World So Wide

Sorrow

2012-01-10T05:03:00.000-08:00

Utterly lost
with my head in my hands
and my hands in my head

– Leonard "One for Sorrow" Blumfeld (© 2012)

Written upon seeing this photograph at Poets United:

Sorrow by Dechobek at deviantART

The Shiva machine

2012-01-04T05:14:00.000-08:00

I dropped the change in the slot.
Nothing happened,
nothing was returned.
Hey, that's no way to change,
I told myself.
Change is not loss.
Or is it?
Is it the beginning of change?

– Leonard "Shivji" Blumfeld (© 2012)

Posted for One Single Impression and Change.

Proverbs from the Chinese VII

2012-01-03T03:26:00.000-08:00

Do not demolish resolution.
Transform.

– Leonard "Proverbially Yours" Blumfeld

Another puzzler from the infinite well of Chinese wisdom. Since it's so close to the beginning of the new year and its resolutions, the advice appears to be particularly appropriate.

Includes the words demolish, resolution and transform from 3WW.

Red & blue no. 1

2012-01-03T03:14:00.000-08:00

For S., who actually said it

Light turned red
out of the blue.

– Leonard Blumfeld

Basho on the end of the year

2011-12-23T02:25:00.000-08:00

The moon and the snow,
I live and look at beauty,
The year is ending.

– Matsuo Bashō (1644-1694)

Posted for the end of the year. Actually a translation from German, which itself, of course, was a translation.

A fairytale

2011-12-16T07:29:00.000-08:00

Prince Pygmalian II, on a walk in the forest in the proximity of Castle Tsvitskenstein, could not believe his eyes – there was his beloved Cinderella, rendered immobile by a hideous red-bearded dwarf, who was fondling her to his heart's content with his callous and – most likely – smelly hands, all the while emitting lustful grunts.

Oh what to do to avoid equal immobility, restore Cinderella's mobility and seek retribution?
The prince, counting on dwarves' proverbial greed, thought of a plan that might possibly work.

"Pray, my dear fellow, I would reward you handsomely if you told me how to immobilize someone like this girl you have here," he said, stepping forward.

The dwarf was visibly annoyed but also instantly tempted.
"And what might such a handsome reward be, my dear prince?"
The dwarf had immediately made out that the prince was a prince by his princely garb, the politeness of his speech and a few other princely attributes.

"I have some gold coins with me," said Pygmalian II, "but can also offer you dollars or euros."

Like all princes, Pygmalian II always carried with him a sizeable number of gold ducats and bills in major currencies.

"No, gold is best. The other two have lost a lot of their market value lately."
"Will 15 ducats do?"
"Make it 25, and we are in business. My craft does not come cheaply."
"25 it shall be, then."
"I take cash."
"Of course."

The prince took out his heavy wallet, counted 25 gold pieces and handed them to the dwarf, who counted them scrupulously, which took a while and required some shuffling because he did it using the seven fingers of both hands.

"Shall we shake hands on the deal?" the prince said.
The dwarf proffered his hairy hand.
"But before we do, please tell me your name, my dear fellow. I always like to know who I do business with."

This request clearly did not please the dwarf.
"We normally do not disclose our names to your kind," he eventually replied, "but be it for business' sake. I am called Rumple, and I'm of the illustrious line of the Stiltskins."

The prince shook hands and immediately had to suppress an urge to wipe his hand.

"Now, dear Rumple Stiltskin, please reveal to me the immobilization magic."
"You say, 'Freeze, oh,' and then the name, all the while looking into the eyes of your victim, err beloved," the dwarf explained.

"Thank you, dear fellow. I shall practice this magic real soon. – How would you like to earn some more?"

Rumple licked his fat red lips.

"Wouldn't be adverse to it. Something to add to my stocking for retirement. What other magic is it you wish to know?"
"Well, it might come in handy once in a while to restore mobility to someone. You don't want to leave statues around all over the place."

"I'll take 30 for that one," the dwarf declared smugly.
"As you wish! I've never been known to be stingy."

Once again the prince took out his wallet, counted 30 gold pieces and gave them to the dwarf.
"Thank you, my prince."
"What are the words, then, dear Rumple?"
"They are, 'Unfreeze, oh,' followed by the name. But you have to stand behind the person when you say these words."
"And will they work on any moving creature, big and small?"
"Anything that is alive, guaranteed."

Looking into the dwarf's eyes, the prince said, "Freeze, oh Rumple Stiltskin!"

The dwarf froze instantly, the beginnings of outrage showing in his face.

Then the prince stepped behind Cinderella and spoke, "Unfreeze, oh Cinderella!"

Cinderella was released from immobility and gave the prince her best Hollywood kiss.

And if you take a walk in the forest near Castle Tsvitskenstein and come upon a garden dwarf, do not stand behind him and utter the words, "Unfreeze, oh Rumple Stiltskin!"

Because there is no guarantee that Rumple Stiltskin would react kindly upon his return to life.

As to Prince Pygmalian II and Cinderella, they lived happily ever after, doing whatever princes and princesses do best and gaining exposure through tabloids.

– Leonard Blumfeld (© 2011)

Written for 3WW (immobile, proximity and retribution) and Sunday Scribblings (Fairytale).

So what fib no. 7

2011-12-04T11:54:00.000-08:00

Did
get
a hair-
cut this week-
end, played games and drank
beer with friends. So what, you say, that
hardly broke ground. Oh,
I forgot
to men-
tion
this.

Seeking refuge

2011-11-22T01:08:00.000-08:00

Mi verso es un ciervo herido
Que busca en el monte amparo.
– José Martí

"So what's a wounded fawn doing in the forest, quoting poetry?"
I had to laugh at my friend Ramesh's deadpan understanding of things.
"The fawn's not quoting poetry. The fawn is wounded and seeking refuge in the forest."
"That sounds realistic enough. So where's the poetry connection?"
"José Martí says that his verse is a wounded fawn –"
"– seeking refuge in the forest. I get that all right, I'm not that dumb. I just fail to see the point."
"Come on, Ramesh, you just refuse to see it."
"Oh, I get his drift all right. Poetry is frail and all a-tremble in the forest, shaking with fear to be read by critical and analytical souls like me."
What could I say? I'd never be able to convince this agnostic, this nonbeliever in the frailty of poetry.
So I quoted more Spanish poetry at him:

La poesía es un arma cargada de futuro. *

That made him chuckle.
"This one I like a lot better," he said, "but that weapon charged with future is probably what wounded that frail fawn in the forest."

You just can't win against Ramesh in matters of poetry. Or Spanish language poetry, to be more precise.

– Leonard "Seeking Refuge in Poetry" Blumfeld (© 2011)

* Title of a poem by Gabriel Celaya.

Written in response to 'seeking' at One Single Impression.

Notes
The first quote may be familiar from the song Guantanamera, which is based on the poem by Cuban poet and national hero José Martí.
While the above dialog is entirely fictitious, my friend Ramesh does exist and, with his typical distrust of things not traceable by science, might have responded in this very manner.

From the office

2011-11-21T04:28:00.000-08:00

Occasional mouse
clicks and the roll of traffic
outside. Steps going by.

– Leonard Blumfeld (© 2011)

A slightly overstuffed haiku. Oops! Somebody might die from that. But the truth and nothing but the truth.

From Gertie Dreary's diary

2011-11-10T04:56:00.000-08:00

I simply had to get to L.A. to see my auntie Nell as she was about to leave for Nepal. They did not renew her job with the UN. Being an attractive young girl, I drank lots of my favorite cherry liqueur to muster up the courage to hitch a ride in the deep dark night. Too late for buses. And no money for a taxi, not even to the nearest train station. Who knows how long the train would have taken anyway. Also, my experience with trains is limited and bad. However, all went well as I got a ride from an elderly gentleman in a vintage white car with white hair who reminded me of Kenny Rogers. He played country music and smoked cigars, but what do I care. Kept telling me about his five ex-wives and the twelve children he had with them, and the grandkids. Remarked with a smile on the cherry flavor I kept burping up. Told him about my nervousness and how I overcame it and how I was praising the Lord to have found such an excellent ride with such a lovely old man. He gave me a look then I thought was a little on the lecherous side, so I quickly changed the subject, asking about his current wife Louisy Ann, or how ever that's spelled. She's a sexy little fox, he said, and I'm looking forward to a lot of lovin' once I pick her up at L.A. International Airport. That made me burp some more, with a cherry flavor so strong I could smell it myself, and he kept his head turned towards me for a long time so I had to remind him to watch the road as everything was pitch black. But it all went OK as I wrote above and before any more cherry burps and lecherous looks could happen we were in my auntie's neighborhood, where he dropped me off, telling me on parting that there sure was going to be a lot of hot lovin' once he'd picked up Louisy Ann, that sexy little fox and sixth wife of his, at L.A. International Airport.

– Leonard "Speaking for Gertie" Blumfeld (© 2011)

Written using drank, hitch, muster from 3WW.

The Atacama desert stone fib

2011-10-14T02:55:00.000-07:00

Have
been
there for
two million
years, rubbed smooth by earth-
quakes – clang of a thousand hammers.

