Posted on by James Garland

Adagio for Strings






Adagio for Strings





06/05/2021





Ann, you wouldn’t believe





how rancorous it’s become





            In just the ten years you’ve been gone,





In this matter of life and death half the country





            Chose death, 





And this Is just the pandemic, we haven’t even started to address





                                    What we’ve done to the planet,





                        When that issue rears its ugly head-





(Is already happening, is here)-





                        That it might have been tackled long ago,





            But we’re lazy, greedy, 





Too immersed in other things, other issues,





                                    To pay attention,





                                                Like- what’s on tonight,





Let’s stop abortion,





                                    Let’s have a war,





Let’s drive over to the corner store





                        For a beer and a snack,





                                                            Turn up the a.c., it’s hotter than hell,





                                    And the stink of smoke, let’s get a new





                                                                        SUV, my hummer is parked at the





                                                                                    Curb.





The prognosis, as they say, is not good.





Floods filled subways and basements





and rivers and streets last week,





                        And a bunch of New Yorkers died, and





                                    Cars and drivers were swept away,





            And the west is on fire again this year, they had





                                    To evacuate Tahoe,





                                                And the Colorado is running dry,





                                                            And it was one-hundred and sixteen degrees





                                    In Salem last month, hotter than Riyadh,





                        And all the plants outside seared,





                                                And leaves turned brown and started coming off maples





                                                                        In August,





            But we’re not talking about that now, not yet,





                                                                            Maybe never.





Half the country has gone insane,





                                              But maybe they always were.










                                                                                                Remember sitting around





            The thanksgiving table with cranky old Mike, arthritic





                        Knees, and taking on beer, spouting misogyny and bigotry





                                                And venom and hatred,





                                    He brought you to tears before you ran from the room.





                        Well, it’s all like that now, our national discourse





                                    Is a street rumble, sharks and jets, and





            The liars and clowns that hold the fate of the world in those





                        Rabid, grasping paws choose to do nothing





                                    Except bicker, obfuscate, and steal all they can,





                                                                        While we- streaming the shows,





cartoons and superheroes saving the day,





                                                            Buying the newest, biggest, most convenient,





                                                The envy of the neighborhood,





                                                                                    And who won the big game?










Ann, remember way back, you were home from college,





            Offered to give me a ride to my graduation,





                                                                        You broke out a joint





                                                            And we smoked on the way over.





                        It was warm in the gymnasium, my face I’m sure





                                    Matched the crimson of the robe, and I wobbled a bit





                                                On the way to the podium,





                                                                        But it all went off without much of a hitch, 





                                                            When the orchestra started to play,





                                                                        Bach- ‘Sleepers Awake’, I was





            Walloped by the beauty of it, still one of my favorite pieces,





                        Almost three hundred years old, this music, this warning,





                                    Bach tried, he tried,





but they still won’t awaken.






	



	



		
			



	
		

			

				Posted on  by James Garland											


							
The Last Days of the Democracy
					


	

	

	

		






The Last Days of the Democracy

12/26/24

Tonight, gathering winds dancing tops of the firs,
	And the rain briefly stopped, but still
A squall of clouds scuttle across the valley
		From the mountains, from the coast,

So I grab a mug of red to the balcony,
	Look west to the lights out on the highway,
Same as always, and in the neighborhoods down the hill, lights
		Of the season grimly twinkling,

We’re well into the declining days of our broken democracy,
	A few more weeks of sanity, I’d hoped.
But already the stench of the change of regime
		Becomes apparent, the threat of our enemies

Circling, emboldened by the scent of our weakness and ignorance,
The collapse of our allies begun; and that
		Inherent racism and misogyny that runs through so much of our nation, 
The shock that we’d rather throw away our democracy
		Than elevate a qualified, competent Black Woman to lead it.

The days dwindle away, I refuse to dwell on the news,
	But the whiff of change hangs heavy in the air,
I hold my nose, avert my eyes,
		Remembering the tsunami of chaos and lies

That was the demagogue’s first term,
	And we, we chose this return, and I tell myself,
That this is what they voted for,
		This is what they want, 

And this is the worst of us come forth,
	Determining a bleak and damning future,  
Gaming away what little time we have
		To create a future, habitable earth, just a few weeks left.

Steady rain pelts down, as it has
	For some weeks now, swelling
The creeks and rivers in the valley, water
		Cascading from mountain washes,
				Fears of floods, warnings of landslides.
			And then hard, hard rain 
Begins to fall.

