Click with this Beetle

 

Wireworms come from these beetles doing the nasty

Wireworm Magazine has published a piece of experimental writing called Median Opportunities which I wrote and rewrote and rewrote again until it could now find a home. 

Take a Break from Politics to Read about the Sunrise

 

Sage Cigarettes has published a poem of mine in their latest issue. It is page 28 in the issue, page 33 when you scroll in the reader. The title refers to a genre of writing from Byzantium that focuses on the intricaies and practicalities of siege warfare.

Truth, Beauty and Imagination

 

A venue based out of Bangladesh with this name published a poem of mine called Motif Romanesque. It was influence by the painting of a similar name, done by the artist Maurice Denis. Denis was part of a late 19th - early 20th century art movement called Les Nabis. In case the names haven't given it away yet, they were French. The name was derived from a Hebrew word for prophets. They saw themselves as a rejuvenating force in art.

Murderabilia by Ben Nardolilli

 

New poem in Dark Entries called Murderbilia, which deals with the phenomenon of collecting items related to serial killers and other notorious persons. 

New Stanzas in Last Stanza

 

Not that kind of stanza

My work is in the latest edition of Last Stanza Review, edited by Jenny Kalahar. It's available here.

Getting Itchy with Poetry

Five Fleas (Itchy poetry) has published two lines by me in their latest issue. It's not much, but that's the point.

Oh, wrong flea

There we go!

Read my lines here. I'm at the top.

Eye to Eye

 

New poem of mine in the latest edition of Children, Churches & Daddies magazine. It mentions squibs!

Called in for Reception

 

Called in for Reception, that's the name of my new poem up at Cacti Fur. Combines PR, verse, and a little astronomy.

Eisenhower on the Beach

Enter through the gift shop

In search of outdoor activities to do in the time of Covid, I came upon the Eisenhower Memorial in DC. The Dwight D. Eisenhower Memorial that is. Yes, I too was surprised it was for him and not his college presidential powerhouse of a brother Milton S. Eisenhower. For years I had heard about it being planned, entailing the usual fights between designers, architects, historians, locals, and the family of the honoree. When I moved to Brooklyn, it seemed to still be in the ether between drawing and argument. Now it is finished, completed and dedicated by America’s real president. That’s right, Joe Manchin.

A bird's eye view. Explains the lack of pigeons.

This is the Lay of Ike. The memorial is located south of the National Mall, near the Air and Space Museum. I suppose it is fitting. The man helped build suburban mall culture and he established NASA. Not that you would learn anything about that from the spread of metal and marble in front of the Department of Education. More on that later. The Memorial has no central point. Its elements are scattered across a plaza without a central point of focus. Instead, there are two bas-relief sculptures and two large columns at either side of the park. Behind them is a sort of mesh fixture elevated above the plaza. At night it is supposed to light up and depict the Normandy Landings (D-Day, not Hastings). 

The recent toppling of Rebel monuments has begun a conversation about the nature of memorialization itself. Not just who is to be honored, but how and to what purpose. Unfortunately, the planning for the Eisenhower Memorial happened before these issues came to the forefront of public debate. Not that those responsible for constructing the site are ignorant of them. Debates about memorials were present in academia before they became prominent in the summer of 2020. Still, one wonders how this memorial would look given the fallout of the George Floyd protests. Not that Eisenhower was a unworthy subject who should have been ignored. Then again, he has been absent on the National Mall for decades and Americans seemed more or less able to go on without pausing to remember him. 

blah, blah, blah tell us about the MIC!

Personal merit, necessity, or legacy aside, there other questions to consider behind the purpose of a memorial. At one time, the idea was to provoke a kind of reverence in a secular temple. Think of the Lincoln Memorial, which brings one up a series of steps to stand under the imposing figure of Lincoln. All white and made of stone, he sits in judgment of the country. After one is done bowing and supplicating below the 16th president, it is time to look elsewhere. Now the view centers on the moving text of the Gettysburg Address. The whole process transforms Lincoln into a holy figure for the nation. He is the martyr who managed to midwife the republic through the birth pangs of a new freedom. 

