Missing Greenland

Do you sometimes miss places where you have been? The past week I have missing Greenland, where we made our way up Prinz Christian Sund by ship. Here are some phots of this mysterious land that is so rapidly changing due to climate change.



The Technological Revolution Takes on New Meaning

The phrase technological revolution usually refers to the rapid availability of new technological resources. Now it has a new meaning.

First, the "twitter revolution" in Tunisia, where instant availability of cell-phone and internet connections made overthrow of the government possible. Today Egypt has followed.  Again, protesters in Egypt have been able to use such technology to fuel an impossible revolution (Funny thing, when I first typed that r-word, I typed evolution instead).I sit here in the calm of a Midwestern winter and get second by second updates of what is happening via on-line tweets from Egypt and other places around the world.

And Egyptian government's efforts to control the people in the street by shutting down the internet backfired - with corporations and investors dependent on access to the internet.

Along with so many others I wait. And watch. And hope.

Transparency taken to new levels.

Marking One's Territory

Did errands early this morning. I often take copies of my latest poem to
give away. This morning's was about the questions one might ask of winter
oak leaves . . . the ones that remain so firmly attached to tree branches.
The bank teller received it graciously and said "I will read it during my
lunch break." The greeter at the bank entrance knows me and said "thanks
much." The pharmacy staff greeted me with "do you have a poem for us?"
A poem's life is as milkweed seed-fluff cast to the wind.

Once, while traveling in the southwest's wilderness, I happened upon an
out-of-the-way place. I knew that Edward Abbey, the renegade environ-
mentalist, once frequented these parts. I inquired, and a ranger pointed me
to the far end of the gravel parking area and said "for a while, Abbey
parked his trailer over there. We didn't see much of him though." Walking
to the outskirts of the maintenance lot (when no one was looking) I pissed
into the desert bushes to honor Abbey's life.

In winter, I routinely kick the outside of my car's wheel-wells. Large glops
of snirtalt (a concoction of snow, dirt, and salt) dislodge and crumble to
the ground. On any given day, should someone run a diagnostic on the
snirtalts I have left . . . it would give a graphic account of everywhere I had
the occasion to visit. I wonder if snirtalts are as individually diagnostic as
fingerprints? For sure, I stop to kick the wheel-wells just before entering
the garage.

Whenever I find myself in a remote wilderness landscape, I take time to
think about life - and, eventually, arrange a few small stones in a stack
where no one will find them. I like leaving a cairn for indigenous creatures
who know where they are and really don't need them. Seems important
to do that . . . somehow.

                        
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                 bottom)

Salad Anyone?

Salads have come a long way from iceberg wedges dribbled with bottled French Dressing. The momentum today is finding ways to combine a variety of elements into new experiences.

First there was fusion food, sometimes subtitled California food. Strict food constructionists may shudder at combing cuisines. But experimental chefs trump food purists in today's culinary world. Appetizers may be petite won tons filled with almost anything, complemented with shredded beets. Mango salsa might top Alaskan salmon, served with a few fresh pea pods. Dessert - ah, dessert - hot chocolate sauce with just a bite of hot pepper drizzled over a Bavarian-inspired chocolate cake or eclairs stuffed with fresh fruit . And the wine may come from almost anywhere.

Contemporary poetry bears little resemblance to the classical forms used by Keats or Wordsworth - or classical East Asian forms. Free verse has over-ruled Shakespeare's iambic pentameter. Prose poems defy definition - is it a poem or a prose piece? Rules of writing poetry have morphed into "the only rule is there are no rules."  Such mixed genres seem to challenge poets to break more rules And making up words is not limited to Sarah Palin.

Walking around the indoor track the other day, I was listening to MPR on my iPod. I discovered  another fusion occurring with music. My classic music station was playing (video) gamers music based on classical music. Keep in mind, gamers music is intended for a young audience not particularly interested in the classics. Yet, here is a group of composers passionate about combining the classics with the visual of video games. Fascinating!

Technology, travel, Internet access, migration of people - all have given us a rare gift. Our is the first generation to experience a remarkable new world. It is NOT the world I grew up in - a world of hot dish, second generation white northern Europeans, and Lawrence Welk. And lettuce wedges.

Salad anyone?

