Robert Jacoby's Blog, page 8
January 25, 2015
Review of Tao Te Ching by Stephen Mitchell
(Background: Over a couple of decades' time I planned to read the scriptures of the world's great religions/philosophies. I started with my own, reading the Bible in two different translations--first the Hebrew-Greek Word Study Bible by Spiros Zodhiates, and then the KJV--to gain a better grasp on my spirituality and to think critically about why and what I believed. I also wanted to get a better understanding of the world's major religions so that I could be more in tune with people, their language and their culture, and current events. Next I turned to Islam and Al-Quaran. After that The Bhagavad Gita and the Analects of Confucius. Every reading is helping me go a bit deeper and wider into man's search for God and, through that, meaning in this life. More books and reviews to come.)
(UPDATE January 2015: Added the Tao Te Ching.)
I decided to read the Tao Te Ching because a friend recommended it. In his words: he discovered the book during college; it had a powerful impact on him; and he found himself returning to it more and more as time went on. I shared with him my interest in reading the world's scriptures and canonical texts. He encouraged me to pick up a copy. So I did.
The Tao Te Ching (or more appropriately translated into English as Dao De Jing) is one of the classic Chinese texts. The title is often translated into English as "The Book of the Way." It is a small book; literally, this version of the book is 3.5 x 5 inches. The text consists of 81 brief chapters/sections, some only a few lines long, most only a page. The text purportedly dates to about the 6th century BC, written by Lao Tzu, a Chinese sage. It is a fundamental text for philosophical and religious Taoism, which today is one of five religions recognized by the Chinese communist government.
The central figure in the Tao Te Ching, we are told in Mitchell's Introduction, is the "man or woman whose life is in perfect harmony with the way things are..... The Master has mastered nature; not in the sense of conquering it, but of becoming it...." The Master is ultimately able to say, "I am the Tao, the Truth, the Life." Sound familiar?
Or this: "Since before time and space were, the Tao is" (Chapter 21).
Or this: If you know the Tao "there will be nothing you can't do" (Chapter 28).
And: "In the beginning was the Tao" (Chapter 52).
There's also a time for everything (Chapter 29; cf. Ecclesiastes 3) and taking Blake's Proverbs of Hell out of context (note on Chapter 36).
Mitchell provides a Notes section in the back of the book for details on his translation work and some textual analysis. Unfortunately, he has a habit of dropping a lot of names without providing context and/or much in the way of references to source material. For example, he'll simply write "Bunan said" or "I asked my friend and teacher Emile Conrad-Da'oud, founder of Continuum, to comment on this verse," or "Rama Maharshi said." Search the Introduction and the Notes and the Acknowledgements and you'll finding nothing on Bunan, Conrad-Da'oud, or Maharshi. Who are they? What makes them quotable on the Tao Te Ching? I don't know. You'll have to google them yourself.
About the actual "translation": I know many people in their reviews have complained about it, noting that Mitchell has taken too much liberty. He admits this in his Introduction and in some Notes on each chapter provides examples of "original text" compared to his translation. His text is usually wildly different than what he claims to be the "literal" text. Online you can find different and free translations of the Tao Te Ching, so it's easy to compare, if you like, different passages as you're reading along. Just google "tao te ching translation"; I used the "accurate translation" at taoism.net mostly, but consulted others. When I did spot check Mitchell's book against other translations they were often very different. Sometimes his seemed "better"; sometimes his text was completely off.
Overall, though, I enjoyed reading this version of the Tao Te Ching. It's full of maxims and aphorims on what life is and how to live it harmoniously in a distinctly eastern philosophy and collectivistic culture. Some of the timeless sayings include:
If you look to others for fulfillment,
you will never be truly fulfilled.
If your happiness depends on money,
you will never be happy with yourself.
Success is as dangerous as failure.
Wise men don't need to prove their point.
And, of course:
The journey of a thousand miles starts from beneath your feet.
***
For fellow Christians who want to read this book, a word of caution ("Watch out that you are not deceived..." [Luke 21:8]). Mitchell references and interprets the Bible as he likes and makes links between the Tao and the God revealed in the Bible as he likes (see his note for Chapter 64). But understand that Taoism is most definitely pantheism. While the Tao Te Ching never talks about "God" per se, there is a profound sense of reverence for the essence of being and that being in all things. This can be classified as pantheism. Also, Mitchell tries to draw the line from "the Tao" to "Christ." In the Notes on Chapter 22, for example, he cites Paul from Galatians 2:20 "Not I, but Christ in me" to interpret the line in Chapter 22 "Only in being lived by the Tao." Mitchell conveniently omits the full passage from Galatians: "I have been crucified with Christ and I no longer live, but Christ lives in me. The life I now live in the body, I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me." The biblical text, in context, gives a much different reading than what Mitchell has selected to show; and is also in direct conflict with what Mitchell later notes as the search of every Taoist, for his/her "inner messiah" (p. 72). About Mitchell's biblical revisionism: "God doesn't say, 'Let there be light.' The light simply is, and is God" (note on Chapter 34, p. 109).