	



	



		
			



	
		

			

				Posted on  by James Garland											


							
Safe Harbor
					


	

	

	

		






Safe Harbor

12/12/2024

 So odd tonight, the rain abates,
	And a steady wind 
Howls through the rustling 
	Crown of fir and cedar.
Across the sodden landscape,
			Bedazzling lights	
	Herald the coming season,

			That I watch from my ruins,
	Looking westward, always, to the mountains,
		To the Pacific, to the sunset, 
Face chill, slapping, winds 
			Blowing down through the valley
 Like the future, like dread,

	And the future looms
Like an ending.
	And the coming holiday season
		A cold slap of mockery,
			Given what’s to come,

But we persevere for those we love,
		And tomorrow string lights along the shrubbery,
	And hang grandma’s glass ornaments
			On our plasticine, pre-lit, alwaysgreen tree,
		For the grandkids, just as if
			It wasn’t the last Christmas
	That we will know like this one,
				Like all the ones that came before,

And we’ll pass around presents
	And best wishes as always, 
		Delight in the children 
	As they open their gifts, listen to Handel,
				Lift a glass,
			And wish our loved ones, 
And all under threat,
		That they find safe harbor 
From whatever will come,
	Safe harbor.





Xmas tree 2024, top view






	



	



		
			



	
		

			

				Posted on  by James Garland											


							
Hang Up Your White Hat, Partner
					


	

	

	

		






Hang Up Your White Hat, Partner  
                                                                         11/18/24 

America was a hero when I was a kid,
	Fresh out the gates of the second world war,
		Envy of all other nations,
	In our strength and creativity,
		We built this modern country,
			Reveling in freedom,
Confident of the future.

We were the good guys, leaders of the free world,
	Defenders of liberty, and truth, and democracy,
And our streets were lined with gold,
	And our doors were open to all.
I took great pride in it, this majestic land.
	Throughout my life,
		Even with our troubles, our warring points of view,
			Even when I knew we didn’t get it right,
I thought democracy would hold,
	That our common goals would move us forward,
		Like the promise of a moon shot in a decade,
	A thousand points of light,
Like the great society it took generations
                 of Americans to build.

No, there's no shining city of the top of the hill, not anymore,
	No beacon of light,
You can put your white hats away, pardners,
		Won’t be wearin' em,
			We’re riding with Black Bart now, 
		We’re switching teams.
	We’re on the dark side.
If there’s a glow at the top of the hill
	It’s a bonfire.
America burning its once-proud past,
	And all that’s left
Is smoke, ash.





Torii Burning    Monoprint





Torii Burning, Monoprint, (c) Merren Garland

	



	



		
			



	
		

			

				Posted on  by James Garland											


							
Downtown, the Trailing End of Midwinter
					


	

	

	

		






Downtown, the Trailing End of Midwinter





I go out late at night, to the balcony, chores done,





               To look across the valley, west toward the sea,





Quiet, near midnight, a cold breeze





               Blows down from the mountains, the Cascades due





For a couple of feet of snow,





Not here though,





Warm air from the coast collides with cold slapping wind,





               Fills the vast bowl of the valley with this sloppy porridge of weather,





This trailing end of midwinter, mid-February,





Mists rising to obscure the hills, lights,





               Drips from the boughs of fir and cedar, I gather my collar close,





Retreat inside.





I went downtown this afternoon, an uncommon trip.





I was returning to my car, flush, victorious, having found





New walking shoes at a bargain, 





There were four Hispanic teens  on the stoop of a back entrance to a mall,





               They  stared my way as I passed,





I thought they might be looking across the street,





               I turned to see what I thought was an old man





With a remarkably contorted back





               Making slow progress across the front of the bus station.





Looking more closely he was not old,





               But had that look of a bedrock crazy,





Wandering the streets, sleeping in alleys,





There was a woman across the lot, belongings piled in a cart nearby,





               Under an overhang behind a granite-and-brick office building,





There was a corrugated take-out-food box,





               A fountain drink cup that might have been Pepsi,





She was covering herself with a shabby red quilt topping off what looked like





               Many blankets piled, and she lay on the red bricks





To sleep, perchance to dream,





Might there be comfort in that dream, maybe the new American dream,





               A chance to immerse in another reality; one with promise, filled with light





And warmth, sweet dreams, that we wish for the most needy.





I go out at night to reflect on the day,





               Mists rising from rivers and sloughs,





The fecund smell of this damp, fertile land





               Thousands of acres of agriculture and forests,





I go out late at night





               Restlessly waiting for spring.