Cocooned

A wind-fueled blast of
arctic air has kept us cocooned
all weekend long.

Weak as it is, the sun’s
feeble warmth is compensated with
a deceptive brightness.

Reading the morning paper,
I lounge over a cup of tea and listen
to you putter in the kitchen.

More deaths in the news;
some named, warranting a headline,
others are simply statistics.

In the fragile protection
of brick and timber, how tenuous
our very survival seems.

Still, soothed by the gust
of furnace heat, full from breakfast,
I feel too alive to worry.

And glancing your way,
there in that splash of sunlight,
how immortal you look.

Bristling with electricity,
in need of your company, I rise
to help dry the dishes.

A spark crackles, strong
enough to ignite Spring itself,
when I lean in for a kiss.

Exercise Equipment

Some hold accumulating clutter.
Others crowd valuable basement or corner space.
Most, unseen by the averted eye,
pine away to rust from neglectful indifference.
A few will be donated to charity.
Even more, dragged surreptitiously to the curb.
Every January, the ones that
remain appear on a list of New Year’s resolutions.
A number will be put to the test
for a month or two, until guiltily forgotten again.
Impossible to relocate without
the aid of another strong back, the majority will
shabbily acquire a dust coating.
Imposing, although corroded into obsolescence,
patience is their greatest strength.
They are sure to exercise the ire of whoever is
entrusted to cart away the estate.

Dead Men Do Tell Tales : The Strange And Fascinating Cases Of A Forensic Anthropologist / William R. Maples and Michael Browning

Forensic anthropology involves the examination of human skeletal remains for law enforcement agencies to determine the identity of unidentified bones, as well as to provide evidence in murder investigations. Maples, a noted forensic anthropologist, worked at the C.A. Pound Human Identification Laboratory at the the Florida Museum of Natural History.  Dead Men Do Tell Tales chronicles his career, highlighting his numerous high-profile or interesting forensic cases.

In the early sections of the book he comes across at times as a braggart, someone who likes to hog the spotlight. However, it soon becomes evident that he is a top-ranked expert in his field and truly passionate about the importance of his profession. Over the years he was involved in investigations involving many historical figures. The list is impressive, including Francisco Pizarro, the Romanov family, Joseph Merrick (i.e. the Elephant Man), and President Zachary Taylor.

Just as fascinating are the murder cases he was called in to help solve. Before reading this book I had no idea what the human skeleton could reveal in criminal investigations. With mere fragments of bone, a trained forensic anthropologist can deduce the age, gender, and ethnicity of the individual. More importantly, the skeletal remains often provide clues to the manner in which a murder victim was dispatched.

As this book shows, Maples was not only a gifted forensic detective, his insightful commentary also provides a detailed history, pre- and post-mortem, of the individuals he highlights. It was published in 1994, three years before his death from a brain tumor. In its final chapter, he expresses the fear that his laboratory might be forced to close for lack of funding. I’m happy to report that it is still in existence, now renamed the Maples Center for Forensic Medicine. For the families of murder victims, it is reassuring to know the laboratory is still helping to provide names to human skeletal remains. While Dead Men Do Tell Tales will appeal to fans of the TV show CSI, I recommend it to a wider audience who will appreciate its insights on the importance of a profession most know little or nothing about.

Bowling Alley

Under bright fluorescents, a darkening winter
afternoon is forgotten. Cigarettes
are lit. Lies told about the girls we have only
kissed in our dreams. The clack
and clang of pinball machines emboldening
the swagger of teenage rebellion.

The regulars have taken their usual seats
around the bar. Each sits alone,
barricaded from the others by empty stools.
More absent than present, idle
chit chat takes the place of eye contact
between calibrated sips of beer.

An aging peroxide blonde anchors one end.
The town’s first Vietnam vet holds
down the other. Although just three years
older than us, he might as well be
a thousand. The lethargic bartender eyes
Jeopardy on a black and white TV.

Behind the cash register, the owner’s wife
keeps sharp lookout for tonight’s
bottom line. Tracking the number of games
bowled by a family on lane one,
she fumbles the count of today’s receipts
and has to start all over again.

Meanwhile, a silent jukebox bothers no one.

A woozy rookie, I force myself to inhale.
The harsh tobacco crackles as it
disintegrates into ash. Using a pool table
for support, I finger the three
remaining quarters of my allowance and
sagely nod, desperate to belong.

Cornfield

A gaping hole,
or so it seems in a harvester’s tendering
of a view
where before there was towering corn.

Constant visitors
spiral down in an orchestrated glide,
drawn by
the tell-tale signs of a field freshly shorn.