Gradually this approach fell out of favor. An emphasis on movements, particularly involving Women and People of Color emerged. When the “great men” (and women) of history were so memorialized, their monuments became less about reverence and more about education. This might occur through symbolism, or more often than not, actual text, preferably from the speeches of the person being depicted. The FDR Memorial and the WWII Memorials come out of this development. The experience is not of one central figure or architectural feature, but of many disparate elements.  Gone is the temple or shrine. They have been replaced by open-air museums. This does pose a new set of challenges. How do you convey so much information about a figure or an event without overwhelming the spectator?

Will it get some wind for the sailboat?

The Eisenhower Memorial goes with a minimal approach. It deals little with public perception of Ike, the details of his life, the context of his times, or the effects of his presidency. Eschewing all that, the man’s life is condensed to a couple symbolic vignettes. The approach can be likened to the opera Einstein on the Beach, where snippets of Einstein’s life and work are abstracted to the limits of recognition. Here, Eisenhower is a boy in Abilene. Then, he is a general. Finally, he is a president. Three acts with no drama.

What war did he win? It isn’t clear. Who did we fight? It wasn’t mentioned. Why did we fight? A mystery. According to the available statuary, Eisenhower was simply a general raising a fist at beleaguered troops. The effect is not inspiring. He reminds one of the blowhard officers from Catch-22. His presidency is a foggy recollection in bronze as well. The two decent things he did in office, enforcing desegregation, and condemning the military industrial complex (which, to be fair, he built) go unmentioned. All we see of Eisenhower c. 1953 to 1961 is standing around with people from his administration in the midst of doing something presidential. The firm of Nixon & Dulles & Dulles is nowhere to be seen, presumably off in the distance plotting Operation PBSuccess. 

The site is being worked on and in development. The trees they planted are still growing. I presume there is time for other things to be added to the plaza. Maybe they will figure out a way to be nicer to the people working in the Department of Education. Once they had windows looking out on the Mall, and now the view is blocked by a post-modern Bayeux Tapestry. It displays an event they might deal with teaching, but they didn’t carry out! Meanwhile in Langley, their view isn’t obscured by a steel lattice depicting the Bay of Pigs. 

The littlest toilet

If you do want to learn more about President Eisenhower, there is a gift shop. Inside of it are many books with many words and pictures. There are footnotes and citations galore. Maybe that’s the real purpose of the memorial. Show the inadequacies of stone in order to bring people back to the page. Step one: draw tourists in who recognize the name. Step two: confuse them about the life of Ike. Step three: push people into buying books to explain why people liked him. One of the oldest scams in the…um…book. The site also has restrooms. I don’t know how the ladies’ side of the divide is, but the men’s room has the smallest toilet I’ve ever seen in DC. So it’s got that going for it.

Who cares about the founder of the highways, go look at some model trains instead

Ridin' the Rails, Part I

Last week I embarked on another cross-country journey across this country's rails. No, I didn't pack up my bindle and hop on board a cattle car like a hobo in search of adventure and vittles. Instead, I took the Amtrak from New York to Los Angeles, by way of New Orleans. From New to New and LA to LA. The first leg of the journey was on the Crescent. It took me along the first 1,377 miles (2,216 km) of the trip, through Philadelphia, DC, Atlanta, Birmingham, and Meridian, Mississippi. 

It all started at Moynihan Train Hall. This is the new waiting area for Amtrak passengers. Although part of Penn Station, it is housed in the former Post Office building that used to be next to Madison Square Garden. No more huddling in a bunker, waiting for announcements, or wandering with bags in a circle trying to find the Primo Cappuccino you swear is different than the three others in the station. 

