The miracle dichotomy

"What would you rather have as a miracle –
a world free of strife and war
or personal happiness?" Suzanna's guru asked

She brought the question home to her non-believer boyfriend

"Let me see any kind of miracle
before I decide on that one,"
said Jeff the sceptic

"That's typical you," she yowled,
"all you try and do is take the wind out of my sails."

"No wind, no sails that I see,"
said laconic Jeff

"Why have I been putting up with you

for so many years, Jeff? A man
with such a flat view of the world?"

"That is a miracle, I agree,"
said grinning Jeff

– Leonard Blumfeld (© 2012)

The topic at One Single Impression was miracle.

Yolanda of the baffling glitter

Yolanda had a baffling glitter
around her big blue eyes.
She thought this made her fitter
than one would realize.

Most days she'd concentrate
on elegance of looks
and rather did negate
the importance of science books.

The teachers did not go for glitter,
so in her exams she fared not well.
This made Yolanda very bitter.
She told 'em they should go to hell.

– Felix Morgenstern (© 2012)

Written around baffle, elegant and negate from 3WW.

This is a modern poem

It is trendy and online,
knows what iPad and iPhone are
and was written
while eating an apple.

– Leonard "Modernist" Blumfeld (© 2012)

Written upon inspiration by Sunday Scribblings.

Haiku of the lost tribe

The tribe is lost. Not
enough magnetism. Outcast
searching for new tribe.

– Leonard "Tribal" Blumfeld (© 2012)

Sort of a continuation of Qasida of the lost tribe. Cryptic, I know.

Sometimes, due to tribal instinct, you search for love in the wrong tribe. In this case it happened to a dear friend.

Snowdrops / A. D. Miller

(Warning: This is a more or less polemic blurb without any claim to thoroughness or completeness.)

Finished reading Snowdrops this weekend, a novel about a British lawyer who becomes involved in fraud in his work for an investment bank, and, in private, in a case of apartment fraud as a consequence of falling in love with a mysterious Russian woman.

So what's true about the hype?
'Totally gripping' – more ho-hum than gripping. Took me numerous sessions to read and is certainly not one of the potboilers you cannot put down.
'Disturbing and dazzling' – draws a disturbing picture of Russia and Moscow. Greatly reduced my readiness to ever go there.
'Electrifying ... Leaves you stunned and addicted' – That opinion, pardon my bluntness, is a striking example of pure bullshit. Seems more appropriate to LSD, heroin or some other drug than anything written.

As it says on the back cover, there is some similarity to the writing of Graham Greene, but more along the lines of imitation. Neither the writing itself nor the plot are that good. There is that Greene-like feeling of guilt, but there's so much insistence on building it that it becomes annoying. The confessionality (the story is told as a confession to the hero's fiancée) is also reminiscent of Greene, except that it never comes alive, so to speak, because the person the story is told to remains nondescript, making the whole device seem irrelevant.

Then there's that constant puerile harping about how awful it is to be older than thirty. (I believe a lot of people have successfully moved on even into their forties or fifties.) And the annoying premonition building (along the lines of 'I should have known better then that ...', 'Had I not ...') that seems to come straight out of a fiction writing workshop manual. And then there are all the attempts to humanize inanimate objects with adjectives that mostly didn't do much for me. That's the literary touch, I suppose.

A third plot line – pretty much unrelated to the other two – is about the body of an old man found in a rusty orange Zhiguli (mentioned umpteen times in the course of the novel to make it absolutely clear that it has to have some significance).

You may rest in peace, Graham. This ain't no serious competition for The Third Man or The Quiet American.

– Leonard "Won't Write Reviews" Blumfeld

Sails in the Sunset

Now if you'd drop that stupid demand to get close to Crinkle Island, I'd be happy to navigate you all to that forsaken part of the beautiful stormy South Seas, my friends.

As to Norah Femme Fatale, however, I'd rather not have her on board because she might try to persuade me after all. And we all know from Italy how that can end.

– Captain Leonard Blumfeld (© 2012)

Written around crinkle, demand and navigate from 3WW.

A blatant derivative of the Costa Concordia disaster.

China's Wonderland Turned Horrorland

The Disneyland copy planned outside the gates of Beijing never materialized because the owners of the land asked for more money. All the amusement park has to offer are a few ruins and skeletons of buildings quietly decaying in a barren landscape. Good news for the farmers who used to farm here and were to make space for China's move into the world of Amusotopia. They're coming back.

An educational ghazal

Said my teacher, Mrs. McKesson,
"I'm afraid you'll have to learn a lesson.

Had you listened to me from the start,
I would not have to teach you this lesson.

Had you learnt your tables by heart,
you would have understood my lesson.

Had you, as I requested, recited biblical verse,
I'd not be adverse to up your grade for this lesson.

But as it is now, I can only teach you a lesson
and flunk you," said Mrs. McKesson.

– Felix Morgenstern (© 2012)

As requested at Sunday Scribblings for lesson.

Sweet and Sour Grapes

You don't have to be a cook to tell whether something tastes good or bad.

– Leonard "Sweet Grapes" Blumfeld

Written in response to Sour Grapes at One Single Impression.

All too often a critical statement or attitude is discredited as "sour grapes," with a comment like "Oh come on, you're just envious because you can't do better." But, as I say above, it's possible to tell (and say) whether the grapes are sour or sweet without being a grape specialist.

Daniyal Mueenuddin / In Other Rooms, Other Wonders

The book of interrelated short stories (centered around Pakistani landowner K. K. Harouni) I'm reading these days. Well-written, mostly a depressing look at the human condition.

Picture taken at Fiumicino Airport in Rome while I was waiting for my flight.