***
While I read Mitchell's version of the Tao Te Ching I also read The Tao of Pooh by Benjamin Hoff. That book had been sitting on my shelf never-read for some years, since I picked it up off my mother's bookshelf after she died and we were going through her things. I just happened to be looking at my bookshelf (after I began reading the Tao Te Ching) when I spied Hoff's book; and I thought it would be neat to read it along with the real "Book of the Way." A Taoist would likely simply smile at that and nod.
***
Recommended for those curious about popular world philosophies/religions, especially eastern, and how they impact individuals, cultures, and nations.
I really liked it
4/5 Goodreads
4/5 Amazon
(UPDATE January 2015: Added the Tao Te Ching.)
I decided to read the Tao Te Ching because a friend recommended it. In his words: he discovered the book during college; it had a powerful impact on him; and he found himself returning to it more and more as time went on. I shared with him my interest in reading the world's scriptures and canonical texts. He encouraged me to pick up a copy. So I did.
The Tao Te Ching (or more appropriately translated into English as Dao De Jing) is one of the classic Chinese texts. The title is often translated into English as "The Book of the Way." It is a small book; literally, this version of the book is 3.5 x 5 inches. The text consists of 81 brief chapters/sections, some only a few lines long, most only a page. The text purportedly dates to about the 6th century BC, written by Lao Tzu, a Chinese sage. It is a fundamental text for philosophical and religious Taoism, which today is one of five religions recognized by the Chinese communist government.
The central figure in the Tao Te Ching, we are told in Mitchell's Introduction, is the "man or woman whose life is in perfect harmony with the way things are..... The Master has mastered nature; not in the sense of conquering it, but of becoming it...." The Master is ultimately able to say, "I am the Tao, the Truth, the Life." Sound familiar?
Or this: "Since before time and space were, the Tao is" (Chapter 21).
Or this: If you know the Tao "there will be nothing you can't do" (Chapter 28).
And: "In the beginning was the Tao" (Chapter 52).
There's also a time for everything (Chapter 29; cf. Ecclesiastes 3) and taking Blake's Proverbs of Hell out of context (note on Chapter 36).
Mitchell provides a Notes section in the back of the book for details on his translation work and some textual analysis. Unfortunately, he has a habit of dropping a lot of names without providing context and/or much in the way of references to source material. For example, he'll simply write "Bunan said" or "I asked my friend and teacher Emile Conrad-Da'oud, founder of Continuum, to comment on this verse," or "Rama Maharshi said." Search the Introduction and the Notes and the Acknowledgements and you'll finding nothing on Bunan, Conrad-Da'oud, or Maharshi. Who are they? What makes them quotable on the Tao Te Ching? I don't know. You'll have to google them yourself.
About the actual "translation": I know many people in their reviews have complained about it, noting that Mitchell has taken too much liberty. He admits this in his Introduction and in some Notes on each chapter provides examples of "original text" compared to his translation. His text is usually wildly different than what he claims to be the "literal" text. Online you can find different and free translations of the Tao Te Ching, so it's easy to compare, if you like, different passages as you're reading along. Just google "tao te ching translation"; I used the "accurate translation" at taoism.net mostly, but consulted others. When I did spot check Mitchell's book against other translations they were often very different. Sometimes his seemed "better"; sometimes his text was completely off.
Overall, though, I enjoyed reading this version of the Tao Te Ching. It's full of maxims and aphorims on what life is and how to live it harmoniously in a distinctly eastern philosophy and collectivistic culture. Some of the timeless sayings include:
If you look to others for fulfillment,
you will never be truly fulfilled.
If your happiness depends on money,
you will never be happy with yourself.
Success is as dangerous as failure.
Wise men don't need to prove their point.
And, of course:
The journey of a thousand miles starts from beneath your feet.
***
For fellow Christians who want to read this book, a word of caution ("Watch out that you are not deceived..." [Luke 21:8]). Mitchell references and interprets the Bible as he likes and makes links between the Tao and the God revealed in the Bible as he likes (see his note for Chapter 64). But understand that Taoism is most definitely pantheism. While the Tao Te Ching never talks about "God" per se, there is a profound sense of reverence for the essence of being and that being in all things. This can be classified as pantheism. Also, Mitchell tries to draw the line from "the Tao" to "Christ." In the Notes on Chapter 22, for example, he cites Paul from Galatians 2:20 "Not I, but Christ in me" to interpret the line in Chapter 22 "Only in being lived by the Tao." Mitchell conveniently omits the full passage from Galatians: "I have been crucified with Christ and I no longer live, but Christ lives in me. The life I now live in the body, I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me." The biblical text, in context, gives a much different reading than what Mitchell has selected to show; and is also in direct conflict with what Mitchell later notes as the search of every Taoist, for his/her "inner messiah" (p. 72). About Mitchell's biblical revisionism: "God doesn't say, 'Let there be light.' The light simply is, and is God" (note on Chapter 34, p. 109).