These travelers,
some with necks extended, ever alert,
feast on what
is embedded between thistle and thorn.

What seems
bleak and barren, in the weeks ahead,
autumn’s harbingers
will find sacred ground to noisily adorn.

Night Clothes

What do the night clothes
that we choose to wear have to say
about their occupants?
Obviously, for us, there is no longer
the need to impress,
in them, our dreams still hold true.
Cloth shabby from wear,
they are wrinkled and loose fitting,
mimicking furrowed brows
and those bags beneath our eyes.
We’re at the age where
coziness has supplanted fashion.
Softer versions of us,
not so much disguise as costume,
their stretched seams,
like the aches of joint and bone,
have stood the test
of time despite weakening thread.
The proof of intimacy,
they represent that we’re at home
and comfortable together.

The Adventures Of Augie March / Saul Bellow

Published in 1953, and the winner of the 1954 National Book for Fiction, The Adventures of Augie March is a novel that uses an episodic style to tell the life story of its eponymous character. It introduces Augie March, growing up during the Great Depression, and traces his growth into adulthood. Bellow uses a series of encounters, work scenarios, and relationships to highlight the development of a boy into a man.

March’s boyhood years are spent in Chicago and it is obviously a city the author holds dear. With a keen eye, he portrays its squalor, beauty and corruption, capturing the essence of this bustling metropolis. The book celebrates, too, the American ideal that someone born into poverty can rise in society through sheer determination, with the help of luck. However, as a good many of its characters learn, success does not necessarily guarantee happiness.

For me, the most interesting parts of the novel are the early sections set in Chicago. When March reaches adulthood, his adventures take him to Mexico, different parts of the U.S., and finally to Italy and Paris. Throughout, he gets involved with a string of different women, jobs, homes, times of poverty and wealth. Included is a description of March during World War II when, as a merchant marine, his ship is sunk, and he ends up on a lifeboat with a man who turns out to be a lunatic. At times, it feels like the author has thrown into the story everything but the kitchen sink.

March is clearly intelligent, compassionate, and observant of the world around him. Still, there is nothing heroic about him or his actions; he seems to have no definite goal in mind. Instead, he tends to go along with the schemes and dreams of others. In the end, his “quest for identity” does not lead him to an epiphany. It is the journey and not the destination that ultimately makes March the person he becomes.

I read this novel back in my college days but remembered none of its details. Revisiting it again later in life, I better appreciate its depths and meanderings. Not that I was completely wowed this time around. Parts of the story struck me as far fetched and unnecessarily verbose. Still, I did marvel at Bellow’s talents as a writer. In this novel he seemed intent on writing a classic American novel. For me, it was worth a second read to discover how close he comes to succeeding.

Woes Of The Old

How undisciplined they once seemed,
with their sore feet,
back pain, and bodily malfunctions,
always telling us,
“you just wait,” as they catalogued
the woes of the old.

Vainglorious, in the vigor of youth,
we smugly believed
with barely the ache of a complaint,
what we commanded
a corporal servant would carry out,
ruled by willpower.

But now, suddenly facing revolt,
we are humbled kings
learning to our rue that an army
marches on its stomach,
impervious to the proclamations
from a dictating head.

Our Souls At Night / Kent Haruf

Kent Haruf set all of his novels in the fictional town of Holt, Colorado. Our Souls At Night, his final book written shortly before he died, takes the reader back to the same city. It is a story stripped down to the bare bones, one devoid of poetical embellishment, simply focusing on precise narration of casual conversations. It deals with an older couple who, lonely in old age after the deaths of their spouses, start to share a bed at night.

In the beginning, companionship proves to be the important ingredient that brings them together. Addie Moore and Louis Waters have been neighbors for decades, but until Addie approaches him out of the blue with a proposition to share her bed, they had never before been close friends. In a town as small as Holt, his nightly visits to her quickly become fodder for gossip. It also sends ripples of concern throughout the family tree. Their children soon express disapproval and begin to try to derail their relationship.

In the early stages of reading this book. I was ready to dismiss it as too paper-thin, lacking the necessary depth to elevate it to the status of Haruf’s earlier works. However, my opinion had shifted by the time I reached its sad and yet compassionate conclusion. To me, the author proved in this compact story that less is often more. Addie states in one of the book’s final chapters, describing their affair, “it’s just old people talking in the dark.” Even if devoid of poetic flourishes, it still touches the reader’s heart.