– Leonard "Deserter" Bloomfeld (© 2011)

Note
Scientists from the University of Arizona have discovered that earthquakes are the reason why the rocks in the Atacama desert in Chile are smooth even though there has been no water there for two million years. The Atacama is shaken by earthquakes with a magnitude of 5 or more every four months on average, so that the rocks have been subjected to an estimated 50,000 to 100,000 hours of polishing.

Proverbs from the Chinese VI

2011-10-05T07:06:00.000-07:00

Never surrender or let any impact of fate deject you.

This Chinese proverb again happens to include the 3 words from 3WW – eject, impact, render. Well, two of them only sort of. Pretty sound advice this time around, I'd say. Best fortune cookie quality.

Thank you, Andy Sewina, for your suggestion to complete the proverb. Now it reads like an Allen Ginsberg-style American Sentence indeed.

Dedicated to Sadhana, who has exactly this attitude.

– Leonard "Impacted Again" Blumfeld

Proverbs from the Chinese V

2011-09-29T07:25:00.000-07:00

Only those who are truly cherished can guarantee nausea.

– Leonard "Proverbially Yours" Blumfeld

The fifth proverb translated from the Chinese. It happens to hold the words cherish, guarantee and nausea from 3WW.

Proverbs from the Chinese IV

2011-09-09T04:47:00.000-07:00

Observing the heart erodes,
observing from the heart does not.

Yet another Chinese proverb in English. A faithful translation, but again a wee bit enigmatic. But that's what Chinese proverbs are all about...

Contains the three words erode, heart and observe from 3WW.

– Leonard "Puzzled Again" Blumfeld

From the work front

2011-09-06T06:24:00.000-07:00

Oh my, it's one of those days of doubt.
Is what I'm doing worth anything?
Apart from fogging up my brain.
Rubbish comes in, I process rubbish,
rubbish comes back, I deliver rubbish.
It's the life of a junkie.*

– Leonard "Exasperated" Blumfeld

*In the sense of one dealing with junk, i.e. a garbage man, with the difference that this garbage doesn't stink in the literal sense.

What else can fail

2011-09-04T05:03:00.000-07:00

For S.

Got in the shower, no hot water.
The sky clouded over, I was in my office,
switched on the light. No light.
Decided I needed coffee,
but the machine did not work.
Went down to the garden in back –
all weeds. When had they sprung up?
A drive would cure this blues
for sure, I thought. But where
had I parked the car?
Now what else could go wrong?
It was then I realized that I was
writing this whatchamacallit, this
poem, and on the computer no less.
At least I was working
to some extent, and my fingers were,
and my electronic servant was.
And then a message arrived
from Rome and told me that my
lovely love was with me. So there!

– Leonard “Sunday On Strike” Blumfeld (© 2011)

Posted for One Single Impression and ‘weed.’

Proverbs from the Chinese III

2011-09-01T05:24:00.000-07:00

To drag a mumble out of a rock
is to penetrate great depths.

Whoever has ever tried and achieved this will know that great depths are reached that way. Conveniently, this translation from the Chinese again includes three words from 3WW: drag, mumble and penetrate.

– Leonard “Cookie of Fortune” Blumfeld

Proverbs from the Chinese II

2011-08-17T04:20:00.000-07:00

Mute not the viable gasp.

This translation of another Chinese proverb includes the words gasp, mute and viable from this week's Three Word Wednesday.

Once again, the meaning is not entirely clear. Does it imply, for example, that a non-viable gasp ought to be muted? What exactly makes a gasp viable?

– Leonard "Wisdom of China" Blumfeld

Proverbs from the Chinese I

2011-07-28T05:06:00.000-07:00

A glance without banter

speaks no fumble.

Reading the words banter, fumble and glance on 3WW reminded me of this English translation of an old Chinese proverb I may have come across in a fortune cookie.

As is the case with many other Chinese proverbs, the meaning of this one is rather enigmatic.

– Leonard "Proverbial" Blumfeld

Niente

2011-07-17T02:54:00.000-07:00

Nothing in a long time.

Only living. No writing.

– Leonard “Has Been Living” Blumfeld

A truthful report. Hadn't written a thing since going on a trip to Italy on June 24. Got back on July 10, but still did not feel like writing.

For those who don't know: niente is Italian for nothing.

Heart sways

2011-06-19T08:16:00.000-07:00

For S.

The wind was gusty today,
on this June Sunday in southern Germany.
In between showers the temperature rose
to jacket comfortable.
All the while I was thinking of you,
how down south in Italy, where you live,
the sun is out and it’s warm and dry.
Blue skies, no wind.
You make my heart sway.

– Leonard “Rabindranath” Blumfeld (© 2011)

Written for One Single Impression and Wind.

Notes
Thank you, Harshad, for giving me a title and more for inspiration.
Whenever I think of (or write) poetry about elements of Nature, such as the weather, I think of Rabindranath Tagore and some of the poems in which he masterfully weaves together such elements (sun, wind, rain, drought) and emotions/human relationships.
The above poem, for this reason, might be called “Rabindranathesque” – transferring elements of R. Tagore to different settings, a different time.

All that’s missing

2011-06-12T04:16:00.000-07:00

“The next step might be decisive, Mabel. Just think –”

“Yes?”
Mabel gazed dreamily out the window onto the green of the Schlossgarten.
“Just think of what might happen if I kissed you now.”
“You’ve already got your hand on mine.”
“Just think. We might fall in love, move in together, have children –”
All the while the form, the smile, the far-away presence of Evgeny was on Mabel’s mind.
“You’ve got it all pictured, I see.”
“Well, to be honest, I wouldn’t mind if it happened that way.”
“And if you were to be dishonest? Would you admit to just wanting to get into my pants?”
Mabel pulled her hand away from under his, reached for her purse, took out her wallet and put a five Euro bill on the table.
“It’s been nice, John, but I’ve got to run. This,” she pointed at the money, “should cover my cappucino and some tip.”
And with those parting words and a little wave she was gone.
John touched the bill with his middle finger and sighed.
“All that’s missing is a Dear John letter,” he muttered to himself.
He signaled to the waitress. Blonde, somewhat Slavic looking, plump, perhaps 45, bright blue eyes. About his age. While Mabel was in her early thirties.
“Zahlen, bitte.”
She told him how much it was with a strong accent.
He gave her the money, including a generous tip.
“Do you speak English?”
“A little.”
“What is your name?”
“Natalia.”
“Would you fancy going out with me after work, Natalia?”

– Leonard Blumfeld (© 2011)

Written around ‘The next step’ from Sunday Scribblings.

Notes
This little tale is set in Stuttgart, southern Germany. ‘Schlossgarten’ is the name of the city park. ‘Zahlen bitte’ means 'The bill, please.'

Old dog, new trick

2011-06-08T02:49:00.000-07:00

"You know, James, I could be more than fond of you … if you altered your tranquil ways."
"You could, dear Anthea?"
She was standing behind his work chair, hands on his shoulders.
"Yes, I could even love you, James – love you passionately, if I felt more passion coming from you."
He patted her hands.
"It's good of you to say that, dear. But it also makes it perfectly clear to me that you'd never love me the way I am – for what I am. I could probably try to change my tranquil ways, as you call them. I would do that for you, you know I would. But in the end it would exhaust me. And perhaps –"
"Perhaps?"
"Perhaps you have been barking up the wrong tree."
She furrowed her brow.
"Just what are you telling me?"
"That you might be better off looking for another tree. Or another dog, for that matter. This old dog would never do for you. Don't you think I'm right?"

– Leonard "Tranquil" Blumfeld (© 2011)

Written around alter, fond and tranquil from 3WW.

Sweet Jane & Not So Sweet Martha Lorraine

2011-06-05T08:18:00.000-07:00

When the sweet meets the not so sweet,
some drama is to be expected.
– Beaudraux Liam

But was Jane
all that sweet –
coming
from Lou Reed?

And Martha L.,
created by Country Joe –
did he know her well
to have an opinion so low?

– Leonard Blumfeld (© 2011)

Nonsensical musings about sweet & not so sweet, making use of my vast but diffuse memory of rock’n roll. For Sunday Scribblings and ‘sweet.’

For those unfamiliar with the songs alluded to:

The Velvet Underground playing Sweet Jane

And Country Joe and the Fish playing Not So Sweet Martha Lorraine

The how to haiku

2011-06-02T04:14:00.000-07:00

(a DIY poem)

Fourteen lessons a-
bout haiku: that ought to teach
even the toughest.

– Leonard “Haikai” Blumfeld (© 2011)

Chanced upon a site today that offers to teach you how to write haiku in 14 lessons (Bare Bones School of Haiku).
Skipped all 14 but wrote something I'd call a haiku, even though I'm sure it breaks at least 17 major plus some minor haiku rules.

Scenes from rural Minnesota I

2011-06-01T04:50:00.000-07:00

Withergield and Freotheric were driving along the highway somewhere deep in nocturnal Minnesota, when Freotheric, who was the passenger, pointed at something through the windshield.
“See that light there, Wither?”
“Yeah, what about it?”
“Don't you think it's kinda strange to have that kinda light there with the sun down?”
“Hadn't thought about it. But you're right – it's big.”
“Damn right it's big. It's HUGE. And it goes off and then comes on again.”
“Must be an airport around here.”
“Idiot. There ain't no airport around Gopher Prairie, Minnesota.”
“Then it's gotta be something else.”
“Damn right. And I'll tell you what it is: A erratic luminous omen. From Minnehaha.”