***
While I read Mitchell's version of the Tao Te Ching I also read The Tao of Pooh by Benjamin Hoff. That book had been sitting on my shelf never-read for some years, since I picked it up off my mother's bookshelf after she died and we were going through her things. I just happened to be looking at my bookshelf (after I began reading the Tao Te Ching) when I spied Hoff's book; and I thought it would be neat to read it along with the real "Book of the Way." A Taoist would likely simply smile at that and nod.
***
Recommended for those curious about popular world philosophies/religions, especially eastern, and how they impact individuals, cultures, and nations.
I really liked it
4/5 Goodreads
4/5 Amazon
Review of The Tao of Pooh by Benjamin Hoff
I read this book in conjunction with the Tao Te Ching by Stephen Mitchell, just for kicks. My copy of The Tao of Pooh came from my mother's bookshelf; when she died several years ago this was one of the few books I kept that was hers.
At 158 pages, this is a short book. The print is larger than normal. Hoff borrows text and illustrations *generously* from previously published A.A. Milne stories about Winnie-the-Pooh. (FYI, it was Disney who dropped the hyphens.) to illustrate points he's trying to make about the Tao.
And what is Hoff teaching?
Well, I learned that there are Taoist martial arts.
I learned of a man named Li Ching Yuen, who, when he died in 1933, was supposedly 197 (some believe 256) years old.
I learned that Mr. Hoff doesn't always follow his own teachings; he lets himself go on a rant about busy people, "Miserable Puritan[s]" (and their "Party-Crashing Busybody religion") and the "Restless Pioneer" and the "rigid, combative fanatic" that modern folk are, in his mind. His understanding of the discovery and exploration of North America seem straight out of a modern-day children's coloring book.
I learned of a few Taoist terms, most importantly "T'ai Hsu"--the "Great Nothing." I liked Hoff's translation of Chapter 48 of the Tao Te Ching better than Mitchell's to describe the practice of emptying: "To attain knowledge, add things every day. To attain wisdom, remove things every day."
Ultimately, though, I learned that Hoff spoiled a good read for me when he let's himself be overcome by Western ideas of the destruction of the world. It's too bad. He started out fine then lost his own way, and not in the Hundred Acre Wood.
I don't like it
1/5 Goodreads
2/5 Amazon
At 158 pages, this is a short book. The print is larger than normal. Hoff borrows text and illustrations *generously* from previously published A.A. Milne stories about Winnie-the-Pooh. (FYI, it was Disney who dropped the hyphens.) to illustrate points he's trying to make about the Tao.
And what is Hoff teaching?
Well, I learned that there are Taoist martial arts.
I learned of a man named Li Ching Yuen, who, when he died in 1933, was supposedly 197 (some believe 256) years old.
I learned that Mr. Hoff doesn't always follow his own teachings; he lets himself go on a rant about busy people, "Miserable Puritan[s]" (and their "Party-Crashing Busybody religion") and the "Restless Pioneer" and the "rigid, combative fanatic" that modern folk are, in his mind. His understanding of the discovery and exploration of North America seem straight out of a modern-day children's coloring book.
I learned of a few Taoist terms, most importantly "T'ai Hsu"--the "Great Nothing." I liked Hoff's translation of Chapter 48 of the Tao Te Ching better than Mitchell's to describe the practice of emptying: "To attain knowledge, add things every day. To attain wisdom, remove things every day."
Ultimately, though, I learned that Hoff spoiled a good read for me when he let's himself be overcome by Western ideas of the destruction of the world. It's too bad. He started out fine then lost his own way, and not in the Hundred Acre Wood.
I don't like it
1/5 Goodreads
2/5 Amazon
January 18, 2015
Nicest rejection I've received
It's hard to get a poem accepted to a literary magazine. Acceptance rates run from under 5% to much less than 1%. I'm always grateful when one (or more) of my poems finds a home in a journal willing to publish it.
When a poem is rejected there's usually nothing that comes along with the rejection but the standard "Thanks but no thanks" form text. "Couldn't find a place for it" type of thing.
Not so with Four Chambers Press. In fact, I was so impressed with their rejection letter (email) for one of my poems ("The Thread") that I've decided to share it here. I hope they don't mind. Here it is:
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
Hi Robert,
Thanks again for submitting 'The Thread' to Four Chambers. Sorry it took us so long to get back to you. For issue 03, we received about 1800 submissions. Of those, we're able to accept approximately 3%. And while we loved the central image of the piece, how much reality the thread took on, we thought the gesture of restraint in the last stanza was really effective, too, we regret to inform you that we are unable to publish 'The Thread' at this point in time.
This being said, thank you so much for sharing your work with us--let alone even writing something in the first place--and helping us build a stronger literary community. Let us know if there's anything we can do, and we look forward to seeing more work from you soon.
