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Saturday, May 29, 2010

Remember Them All on Memorial Day...


From today's Star-Ledger...

"The House of Representatives this afternoon passed a suicide-prevention measure named for a New Jersey soldier who took his own life after serving two tours of duty in Iraq.


The legislation would require military counselors to remain in touch with Iraq and Afghanistan veterans who are in the Individual Ready Reserve, a pool of tens of thousands of service members who have returned to civilian life but who remain available for call-up.


IRR members, living off-base and isolated from their buddies, typically don’t have access to the same support services as active-duty and National Guard troops, something the bill’s sponsor, Rep. Rush Holt (D-12th Dist.), has called a critical void in the military’s suicide-prevention efforts.


Under the measure, counselors must call IRR members and other isolated service members every 90 days to assess their well-being. The legislation is named for Army Sgt. Coleman Bean, an East Brunswick native who committed suicide in September 2008 at age 25.

Bean parachuted into northern Iraq during the 2003 invasion and served a second tour in 2007. Diagnosed with post-traumatic stress disorder, he struggled to rebuild his life and had difficulty getting help from both the Army and the Department of Veterans Affairs.

The Senate has yet to take up the bill."

Two years ago, I took a group of Boy Scouts from Troop 223 to Coleman's funeral in Milltown.  The scouts were very affected by what they saw and heard at the church service, especially by the close relationship between Coleman and his brothers.  They were just regular guys from our regular town, but war reached out its greedy hand and snatched Coleman, even when everyone thought he was safe at home.

This Memorial Day, let's remember that not all war wounds are the same and that some are easier to see than others are.  Let's make sure that all our soldiers get the support they need to remain whole.

Keep reading and writing,

Maureen

Wednesday, May 5, 2010

RU?


Just a short one today for all you Ray Rice fans out there!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e5UM1jBcUpA

Keep reading, writing, and Rutgers,

Maureen

Friday, April 30, 2010

Day 30 of National/NJ Poetry Month: Looks like we made it...

Look how they stagger from their sleep,


As if the morning were a river

Against which they contend.


This is not sentiment

filled with the disdain

of human pity.

They turn in the mind

they turn

beyond the human order


One scratches his head and yawns.

Another rakes a hand

Through slick mats of thinning hair.

They blink and the street litter moves

its slow liturgical way.

A third falls back

bracing himself on an arm.


At river's edge, the deer stand poised.

One breaks the spell of his reflection

with a hoof, and, struggling,

begins to cross.


...Morning at Elizabeth Arch by Joe Weil, Elizabeth in What Remains
 
I wanted to finish up this month with a poem that I have returned to a number of times (well, not as many times as Leaves of Grass, but many times!) because it is New Jersey, and simple, and beautiful.  Joe is a friend and a voice that I listen to because he is like us most of the time, though his words can be somewhat more ethereal.
When I was a kid and had no money, I used to take the bus into the City and sit on the steps of St. Pat's Cathedral and just watch people go by.  I would attend the noon Mass, grab a slice and then go back home to Weehawken.  I just loved the people because they were so interesting and varied.  Joe Weil, like Robert Frost who had a "lover's quarrel with the world," loves people, too.  The love is there, even when it is a struggle.
I hope that whoever read these pieces for National Poetry Month enjoyed them and connected once in a while.  We have a lot to be proud of in New Jersey.
 
Keep reading and writing,
 
Maureen

Thursday, April 29, 2010

Day 29 of NJ/National Poetry Month: August in the Meadowlands...


How much meat moves


Into the city each night

The decks of its bridges tremble

In the liquefaction of sodium light

And the moon a chemical orange



Semitrailers strain their axles

Shivering as they take the long curve

Over warehouses and lofts

The wilderness of streets below

The mesh of it

With Joe on the front stoop smoking

And Louise on the phone with her mother



Out of the haze of industrial meadows

They arrive, numberless

Hauling tons of dead lamb

Bone and flesh and offal

Miles to the ports and channels

Of the city's shimmering membrane

A giant breathing cell

Exhaling its waste

From the stacks by the river

And feeding through the night

...Meat by August Kleinzhaler, Jersey City and Fort Lee
 
I chose this poem for the unusual use of the word liquefaction.  I've only heard it once before in the movie Julia with Lynn Redgrave, Jason Robards, and Jane Fonda.  Kleinzhaler is a real Jersey voice, though some contend that his gruff is a bluff.
 