The author’s bare bones description of his characters’ need to share a lifetime of memories with someone provides the book with a surprising depth. It is a satisfying conclusion to Haruf’s literary career. For readers new to his writing, I urge them to dive into his earlier work as well. His Holt stories capture the small town in loving detail, showing both the warts and kindnesses found in the heartland of today’s America.

The Sympathizer / Viet Than Nguyen

This novel won numerous awards after its publication in 2015, including the 2016 Pulitzer Prize for Fiction.  It is a story of the Vietnam War, told from the North Vietnamese perspective.  The narrator is a spy in the South Vietnam army who is subsequently sent, following the North’s victory, to the United States to keep tabs on the remnants of the refugees fleeing the fall of the government in the South.

Nguyen is certainly qualified to tell this story.  Born in Vietnam, his family came to the U.S. following the Communist takeover of the South.  His background gives him a distinct perspective on the war and its aftermath.  This is important since most of the literature on the war published in this country over the years is presented from an American perspective.

The novel’s nameless narrator is a Communist undercover agent implanted in the South Vietnamese army’s ranks.  But he is a man of two minds, attracted to the beliefs expressed by both sides of the conflict.  To complicate matters, his two best friends from childhood have taken opposite sides in the conflict.  One is a true patriot, an assassin assigned to the C.I.A.’s Phoenix Program.  The other is the narrator’s North Vietnamese handler.  The three remain loyal to each other despite their political differences.

For me, the most effective and gripping part of the story is the author’s description of the fall of Saigon.  In this section, Nguyen describes the desperation and terror of the city’s population as the remaining Americans and a few select Vietnamese flee the country.  The author does an excellent job of portraying the difficulty these refugees faced when trying to find a place in the American culture once relocated here.

The mood darkens when the narrator tries to return with a group of fighters intent on overthrowing the Communist regime.  It was at this point that I began to feel manipulated by the author’s attempt to portray the narrator’s dual roles and the schisms that resulted in his consciousness.  While it is evident that he is trying to present how the North Vietnamese had become as evil as what they replaced, this portion of the book did not ring quite as true as the rest.  It felt more like a lecture than simple description.

Having read a nonfiction account by this author of the war’s aftermath, I found that both books suffered from a verbosity that detracted from the point he was trying to make.  Still, this novel proves an uncomfortable read, one that vividly portrays that no parties involved in the conflict emerged with clean hands.

Without a doubt, The Sympathizer will not be “a feel good” read for an American audience. Nonetheless, it is a piece of fiction that needs to be digested and understood in this country.  While no side emerged with a clear conscience, this novel presents our guilt in a disturbing manner.  Caught in the crossfire, it was the Vietnamese themselves who suffered the most lasting scars of this war.

Magnificent Coats

It is said that the Meek
will inherit the magnificent coats
of the fallen Warriors.
But for now, helplessly caught in
a senseless crossfire,
the Meek despair as their sons,
tempted by the snug fit
and righteousness of a uniform,
rush, impatient for
inheritance, to join in the ranks
of a Warriors’ parade.

Wedding Knot

We have not hugged each other since I
was a child, and yet here
we are, face to face, almost touching.

Encircling my neck, even at sixty-nine,
his hands still convey
the strength from a life of manual labor.

In the comforting tang of his aftershave,
this close, I see what
a razor missed, salt peppered with gray.

Our respective breaths now entwined,
how simple it would be to
bestow the blessing of a shared kiss.

Yet on my wedding day, the job at hand
between father and son
is to merely straighten the knot of a tie.

Learning To Drive And Other Life Stories / Katha Pollitt

In this collection of essays, Katha Pollitt focuses on her own life. A poet, essayist, and columnist for The Nation, her work has won national acclaim. With sharp insight, she addresses marriage and other sexual relationships, childhood and parenting, radical political involvement, and an early job spent proofreading pornographic novels. All of the above is viewed from the perspective of an individual in late middle age who is dealing with body issues, betrayal, and acceptance of the hand life has dealt her.

What makes this a worthy read is her scathing self-honesty. While a card-carrying feminist, she is not afraid to address the faults of the Movement. The best essays here are the ones that focus on her various relationships with men over the course of her life. While her humor is razor sharp, Pollitt is not afraid to turn its blade on herself.

What I appreciated most was her daring to write what most of us only dare to think. As a result, she has drawn criticism from both sides of the political aisle. While her politics are clearly left-leaning, she is the rare author who seems capable of exposing the faults of both sides of today’s political/cultural divide. There is heartbreak aplenty exposed in these essays. Her brutal honesty and use of humor elevate to pitch perfect her reflections on contemporary American life.