– Leonard “Minnesota” Blumfeld (© 2011)

Written around erratic, luminous and omen from 3WW. With borrowings from Barbara Guest and Sinclair Lewis.

Elucidatory notes
“Gopher Prairie” is the fictitious place in Minnesota where Sinclair Lewis' 1920 novel Main Street is set.
The characters Freotheric and Withergield appear in the poem “Legends” in Barbara Guest's 1976 collection “The Countess from Minneapolis.” The poem is set “in the woods near Minnehaha Falls.”

Rambling on my mind

2011-05-26T05:35:00.000-07:00

I've
got
rambling
on my mind

I've
got
rambling
on my mind

Please
be
so kind

Untangle
my mind

Let
me
ramble

and
leave
this office
life behind

– Leonard “Office Rambler” Blumfeld (© 2011)

In variation of the Robert Johnson blues for One Single Impression and Rambling, performed here by Eric Clapton and Steve Winwood:

Qasida of the Lost Tribe

2011-05-22T04:05:00.000-07:00

By the time I reached the campsite of my beloved,
her caravan had already moved on.

I contemplated the harshness of Nature
and my self-imposed life away from the tribe.

Tribal life may be blessed, but is it for you?
I smart for the caravan, and for you to diverge.

– Leonard “Heretic” Blumfeld (© 2011)

Notes

In the quest for a quasida according to Poetic Asides I looked at the Wikipedia definition and wrote one that is 100% true to the old concept (quoted here from Wikipedia):

In his 9th century “Book of Poetry and Poets” (Kitab al-shi'r wa-al-shu'ara') the Arab writer ibn Qutaybah describes the (Arabic) qasida as formed of three parts:

• a nostalgic opening in which the poet reflects on what has passed, known as nasib. A common concept is the pursuit of the poet of the caravan of his beloved: by the time he reaches their campsite they have already moved on.

• a release or disengagement, the takhallus, often achieved by describing his transition from the nostalgia of the nasib to the second section, the travel section or rahil, in which the poet contemplates the harshness of nature and life away from the tribe.

• the message of the poem, which can take several forms: praise of the tribe (fakhr), satire about other tribes (hija) or some moral maxim (hikam).

A big part of the fun I have with poetic forms is to distort, overcome or disobey them (hence the “Heretic”). By the way: Federico García Lorca also wrote qasidas (“casida” in Spanish), and if I remember correctly, he didn't give much of a hoot about adhering to the form either.

Mike the Master of Rhymes

2011-05-18T10:29:00.000-07:00

“How come you’re so incensed, Alexa?”
“What’s incensed?”
“Mad. Raving mad.”
“I’m trying to write a poem, and nothing rhymes right!” my little sister wailed.
“What have you got so far?”
“Promise you won’t laugh or make fun of me?”
“Would I ever?”
“Promise?”
“Cross my heart and hope to die, stick a fork into my eye.”
“All right, here it is.”
She removed her hands from a crumpled piece of paper with numerous pencil scribblings, most of which were crossed out.

“Let me read to you what I’ve got:
(dramatic pause)
    Down the slope she likes to skid
    But her fear she cannot get rid
    of.”
She looked up at me expectantly.
“What do you think?” And in the same breath, “I don’t like that ‘of’ after ‘rid’ – it ruins it all. Do you think I can just do without it?”
“No, it’s required. – Have you got more?”
“Yes, one more. Listen to this:
    Moisture is a kind of damp
    which makes it hard to light a lamp.”
“That one has a perfect rhyme, and it makes sense. Were you going to combine the two in a bigger poem?”
She gnawed on her pencil.
“Yes, that would be nice. Why don’t you help me, Mike. You’re the best rhymer.”
“No, I’m not. What makes you say that? I usually don’t speak in rhymes. In riddles maybe, but not in rhymes.”
“Yes, you do. You’re a, you’re a – I’ve got it – a master rhymer.”
I scratched my head for show.
“How about this then:
    Once of her fears she had gotten rid
    she went down the slope in a great skid.
    However, it had rained a lot that day,
    which is why she slipped on clay.
    Her fancy pants got very damp,
    But her brother said, You’re still my champ.”

“Oh, that’s really neat, Mike! Let me copy that one down on a new piece of paper.”
“Who’s this poem for, anyway?”
“Why, it’s for your birthday!”
I had to laugh.
“And who told you which words to rhyme?”
“Oh, that was off the Internet. Something called Three Word Tuesday or Wednesday, I forget which. I only used two words, though. The third one I didn’t know. It was the one you used before. You know, that word for raving mad.”

– Leonard “Given to Silliness” Blumfeld (© 2011)

Silly and contrived, I know, but it uses all three words from 3WW (damp, incensed, skid).

No surrender

2011-05-15T11:06:00.000-07:00

Today's word at Sunday Scribblings is 'Surrender' – "Is surrender about letting go or giving up?" Before I could get to any thoughts on the topic, Bruce Springsteen's powerful song popped up in my mind, so here it is ... a contribution by far better than any I could have come up with today. His answer to the question is clear: surrender is about giving up, and no surrender means not giving up.

Well, we bursted out of class
Had to get away from those fools
We learned more from a 3-minute record, baby
Than we ever learned in school
Tonight I hear the neighborhood drummer sound
I can feel my heart begin to pound
You say you're tired and you just want to close your eyes
And follow your dreams down

Well, we made a promise we swore we'd always remember
No retreat, baby, no surrender
Like soldiers in the winter's night
With a vow to defend
No retreat, baby, no surrender

Well, now young faces grow sad and old
And hearts of fire grow cold
We swore blood brothers against the wind
Now I'm ready to grow young again
And hear your sister's voice calling us home
Across the open yards
Well maybe we'll cut someplace of own
With these drums and these guitars

'Cause we made a promise we swore we'd always remember
No retreat, baby, no surrender
Blood brothers in the stormy night
With a vow to defend
No retreat, baby, no surrender

Now on the street tonight the lights grow dim
The walls of my room are closing in
There's a war outside still raging
You say it ain't ours anymore to win
I want to sleep beneath
Peaceful skies in my lover's bed
With a wide open country in my eyes
And these romantic dreams in my head

Once we made a promise we swore we'd always remember
No retreat, baby, no surrender
Blood brothers in a stormy night
With a vow to defend
No retreat, baby, no surrender

– Bruce Springsteen

(From Born in the U.S.A., released 1984)

May in May

2011-05-10T00:57:00.000-07:00

May we know, may we
discover, may we love,
may this be the time.

– Leonard “May” Blumfeld (© 2011)

Written with two sites in mind – Sunday Scribblings and Recuerda Mi Corazón.

How about reading this as if 'may' were 'May' ...

Let’s not talk about love

2011-05-08T02:10:00.000-07:00

I don't know if I love you
Or if it's all in my head
I don't know if I love you
Though I know it's what I said

Cuz love is something I don't understand
Can't explain, I can't hold in my hand
But I'll stay here tonight
And I'll keep the flame alight
But let's not talk about love

I don't know if I love you
Though I feel some pain
I don't know if I love you
Or if I'm playing the game

Cuz love is something I don't understand
Can't explain, I can't hold in my hand
But I'll stay here tonight
And I'll make you feel alright
But let's not talk about love

– Heather Nova

From the album “Storm”, released in 2003

So how are things with Juanita

2011-05-08T01:48:00.000-07:00

Let’s not talk about love.
– Heather Nova

Should I tell you?
Oh but the risks of that!

I’m afraid I could be overbearing,
heavy-handed,

speak my heart to soon,
clumsily and politically incorrect,

pushing you away
rather than getting closer.

What is the current
universally accepted way

to go about love?
If it’s right, it’ll grow

by itself, I’ve been told.
But also this:

You’ve got to work on it,
and it takes two to tango.

Should I tell you?
Oh but the risks of that!

– Leonard “In and Out of Love” Blumfeld (© 2011)

Posted for One Single Impression and the all-important topic of Love.

Complete lyrics of Let's not talk about love by Heather Nova.

A child's prayer

2011-05-04T04:23:00.000-07:00

Please, please give me grace
because I always have the hardest time saying grace
at the table when it's my turn to do it.
And please make my mommy gain weight –
she is too thin,
and that, says grandma,
explains her evil moods.
And please no more dreams of jitter bugs
at night.
They gross me out.

– Leonard "Umpteen Years Younger" Blumfeld

Written to involve grace, jitter and thin from 3WW.

Tabu and Sanjay Suri in Filhaal

2011-05-01T03:39:00.000-07:00

Stumbled across this song video in Youtube - must watch Filhaal again!

My secret place

2011-04-25T02:24:00.000-07:00

I'm going to take you to
My special place
It's a place that you
Like no one else I know
Might appreciate
I don't go there with anyone – but
You're a special case
For my special place
For my secret place

People talk to tell you something
Or to take up space
Guess I'm only talking
To be talking to
Your pretty face
I don't talk much to anyone – but
You're a special case
For my special place
My secret place

I was born and raised
In New York City
I'm just getting used to Colorado –
Oh street bravado
Carry me
Why did you bring me to
A place so wild and pretty?
Are there pigeons in this park –
Muggers after dark –
In these golden trees –
In the secret place?