As you can see, it is a much more spacious facility. There weren't a ton of options for food and drink set up yet. However, that was not of much particular concern to me because on this trip I was one of Amtrak's very special passengers. part of the elite, the elect, the chosen. Since I was taking a sleeper car, I had the privilege of hanging out in the Metropolitan Lounge. Situated on the second floor, it had space for me to spread out, store my luggage, grab a few complimentary bites to eat, and surf the web.

Amtrak Valhalla, where only the bravest and least claustrophobic travelers go

I recommend the provolone and fig sandwich

Ha! Peasants! Ha! Look up my free bag of chips and despair!

They called my train number and I went down into the bowels of Penn Station. While the entryway where I made my descent was changed, the actual platforms where the trains pull up are the same.

My roomette was interesting. It was a different setup than the one I used on the Empire Builder last time I took the train across this great land of ours. 

Looking at it reminded me of the Skylab exhibit at the Air and Space Museum

You can't say they don't use every available inch of space on the train. One of the steps leading to the top bunk opens up and underneath is a toilet. That's right, folks, you can do your business while watching the country fly right by you. You can do it while going through the woods at night, or as the train passes over a river. You can even do it while looking at people stuck in traffic down below.

The light is not as ominous as the picture makes it out to be

And above it is the sink. Good for washing of hands and drinking of cups of water. There were other watering holes on board as well. But, for sleeper car passengers these are the bathroom facilities, right in the roomette for your convenience and possible slight embarrassment. The showers are outside, shared by the neighborhood. Other amenities in the roomette: a table that pulled out, as a bunk to be pulled down, and another that I formed by sliding out the seats.

The table that folds out isn't big enough for a standard laptop

I found the secret storage rack! 

We pulled out of Penn Station and started to head south and west away from the city. The first stops on the Crescent were all familiar to me since I go between DC and NY on the train quite frequently. There was nothing drastically new to see while this part of the country flew by. I took a leak while looking out at the Meadowlands, so that was a change of pace from usual. It wasn't until the train left Union Station that I got to see a new side of America. Now I got to experience going over the Potomac in a passenger car and the sight of the Alexandria, Virginia station. 

Playing hide-and-go-seek with the Capitol

They do feed you on the train and the food and soft drinks are complimentary. For my first meal I had the shrimp and andouille sausage creole, in honor of my first destination: New Orleans. 

I watched Chinatown in honor of my second destination

I had eggs for breakfast, and for my second lunch I went with the vegan/vegetarian option of enchiladas. I can't speak for the sourcing of the materials (especially the rolls or what was used for the cheese) but they tasted good. 

The salads come with two dressings: ranch and Italian.
Oh, and you get a free alcoholic drink on the train. 

You spend roughly a day and a half on the train and get into New Orleans at night. That meant one more dinner. I went with the chicken marsala. It was fine. Overall I rank the enchiladas first, the marsala second, and the creole last. To accompany it, I bought a glass of white wine.

During my time on the Crescent, I found myself contorting myself in all manner of positions, surprised at how limber I still am. It felt like playing around in jungle gyms, Discovery Zones, and ball pits as a child. One of my projects was to find a way to use my laptop on the train. As my previous picture shows, the table provided is good for playing chess but little else. To that end I developed a standing-desk, Amtrak style. I put the top bunk down, placed my laptop on top of the bunk, and stood on top of the cover for the toilet. 

Metro Card for scale

With a little innovation you too can transform your spaces to help with work and play! From this perch I watched Georgia, Alabama, and Mississippi roll on by. Lots of lush landscapes, forests, glens, farms, paddocks, and some cities.

Like Birmingham, Alabama

Then as night fell, the Crescent went across Lake Pontchartrain (putting the "train" in Pontchartrain you can say) It was too bad that it was dark out and I couldn't see any of the water or the city or the other side. It's one of the issues with the long journeys on Amtrak. You can't time things just right so you see things when you want to. The train keeps going and stops when its wants. You're a passenger, along for the ride, surrendering your control, in exchange for the ability to stand on a toilet and write.