When the Time is Right

late into the night
they barrel down freeways
three and four abreast

the yellow behemoths roar
full-throttled with
warning lights flashing

power and strength radiate
from well-tended bodies
maintained to peak performance

in the heat of summer
they sit in silence
waiting for nights like these

Aimless Scribbling

White Snakeroot leaves.
Dark green in dim light.
Leaf Miner playgrounds.
Scribbled eating-tunnels.
Security spelled out -
     safety,
          not death.


Small blue butterfly's
scrambled flight.
Erratic, but
purposeful -
     leaving
          pursuers
               perplexed.


Poets scribble -
incessant inscriptions.
Ordering wayward thoughts.
Focusing patterns, metaphors.
Words come alive -
      released into life!

               -Clem Nagel
                 4/19/2004

Notes:
White Snakeroot, Eupatorium rugosum,
grows in the shade along the forest and
meadow edges. The large, toothed, heart-like
leaves, host the tiny, flattened larvae of a leaf
miner insect. The larvae of a range of insects
eat and tunnel in the spongy layer between
the upper and lower layers of the leaf.
Usually the tunnels cause only cosmetic damage.

As children, before we could read, we would
choose and pick Snakeroot leaves and pretend
to "read" to each other the intricate patterns
created in the leaves. We told each other that
we were discovering special secret messages!

The White Snakeroot bears small, long-lasting,
white, star-like flower clusters in the late summer
and into the fall. 

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                   "comment" at the bottom)

Such Tragic Times

How inadequate our language to express the feelings of so many people. That one individual's destruction could create such a tidal wave that touches us all.

I sit here at this computer, struggling to find some thought, some expression within me. Instead nothing comes. I carry a vigil candle around in my heart. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting.

Can the death of a nine year old girl, who was proud to be born on 9-11 as a sign of hope among the events of that dark day, teach us all something?

To Honor the January Cold

summer death
        winter resurrection

July's fire raged across
lush northern woods,
its blackened, burned land
cleansed of every living thing,
its deep, clear lakes exposed,
the charred land waits

silence hangs over
western mountain forests,
the sun shines relentless,
not a leaf moves on trees,
birds make their passage
in straight lines without
sounds of their songs in the air,
everything suspended to
conserve energy
until saving rains come

dreamt last night
it was bitter January cold,
huge stacks of mail arrived,
dozens of seed catalogs,
pages and more pages
of bright pictures,
sweet promises
from the fertile earth

              from Waiting for the Heat to Pass,
                                        Elizabeth Nagel

Mountain Love Affair

I would be at a loss if I had to name which mountains I loved the most! Probably whatever range I last was immersed.

Last June we crossed over the San Juan mountains in southwestern Colorado. We encountered snow, fog, rain, sleet, and glorious sunshine - and followed snowplows sometimes. How I envy the soaring birds able to fly over such majesty. Do they have any idea of the beauty below them?

Forecast For a New Year?

The sun is shining over a bitterly cold landscape. Over a thousand Red-wing Blackbirds have fallen from the sky in a one-mile area in a small town in Arkansas. And our state legislature is not yet in session and the politicians are sharpening their knives. Signs that point to an interesting year ahead?

The birds? No one knows why. They lay sprawled in yards and streets, the glory of their red wing patches exposed. Looks like a scene from a sci-fi movie. How would you like to begin the new year by picking up forty dead birds in your yard?

The state of Minnesota faces a $6.2 billion budget deficit in the coming year. That's correct - billion, not million. Thank's to eight years of a governor with presidential aspirations. King Pawlenty boasted about his "no new taxes" policy and his red pen's vetoing power. One of his strategies involved a procedure called unallotment to cherry pick funding items passed by the legislature. His excessive use of unallotment later was struck down by the state Supreme Court. While he raided funds set aside for other purposes, such as MinnesotaCare which provides catastrophic health care cover for people unable to buy heath care insurance.

No one said the obvious (because it might be bad for business?). Less revenue due to the recession means less to spend. Until the budgetary hole that was dug is now large enough to hold a small planet.

So now that the state capital is littered with "dead birds," the new government that begins with the new governor's swearing in tomorrow has the clean-up task ahead. If folks can set aside their sharp knives and actually talk to people who don't share their perspective, the possibility of solving the  enormous shadow looming over the state may offer some sunshine in the bitter cold of deep financial cuts no one wants. Even fiscal conservatives.