I'm going to take you to
My special place
It's a place no amount of hurt and anger
Can deface
I put things back together there
It all falls right in place –
In my special space
My special place

Once I saw a film
In New York City
That was shot in Colorado –
Girl meets desperado
In the trembling mountain trees
Out of all of the girls that you see
In bleachers and cafe windows
Sitting – flirting with someone
Looking to have some fun
Why did you pick me?
For the secret place

Written by Joni Mitchell (this song is on Chalk Mark in a Rain Storm, released in 1988)

Posted here for One Single Impression and Place.

This song came to my mind immediately when I read the prompt and seems like such a perfect contribution that I did not even try to come up with something of my own.

Unfortunately, no Youtube video of the song is available for embedding here.

Love's soft complaint

2011-04-20T08:14:00.001-07:00

"Your delightful kneading of my body
will go much beyond cleansing –
it will cause a major melt."

– Leonard Blumfeld (© 2011)

Written around cleanse, knead and melt from 3WW.

My lengthy friendship with Maud

2011-04-10T09:56:00.000-07:00

“Often I don’t even want reciprocation,”
Maud said with that contrite and at the same time
capricious look around her lips,
“because I don’t like the things I receive.”

“You are difficult indeed, and quite often
you make sure the entire world knows it.”
To my surprise, she did not take this
the wrong way but actually chuckled.

“What if I kissed you now,” I said with a verve
I was surprised at myself, “and I don’t mean
a peck on the cheek. I mean Hollywood,
smack on those beautiful lips of yours,

and I want to feel your tongue reciprocate.”
Her head moved to an angle, but not exactly
out of reach, and in her face appeared
a mixture of amusement and apprehension.

“You really mean that?”
I did what I’d meant.
Hours later...
“You reciprocated quite nicely, Maud.

But did you want to?”
Amused, contrite, capricious Maud.
Sweeter to kiss – and other things –
than I’d ever, ever thought.

– Leonard “Some things are better done” Blumfeld (© 2011)

Written for One Single Impression and Reciprocate

Raga Alhaiya Bilaval Haiku

2011-04-10T05:20:00.000-07:00

Ponderous, elegiac,

swaying, swaying, sawing down

to the very heart.

– Leonard "Sarangi" Blumfeld

Written while listening to Ram Narayan play this raga on the sarangi.

Still life in big building

2011-03-29T02:31:00.000-07:00

I'm nearly alone in this big building
which houses more than a thousand.
I ran into a few when I made my way in this morning.
Nobody's come by my despacho since then.
The phone's been silent.
It is a still life except for my fingers typing.

– Leonard Blumfeld

Written upon inspiration by Sunday Scribblings' Nearly.

Note
Things ain't as bad as the above makes them sound. I suppressed a few people encounters for enhanced effect. This is what you call poetic license.
My daily e-mail horoscope told me that romantic change is impending today. Can't wait.
Does that horoscope apply to all capricorns?

Mera Cy Twombly

2011-02-27T04:28:00.000-08:00

Talked to my daughter today, who told me she went to the Museum Brandhorst in Munich, where she saw paintings by Andy Warhol and Cy Twombly, to name the two that came to her mind first.

I proceeded to look at some of Twombly's art on the Internet and immediately started my own Twombly. My daughter told me that he worked with layers a lot, so I put down the first layer, in a mixture of Indian yellow and chrome yellow.

The plan for the next layer is still a bit fuzzy, but it could be something in a rusty red, perhaps some scribble-like structure.

Or some writing: मेरा साईं त्वोम्ब्ली

Last weekend I drew a card that said 'purpose' and got the message. There has not been a lot of that in my life, and it's sorely needed.

One outcome of my purpose-finding mission is that I decided to write a novel, loosely based on Der im Irr-Garten der Liebe herum taumelnde Cavalier (1738) by Johann Gottfried Schnabel*, except that I would be staggering through the labyrinth of the later 20th and early 21st centuries instead of Schnabel's 18th.

Wish me good luck with Twombly and the maze novel.

Yours,

Leonard Cy Gottfried Blumfeld

*Schnabel is best known for his utopian robinsonade Die Insel Felsenburg of 1731.

Optimism

2011-02-10T01:19:00.000-08:00

For you

You
have
always
been good at
delivering the
worst for worst case scenarios.

– Leonard "Case Planner" Blumfeld

Elucidatory note
Why did I call this "Optimism"? Well, when you've become accustomed to expecting the worst and it becoming the worst, everything else is a positive surprise, right?
At least we're still on talking terms.
My dedications used to be "For her" – now that we're farther apart than ever I'm getting closer; they will be "For you" from now on.

Scooch over, moon

2011-01-26T12:40:00.000-08:00

Move over moon, get out of Uranus
this house is anxious for the sun to come in
– Kate & Anna McGarrigle

I

How do people meet? How do they run into each other, become friends, fall in love?

I still remember the thoughts that went through my head when I saw you for the first time.

You were easy to notice because you and an older woman were the only people besides me on the beach that breezy Wednesday at around sundown.

You had on red shorts, but you were clearly feeling cold because you had your arms tightly wound around yourself and were sort of treading water with your sneakers while standing there with your companion to gaze into the sunset.

Your companion said something about John Charles Junior having had a conniption, and this word seemed to go very well with the two of you, who looked like you had come straight out of a quirky Ann Tyler novel with your normal-to-dowdy clothes, the normal-to-dowdy names you were dropping and the offbeat or cutesy words you were throwing in here and there. I think janky and scooched over were also among them.

Playing my usual mind solitaire, I asked myself whether I’d be able to fall in love with you – going by appearance, experience, prejudice and whim.

Your assets were that you had nicely shaped legs, albeit with knees that were a bit knobby, nice tan skin, thin orangish hair, a pert nose, glitteringly blue eyes, a wideish mouth with fairly thin lips, two mid-sized hillocks cradled in your arms. You were probably in your mid-forties. There was something cheerful, yet quiet about you. You giggled once about something your companion said, and it was a nice throaty giggle.

By then it had gotten dark and a bright moon, almost full, was out. The two of you walked off eventually, without ever having given me anything but a most perfunctory glance.

The outcome of my solitaire was quite clear. No, not that one. Not a chance. Never. Besides: I would never run into her again.

II

But we did meet again, because she happened to live two houses down from the friends I was staying with. Joe and I were putting steaks on the grill in back when Erin came out of the house with her.

“Joyce’s car won’t start – she thinks it’s the battery. Would you take a look at it, Joe?” Turning to me: “Oh, by the way, this is Joyce, our new friend and neighbor, just moved here from Baltimore two months ago. And Joyce, this is Jean-Luc, our friend from France.”

Joyce and I told each other we were pleased, and then some glint of recognition appeared in her eyes. “Weren’t you – somewhere? – I think I’ve seen you before.”
“Yes, I was somewhere.”
All four of us burst out laughing.
“And you have seen me before,” I added.
“Wait – don’t tell! It was, it was recently ...”
“Yes, recently, and?”
“I got it: at the Piggly Wiggly, in the express lane!” she said triumphantly.
“No. I hate to disappoint you – it was nothing that romantic. It was on the beach, on a moonlit night, and you were there with –”
“Oh yes, now I remember! I was there with Darlene, and you were the only one around besides us. You looked lonely.”

Joyce was invited to stay for dinner, we all had a great time, and then I walked her home, also to take a look at her car, where it refused to come alive in her garage. It was the battery all right.

I promised to come over and give her a jump start the next morning, and when that didn’t work, I took her in my rental car to run her errands. At lunch I told her I was glad she hadn’t thrown a conniption about her car troubles.

“You don’t throw a conniption!” she said.
“But you throw a tantrum, don’t you? Then why not a conniption? Isn’t it the same thing, or the southern variant of it?”
“It’s a very different kind of thing. And because you don’t. Throw it, I mean. And I don’t, for sure.”
“Absolutely, positively?”
“Never. Not I.”

We ended up spending lots of time together every day while I stayed with my friends, doing mundane things together, eating out, dancing, seeing sights.

Erin kept giving me extremely meaningful glances. She’d been trying to set me up with someone for years whenever I came to visit them in the U.S.

Now it looks like Joyce will come to see me in Montpellier this spring.

And then?

Who knows – we’ll take it from there.

– Leonard Blumfeld (© 2011)

Written upon inspiration by 3WW using conniption, janky and scooch.

The introductory quote is from the song Move Over Moon by Kate & Anna McGarrigle, released on their 1982 album Love Over and Over.

The following youtube video shows the McGarrigles performing the song Love Over and Over from the same album:

One word

2011-01-24T00:19:00.000-08:00

One word is one word
in eternity. Say what
you mean. Mean what you say.

– Leonard "Pocket Philosopher" Blumfeld

Written for Sunday Scribblings and 'eternity'. Happens to be a slightly overfilled haiku. One syllable is one syllable. Eternity won't care. At least I don't think it will.

Shopping

2011-01-17T00:58:00.000-08:00

For her

I'm
not
that grey
box way back
behind the glossy
brands. No more. Have never been.

– Leonard "Branded" Blumfeld

The signals people send out are largely self-made. The grey box there at the back of the shelf must stop thinking of itself as the ugly grey box at the back of the shelf that nobody could possibly want.