Keep reading and writing,
 
Maureen

Wednesday, April 28, 2010

Day 28 of NJ/National Poetry Month: Judith Viorst and Stuff to Worry About...



My pants could maybe fall down when I dive off the diving board.

My nose could maybe keep growing and never quit.

Miss Brearly could ask me to spell words like stomach and special.

(Stumick and speshul?)

I could play tag all day and always be "it."

Jay Spievack, who's fourteen feet tall, could want to fight me.

My mom and my dad--like Ted's--could want a divorce.

Miss Brearly could ask me a question about Afghanistan.

(Who's Afghanistan?)

Somebody maybe could make me ride a horse.

My mother could maybe decide that I needed more liver.

My dad could decide that I needed less TV.

Miss Brearly could say that I have to write script and stop printing.

(I'm better at printing.)

Chris could decide to stop being friends with me.



The world could maybe come to an end on next Tuesday.

The ceiling could maybe come crashing on my head.

I maybe could run out of things for me to worry about.

And then I'd have to do my homework instead.

...Fifteen, Maybe Sixteen Things to Worry About by Judith Viorst, Newark

A great poem for kids, espcially during the NJASK! Sharpen those pencils and respond to those open-ended questions, guys. Judith Viorst knows what it's like to have a "terrible, horrible, no-good, very bad day."

Keep reading and writing,

Maureen

Tuesday, April 27, 2010

Day 27: Anthony Buccino and a summer evening...



Three cats, one without a tail

chickens, ducks and Bassett

hounds sleeping happily

under a tree

across the wide yard

near where the bear

came one night picked corn

and sat in the twilight to eat

...Neon Blue Dragonflies by Anthony Buccino, Nutley
 
A lovely poem by Anthony Buccino, the transit-travel-poetry-New Jersey expert from Nutley and Belleville.  Beautiful images to carry us over these rainy days, jumping from idea tio idea, thought to thought, lazy Jersey day to lazy Jersey night.
 
Keep reading and writing,
 
Maureen

Monday, April 26, 2010

Day 26 of NJ/National Poetry Month: Is the Rainbow Enough?


my father is a retired magician

which accounts for my irregular behavior

everythin comes outta magic hats

or bottles wit no bottoms & parakeets

are as easy to get as a couple a rabbits

or 3 fifty cent pieces/ 1958



my daddy retired from magic & took

up another trade cuz this friend of mine

from the 3rd grade asked to be made white

on the spot



what cd any self-respectin colored american magician

do wit such a outlandish request/ cept

put all them razzamatazz hocus pocus zippity-do-dah

thingamajigs away cuz

colored chirren believin in magic

waz becomin politically dangerous for the race

& waznt nobody gonna be made white

on the spot just

from a clap of my daddy's hands



& the reason i'm so peculiar's

cuz i been studyin up on my daddy's technique

& everythin i do is magic these days

& it's very colored

very now you see it/ now you

dont mess wit me

i come from a family of retired

sorcerers/ active houngans & pennyante fortune tellers

wit 41 million spirits critturs & celestial bodies

on our side

i'll listen to yr problems

help wit yr career yr lover yr wanderin spouse

make yr grandma's stay in heaven more gratifyin

ease yr mother thru menopause & show yr son

how to clean his room



YES YES YES 3 wishes is all you get

scarlet ribbons for yr hair

benwa balls via hong kong

a miniature of machu picchu



all things are possible

but aint no colored magician in her right mind

gonna make you white

i mean

this is blk magic

you lookin at

& i'm fixin you up good/ fixin you up good n colored

& you gonna be colored all yr life

& you gonna love it/ bein colored/ all yr life/ colored & love it

love it/ bein colored
 
...My Father is a Reitred Magician by Ntozake Shange, Trenton

This is one of my favorite poems.  Be careful of what you wish for.  Realize what your wishes say about you.

Keep reading and writing,

Maureen