The Mag 194

The Letter

The nights are cold without you.
The days much too long.

Distance is measured
by lustful thoughts-
I cannot help.

I send this not to guilt you
but because my lips can reach you
no other way.

I have sealed the envelope
with the dampness of my tongue in hope-
and the stamp a breath & kiss.



Michael A. Wells


The Mag 194

The Case Against Broad Government Surveillance

For a while I thought I might be coming at the matter of government surveillance from a different perspective then a lot of people. I read comments from others who say they are a little concerned but they say they just always figure the government is listening in anyway.

I'm a product of the Vietnam generation and we came to learn that President Nixon had agents going to peace rallies and document participants. Of course their efforts were remedial by surveillance standards today but the fact is they kept file on people they considered a threat to this country because they exercised their constitutional right to assembly to protest our involvement in Vietnam. Think what he could have done with the technology available today? I'm relatively confident that Nixon was so paranoid of average Americans that he would be salivating over what the government is doing today to you and I.

I was both encouraged and discouraged by a PEN America survey of American writers that found 85% are worried about government surveillance and 73% have never been more worried about privacy rights and freedom of the press as they are today. The encouraging part is writers are paying attention. This is a good thing.  Of course the concern doesn't alleviate the erosion of privacy. And beside from the concern there is another down side... it is impacting how writers conduct themselves.

The PEN survey indicates the 28% or nearly a third have curtailed or avoided social media activities and another 12% have seriously considered doing the same, all because of the threat of surveillance. And nearly one quarter (24%) have deliberately  avoided certain topics in phone and email conversations. Another 9% have seriously considered this avenue.

One chilling effect this is having on writers is 16%  have avoided writing or speaking  about a particular topic. Another 11% seriously considered it.

The report goes on....

• 16% refrained from conducting searches on the Internet or visiting websites on topics they consider controversial.
• 13% have taken steps to disguise or cover their digital footprints. 
• 3% have actually declined opportunities to meet in person or electronically with persons how might be deemed security threats by the government. 

In each of these instances there were measurable numbers who seriously considered taking these same drastic steps.

It troubles me that writers, be they journalists or or in the literary arts are finding themselves self-censoring over fear from our own government.

The 4th Amendment, freedom of the press is necessary to assure the survival of the republic against the kinds controls the brought to power fascist governments in Germany, the Soviet Union and China in years past. These are some of the same kinds of extremes we are seeing in many middle-eastern countries as well.

I am not convinced that a more secure America is one in which we are all under the watchful eyes of the government. That is an awesome power and one that can very easily lead to dangers in our democracy right here at home.

The press, the arts were all under watchful eyes in  Nazi Germany. The government controlled the flow of information and yes even the arts. Knowledge is a powerful freedom for people. The control of knowledge too is powerful but in subverts the liberties of people.

Confession Tuesday - Rocky Mountain Chocolate Factory Edition

 I'm off to the confessional...

Dear reader:

Two weeks it's been since I was last here. I confess I cannot recall what was going on two weeks ago when I should have been do this , I just know I wasn't here.

It's funny but for some reason I think of the confessional like it's some kind of penalty box. Like in hockey. God would look funny in a black and white striped shirt and black slacks and a whistle ring on his hand, patrolling the rink of life and pretty bad assed on skates.

So I'm in the penalty box until I spill it all. Two weeks worth.

I confess that I could be a glutton for Rocky Mountain Chocolate Factory Cereal - Limited Edition by Kellogg. I mean this shit is good. Good sized hunks of chocolate, almonds lightly sweetened corn type flakes and chocolate flakes as well. I could easily eat a sinful amount of it but I haven't so far. This is good right?

I confess that recently it seems that I started looking as everyone else as in one age group and me in another. (I'm in the old group) I don't know what this is about. I confess that aging has always been stressful topic for me but it's like as I slowly got older I kept moving the goal posts a little further and so I would think to myself "you are getting older" I would at the same time dismiss it as "well isn't everyone?" That was my fall back. So what, everyone else is getting older, we are just all doing it together. I don't know it this evolves from something in a conversation with my wife recently or what  but somehow I feel like while I wasn't looking  someone did a sneaky and  brought the goal post back to me.  I like to believe you are only as old as you feel. But right now, I feel I'm there. (sigh)

I confess that the K.C. Chiefs are 9-0 and I could care less.

