Explorations

In Flanders Fields

IN FLANDERS FIELDS the poppies blow
Between the crosses row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

Lieutenant Colonel John McCrae, MD (1872-1918)
Canadian Army

The Song of Being a Child

Peter Handke (trans, me)

As the child was a child,
It went about with arms hanging,
thought the brook was a river,
the river, a torrent,
and this puddle, the Sea.

As the child was a child,
It didn’t know it was a child,
everything was given a soul,
and all souls were one.

As the child was a child,
it had no opinion about anything,
it had no habits,
it often sat tailor-fashion,
ran from a standing start,
had a cowlick in its hair,
and had no “face” for photographs.

As the child was a child,
it was the time for these questions:
Why am I me, and why not you?
Why am I here, and why not over there?
When did Time start, and where does Space end?
Is life under the Sun not just a dream?
Is what I see and hear and smell
not just a reflection of a world behind the world?
Does Evil really exist, and are there people
who really are evil?
How can it be that I, me,
before I appeared, was not,
and that the I that I was once
will no longer be me?

As the child was a child,
it choked on spinach, on peas, on rice pudding
and on steamed cauliflower,
and now eats them all, and not just when forced.

As the child was a child,
it woke up once in a strange bd,
and now again and again,
it saw many beautiful people,
now, just by luck;
made everything a Paradise,
and now, at most, suspects
it cannot think of Nothing
and shudders at the thought.

As the child was a child,
it played with enthusiasm,
as it does now, but only when
it’s not work.

As the child was a child,
An apple and bread were food enough,
and so, even now.

As the child was a child.
the strawberries in its hand were just strawberries,
and so, even now.
The fresh walnuts made its tongue raw,
and so, even now;
On every mountain it longed
to see an even higher mountain,
and in every city it longed
to see an even greater city,
and so, even now;
attacked the treetops in joy, seeking cherries
just as it does today,
feared every stranger
just as it does today,
waited for the first snow,
and waits so, even now.

As the child was a child,
it threw a stick, like a spear, into the tree
and it quivers there, even today.

Sez here that Obama is “ready to rule on Day One.”

Obama is be President Elect, and will become President (inshallah) next January; and that while as President he will deserve all the respect due his office; I, however, wish to make it clear that he is not my “Ruler”.

If you’re not a science fiction fan you may not know the name, but he’s made a long long life out of science fiction, pretty much starting with Gernsback:

He is a publisher, author and literary agent (to Ed Wood, L. Ron Hubbard and Marion Zimmer Bradley, among others.) He named Vampirella and wrote her backstory. He was fluent in Esperanto. He was instrumental in the American publication of German Perry Rhodan, as well as scads of early American magazines, including Scientifilm World, Science Fiction Magazine, Future Fantasia, and The Time Traveller. He wrote numerous short stories, including the shortest short story, comprised of one letter.

See? He knew everyone, touched SF everywhere.

Everyone who has ever enjoyed any bit of science fiction, from Star Wars fanboys, to the short stories found in rare magazines from the forties owes Ackerman a debt, for his work in the genre, his support of it and his boundless enthusiasm and generosity.

So do your good deed of the day and send him a card at:
4511 Russell Ave. Los Angeles, CA 90027

RTWT at LAist.