Sincerely,
-Four Chambers Press
The Heart of Literature
http://fourchamberspress.com
www.facebook.com/FourChambersPress
www.twitter.com/FourChambersPhx
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
I included all of their contact information so that you can follow/like them. Nice folks there.
When a poem is rejected there's usually nothing that comes along with the rejection but the standard "Thanks but no thanks" form text. "Couldn't find a place for it" type of thing.
Not so with Four Chambers Press. In fact, I was so impressed with their rejection letter (email) for one of my poems ("The Thread") that I've decided to share it here. I hope they don't mind. Here it is:
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
Hi Robert,
Thanks again for submitting 'The Thread' to Four Chambers. Sorry it took us so long to get back to you. For issue 03, we received about 1800 submissions. Of those, we're able to accept approximately 3%. And while we loved the central image of the piece, how much reality the thread took on, we thought the gesture of restraint in the last stanza was really effective, too, we regret to inform you that we are unable to publish 'The Thread' at this point in time.
This being said, thank you so much for sharing your work with us--let alone even writing something in the first place--and helping us build a stronger literary community. Let us know if there's anything we can do, and we look forward to seeing more work from you soon.
Sincerely,
-Four Chambers Press
The Heart of Literature
http://fourchamberspress.com
www.facebook.com/FourChambersPress
www.twitter.com/FourChambersPhx
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
I included all of their contact information so that you can follow/like them. Nice folks there.
January 12, 2015
Review of Time Reborn by Lee Smolin
I don't quite know what to make of this book. I am not a professional scientist; but I have a life-long interest in the sciences (I was a medical writer and/or reporter for 15 years) and learning in the fields of astronomy and cosmology (among others) and how the study of these fields might relate to our understanding of life. What drew me to this book were its high ranking on Amazon in its best seller rank, its high praise from the Amazon and editorial review section, and finally the fact that the author was touching on environmental and economic issues (I was intrigued as to how he would/could tie together a new understanding of time with these seemingly disconnected topics).
Written by theoretical physicist Lee Smolin, Time Reborn takes the reader on a journey from what is currently and generally accepted in the field (Time Is Not Real) to what Smolin proposes (Time Is Real). If you're like me, you'll need to re-wrap your head around the whole Time Is Not Real business before even trying to move on to Smolin's Time Is (Really) Real argument.
Smolin builds the current case that Time Is Not Real by explaining that it has to do with timeless natural laws, theories of relativity, mathematical equations and what they do and do not represent, and thinking from the tiniest level of known matter (quantum mechanics) to the largest level of known matter (the block universe, which is a fancy way of saying that "every moment in time is equally real and so the whole of space and time must be laid out in one unchanging spacetime block" [Pearce, 2012]). (If you're not used to it, thinking like this can stretch your mind to its limits; kind of like thinking about how matter is truly nearly all empty space, at the atomic level.) Smolin then proposes that Time Is Real, explaining that only real time can provide explanations for what he explains as evolving laws of physics.
This is an interesting ride, but along the way I realized that Smolin was cherry-picking his theories. For example, on page 236 he gives short shrift to variable speed of light theories, obviously, because they don't fit what he believes. Smolin believes the speed of light is a constant because he *must have it* be a constant to fit his thinking; not the other way around. If he were open-minded to the data, he would know that, in fact, the speed of light is variable. (It can go at what is nowadays measured at 186,000 m/s. It can be slowed; it can be stopped; and it can be re-started. Scientists have done this multiple times. Just google "speed of light is stopped." And, if the speed of light can be slowed....then logically it could also be....sped up. Which is the crux of the variable speed of light theory. Some scientists have done an enormous amount of work to determine if the speed of light was faster in the past, and what this might mean for how we think about the universe, time, and ourselves. If you're interested, google "speed of light was faster in the past" and you'll find some fascinating material. I've looked at the data. It is compelling.) So, Smolin's cherry-picking made me wonder what else he was limiting himself to believing based on his prejudices and pre-conceived notions (his constructed worldview) and then what he did to sieve his information through that to us, his readers.
Still, I liked the book. If you're a serious layman like me, don't be intimidated by the subject matter, the dizzying amount of theories discussed and explained, or the often-used professional language of the professional theoretical physicist author. Read on; plow through. Understand that it simply has to be this way. Smolin tries carefully to explain in detail why Time Is Not Real and then why Time Is Real. I admire him and his book for that and for the added understanding it's given me of the mysterious universe we inhabit.
I liked it:
3/5 Goodreads
4/5 Amazon
All my reviews are on my Amazon review page: http://www.amazon.com/gp/pdp/profile/...
Written by theoretical physicist Lee Smolin, Time Reborn takes the reader on a journey from what is currently and generally accepted in the field (Time Is Not Real) to what Smolin proposes (Time Is Real). If you're like me, you'll need to re-wrap your head around the whole Time Is Not Real business before even trying to move on to Smolin's Time Is (Really) Real argument.