I confess that I've been more diligent about my writing since being back in my office at home. I also confess I probably waste too much time on Facebook and Twitter, still I do find at times that I see things of value on there. Maybe not enough for the time I'm on though. I think it tends to feed my ADD.

I confess as the news of the typhoon that hit the Philippine Islands this weekend seems beyond human comprehension.

I confess I thought  I heard Anne Sexton speak to me this weekend. I wasn't profound... it was something like, "It's all about the words..."  But maybe that's more profound than I think.

Monday I was biding time waiting for a furnace repairman at my daughter's house by reading a Sharon Olds book of poems when I read something that struck me as so perfectly written that I sank in the couch and thought  what on earth am I doing?  I texted a poet friend and explained that I had read this poem and had written a lot lately but all of a sudden I was like why? I felt so totally inadequate. I confess the friend had good advice and I'm working on it.

I confess that I should be due for an acceptance or a rejection any day now. I can handle whichever.

I confess it's 91 days and 2 hours until pitchers and catchers report to spring training if anyone besides me cares.

Amen!

The Mag 193

Danseuse ajustant sa bretelle, 1895-96, Edgar Degas

 The Ballerina's Private Warm Up

She feels the constriction 

of a cocoon and the solitude- 

therein lies the crystalline craving 

to spin herself free.

A twirl to unwind- to whip-up

the motion to unclog the black and white

all around her-  she wishes for wind

she wishes for a spin-off of gale force

to extricate her from this morose.

She rises on her toes - shaky first

then in a solid stance her arms rise 

overhead with poise a momentary pause.

There is no music, except that alone

in her head- the composition

comes with spontaneity 

Is a powerful turn 

she thrusts herself into a running leap,

long legs scissor in defiance of gravity

then another, and a third

with a solid land- quickly

rising again to a pointe

she spins again 

shaking free of the grayness

her heart pounding

her chest heaves 

as she drops down

arms collapse to the floor

head bowing supplication...

Michael A. Wells

The Mag 193

  

In Memory of Anne Sexton

Anne Sexton November 9,1928 - October 4, 1974

All day I've built

a lifetime and now

the sun sinks to 

undo it.

The horizon bleeds

and sucks its thumb.

From The Fury of Sunsets

Some time back I selected Anne Sexton as my Dead Poet Mentor.  Sometimes I lose sight of her in all the everydayness that bleeds over into my life. Once in a while I've been hung up on a poem that I'm rewriting and I'll ask myself, What Would Anne Do? (WWAD) If nothing comes to me right away I'll go to my poetry library and pull out my copy of The Complete Poems - Anne Sexton and just open it wherever my thumb takes me and start reading. Sometimes something will speak out to me about what I'm working on.. Other times I just read. But in the end, her voice leaves me feeling that I'm not along. That this is the road all poets go down. Sometimes we struggle for what to say. It isn't easy. Did we ever think it was supposed to be?   

Let The Day Begin

Meeting the morning sun along with a crow that can be distinctly heard from my office. I don't know if he is celebrating the new day or hearkening me to get my butt in here and start my day.

I came home last night exhausted and ate and we settled in to watch a movie and called it a night.  I do feel an energy building slowly like a steam engine in my body and I have the knowledge that having a three day weekend is an opportunity; one I intend to use wisely.

So I start the day... Submission Saturday planning to get my submissions out and get some writing done.  I've got some older stuff I need to work on.  It was Justice Brandeis who said, "There is no great writing, only great rewriting," something I would do well to always keep in the back of my mind as a guide.

As I post this... I say, let the day begin...

The Poetry of Baseball

It breaks your heart. It is designed to break your heart. The game begins in the spring, when everything else begins again, and it blossoms in the summer, filling the afternoons and evenings, and then as soon as the chill rains come, it stops and leaves you to face the fall alone. You count on it, rely on it to buffer the passage of time, to keep the memory of sunshine and high skies alive, and then just when the days are all twilight, when you need it most, it stops." ― A. Bartlett Giamatti