Attack of the Ink Sac

 

The Resident Chronicles, a poem inspired, or imposed, by quarantine, is up at the Ink Sac (a subsidiary of Cephalo Press)

Let's Break it Down with a Poem About Tinder

 

(Not fro my phone, Wiipedia)

A poem of mine about Tinder is up at Jack Henry's site, 1870 Poems. Why not give it a look, then swipe right, as the kids* say.

*not to be confused with the kids in my basement

Your Word of the Day Is Mehfil

A Mehfil is a festive gathering where people gather to perform music and poetry, often of a religious nature. They are commonly seen (or heard) in Pakistan, India, and Bangladesh. It is also the name of a journal that has published a poem of mine called "A Solid Theory."

Brown Bagging Some Poetry

The first issue of Brown Bag is out and there is a poem in there from me. Scroll down to find my work, which is called "Rat Park." The title is taken from the famous experiment on addiction. Structure-wise, I formed the sentences using a random Facebook status generator, which created new statuses for me based on ones I've previously posted. It's part of a series I wrote back in 2015. They were inspired by my time working at the Arlington Court House. I wanted to create a form of poetry that resembled the legal documents I read. Since I was taking on a legal structure, the topic of the poems took on a similar theme, essentially putting an alter-ego of myself on trial. In the end, my work resulted in a book length collection that's still unpublished as a whole.

This particular poem is a success story about endurance in publishing. I've submitted Rat Park over the past couple of years to dozens of journals, reviews, and web pages. In total, something like a hundred total venues. Every time I got a rejection. But that's the writing life. If you're not ready to deal with rejection, you're not ready to deal with submission. I suppose that's really what the submission is, giving up one's attachment and allowing an editor free reign over the piece. Anyway, after so many submissions and so many rejections, I finally got it accepted. Of course, in between the rejections I tweaked my poem here and there, and made a couple of edits. Every ten rejections or so I think you should look over your lines. I even chopped up the poem into something new and released it under a different title: Rat Spark, which was published by Nauseated Drive. 

So poets of America, keep reaching for that rainbow!

One of a Kind Poem

But then again, every poem is a one of kind, for the most part. It's in a one of a kind journal, Infection House. The picture above depicts a woman using a stereoscope, which is what inspired the comparison with Victorian Britain mentioned in the poem.

Your Sunday Morning Shuffle (A Day Early)

New poem of mine in Twist and Twain, an outfit based in Assam. That's in Indian, folks. I know the subject describes a possible Sunday morning (for a possible, very hypothetical writer) and today is Saturday. But who really knows what day it is any more? Or month? Or year? Is it 2021 yet?

A Found Poem Finds Its Way Into a Literary Journal

A poem of mine has been published in the inaugural issue of Revolute.  It is called Circumflex. As you can tell from the title and the image above, the basis of the text is a description about the accent mark.

Celebrating the Work of Benjamin Nordolilli

Really enjoying this poem "The Lunar Gemini" in the Poetica Review. It's by an up and coming poet named Ben Nordolilli. I don't know what it is, but there's something about the language I like. It seems...so familiar. Overall, I hope you enjoy his work here and be on the look out for more of it!

Nardo Goes West, Part Four

After my first night on the train I woke up to North Dakota in all its broad splendor.  Sure, there were plenty of cereal crops across the horizon, but all lots of small ponds, perhaps left by the retreat of glaciers many thousands of years ago. They were all in use by various birds. I don't think I've ever seen so many ducklings. I'm just used to pigeons in New York City. They're never old or young. they're always middle-aged adults, just like the people in the sitcoms that take place there.

I looked over the instructions and the metal pieces sticking out of the furniture. I figured out how to put the bed back and turn it into seats, how to turn the seats into a bed, and how to lower the bunk. I used the last trick in case I needed something that could serve as a shelf. I decided to leave the bed down. That way I could sit up or lay down to work or read. I preferred to lie down. Why? Because I could feel the motions of the train sliding under me. When I looked to the side, I could see the world flying on by and it was easy to imagine I was flying too, like some kind of Amtrak superman.