Addendum
What does shopping have to do with relationships?
Ideally it should not, in my opinion.
A year ago or so I got into a discussion with HER about this. She'd more or less bluntly told me to look elsewhere, even citing some eligible females.
To which I replied that it wasn't like a supermarket where you picked a brand from among a few.
But perhaps I'm the one who's wrong.
She appears to choose according to rational criteria (and forget about the ones that really count).
But perhaps she's right – and I'm wrong, hiding my more complex shopping habits behind romantic (or merely sentimental) trim.

Word sham

2011-01-08T08:34:00.000-08:00

It’s plossible
even though ‘t ain’t
willingly

– Leonard “Contorter of Words” Blumfeld (© 2011)

Written using plausible, taint and willingly from 3WW ... well, using some form of two of them.

How to educate an abject object

2010-12-28T09:29:00.000-08:00

"You know, James, that you are an object.

The way you sit here in silence despite all my efforts to educate you!"

Tears welled up in James’ eyes.
He turned his head so she could not see.

And still he would not speak.
Later on he would write.

He would write down that the hurt inflicted by her words was simply too much.
All he could do was sit like an object, while her words were squeezing the air, the life out of him like an iron clamp.

– Leonard Blumfeld (© 2010)

Written with educate, object, silence for 3WW, from whence these words came. There are these kids (and eventually they become adults) who are unable to defend themselves against certain people, usually people they love. They should stand up for themselves instead of sitting transfixed and taking the crap dished out by these people who profess to care about them. I know from experience.

The cantankerous fib

2010-12-28T08:51:00.000-08:00

my!

Am I

cantanker-

ous today. What louse

did walk across my liver?

– Leonard Blumfeld

And now to the explanatory part...
When someone is in a bad mood in Germany, one may ask "Was ist denn dem für eine Laus über die Leber gelaufen?" ("What louse did walk across his liver?") – so much for where that second part came from.
And what louse was it that walked across my liver? Mostly myself, I have to admit. I'm working hard on thinking of how to improve and avoid the potholes I've been stepping into in the future. As a first step, I shaved off the beard I'd been proudly wearing since about 1976. Now if that ain't a good or even significant start!

Parasitic ditty

2010-12-18T04:41:00.000-08:00

Well, I’m sure glad today’s words are
dabble, lean and utter
instead of
babble, unclean and stutter.

– Leonard “Paraphraser” Blumfeld (© 2010)

Played around with the three words from 3WW CCXIX, and this was the outcome.

Reinventing the dog

2010-12-16T01:22:00.000-08:00

This
old
dog has
been barking
up the wrong tree for
years. Another trick is needed.

– Len "Old Blue" Blumfeld

But then there's the saying "You can't teach an old dog new tricks." Ouch.

77 entries

2010-12-07T05:30:00.000-08:00

2010 – 77 blog entries so far ...

That's more productive than 2009 already, even though a lot less productive than during the first two years of this blog.

I must have really reported on just about anything back then, participated regularly in just about any writing meme I came across.

Whereas this year I frequently suffered from an "I've got nothing to say" syndrome.

But then again there were those fruitful moments when just about anything, any word, any inspiration triggered an outburst, usually resulting in a poem or ultrashort piece of fiction.

Not so bad, after all, then, this year?

– Leonard "I've Got Nothing to Say" Blumfeld

Sanjiv bhai approaches the boss

2010-11-24T07:13:00.000-08:00

“Give me an advance, malik,” I told the boss.
“Why, you’ve probably pandered all your paycheck again, and not even half the month is over.”
“Yes, boss.”
“I bet you lost it all playing shuffle.”
“Yes, boss. That blasted shuffle.”
“You need to quit shuffling, Sanjiv.”
“I know, malik, I promise I will. But you know Mallika and the kids are starving.”
“All right, Sanjiv, one last time. The very last time.”

This boss was so easy. Every time I’d give him the same story, and every time it was the very last time.

But we both knew that very last time would never come. Mallika was his sister. And I was too addicted to pandering and shuffling. Besides being completely underpaid.

– Surendra Sparsh (© 2010)

Written with advance, pander, shuffle from 3WW.

Center, on right foot

2010-11-24T04:03:00.001-08:00

One nail not cut. Must
have escaped last campaign. Tall
among short siblings.

– Leonard Blumfeld (© 2010)

An earth-shattering discovery that simply had to turn poetic.

Magic

2010-11-20T06:22:00.000-08:00

For her, again and again

She opened her eyes, and they were all dreamy.
“That was magic!”

“Shall we do it again?”
She blinked her eyes in consent, and we dove into another one that left us utterly breathless.

“I could get used to this,” she said, “that was so –”
“Intimate?”

“Yes. I don’t think it could ever become routine.”
“Shall we try?”

“Let’s.”
And we did. And it still wasn’t.

When we came up for air after a small eternity, she smiled and said, “And after that you expect to take the girl’s clothes off, right?”

I burst out laughing.
“I thought it was funny, too, but not that funny.”

“Well, the funny thing is that I’m obviously kissing someone who has read Raymond Chandler, which is rare nowadays –”

“I love reading Chandler,” she interjected.
“and, if you wish, I’d only be too happy to proceed in the Chandler way.”

“We’ll see about that – eventually,” she cautioned, but with a twinkle. “First we’ll have to get some more practice with magic, intimate and routine.”

And we proceeded to do exactly that.

– Leonard “Raymond” Blumfeld (© 2010)

Written for Café Writing (Magic) and Option 5 Seven Things, but not quite going by the instructions. The instructions were “Give me seven examples of every-day magic.” Instead, I let myself be carried away by the Chandler quote which preceded the instructions:

“Alcohol is like love. The first kiss is magic, the second is intimate, the third is routine. After that you take the girl’s clothes off.”

Echoes

2010-11-19T06:53:00.000-08:00

For her (who else?)

Past knocks on door, perturbing –
all a bad dream?

It was like this a long time ago –
an endless, semi-mute coexistence,

ups and downs brought on
by nothing but my imagination

(which is fruitful, very
fruitful, but hesitant to

come to the surface).
“You have a rich interior

life,” my therapist told me,
“it’s just that nobody

knows about it.”
She also told me that anecdote

about walking along
and stepping into a pothole.

That doing it once is ok,
even repeating it once

can be excused. But three
times means you’re

a bad learner. I am.
I can’t seem to wait

to set up the next pothole
for myself to step into.

– Leonard “He Who Suspects the Truth” Blumfeld (© 2010)

Written for One Single Impression and Echoes.

Fronzy in his new piece of heavy Detroit metal

2010-11-17T14:10:00.000-08:00

Pressing the clutch in such a fine car was such delight. And the thrill of hitting the gas pedal, of that roar from the twin tailpipes!

Tomorrow Fronzy’s gonna sign up for a thousand shares of new GM stock. And he won’t tell Tilda about it for as long as possible.

Cause Tilda won’t be happy about it. Just like she wasn’t happy about that bloated gas guzzler, as she calls it, in the first place.

But there are some things a man’s gotta have, and there are some things a man’s gonna do.

– Leonard “Out of Love with Detroit” Blumfeld (© 2010)

Written to involve clutch, delight and happy from 3WW.

Daisy and Kuno

2010-11-13T07:46:00.000-08:00

(Scenes from a not so reminiscent love story XVI)

“I treasure those immediate gestures of yours,” he said.
She heaved a sigh of relief.

“And I’d feared that those very immediate gestures
were the reason you’ve been silent all week.”

“Why, I love the immediacy of them! I wouldn’t
treasure anything else nearly that much.

Not nearly that immediately or moderately
or even vaguely.”

By that time she had forgotten who he was
and could not for the world remember

what gestures these might have been, and why
anyone would have called them immediate.

Happily, she began to look forward to another
day of grazing. In fact, to many other days of grazing,

to many months, or even years of grazing
on luscious alpine meadows like this one.

Or like another one.
The alfalfa of the future was shining brightly.

– Leonard “Silliness Alive & Well” Blumfeld (© 2010)

Written around gesture, immediate, treasure from 3WW.

Semi-Borgesian notes on this one
Borges was always good for a library-steeped, erudite explanation to make something purely imaginary entirely real. To confound my readers, I volunteer the following background information: Daisy was a black-and-white stuffed cow I brought back from a trip to the U.S. for my daughter when she was about 5 years old and going through a stuffed cow phase. Kuno was another black-and-white stuffed cow that my mother-in-law brought from the U.S. for my daughter, who was still going through the same phase, even though by then it was waning. I would tell my daughter bedtime stories about two cows called Daisy and Kuno. Kuno was madly in love with Daisy but occasionally unbearably overbearing. Daisy was capricious and could not make up her mind about whether she loved Kuno, detested him or was merely oblivious to him.