Smolin builds the current case that Time Is Not Real by explaining that it has to do with timeless natural laws, theories of relativity, mathematical equations and what they do and do not represent, and thinking from the tiniest level of known matter (quantum mechanics) to the largest level of known matter (the block universe, which is a fancy way of saying that "every moment in time is equally real and so the whole of space and time must be laid out in one unchanging spacetime block" [Pearce, 2012]). (If you're not used to it, thinking like this can stretch your mind to its limits; kind of like thinking about how matter is truly nearly all empty space, at the atomic level.) Smolin then proposes that Time Is Real, explaining that only real time can provide explanations for what he explains as evolving laws of physics.
This is an interesting ride, but along the way I realized that Smolin was cherry-picking his theories. For example, on page 236 he gives short shrift to variable speed of light theories, obviously, because they don't fit what he believes. Smolin believes the speed of light is a constant because he *must have it* be a constant to fit his thinking; not the other way around. If he were open-minded to the data, he would know that, in fact, the speed of light is variable. (It can go at what is nowadays measured at 186,000 m/s. It can be slowed; it can be stopped; and it can be re-started. Scientists have done this multiple times. Just google "speed of light is stopped." And, if the speed of light can be slowed....then logically it could also be....sped up. Which is the crux of the variable speed of light theory. Some scientists have done an enormous amount of work to determine if the speed of light was faster in the past, and what this might mean for how we think about the universe, time, and ourselves. If you're interested, google "speed of light was faster in the past" and you'll find some fascinating material. I've looked at the data. It is compelling.) So, Smolin's cherry-picking made me wonder what else he was limiting himself to believing based on his prejudices and pre-conceived notions (his constructed worldview) and then what he did to sieve his information through that to us, his readers.
Still, I liked the book. If you're a serious layman like me, don't be intimidated by the subject matter, the dizzying amount of theories discussed and explained, or the often-used professional language of the professional theoretical physicist author. Read on; plow through. Understand that it simply has to be this way. Smolin tries carefully to explain in detail why Time Is Not Real and then why Time Is Real. I admire him and his book for that and for the added understanding it's given me of the mysterious universe we inhabit.
I liked it:
3/5 Goodreads
4/5 Amazon
All my reviews are on my Amazon review page: http://www.amazon.com/gp/pdp/profile/...
December 20, 2014
My Love Affair With...
Last week Gina left town. Went to Sweden to see her son's graduation ceremony (Master's degree in chemistry; he's in his doctoral program now). She'd be gone three nights.
Three nights I had alone. Three chances for dinner of my choice. God help me.
Say the word with me: Fatburger.
I wasn't going to write about this. I wasn't going to confess this. Some part of me felt weak, ashamed. No more, I say, no more! No more will I hide my affection for...Fatburger.
Just saying the name causes me to get all starry-eyed, like Spongebob.
Last week when Gina was gone I had my choice. Drive 45 minutes out of my way to get the Fatburger, or drive back home to get....sushi? Arby's? A steak? Taco Bell? Wendy's? I went through all my choices. Nothing would do.
I set the GPS. My hands were shaking.
At 15 minutes out my salivary glands began to squirt. I felt like Pavlov's dog.
The anticipation built to a crescendo as I parked and walked in. I hadn't had a Fatburger in months!
I stepped to the counter and ordered.
Large. That's one half pound of pure, tasty, superbly seasoned beef.
Toppings. I always get everything. That's mayo, lettuce, tomato, pickles, onions, relish, mustard. Those are free. I always add American cheese. That's extra.
With a lemonade to drink. And the skinny fries.
The skinny fries. Oh man.
I took my cup and filled it at the other counter with ice and lemonade. I grabbed about 20 salt packets. Took two little paper cups and loaded them with ketchup. Brought it all back to the table. And then waited. And waited.
When the girl brought out my tray....oh....
The wait was worth it, and the wait was over.
If you live within 90 minutes of a Fatburger, drive there. http://www.fatburger.com/
Here's my ranking of chain hamburgers. (I've yet to have a Mom n Pop shop make my list.)
1. Fatburger
2. Checkers/Rally's
3. All the rest
4. A burger on my grill
5. Dogfood
6. McDonald's
If there is a better burger, let me know. It if is within driving distance, I will go.
Crossposted to my Facebook page, with images there:https://www.facebook.com/OfficialRobe...
Three nights I had alone. Three chances for dinner of my choice. God help me.
Say the word with me: Fatburger.
I wasn't going to write about this. I wasn't going to confess this. Some part of me felt weak, ashamed. No more, I say, no more! No more will I hide my affection for...Fatburger.
Just saying the name causes me to get all starry-eyed, like Spongebob.
Last week when Gina was gone I had my choice. Drive 45 minutes out of my way to get the Fatburger, or drive back home to get....sushi? Arby's? A steak? Taco Bell? Wendy's? I went through all my choices. Nothing would do.