Most of what I saw involved agriculture of one kind or another. It was interesting to be so close to the food supply, at least as grain, dairy, and meat are concerned. I didn't see much in the way of fruit or vegetable production until we reached Washington. Not only did I see the crops, I saw how the crops get to market. There were silos everywhere and occasionally I saw train cars getting filed with the bounty they stored inside.

Where last night's steak came from

This is where last night's dinner may have gotten its lunch from.
It could be anywhere from Fargo to Missoula 

For breakfast, I had a quesadilla with eggs and green tomatillo sauce. It was the only thing on the menu that looked like it had any kick to it. My suspicions were confirmed when the two gentleman I sat with ordered eggs and then ordered salsa to put on them after they saw my dish in all its glory.

This dish is called the Battle of Puebla, because the Mexican
quesadilla is displacing the occupying French Croissant

There is plenty of salsa to go around (I had an extra container of red salsa in addition to what was on my plate) so don't be afraid to ask! During breakfast I sat with two older gentlemen. One was from North Dakota, near Rugby, the other was from Juneau, Alaska. The man from North Dakota was a doctor for an Indian Reservation and talked about the health challenges facing the local tribes because of sugary foods, in addition to alcohol. He also told us the various legends and stories (and I assume jokes) behind how Devils Lake got its name. He also pointed out the different kinds of birds and mentioned the area was popular with hunters. The traveler from Juneau asked the man from North Dakota what he liked about living there. He laughed and said it was because there were no people.

After breakfast, I went to the observation car, to well, observe. The sky was clear above me and the land was fertile in all directions. With nothing else to distract me, or even tempt me, I saw and looked out at the country rolling on by.

The upper windows

North Dakota, not to be confused with South Dakota

Rugby, North Dakota. It's the geographical center of North America

We passed through several small cities and large towns such as Rugby and Minot. It was probably the farthest I've ever been from the ocean. I live right near Ruby Road in Brooklyn and I guess I can sum up my summer as going from Rugby Road to Rugby town. When I think about it, more people probably live on that street than live in Rugby, North Dakota. Okay, that's enough talking about Rugby or rugby.

We continued moving through North Dakota and into Montana. I saw Fort Union, which straddles the boundary between the two states.

Fort Union, preserving the uneasy peace between
Montana and North Dakota

We reached Wolf Point by lunchtime. Next to it was the Fort Peck Indian Reservation. I had lunch with an Australian couple from Brisbane. They were on a trip around the world. Like me, they were yearning to see the mountains, especially any with snow on them. They told me they don't get to see much of either in Australia. I had a tortilla dish with chorizo while the couple had the mussels. Despite our distance from the sea, they said the shellfish was good. According to our waitress, the mussels are the secret dish that nobody orders but those who do always enjoy. I didn't mind my meal. It seems the most interesting options for eating on the train involve Mexican cooking. Well, at least until they bring back the gnocchi. I had the caramel parfait for dessert.

I hung around my roomette car after lunch. Working, taking pictures, and reading as we went through the great expanse of Montana. People forget how big the state is (number four). Near Malta, the train had to go through a "duck and tuck" in order to let a freight train get by. We often had to manuever around them on the trip. Pretty soon, Carlo was coming around to take dinner reservations. He continued to promote it with the phrase "real meals with real people." I put in a reservation for dinner with him for a later time 6:45. I had trouble getting power for my laptop, and with no signal for my phone, I decided to go to the observation car and have a drink.

Having wine on the train

More Montana. The state's name is a lie.

The new state capitol of Montana

Switching into Mountain Time

Sitting Bull

By this point I had enough with amber waves. I wanted purple mountains majesty!