A world of friction

2010-11-07T13:35:00.000-08:00

An attractive youngish woman dressed in some kind of frumpy lilac frock walked up to the desk that had been set up for the reading.
“Hi, my name is Frue.”
That surely had to be Sue, and I was about to quote Johnny Cash (“So how do you do!”), but thought better of it and smiled politely.
“I hear you’re a writer of friction,” said the woman.
“Of friction?”
“Yes, of froze.”
“Froze?”
I was beginning to sound very dull to myself, simply repeating her cues.
“Yes, froze, as fropposed to froetry.”
“That is true, I hardly ever write froetry. How about you? Are you a writer too?”
“No. I come from Frampton, which is near Frondon, and that is –”
“... in France?” I simply knew it had to start with an F and an R.
“What gives you that fridea? – No, it’s in Frotland, of course.”
“Which makes you a true Frot, I suppose.”
“Indeed, and I’m froud to be one.”
Was I ever going to snap out of this fruity world of friction?
I decided to steer the conversation back to the realm of reality ... err ... freality.
“So, Sue from Hampton, would you like me to sign a copy of my book for you?”
“It’s Frue and Frampton, and I don’t want you to frign a fropy of your frigging frook.”
“Oh?!”
“I came here for friction, and what did I get? Only frustration and fret.”
I frinally frinked my freyes – and that frid it.
Frue, with a frap of my froes, went up in a frume of froke.

– Leonard F. R. Blumfeld (© 2010)

Written for Sunday Scribblings and Friction.

The late phone call fib

2010-11-03T01:01:00.000-07:00

For her, as usual

Late
at
night my
love did ex-
hibit the friendli-
ness of a steel brush when I called.

– Len "Will He Ever Learn" Blumfeld (© 2010)

Reality notes
What is it with her? You call and inevitably get the distinct frosty feeling she'd like nothing better than to shake you off the soonest possible. And it's not like I call at uncivil times, either.
But perhaps I'm only ultraresistant to hints that are as clear as a totem pole.
Started this one with the first words of a song by Joan Armatrading that is among my all-time favorites:

I need you

Late
At night
I feel so lonely
Here's a body next to mine but I'm feeling cold

And baby in the morning light
When I look in some stranger's eyes
It's then I know that the need in me
Is really for your paradise

I dance
I sing
But there's something missing
Every night a different name to call

But you know when I hold 'em tight
I always give the game away
I try so hard to make it right
But it always ends up the same

You know I need you

I need you
Like I needed you
The first time we kissed
I need you
And I need you now
And I can't resist
Standing by your door in case you leave

I miss you mostly in the night
And I miss you through the day
I hate myself for hurting you
Yes I know I drove you clean away

You know I need you
But now I need you

(Written by Joan Armatrading, from me myself I, released in 1980)

The intense immense ditty

2010-11-01T13:16:00.000-07:00

Some people like it all intense –
I must admit I find that too immense.

Feelings looming like a tower
can do a lot to overpower.

How about some relaxation –
with plenty of room for imagination.

A steady love is what I crave –
steady, quiet, not one to enslave.

None of these spells and bouts I get from you,
and most of them come without a clue.

Some people like it all intense –
to me that shows a lack of common sense.

– Leonard “Calmly But Surely Intense” Blumfeld (© 2010)

Rhymed and timed for Sunday Scribblings and Immense.

55 words or more

2010-10-31T00:52:00.000-07:00

There's a story called 55 words or less by J. M. Collinz (here), which inspired me to write this one, titled 55 words or more. Forget everything you've read so far. The story follows below. Hold your breath. Tie your shoes. Adjust your tie. Take your foot off the pedal while observing traffic to see that it's safe to do so.

Here it comes:

More

– Leonard “Dil Maange More” Blumfeld (© 2020*)

*This story is so leading edge, tunnel blasting and futuristic that I’ve put the copyright date ahead a bit.

She used to be an ...

2010-10-25T12:47:00.000-07:00

For her, more than ever

Up to twenty-one
things were all pink; at forty,
there are some grey streaks.

– Len “Incorrigibly Hopeful” Blumfeld (© 2010)

For Haiku Heights and Optimistic.

Still life haiku

2010-10-17T01:37:00.000-07:00

Work is still for the
duration of this still act,
disturbed by key clicks.

– Leonard “Sunday Morning” Blumfeld (© 2010)

Believe it or not, it's Sunday morning, and I'm working away on gainful work (freelancer's fate).
Oh, and it's grey and drab out there, with drizzle in the air.

Everyone’s dream baby

2010-10-12T15:01:00.000-07:00

A hint of lust in
an otherwise perfectly
smooth sheen of beauty...

Oh that’s the way Carmela
Hiller trots down High Street
on stiletto heels,
tired for once from relentless
pleasure seeking.

Wish I could fall in love
with her and have things
uncomplicated like the rest
of the world, having
smooth sheen of my own
and more than a hint of lust.

– Leonard “Vicariator” Blumfeld (© 2010)

Written around hint, lust and sheen from 3WW.

Note on genesis
What started out as a simple haiku (1st stanza) spread out into much more of a story than originally thought of, becoming geographically and emotionally situated and, finally, self reflection-saturated.

Soledad en …

2010-10-11T07:15:00.000-07:00

Some‑
times
there is
nothing as
lonely as a crowd
milling merrily around you.

– Leonard "Master of Truisms" Blumfeld (© 2010)

Written for One Single Impression and Lonely. The title, added retroactively, alludes to García Lorca's Poemas de la soledad en Columbia University from Poeta en Nueva York (1930).

Try this

2010-10-03T14:21:00.000-07:00

“Try this!”

Sunita was my seductress.
With glee she’d ask me to close my eyes and open my mouth. Then she’d insert something and tell me to chomp down.

I got to taste hot green chilies that way, hot mango pickle and burnt brinjal (she was Indian, and her family ate Indian all the time).

All great stuff for sure, but challenging to tongue and taste buds.
I’d be in pain, she’d dance around me, laughing her head off.

Things took a different turn one day, when we were about sixteen.
She warned me not to bite down hard this time, or it would cost me dear.

With eyes closed, I felt the heat of her face very near me and then tasted no vegetable, no chutney, no pickle, no slimy substance, but something alive and soft and warm – the tip of her tongue.

I opened my eyes and stared into hers, so close, so intense. We stayed that way for minutes, but they seemed like a small eternity.

...

She’s off to college in California, where she got a scholarship because she’s brilliant. A few days ago I received a package containing a DVD – an Indian movie called “Ugly Aur Pagli*” – and a card with these words:

WATCH THIS! Your Pagli.
PS: Come see me soon. You still have lots of things to try.

– Leonard “In Teen Mode” Blumfeld (© 2010)

Posted for One Single Impression and Try.

* “Aur Pagli” = “and Crazy” in Hindi. “Pagli” rhymes with “Ugly.”

Information about the 2008 movie starring Mallika Sherawat (as Kuhu / Pagli) and Ranvir Shorey (as Kabir / Ugly) at IMDB:

This Indian film is a remake of the South Korean film My Sassy Girl (2001). Both are a lot of fun. Much more so, to my taste, than the American version: My Sassy Girl (2008), starring Elisha Cuthbert and Jesse Bradford.

2046

2010-08-29T14:12:00.000-07:00

For her, as usual

“You say your life is so empty these days, so lacking in purpose and meaning. But aren’t you shortselling your friends, the hours you spend with them, the hours they spend with you, the things you do together, the food and drinks you share? Aren’t you just a bit too much into feeling sorry for yourself and for the vicarious time you spend with the one person who does not wish to spend time with you?”

– Leonard Blumfeld (© 2010)

Written for One Single Impression and Empty.

Note
The title is derived from the film 2046 by Wong Kar Wai (2004), which portrays a middle-aged man whose life gradually becomes more and more meaningless as he drifts from one party to the next, from one short-lived affair to the next.

Scene from 2046, with Ziyi Zhang and Tony Leung

Today's horoscope said ...

2010-08-27T02:51:00.000-07:00

You could be interested in psychology right now, Leonard. Perhaps you are trying to unlock the secrets of a complex relationship. You could be romantically involved with someone who is a bit of a puzzle.

Wow! Hardly ever has a horoscope been more spot-on than this. I've been working on unlocking the secrets of this complex relationship with this big bit of a puzzle for years.

Orange in the Rockies

2010-08-14T15:43:00.000-07:00

Orange in the Rockies

Posted for 'Orange' at Photo Hunt

I'd like to thank ...

2010-08-02T06:25:00.000-07:00

... everyone involved in urgently proposing my overall work to the illustrious jury of Pedestrian Writing At Best, which includes such celebrated authors as Morman Nailer, Menry Hiller, Nais Ananin, Kephen Sting, Kean Doontz and Ban Drown.

My lifetime achievement won third prize in the Experimental Pedestrian Writing category.

The Pedestrian Writing At Best Prizes are on par with the coveted Cooker Prize, Phoolitzer Prize and Mobile Prize for Literature.

I am extremely proud and honored to have been awarded this prestigious prize, and it's all due to your efforts, my buddies, colleagues, cronies, acolytes and sycophants!

Thank you so eternally much!

– Leonard “Clod” Blumfeld

Published for Sunday Scribblings and I'd like to thank...

Some time, a while ago

2010-07-31T15:13:00.000-07:00

For her

Some time, a while ago,
you went out the door
with that twist of waist
and derrière so all your own
that I knew I wanted
to see that back of yours
and you rise from my
bed every single
morning for the rest
of my days – I knew it
with the certainty
of a kick by an angel

– Leonard “Hangs On” Blumfeld

Posted for One Single Impression and ‘Angel’.

She sprang forward

2010-07-31T02:54:00.000-07:00

She sprang forward with
her plastic sword, declaring
war on France’s foes.

– Leonard “Spectator” Blumfeld

Wasn’t quite with it last night at the open air theater on the stairs of Lukaskirche in Suttgart. The short version of Schiller’s Joan of Arc play seemed a bit ludicrous, and that’s what the haiku above is about ... in so few words.

