other places

a little journey to somewhere else
a look into the sky, a stranger's eye
another spider's imperfect web --
a weary road beneath the tires
a hard worn air beneath the wing
another experienced motel bed --
and home, the sheltering gable
and home, the well-laid table
a familiar hue, a look into the heart
overhanging pine and a familiar sky
though gray, my own gray geese fly

- ralph murre

Bowlful

Eat, drink and whisper a prayer of thanks. It's o.k. if you don't believe that anyone hears prayers. And it's o.k. to be merry.

- Arem

Arvinson Anniversary

Detail of a photo by Nancy Vaughn

Tomorrow will mark the first anniversary of this blog, and I look through the archives wondering what it is, just as I wondered what it might be on the day of its inception. It has become a part of me, I suppose, and like the rest of me, must seem a little peculiar to a new acquaintance.

Who is this Arem Arvinson, for instance? I first met him a few years ago and found that we had some things in common, including this body and this skull we share. Even his name, Arem, is pronounced like my initials: R.M., and my dad was named Arvin. Just where he came from is uncertain, but he seeks to counsel the neophyte writer in me - and to influence me in other areas - for which I must be on my guard.

Arem is the sort of guy who buys motorcycles instead of life insurance, has a bar tab instead of a savings account, would take a lover instead of a wife, believes in everything, worships nothing, has salt water and hot blood in his veins, and writes better haiku in a few seconds than I ever will in a lifetime. He's more at ease on a tops'l yard in a gale than he is at a dinner party and while I fear him, I also envy him.

When I can get him to talk, this blog will be about his voyage; when he's silent, I'll keep filling in with bits from my own mundane journey.

- Ralph Murre

A few notes: Photos and art (?) not otherwise credited are by the author. Clicking on photos will enlarge them. Many more entries can be found in the archives (it could be a long winter). Visit some of the sites in my links area, over there on your right. Comments may be left by clicking "comments" at the end of each entry, but can only be accepted if you type in a code of letters which will appear in wierd print just above the box where you'll type them. This is to beat the Evil Spammers. You can also email me at caparem(at)charter.net, but you must substitute the "@" symbol for "(at)". This, too, is to beat the Evil Spammers, who should all die.

tortured

with sky in its arms

the tortured gold tamarack

holds a blue lover

- arem

The Dark

po

As the dark tea of November

pours from a tarnished silver pot

life is slowly sipped

bitter dinner of winter dreaded

brief sweet of holidays anticipated

and daylight, oh God

the last shred of daylight

must be chewed from the bare bone

and savored.

- Ralph Murre

Rose

She carried a single rose
to this ceremony,
as they all did,
but she knew its value,
carried it close,
shared its beauty with few.

Of the windblown meadow
and tangled wood, this flower,
of the salt sea and earth.
And into his unsteady hand
she placed this rose,
trusted the touch of the gardener,
the trembling jaws of the wolf.

And the wind blew the grass
and sang of love to the pines,
just as though this was the way
the world had always been.

- Ralph Murre

Introspect

Eleven, Eleven

When serious November strikes deep scars
into chicken soup can Warhol souls
and limping veterans of endless wars
fire salutes to motherhood and political goals,
look within.

When the last of Summer’s fleecy clouds have past
and the gray ground freezes over graves,
when slaves are dreaming “Free at Last”,
and when the chief fails to mourn his fallen braves,
look within.

When you hear “don’t raise your sons to be cowboys”,
or “don’t take your guns to town”,
or when the crying won’t drown the noise
of another soldier stumbling down,
look within.

- Ralph Murre

New Light

there is a new light

in the tangled wood today

the wolf hesitates

- arem

In Dark Forest

In the depth of the sky,

I see you.

In sunlight on water,

you are there.

In dark forest,

your heart.

In my breathing

and my waking

and my sleep,

you.

- Ralph Murre

The Course

Staying Course

Like smoke, some of our energy
darkens the sky.
Sooty stack of America’s ship,
emblem carried above rusting hull,
casting about oceans without harbor.
Unwelcome, the fouled air.
Unneeded, the roiled waters.
Listing to starboard,
she plows on,
her crew eyeing lifeboats,
her captain holding course.

- Ralph Murre

take y'self a look

take y’self a long look
write y’self a long book
get an agent ‘n’ go on t.v.

tell ‘em how yer ma was unkind
how yer seein’-eye dog was blind
get a divorce ‘n’ go on t.v.

shoot some lefties, shoot some southpaws
shoot some Indians ‘n’ shoot yer in-laws
get a pardon on court t.v.

disappear from the public eye
wait for the popular hue and cry
run for office ‘n’ go on t.v.