I set the GPS. My hands were shaking.
At 15 minutes out my salivary glands began to squirt. I felt like Pavlov's dog.
The anticipation built to a crescendo as I parked and walked in. I hadn't had a Fatburger in months!
I stepped to the counter and ordered.
Large. That's one half pound of pure, tasty, superbly seasoned beef.
Toppings. I always get everything. That's mayo, lettuce, tomato, pickles, onions, relish, mustard. Those are free. I always add American cheese. That's extra.
With a lemonade to drink. And the skinny fries.
The skinny fries. Oh man.
I took my cup and filled it at the other counter with ice and lemonade. I grabbed about 20 salt packets. Took two little paper cups and loaded them with ketchup. Brought it all back to the table. And then waited. And waited.
When the girl brought out my tray....oh....
The wait was worth it, and the wait was over.
If you live within 90 minutes of a Fatburger, drive there. http://www.fatburger.com/
Here's my ranking of chain hamburgers. (I've yet to have a Mom n Pop shop make my list.)
1. Fatburger
2. Checkers/Rally's
3. All the rest
4. A burger on my grill
5. Dogfood
6. McDonald's
If there is a better burger, let me know. It if is within driving distance, I will go.
Crossposted to my Facebook page, with images there:https://www.facebook.com/OfficialRobe...
November 30, 2014
My Poem of the Day
Dear Love
(first published in Slow Trains, Volume 8, Issue 3, 2009)
Gina and I were vacationing with my three children on the island of St. John. We'd rented a house up on a hillside with a magnificent view of a bay and the other islands.
It was our last day. I was determined to rise early and hike with her into the jungle where it is said the native populations hundreds of years ago carved petroglpyhs into rock above a reflective pool. As icons. As masks of the dead. No one knew.
Rain was threatening. I convinced her to go.
Here is the poem I wrote for her and to her and about her.
Dear Love
You are lush
like the Caribbean island jungle that June morning.
Remember?
We left our mountaintop retreat early, children sleeping,
to hike the ancient trail.
The pre-dawn air foretold rain,
but we were undeterred.
We entered the forest's throated canopy,
fearful of our muted footfalls and eyes all around.
Eyes of creatures and spirits and gods.
We journeyed up and up and up
to where the Ancient Indians carved
their deceased into the rock
above the silent pool's waterline—
petroglyphs—
turning them into mirrored gods or
the dead looking on from the other side
at the top of their sacred space,
a waterfall.
It seemed to be our destination
from one thousand years ago.
We arrived soaked from the storm,
marked our triumph with a token of love.
Their gathered gods watched us kiss.
We listened to the mountain breathe,
and It listened to us,
our mammalian hearts ensconced in the rocks
inseparable.
You sheathed my wound.
We became waterfalls
cascading rainbows
mists
stories
told and untold.
I spoke in tongues.
The reflected spirit-gods confirmed our resurrection:
Time is firm.
Time is bible-paper thin.
Time is our precious element.
It won't abide.
(first published in Slow Trains, Volume 8, Issue 3, 2009)
Gina and I were vacationing with my three children on the island of St. John. We'd rented a house up on a hillside with a magnificent view of a bay and the other islands.
It was our last day. I was determined to rise early and hike with her into the jungle where it is said the native populations hundreds of years ago carved petroglpyhs into rock above a reflective pool. As icons. As masks of the dead. No one knew.
Rain was threatening. I convinced her to go.
Here is the poem I wrote for her and to her and about her.
Dear Love
You are lush
like the Caribbean island jungle that June morning.
Remember?
We left our mountaintop retreat early, children sleeping,
to hike the ancient trail.
The pre-dawn air foretold rain,
but we were undeterred.
We entered the forest's throated canopy,
fearful of our muted footfalls and eyes all around.
Eyes of creatures and spirits and gods.
We journeyed up and up and up
to where the Ancient Indians carved
their deceased into the rock
above the silent pool's waterline—
petroglyphs—
turning them into mirrored gods or
the dead looking on from the other side
at the top of their sacred space,
a waterfall.
It seemed to be our destination
from one thousand years ago.
We arrived soaked from the storm,
marked our triumph with a token of love.
Their gathered gods watched us kiss.
We listened to the mountain breathe,
and It listened to us,
our mammalian hearts ensconced in the rocks
inseparable.
You sheathed my wound.
We became waterfalls
cascading rainbows
mists
stories
told and untold.
I spoke in tongues.
The reflected spirit-gods confirmed our resurrection:
Time is firm.
Time is bible-paper thin.
Time is our precious element.
It won't abide.
November 23, 2014
Review of The Beautiful Wishes of Ugly Men by Adam Prince
I'm a big fan of short stories, from way back. Flannery O'Connor was my first great love. Until I'd read her, I did not know what a short story could do. How it could affect me.