The photo is from the show, but from another scene of the play.

Somebody tipped the window

2010-07-27T06:37:00.000-07:00

Somebody tipped the window,
and now I've got all the
traffic on B10 for infotainment.

– Leonard "Lone Worker" Blumfeld

My new office at its very best. It's either too hot or too noisy... Thanks to the powers that sent me here.

This was intended to be a haiku but grew a little too fat. I'll call it a bigku (like the BigMac, which also has too much inside).

Roads and roads and roads

2010-07-09T17:19:00.000-07:00

Roads
and
roads and
roads I've been
on lately - black and
grey and long. Roads and roads and roads.

- Leonard "On the Road" Blumfeld

Written for One Single Impression and 'Roads' from on the road. I've been traveling in Utah and Colorado for the past two weeks. It"s been a wonderful trip, and the road, even though they were indeed black and grey and long, were great and took us through amazing landscapes.

Love is all around me / he tries again

2010-06-02T15:01:00.000-07:00

For her

“Here’s a budge, Lucy. Fresh from the garden.”
“Thank you, Homer. What lovely leaves.”
“You do not seem to be very happy about this present.”
“How can you tell?”
“By the slight wrinkle of your nose.”
“You’re right, Homer, I’m not that pleased. I’d hoped for a pretty little nimble garnished with theory instead of this vegetable, fresh as it may be.”
“Sorry to have failed you yet again.”
“You know me, Homer. Hard to please.”

– Leonard “Still Mystified” Blumfeld (© 2010)

Written with budge, nimble and theory from 3WW.

Trembling night

2010-05-21T03:18:00.000-07:00

The tenuous bamboo bridge spanning the double tide of the Malini river has been carried away, and now my beauteous one is cut off from me upon an island. The rain continues. Each night I climb up the hill from which I can see the trembling night of Sarmicha's house. It shines in the wet darkness like a glance through tears.

– Amaru

Not much is known about Amaru, an Indian poet who lived in the 7th or 8th century and wrote in Sanskrit – mostly about erotic love, including passion, estrangement, longing, rapprochement, joy and sorrow.

Posted for One Single Impression and Trembling.

Laced with …

2010-05-19T05:19:00.000-07:00

Octavius grasped the pacifier with dread.
Having to die in this manner after one insignificant battle lost seemed like a child’s cruel joke.
But then again, Gaius Julius Caesar Augustus Germanicus, better known as Caligula, often acted like a child and loved cruel jokes.

– Leonard "Historicus" Blumfeld

Written for 3WW using dread, grasp, pacify.

Address to Ms. Lina Crumbpet

2010-05-16T13:43:00.000-07:00

Go on living in
your birdhouse. But don’t complain
about the birdseed.

– Leonard “Haikai” Blumfeld (© 2010)

Written for Haiku Bones and Birdhouse.

Love constellation

2010-05-16T07:23:00.000-07:00

“Meanness is no recipe for love,”
he said and headed for the door.

“Knowing you, my dear,” she said,
“you will be back for more.”

– Leonard Blumfeld (© 2010)

Written for ‘recipe’ at Sunday Scribblings.

Note
Some relationships I have occasion to observe simply appear to be doomed from whatever angle you look at them. A recipe that would save them does not seem to exist. And yet they go on and on and on...

A reign of smiles

2010-05-15T04:08:00.000-07:00

Shrink calmly like a dusty girl.
Flowers stalk!
Walk loudly like a cold flower.
Action is an old door.

– Leonard “All Smiles” Blumfeld (© 2010)

Written and posted for One Single Impression (Reign).

Oh my, these are times of personal crisis! What better than dada poetry to carry me through.

For a courageous one in the world of trendy fashion

2010-05-09T11:41:00.000-07:00

Chest orange,
undies red,
apron garish –
edible

– Leonard “Bon Courage” Blumfeld (© 2010)

A little terse poem formed from the acronym ‘courage’ for Sunday Scribblings. About a courageous acquaintance who would not hesitate to wear such strange attire and would still look stunning in it. She might wear it to teach one of her Moroccan cooking classes, for example, and look absolutely positively edible...

On your birthday

2010-05-02T00:51:00.000-07:00

(Photo credit: juditu at morguefile.com)

For N.

If I were to com-
pare you, you’d be the lightness
of a hummingbird ...

– Leonard Blumfeld (© 2010)

Written for ‘hummingbirds’ at Haiku Bones.

Note
If I were to compare you ... but of course you're incomparable!

New Sacré Coeur Environment

2010-05-01T02:54:00.000-07:00

Recently visited Sacré Coeur in Paris transplanted to a new environment.

Posted for 'Black and White' at Theme Thursday and
'Black' at Photo Hunt.

One minute before burn-out

2010-04-29T22:21:00.000-07:00

Another night of lousy sleep,
waking up early, mulling over
and over and over what’s
already facts ... and still
painful, even though I should
be used to it all by now.
I am my own best collaborator,
my own best enemy,
my own worst friend.

Oh lighten up, you master
of self-torture. Accept
the fact that this is not fate.
Get off your serious clod –
you can change it all.

– Lenny B.

Written for napowrimo #30, free day and farewell.

Not the best note for the last day of napowrimo, but an immediate reflection of the mood in which I woke up and thus some razor-edge-of-time reporting. I may yet replace this by something more upbeat.

A great big and heart-felt thank you to all the people who have stopped by to read my contributions and who have commented!

Intuition

2010-04-27T22:27:00.000-07:00

For her

How can one know something
that is going to be in the future?

It happened to me once before,
so I am not that keen on it.

I knew, before the relationship
with N. started, that it would be.

It happened, and two years later
we were about to kill each other

and getting ready for divorce.
And now, with you, even though

nothing worth mentioning
has ever happened, I have

the same feeling of certainty
(sometimes). And no, I am not

pushing it. I can and will not
push you, and I will not be pushed

myself. Everything to be
is to be loving and free.

– Leonard Blumfeld (© 2010)

Written for napowrimo #28, intuition.

Wasn't happy with the ending, amended it, like it better now.

Rose

2010-04-27T01:50:00.000-07:00

I don't know, maybe it was the roses
– Robert Hunter/Jerry Garcia

Read
On
Sweet
Elaine

– Leonard “Minimalist” Blumfeld

Written for napowrimo #27, let somebody else take the lead.

Quite possibly the shortest poem I've ever written. I could write more about its inception.
First, there was the objective to write an acrostic poem. Second, my friend Chris' wife Rose celebrated her birthday yesterday. Third, when I thought of "rose," the song by Jerry Garcia I quoted from popped into my mind. Fourth, where does "Elaine" come from? That shall remain a mystery. Just like the whole little nothing of a poem, which could be called a "cliffhanger" at best.

A bunch of namby-pamby

2010-04-24T00:24:00.000-07:00

You can eat my hat
and while at that
starve on my scarf

Feel free to
munch my mustache,
belie my belly button,
scrape my sternum
(but lightly),
chill my cheek,
tweak my beak,
knead my knees,
heal my heels
and muzzle my mouth

But never ever
tickle my toes
‘cause that causes
a sneeze of the nose

– Felix Morgenstern (© 2010)

Written for napowrimo #24, find a phrase.

Actually, I found two – “namby-pamby” (which stands for “childish and weakly sentimental”) and “I’ll eat my hat” and combined them in the namby-pamby poem above.

What is a namby-pamby poem?

Here’s one by Henry Carey to illustrate and deride the genre:

All ye poets of the age,
All ye witlings of the stage …
Namby-Pamby is your guide,
Albion's joy, Hibernia's pride.
Namby-Pamby, pilly-piss,
Rhimy-pim'd on Missy Miss
Tartaretta Tartaree
From the navel to the knee;
That her father's gracy grace
Might give him a placy place.

This satire is on English poet and playwright Ambrose Philips (1674-1749), “who became tutor to George I's grandchildren. The position gave him a status amongst the aristocracy, and he took the opportunity to advance his place in society by writing sycophantic sentimental poems in praise of their children. These were written in rather affected and insipid nursery language, of the 'eency-weency', 'goody-goody' sort.” (Quote from the Phrase Finder.)

I am a banana stalk

2010-04-23T10:00:00.000-07:00

I am a banana stalk and was married off
to a plump guy with an elephant head

But oh he’s so loving, he brings me
good luck, and he’s the son of a god

– Leonard Blumfeld (© 2010)

Written for napowrimo #23, unlikely couples.

Note
This poem alludes to Kola Bou, a banana plant, who in Bengal is considered to be the consort of Ganesha.

Letter to his older sister

2010-04-21T22:42:00.000-07:00

Dear Mabelle,

I’ll order the squall jacket you recommded,
my that will be one fierce tendril less. I won’t flinch
no more with the crow at the emporium, as I used to,
and feel so small, like peppered rust reverberating.
Now there’s only one thing that remains to be said,
and that is that I dislike saffron, so contrary to your
advice I will not take those pills. CU tomorrow!

Bel-Ami

Written for napowrimo #22, in which the following words were proposed:

Meow!

