Sub

Oh come to me!
What is sub? the Siberian said
(from what I’d understood
before he was from some place
around Lake Baikal, which,
he’d managed to tell me some-
how, was not only the world’s
oldest but also its deepest lake)

In my incorrigible tendency
to speak the many-faceted truth
whenever called for or uncalled
for, I went into the multiple
meanings of sub – and noticed,
after having said about five
words, that this was overkill
and way beyond what was
wanted or needed

I broke it off, but then added:
– could be short for submarine
– could be short for submarine
sandwich, a sandwich resembling
a submarine
– could be short for substitute,
as in subbing for a teacher who
is sick or absent for some other
reason
– could refer to ...

What was I doing? The
look in the Siberian’s face
was half pain, half wonder,
adding up to full incompre-
hension. Sub, I pointed
at the building across,
and mimicked eating.
He said Is good? Upon
which I nodded. That
should be universal
enough, right? Shook
hands and left.

– Leonard Blumfeld (© 2024)

Note
The prompt was substitutions, so a teacher would give me an F for this. Oh dear, I have been known to ramble occasionally!

Seems like a repeat

Dogs barking in the back alley
for invisible reasons (as if they
ever needed any),

fan whirring, installing a semblance of cool
in here while the immense summer heat
drags on into September.

While I’m trying to keep my cool
as I’m going through rows and rows
of written materials that would most likely
not be missed had they not been written.

But that’s what ya get paid for, me boy.

– Leonard Blumfeld (© 2024)

Note
This should be blunt enough not to require any explanation.

Part of Weary Outpourings of a Grump Ground Down by Life and Other Things.

Lonely, strong, nearly symmetrical

 

Thinking back to the days when kids
were running around here,
when cows were mooing, roosters
crowing, dogs barking and cats
meowing – life.

Unlike now when there’s only
mechanical clatter of machines – 
sometimes.

– Leonard Blumfeld (© 2024)

Note
This was written to accompany the photo, which shows a tree next to the remains of what used to be a farm (Lazio, Italy, southeast of Rome).

What is the title of this poem?

 But, more importantly, what is its content?

– Leonard Blumfeld (© 2024)

Note
Inspired by a similarly titled poem by Kathryn Bevis, which has lots of detailed content, I came across at the Poetry Society UK site. I decided to not only question the title of the poem but also the content, thus taking it up one notch.

A Korean move

Drop sideways onto
bed in desperation, then
sad eyes on pillow

– Leonard Blumfeld (© 2024)

Note
Inspired by watching yet another South Korean TV series – Dr. Slump (2024). The photo is a film still of actress Park Shin-hye in a scene from this series.

Today’s observation haiku

Stout Roma woman
seated on a concrete block
outside the market

She had removed one 
sock and was massaging the
toes of her bare foot

– Leonard Blumfeld (© 2024)

Note
The truth and nothing but.
Was this worth noting and being poeticized/documented?
Not entirely sure. But what’s done is done.

Linger On

Linger on,
you pale blue light

And it did linger on,

pale and blue

But just how long

and what followed – 

light or shade – 

I do not know

after the night’s 

weighty long dream

– Leonard Blumfeld (© 2024)

Note

This was sparked by the song Pale Blue Eyes by the Velvet Underground, which has appeared and disappeared repeatedly in my mind for days now for reasons unknown with its title and imagery distorted.

Critical Can Opener

 

There’s nothing wrong
with this poem.
No need to look for it.

– Leonard Blumfeld (© 2024)

Note
A variation of Richard Brautigan’s poem of the same title, in which he says “There is something wrong with this poem. Can you find it?” (Quoted from Brautigan’s collection Rommel Drives on Deep into Egypt from 1970.)

At cHouse

 

A bartender who looks like Sandra the Hawaiian from Superstore mixed my drink this evening.

– Leonard Blumfeld (© 2023)

Note
The year’s about to end, so I decided to treat myself to one of those Italian bitters, and the above Japanese sentence renders the event as concisely as possible. No picture of the bartender – that would violate privacy laws.

What do I remember

What do I remember
of this light-weight day
above the hillside,
above dark shadows,
looking at blazing white
clouds in the distance?

– Leonard Blumfeld (© 2023)

Note
Let’s leave it at that, shall we? More of a question about memory and what one remembers about one particular moment. Thank God for photographs – they greatly help with the task of reconstructing things gone by.

The photo taken from a chair lift above Campo Imperatore in Abruzzo, Italy, is by my real me, Johannes Beilharz. Leica R4, 50 mm Summilux, Adox CMS II 20 film.

My name is Luka – an ultrashort poem

My name is Luka

Now playing

Note For those not familiar, here's the song by Suzanne Vega from 1987 this alludes to:

Other than that:

Just don't ask me what it was.

– Leonard Blumfeld (© 2023)

6 lines

A grinder
is digging into the wall
painfully

And there’s
nothing
I can do about it

– Leonard Blumfeld (© 2023)

Note
The reported truth and nothing but. I could have added “except write a pedestrian poem about it”, but then it would have been more than 6 lines. And we wouldn't want that, would we?

T. S. was wrong

Thomas Stearns

was wrong:

July is the cruellest month,
sandwiched between June
and August, which are
almost as cruel if measured
by the unbearable heat here
in the Roman stone desert
which comes immensely
close to a waste land
every day from nine to five

– Leonard Blumfeld (© 2023)

Note
A facetious shot at the beginning of T. S. Eliot’s The Waste Land (1922). Otherwise razor edge reporting from the global warming front in Rome, Italy, on July 11, 2023.

Dream No. 181

 

Had a dream last night
in which, try as I might,
I could not remember
what George Harrison
looked like.

This greatly upset me
in the dream, him
being my favorite
Beatle and all. 10-foot 
pole taste of memory loss.

– Leonard Blumfeld (© 2023)

Photo: Ed Caraeff/Getty Images

Las palabras y los días

También
hay unos días
sin palabras

– Leonardo Blumfeld (© 2023)

Nota
Hoy me he metido en vena castellana, inspirada por el libro de Octavio Paz con el título arriba.

Ala goes on a walk with grandpa

 

“Got to keep your eyes
on the ground, Ala!” – “Why? Are
there snakes?” – “No, dog shit.”

– Leonard Blumfeld (© 2023)

Note
This year's first haiku published here, and on such a pertinent subject no less. It might not hurt, though, to occasionally remind a child that glides on wings (“Ala” means wing) of what's on the earth.

Meow

 

Ever since there’s a cat in the house
everyone responds to his calls in meows.
Now, if it all were a bit clearer
true communication would be much nearer.

– Felix Morgenstern (© 2023)

(The photo shows the source of inspiration of this silly rhyme.)

Blues - a haiku

 

Irritable sky
then a classy big blues run
because of the greens

by Shinji Murakami

Note

Blame it all on the greens! An Internet-generated haiku based on personal input. The author chose to delete the poem from the site, which generated the following message:

Poor dog!

Pardon me

 

  

if I sound naive, 
but is baited breath like bad
breath? Would like to know.

– Leonard Blumfeld (© 2022)

Photo by Anne Nygård on Unsplash

I’m doing nearly nothing

Ab Har Ho Bhola Nahin Bane - Pandit Mallikarjun Mansur

Fourth day of dreamily

listening to Mallikarjun Mansur -

always the same songs.

Nothing much is happening – 

I’m not listening attentively.

The music is flowing into me.

It feels like a conspicuous momentary

constellation – Mallikarjun Mansur singing

and me doing the equivalent of happy nothing.

– Leonard Blumfeld (© 2022)