So, I was searching for a collection of short stories to read, something done recently, by a writer who might affect me the same way, and I stumbled upon this collection by Adam Prince, The Beautiful Wishes of Ugly Men.
Some of these stories worked really well for me, others not so much. Some read like a vignette, or a tableau, not a fully formed story. But that's ok. That form can still work, when the writer's craft carries the form. And that's what happens here, mostly.
But don't believe the quote by Ellen Gilchrist on the cover of the book about this collection: "Woman can learn more from these stories than from thousands of issues of Cosmopolitan." Ladies, *don't* read this book to "learn" about men! Because these stories are not about "average" men. Anything but. What we have here is a collection of (mostly) misfits, outsiders looking in, and some trying to fit in. Others not.
There are a few stories here that are quiet, simple, purposeful reveals of humanity. These are little gems, for me, and include "Island of the Lost Boys" and "Tranquility."
Adam Prince has a gift for being able to use words to get to places few writers can. Recommended for those who enjoy the quirky side.
I hear he's working on a novel now. That will certainly be on my "To Read" list.
I liked it:
3/5 Goodreads
4/5 Amazon
So, I was searching for a collection of short stories to read, something done recently, by a writer who might affect me the same way, and I stumbled upon this collection by Adam Prince, The Beautiful Wishes of Ugly Men.
Some of these stories worked really well for me, others not so much. Some read like a vignette, or a tableau, not a fully formed story. But that's ok. That form can still work, when the writer's craft carries the form. And that's what happens here, mostly.
But don't believe the quote by Ellen Gilchrist on the cover of the book about this collection: "Woman can learn more from these stories than from thousands of issues of Cosmopolitan." Ladies, *don't* read this book to "learn" about men! Because these stories are not about "average" men. Anything but. What we have here is a collection of (mostly) misfits, outsiders looking in, and some trying to fit in. Others not.
There are a few stories here that are quiet, simple, purposeful reveals of humanity. These are little gems, for me, and include "Island of the Lost Boys" and "Tranquility."
Adam Prince has a gift for being able to use words to get to places few writers can. Recommended for those who enjoy the quirky side.
I hear he's working on a novel now. That will certainly be on my "To Read" list.
I liked it:
3/5 Goodreads
4/5 Amazon
November 16, 2014
Review of One Foot in Eden by Ron Rash
This is not the "type" of story I usually read. I was attracted to the writing style of Ron Rash through one of his short stories, so I figured I'd pick up one of his novels. I liked his short story so much that I also figured I'd like how he wrote in the longer form; so I decided to pick up this, his first effort, published in 2003, even though it's a "murder mystery." I'm glad I gave this a shot. If you're going to pick this up, I recommend *not* reading too many spoiler-type reviews, like the lengthy and too-detailed review from Publisher's Weekly.
For a first novel, this is a wonderful effort. The story explores a "murder mystery" through five different first-person narrators. This drives the narrative and the suspense of the story, of the who, the why, and the how. But the center of the story is the unfolding and never-ending effects of living with life choices, and chance--and how both can haunt lives for years. The language is at once simple and poetic; the voices are plain but deep and well crafted. (Mr. Rash is also a poet, and that side of him is evident on every page of this novel.)
There were a few story loopholes that didn't sit well with me. But the force of the narrative and Mr. Rash's skills as a storyteller and poet overpowered these in the end.
Highly recommended for such an engaging and well-plotted story, use of narrative and language, all packed into 214 pages.
I really liked it:
4/5 Goodreads
5/5 Amazon
For a first novel, this is a wonderful effort. The story explores a "murder mystery" through five different first-person narrators. This drives the narrative and the suspense of the story, of the who, the why, and the how. But the center of the story is the unfolding and never-ending effects of living with life choices, and chance--and how both can haunt lives for years. The language is at once simple and poetic; the voices are plain but deep and well crafted. (Mr. Rash is also a poet, and that side of him is evident on every page of this novel.)
There were a few story loopholes that didn't sit well with me. But the force of the narrative and Mr. Rash's skills as a storyteller and poet overpowered these in the end.
Highly recommended for such an engaging and well-plotted story, use of narrative and language, all packed into 214 pages.
I really liked it:
4/5 Goodreads
5/5 Amazon
November 9, 2014
My Poem of the Day
Stars Fall Nude
(first published in Sleet Magazine, Volume 3, Number 2, Fall 2011)
It's not easy writing about sexual intercourse in a loving, bonded relationship in an elegant yet descriptive and moving way. Describing feelings in poetic, engaging, and real ways are difficult and challenging enough; crafting language to describe the most powerful and profound feelings to be experienced as a human being--well, it's what poets have been trying to do since the beginning of language: To describe what is seemingly indescribable.
The title of this poem came to me first. "Stars Fall Nude."
Gina and I had just finished a particularly exhilarating evening together, and as we lay in bed in the twilight my eyes were drawn to the night light coming in through the drawn blinds, and my mind followed from my lover's shadowed and sensual naked form next to me up the slight moon beam to what I imagined I would see happening in the dark sky overhead outside.