2010-04-21T10:17:00.000-07:00

“And the cat came back,”
said the Colonel
Sanders-type Italian
dressed properly
for the Parigi visit,
viz. Basque beret and
long Gréco-style scarf

Up on the balcony
across the street
from the café two
French boys were
showering cat &
caboodle with loud
imaginary bullets

While I was sitting
there sipping
the most expensive
expresso ever, taking
the mental notes that
did elicit this snide
little poetic chit

– Leonard “Been to Paris Again” Blumfeld (© 2010)

Written belatedly for napowrimo #18, meow!

All the things observed here truly happened – except that I rearranged them a bit for better effect. Similarities with living persons are definitely intented.

Like sunlight dancing on your skin

2010-04-20T14:26:00.000-07:00

Live performance by Emmylou Harris and Rodney Crowell

'Til I Can Gain Control Again

Just like the sun over the mountaintop
You know I'll always come again
You know I love to spend my morningtime
Like sunlight dancing on your skin
I've never gone so wrong
As for telling lies to you
What you see is what I've been
There is nothing I could hide from you
You see me better than I can
Out on the road that lies before me now
There are some turns where I will spin
I only hope that you can hold me now
'Til I can gain control again
And like a lighthouse
you must stand alone
Landmark the sailor's journey's end
No matter what sea
I've been sailing on
I'll always pass this way again
Out on the road that lies before me now
There are some turns where I will spin
I only hope that you can hold me now
Til I can gain control again

(Lyrics and music by Rodney Crowell)

Just like a lighthouse you stand before me

2010-04-20T09:53:00.000-07:00

For her

I

The brief instant the beacon hits you right in the eye,
that flash of time remains engraved

I remember a ridiculous instant in the tea kitchen,
with you standing with your back to the paper towel dispenser,
when you smiled at me and I was close to your face,
a flawed face with not the best of skin,
thinking, “Could I possibly love her?”

And now sometimes I stand next to you
and feel that our bodies are one without touching

I look at your face and
every flaw is a mosaic piece of certainty

II

But if I asked you if you felt the same,
you’d deny it with the coldest Asian face on earth

I know you would

You’d switch the beacon off, I’d wander off

You’d let me go until you changed your mind,
fearful suddenly of losing whatever I am,
turning the light on to renew the draw

III

You know I’ll come around again

But sometimes I see doubt come in
(I relish those moments, I admit it)

I see the beacon rotate in the dark,
I know it will come my way

In another instant, when it hits me in the eye,
I’ll know exactly what I feel

– Leonard Blumfeld (© 2010)

Written for napowrimo #19, light bulb moments and napowrimo #21, perfectly flawed.

Notes
Thinking about what to write for this prompt, the word lighthouse came to my mind, and then a shred from a song I later identified as 'Til I Gain Control Again by Rodney Crowell.

To me, parts of the poem have a song-like quality, which may well be due to its source of inspiration.

The song was covered by many singers, including Emmylou Harris and Willie Nelson. Lyrics and a live performance: Like sunlight dancing on your skin.

Going to Paris

2010-04-16T02:33:00.000-07:00

I'm about to leave for Paris by TGV to spend the weekend there with good friends and to experience Jim Hall in concert on Sunday.

I'm not taking a computer along, so chances are I will not be able to participate in the next 3 napowrimo challenges.

Friday

2010-04-15T23:45:00.000-07:00

For M.

Even on Friday
the fragrance
of your perfume
from Wednesday night
kept drifting up
from my coat
when I moved
my head or arms
in some specific way

In the car
on the way to Stuttgart,
in the concert
with the African music
by Isak Roux

Through the air forest
of the landscape rushing by

And in the silence
lingering between the notes
from piano, marimba,
cello, flute and woodwinds

you were –
off and on –
right there
in me and around me

– Leonard Blumfeld (© 2010)

This one was originally written in German years ago.

Rendered in English and brought to napowrimo #16 because the prompt ("What’s that smell?") made me remember it. It was originally written on a Friday (hence the title) and was now translated on a Friday. That is definitely beyond coincidence :)

Isak Roux is a South-African composer and pianist who lives in Stuttgart, Germany.

A whole lot essential

2010-04-15T01:47:00.000-07:00

I said now's the time
for something a whole lot essential

I said now's the time
to not just know you're free

I said now's the time
to act accordingly

I said now's the time
for something a whole lot essential

– Leonard Blumfeld (© 2010)

Written for napowrimo #15, where the task was:

In a nice private place, pick out a stanza, or a few lines, that you like from a poem that you don’t otherwise feel was very successful. Say them over to yourself.
Now hum them. See if you can find the tune.
And now sing them aloud. (Who cares if you can sing? You’re in private. And this is poetry!)
Throwing away the rest of the poem, write two more stanzas (stand-alone or connected) that go to the same tune.

The line from a poem (song) I considered not entirely successful (for reasons of triteness) was "Now’s the time / for something a whole lot special."

Good-bye hello

2010-04-13T23:09:00.000-07:00

You say yes, I say no
You say stop and I say go
– The Beatles

For her, as usual

One

We say good-bye,
each one walks on,
to meet again
and again
to let destiny
take its course

Two

you will not turn around,
I know,
tomorrow
and again,
becoming love
full circle

Three

We say good-bye, you will not turn around,
each one walks on, I know,
to meet again tomorrow
and again and again,
to let destiny becoming love
take its course full circle

– Leonard “Cleaver” Blumfeld (© 2010)

Three poems – two separate ones, which are then horizontally combined to form a third. This is called a cleave.

This cleave was written for napowrimo #14.

What is cleave poetry?

Poem Starting with a Line from Norman Dubie

2010-04-12T22:24:00.000-07:00

In the near field an idle, stylish horse raised one leg
In her living room in the city of S. her alarm went off
Mine went off ten minutes ago and now I’m sitting here
spouting early poetry having to do with a stylish horse

She is fighting to shake off the softness and warmth
of pillow and cover and embrace
I’m letting the horse put its stylish leg down on the ground
The cold of a cold April morning is seeping into my bones

– Leonard “Far Field” Blumfeld (© 2010)

The idea of napowrimo #13 was to take a line by Norman Dubie as a first line and title the resulting poem “Poem Starting with a Line from Norman Dubie” – both of which I did.

One night in Addis Abeba

2010-04-11T01:14:00.000-07:00

For her

Had we listened
to the voice within us,
we would have pursued
careers in diplomacy.

I would have studied
African languages,
as once intended,
majoring in Ethiopian.

You would have gone
to Moscow, as your father
had planned for you,
to ultimately join the corps.

We would have met
at a party hosted by the
Kenian embassy, both
unattached, and shared

a taxi when leaving.
We had the driver
take us to Sebastian’s,
where we had cocktails,

looked into each
other’s eyes, eventually
kissing across the chasm
between the communist

and capitalist worlds,
allowing the voice witin us
to speak and outline brightly
our future.

That did not happen, though.
All we have now is
an obscured variant, with the
feeling of potential lost

and but a skeleton of what
the scheme of fate and time
might have had in store.
We both muted that voice.

– Leonard “Had We But” Blumfeld (© 2010)

Written for The thing you didn’t choose, napowrimo #11 and Vicarious at One Single Impression.

How can I be so right so wrong

2010-04-07T22:22:00.000-07:00

For her

It’s strong and wild like the wind on the Kazakh steppe
It’s having seen the world in pink and now all derision
It’s horse sausage imported and dropped
It’s that glow that made her shine throughout
It’s telling the truth even though it turns against onself

– Leonard “Right and Wrong” Blumfeld (© 2010)

Unusual love (“think of your current love, your current obsession or the one who got away”) for napowrimo #8.

World So Wide

Sorrow

The Shiva machine

Proverbs from the Chinese VII

Red & blue no. 1

Basho on the end of the year

A fairytale

So what fib no. 7

Seeking refuge

From the office

From Gertie Dreary's diary

You are here

The Atacama desert stone fib

Proverbs from the Chinese VI

Proverbs from the Chinese V

Proverbs from the Chinese IV

From the work front

What else can fail

Proverbs from the Chinese III

Proverbs from the Chinese II

Proverbs from the Chinese I

Niente

Heart sways

All that’s missing

Old dog, new trick

Sweet Jane & Not So Sweet Martha Lorraine

The how to haiku

Scenes from rural Minnesota I

Rambling on my mind

Qasida of the Lost Tribe

Mike the Master of Rhymes

No surrender

May in May

Let’s not talk about love

So how are things with Juanita

A child's prayer

Tabu and Sanjay Suri in Filhaal

My secret place

Love's soft complaint

My lengthy friendship with Maud

Raga Alhaiya Bilaval Haiku

Still life in big building

Mera Cy Twombly

Optimism

Scooch over, moon

One word

Shopping

Word sham

How to educate an abject object

The cantankerous fib

Parasitic ditty

Reinventing the dog

77 entries

Sanjiv bhai approaches the boss

Center, on right foot

Magic

Echoes

Fronzy in his new piece of heavy Detroit metal

Daisy and Kuno

A world of friction

The late phone call fib

The intense immense ditty

55 words or more

She used to be an ...

Still life haiku

Everyone’s dream baby

Soledad en …

Try this

2046

Today's horoscope said ...

Orange in the Rockies

I'd like to thank ...

Some time, a while ago

She sprang forward

Somebody tipped the window

Roads and roads and roads

Love is all around me / he tries again

Trembling night

Laced with …

Address to Ms. Lina Crumbpet