Tehachapi News

The following is excerpted from The American Poet Weedpatch Gazette of 1999; soon to be back in print: Put me with any group swapping lies and I can always hold my own. But require me, as with that young woman to J.B. Priestly, to tell all about myself? Instant mental pandemonium! As with J.B., I'm always prepared with the lion's part written. But faced with the roar of the nightingale, the lion becomes mute.

    Like Clemens, I have known good men, honorable men, even men of the cloth, who knew nothing (or pretended not to know) of that most distinguished game of real gentlemen, Draw Poker. And I have known good men, honorable men, even men of the cloth, who had no facility with the telling of a good and well-contrived lie. So much the pity I feel for such culturally starved and deprived creatures so lacking in the most essential, useful quality and sensitivity of true, moral character.

    How, now I ask you, is a real man, a man of distinguished culture and refinement, of real sensitivity to the finer things in life, to hold a legitimate conversation with a beautiful member of the opposite sex without facility in one of the most useful and essential devices in any man's armory in such cases? Why the poor soul without such is, above all others, most to be pitied!

    Women are marvelous in playing their part. They expect a man worthy of their consideration to be able to hold his own with the best in the use of this device. They are naturally attracted to those men who have proven skill in the ability to command their interest by such a time-honored facility in the use of this mechanism directed at them. It makes the woman feel appreciation for the kind of man who would go to such trouble for her benefit alone.

    But just imagine the poor soul so lacking in probity of wit, not equipping himself as a gentleman of the first cloth, so lacking in perspicuity and perspicacity as to deny a woman her right to hearing delicious lies in tribute to her beauty. Such men are most certainly no fun at cocktail parties and are invariably boorish oafs.

    The kaleidoscope is a marvelous device. As a child, I was entranced by it. As I grew a little older, I became entranced and fascinated by the study of fractals, of the symmetry in nature as exemplified by the patterns of colors in butterfly wings in which I delighted as a child, the symmetry to be found in all of nature.

    And what normal man isn't entranced by the symmetry to be found in the physical attributes of a beautiful woman? Without such beauty of symmetry, there would be no poets extolling her beauty.

    Now that same study which began with things like a child's toy is making it possible for us to entertain the idea of teleportation and star travel. But we should never forget this started with things like the kaleidoscope and the patterns in butterfly wings. And the physical attributes of a beautiful woman.

    Studies in particle physics are well on the way to proving that we do, indeed, live in a sea of consciousness, that Psi, the paranormal, will be understood through the efforts of such research and the hopes of men like Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and others will be realized.

    A frequency of sound that can produce heat and light is a realized fact in sonoluminescence. Who is to say that a frequency may not yet be found that would enable those passed on to communicate with us? Entrancing idea; it certainly entranced Doyle.

    The ancient poet/historians were composers of music. Singing and music were spoken, and later, written, without instrumental accompaniment. Instruments to accompany words were a later invention. We still retain some knowledge of this in our language. Her words were music to my ear, or My heart sang, for example. The melody and harmony of Nature's Universal Lyre so popular with poets is another.

    Without wisdom, we most certainly will destroy ourselves. And I will continue to maintain that the proposed Amendment for the protection of children from child molesters is the place to start in becoming wise, that a philosophical abstraction can become a reality by this New Way, a new way that has never before in history been attempted.

    Fearful as it is because of so many unknowns, fearful because of a Dark Ages mentality that infects so many; the Amendment still holds promise of true enlightenment. But just try to find someone with whom you can have an intelligent discussion beginning with my equation for peace. In most cases, you get a vacant, glassy-eyed stare. This is the basis of my fear of our running out of time. Books have proliferated on the concern about the intellectual loss in America. We could hardly be called a nation of intellectuals. Congress alone gives one cause for fear on this basis.

    But where is the book that emphasizes the need to prioritize children? A lot of abstract lip service but no specific like the proposed Amendment that emphasizes this need in order to avoid our destroying ourselves; neither does the book exist, apart from my own with documentation, which places an emphasis on the absolute need of women being equally involved in The Great Conversation.

    Where is the wisdom of selfishly conceiving unwanted babies and then murdering them by abortion? Where is wisdom when some are too rich while others are starving to death? Where is wisdom when people are divided, and even murder each other, in the name of God or politics? Where is wisdom when ideological or racial hatreds continue to proliferate? And lacking wisdom: If not now, when?

    Do I really enjoy dealing with all of this? Absolutely not! I most sincerely wish it were some other guy. And, as I often think, maybe it is that other guy, the one I blame for such thoughts and writing. I only know, as I've often pointed out, that for some reason he behaves as the Hound of Heaven who will not leave me alone. I do this by a compulsion, not because I want to.

    It's Friday; this morning the sun shines brightly through the windows where I (or that other guy) do the writing. Tonight I will go to the Club (since the churches close up shop early and aren't open on Friday or Saturday nights and if we had a museum or art gallery they would be closed as well) and enjoy shooting pool, listening to the music, and dancing with the ladies. I'll still hope I can duck quickly enough if I have to. I'll try to ignore that other guy.

    I won't meet anyone who wants to discuss my equation for world peace, that Wisdom + Knowledge = Peace, but I will hear some new stories of love and romance, of betrayal of love, of who just went to jail or got out, and maybe there will be a fight over one of the girls. Or between a couple of them; a catfight as it is called. But when I come home, I know I will lie in bed unable to sleep until that other guy has his say.

    The other night we were having this discussion about the real objective of learning, knowledge, and education. I say discussion though that other guy seems to do all the talking. Obviously most get an education in order to make their way in life. And that's as it should be: but what about character? Shouldn't children be learning about character as well, both at home and in the classroom? Well, I had to admit that was true. And this should be one of the objectives of learning, knowledge, and education.

    Citizenship. We used to teach children to be good citizens. What did that mean in the context of what children are actually learning about America and its leadership today? I shuddered at that. Come to think about it, now that that other guy had me thinking again, curse him, when I was a child good citizenship was one of the goals of education and emphasized at home and at school. When had that passed away?

    Like good manners and correct, civilized speech. When had those stopped being objectives of education? Well, the albatross of that other guy led me long ago to start thinking about the last time poets worked in America, the time of the great Broadway Musicals. Seems America was losing sight of good citizenship, good manners, and correct, civilized speech as objectives of education about the same time; both at home and in the schools.

    I had given a copy of one chapter of my novel to a girl and she later told me: “Sam, I don't know how you wrote this! I had forgotten I had such thoughts and dreams when I was a little girl. And you're a man, a grown man! It must have taken a lot out of you to write that way.”

    Admittedly it does take a lot out of me to write that way. But as I recently shared with a friend, thank God I can still think and dream like a child! It hasn't been beaten out of me yet and I thank God life has not made me hard, cynical, and callous. I still delight in the magic of childhood, in Santa, the fairies and elves, enchanted forests and glades, I still believe in the best of Camelot, of Knights and their Ladies. I still delight in birds and animals, looking through a kaleidoscope and watching butterflies, baby bunnies and duckies.