But there were penguins

Maybe not the but certainly an Overlook Hotel

I had dinner with a couple from outside Fargo, ND and a woman originally from Minot, but who now lived outside Seattle. I had the risotto because there was no gnocchi, again. We all had wine with dinner. Some of it was corked, others had a screw-on (or off) cap. The risotto was decent. I had the fruit and cheese plate for dessert. I got a sense of how small a world North Dakota is because my dinner companions realized they had mutual acquaintances. I must say I've learned more about life in the Flickertail State on this trip than ever before. 

By the end of dinner we started to see the mountains. The real mountains. Not the lumpy hills of central Montana, but the real peaks of Glacier National Park. I spent the rest of the evening looking at the mountains and the tall trees that grow around them. At least until we lost all daylight. I admit I felt nervous around the evergreens growing by the rails. I wondered if they knew what we had done to their shorter cousins back East during Christmas time. Were they ready to lay their branches on us? I realized then I'd had too much wine.

More mountains

Unfortunately, I had to sleep through large parts of the trip through the mountains. When I woke up, I was on the other side of Glacier National Park. There were still plenty of visual glories awaiting me in the Cascades. I also had a phone signal for the first time in a day. At this point in the trip, the most of the sleeping cars had emptied out, at least on my level. I guess a number of people got off at Whitefish or Spokane. On my way to the shower, Carl, the sleeping car attendant, said I looked like a young John Hodgeman. This was the highlight of the trip, until we reached the next mountain range.

I had breakfast with a father and son from Janesville, Wisconsin. I saw orchards filled with pear and apple trees, as well as homesteads scattered around the shade of the mountain. I thought it looked like the end of the Oregon Trail and tried to see if I could find a tombstone with "pepperoni and cheese" on it. I wasn't in Oregon but the geography is similar.

We stopped in Leavenworth, which is supposed to look like a Bavarian village. I couldn't see it from the tracks. I did see Bigfoot though. I can't wait for my check from the National Enquirer.

The lounge car was closed, which was lame. I wonder if it was because it was no longer part of the train. In Spokane, the Empire Builder splits in half, just like Rome and Constantinople. My part of the train goes onto Seattle. The other half heads on to Portland. We get to keep the dining car, while the folks heading to Portland have to deal with a pre-made breakfast box. I stayed in my roomette for the rest of the trip. The views were good, except when we went into the Cascade Tunnel, the longest train tunnel in North America. It's 7.89 miles of darkness all the way through.

Okanogan-Wenatchee National Forest

We began to make our descent towards the coast. My ears actually popped because of the change in air pressure. We went along rives and streams. I saw some of the bluest moving waters I've ever seen. 

The water out here makes Poland Spring look like backwash from
a spittoon used by an Antebellum Senator

Now it was time for the trip to come to an end. The Empire Builder reached Puget sound and traveled south along the shoreline. There were forest fires going on, so visibility was reduced. Even in the city you could see it. Everything seemed hazy and people wore masks over their mouths.

Puget Sound, it's foggy because of the wildfires going on

Finally, we came to Seattle and I saw several landmarks as the train snaked its way into the King Street Station.

The people of Seattle loved Frasier so much they built
a miniature version of the logo

I wonder if I could sell this picture to Getty images?

We pulled in with a slight delay. I went into the station and enjoyed its splendor, a far cry from the Pittsburgh station. I didn't check my bags, so I was able to pick up my things and head right out into the Emerald City.

Hello Seattle!

Overall, I would rate the experience highly, especially for a city-slicker such as myself. I got to see a lot of the country I've never seen before, met different kinds of people, and learned to adjust a different kind of lifestyle. Riding the train let me appreciate the countryside and the way that we as Americans use it. I wish the train did have WiFi on board. Not that I would've spent the whole time just watching old episodes of the Simpsons. It would've been nice to listen to some music while the country went by. I also wish there had been communication ahead of time about the lack of a sundries pack. Nevertheless, it was fun and (here it the survey answer) I would recommend the trip to my family and/or friends. Now it's time to try out the southern route from LA to New Orleans, or maybe head through the middle of the country through Denver.