffs,
drummer's sultry rolls.

Black & white nudes,
graffitied peace symbols
decorate the walls while
a gray painted cat yowls
behind the jazz trio.

A yucca expires by
a bottle of spring water;
spiky leaves turn yellow
while folk sip Shiraz
& Cabernet Sauvignon.

This yucca craves
a desert, longs
to face naked rock,
thirsty sky, not
die among these
metaphors; it lusts
for silent, open sand,

not the shush of high-hat,
the torture-tickle
of wire brushes.

Christopher T. George

As mentioned previously, we will be holding a Loch Raven Review Reading upcoming at 8:00 pm on Friday, May 4 at the Load of Fun Gallery at 120 W. North Ave. in Baltimore. Sponsored by Load of Poetry and Julie Fisher at http://www.poetryinbaltimore.com/news.php. We will feature a number of the fine local and out of town poets we have published. Open mic follows. For more info., call 443-418-4762 or email julie@poetryinbaltimore.com. Driving directions at http://www.loadoffun.net/Directions.html

In May, I will be back "home" in Liverpool for a couple of readings in connection with the publication this month of the anthology Living on Hope Street edited by Liverpool performance poet Jim Bennett. Jim himself has just won the title of best European individual slam poet. I understand the readings will be at the Everyman Theatre on Hope Street on Wednesday, May 16 and at Albert Dock on Saturday, May 20.