- Ralph Murre

Music

There is Music in the Sailor

and there is music in the sea
and there is music in the cedars
and in the tall grasses
and in fishes and me

and sometimes we hear the music
and we dance or we weep
with the emotional willows
trot with foxes, waltz with waves

and we may swim with swans
and hear rhythms in ravens’ wings
tremble with the aspen
fear the diving of the hawk

or we may never learn the tango
or we may learn to fear the clock

- Ralph Murre

timely

Watch

Like the twitchy second hand
mopping the brow of my Timex
and always pointing at something new,
I’ve gone ‘round the dial
and looked in all directions.

Tick Tick Tick

And people ask what time it is,
just as though they want to know.

Tick Tick

They take seats and I tell them,
“It’s a little too late for you --
take note of the length of your shadow,
see the birds that roost,
and feel the wear in the arms of your chair.”

Tick Tick

And people buy new watches
and look for a second opinion there.

Tick


- Ralph Murre

creation

and then one day

as the story goes

there was light

October Dream

photo by Nancy Vaughn

I dreamed of a place without fences
and the women and the trout swam free
and sheep safely grazed
under the watchful eyes of wolves
and I dreamed red maples
bled syrup on platoons’ pancakes
and farm wives with rolling pins
and blue aprons ruled the waves.
I dreamed you were a wading bird
with an appetite just the size
of my pale crustacean body and mind
as I swam between your legs
and back without caution
and I dreamed of the hills
only the blind can see
and I tasted frost-bit apples
from the broken tree of good and evil.
In the dark, I dreamed of the dark.
I dreamed of hell
but there were no fires.
In fact, it was raining cold rain.
I dreamed of hell
and there were armies
shipping home trinkets and the slain.
And in this hell of a dream
there were papers to be filed,
there was nowhere to walk,
and no one was ever on time.
I dreamed of hell
and you were not there
and no one helped carry the pain.

- Ralph Murre

Planet Earth (Detail)

With every day's bad news, it's so easy to feel that the world is going to hell in a handbasket, and maybe it is, but I find some bit of peace by looking closer. Looking beneath the strata populated by humans. I look at the natural world, and I can not find evil. There are, of course, cataclysmic events throughout nature -- earthquakes and tsunamis, droughts and floods and hurricanes and wildfires and all the rest -- but there doesn't seem to be greed, and there is certainly no religion. As humans, some of us take pride in proclaiming that we are a species set apart, above all others. I won't argue with that belief, though I do not share it. It is true that we have powers to create good and bad on a scale that we haven't observed in other species.

But get yourself out of the man-made for just a bit; look at the square meter of earth beneath your feet, and understand that it is older and perhaps wiser, than the human race. Can I assign wisdom to dirt? Knowledge to rocks? Does the bit of dandelion fluff carried on the summer breeze know as much about a satisfying life as I do? Yes, yes.

Look up to the stars and look down to the dirt you sweep from your doorstep and know that they are the same and that you and your human brethren are the same, also. Believe whatever you do about who or what created all this, but don't build churches to convince others of your beliefs. Don't tell others they're wrong. You don't know. And if you don't know, why start a war? If you don't KNOW ( and I suspect that you've never been to heaven or hell ) why enslave yourself to an institution commanded by people who also don't know? Who are committed to destroying races of people who also don't know? I am not a nature writer, but I am an observer of the natural world, and if there is one lesson I've learned from my observations, it is that there is no religion in nature and it is religion that sets humans apart and causes the greatest sufferings. I am becoming a great believer in gods and spirits of all types, but I don't believe that they go to church.

Look to the dirt.

- Ralph Murre

Thanks

Back in our drive after 1500 miles of discovery
and recovery from the tameness that's called life.
Some bruises and some smiles, some aching and
some joy, and the road. The long road of husband,
wife. Thank the spirits that you know and thank
the ones you don't if there's just a little aching and
some joy and husband, wife. Beware of too much
tameness, and thank the spirits for the road, and
please thank the one you're with for sharing life.

winding pavement
a remembrance of lives
shared in the wind


- arem

note to mice:

play on, little mice

enjoy your cat's away games

this feline's homebound

- arem

Escape

Looks like Nancy Lee and I will escape

this corner of paradise for a while

via motorcycles and ferry boats

to visit three Great Lakes

and the two Mighty Nations

that lie along their shores.

Keep the homefires burning.

- arem

Full

A full moon

and a glass of wine

a full heart

and a wandering mind

September night

- arem