Stars. Naked. Nude. Raw. True to their being. Stars. Falling stars. Created stars. Unending stars.
Words were appearing in my mind and I played with them there.
It was an overwhelming moment thinking of how my Gina and I express our love for one another in our physical beings. I was awash in a deep sense of blessing for her presence in my life. And I thought: The stars are shining on you--on us--as and when you and I are becoming one in this physical act, which represents the spiritual melding of two created beings.
I did not know if I would ever in my life be able to describe that fleeting moment of earthly ecstasy:
"One unsaid sun flares
fluttering seemingly endlessly"
I think I did it. For me. In that time.
To get this poem into this final form took me 2 years.
Enjoy.
Stars Fall Nude
(first published in Sleet Magazine, Volume 3, Number 2, Fall 2011)
stars fall nude shine on you
so soon becoming me
simmers the softly sea
pink run light shellworks
my breath to breathe
rhythms our body use to rhyme
of habit residual full
our sidereal God bathes me in your incense
your eyes pool my blood
for suns' fusions pulling blood
thin time without point and time
shooting stars barreled veins pull
the universe from my Christ-like heart
pull the universe through my very very vein
where the universe ends
to re-born me in bones
re-created in your throat.
One unsaid sun flares
fluttering seemingly endlessly
horizon upon horizon upon horizon
cheating time through gravity's bend and me, the awful observer of
a star falling willingly.
A star falls nude.
Fall now.
(first published in Sleet Magazine, Volume 3, Number 2, Fall 2011)
It's not easy writing about sexual intercourse in a loving, bonded relationship in an elegant yet descriptive and moving way. Describing feelings in poetic, engaging, and real ways are difficult and challenging enough; crafting language to describe the most powerful and profound feelings to be experienced as a human being--well, it's what poets have been trying to do since the beginning of language: To describe what is seemingly indescribable.
The title of this poem came to me first. "Stars Fall Nude."
Gina and I had just finished a particularly exhilarating evening together, and as we lay in bed in the twilight my eyes were drawn to the night light coming in through the drawn blinds, and my mind followed from my lover's shadowed and sensual naked form next to me up the slight moon beam to what I imagined I would see happening in the dark sky overhead outside.
Stars. Naked. Nude. Raw. True to their being. Stars. Falling stars. Created stars. Unending stars.
Words were appearing in my mind and I played with them there.
It was an overwhelming moment thinking of how my Gina and I express our love for one another in our physical beings. I was awash in a deep sense of blessing for her presence in my life. And I thought: The stars are shining on you--on us--as and when you and I are becoming one in this physical act, which represents the spiritual melding of two created beings.
I did not know if I would ever in my life be able to describe that fleeting moment of earthly ecstasy:
"One unsaid sun flares
fluttering seemingly endlessly"
I think I did it. For me. In that time.
To get this poem into this final form took me 2 years.
Enjoy.
Stars Fall Nude
(first published in Sleet Magazine, Volume 3, Number 2, Fall 2011)
stars fall nude shine on you
so soon becoming me
simmers the softly sea
pink run light shellworks
my breath to breathe
rhythms our body use to rhyme
of habit residual full
our sidereal God bathes me in your incense
your eyes pool my blood
for suns' fusions pulling blood
thin time without point and time
shooting stars barreled veins pull
the universe from my Christ-like heart
pull the universe through my very very vein
where the universe ends
to re-born me in bones
re-created in your throat.
One unsaid sun flares
fluttering seemingly endlessly
horizon upon horizon upon horizon
cheating time through gravity's bend and me, the awful observer of
a star falling willingly.
A star falls nude.
Fall now.
October 11, 2014
My Poem of the Day
Anything can spark a poem for me. This one happened when we were on a beach vacation in Belize, walking along the surf, gently, in our toes and at our ankles. I saw a couple of jellyfish just below the surface, billowing up the way they do. I pointed it out to Gina. Back in our room we were tired and so stretched out on the bed. Her feet were naked and so we....
It is still too much the mystery, our love
(Belize, July 2010)
(first published in Welter, 2011)
It is still too much the mystery,
still too much like fusing suns
coming burning and mirrored split
across the sea’s table
where we know to tread cool, melodic waves
and dare to sip to slake the thirst
that madness brings.
See the jellyfish seethe beneath; I point to the canopy.
Your red toenails at the end of our bed
exhort me to my kingdom.
It is still too much the mystery, our love
(Belize, July 2010)
(first published in Welter, 2011)
It is still too much the mystery,
still too much like fusing suns
coming burning and mirrored split
across the sea’s table
where we know to tread cool, melodic waves
and dare to sip to slake the thirst
that madness brings.
See the jellyfish seethe beneath; I point to the canopy.
Your red toenails at the end of our bed
exhort me to my kingdom.
