Kurt Brindley's Blog, page 157

From Poem Man – Petey Peter the Garlic Eater

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Petey Peter the Garlic Eater

My review of Maugham's masterpiece OF HUMAN BONDAGE reminded me of a poem I wrote and which was included in POEM MAN, a children's poetry book my family and I published back at the turn of the century. The book is currently out of print, but here is what the poem has to say:

Petey Peter the Garlic Eater

Petey Peter the garlic eater

Sat right behind me in class.

And if he wasn't busy boisterously burpin',

He was busy passin' poisonous gas.

I couldn't concentrate on my studies

Because of the stink he emitted.

As a result I failed all my classes.

As for graduation, I wasn't permitted.

Now, if you're a lover of riddles and rhymes

You might just remember his name.

Cuz his great, great, great, great, great, grandfather

Is famous for a name just the same.

But their names are their only sim'larities,

For they both liked to eat different treats.

Old Peter Peter preferred to eat pumpkins,

While it was garlic young Petey did eat.

Though I can't imagine eating pumpkins

Unless smashed and baked as sweet pies.

But I do wish young Petey had eaten them,

Cuz his garlic breath always drew flies.

But pumpkins, too, can bring trouble.

It's cuz of pumpkins old Peter lost a wife.

I guess if you do too much of anything

There's a chance it could ruin a life.

It's cuz of Petey's stinky garlic breath

That every single class I did fail.

And it's cuz I dropped out of grade school

That I eventually landed in jail.

But as for Petey, he invented a breath mint.

And it earned him a million or two.

And he married the great, great, great, great, great, granddaughter

Of the old lady who lived in the shoe.

~~~~

My review of OF HUMAN BONDAGE reminded me of this poem because they both, in different ways, discuss the important matter of addiction and dependency. In Maugham's story, we find that because of his infatuation, his addiction, for Mildred, the protagonist, Phillip Carey, nearly destroys his own life. In my poem we find that both Peter Peter's excessive love for pumpkins and Petey Peter's excessive love for garlics, addictions in their own rights, destroy, not their own lives, necessarily, but the lives of those around them.

Summing Up Maugham’s Of Human Bondage

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W. Somerset Maugham

I suppose the easiest, and quickest, way to sum up Maugham’s Of Human Bondage would be to write something along the lines of “most men lead lives of quiet desperation and go to the grave with the song still in them,” which appears to be the case for the story’s protagonist Phillip Carey.

If, however, that was all I wrote, then not only I would I be overly brief in this post (which probably is not a bad thing), I would also be overly unoriginal since we all know the above quote belongs to Henry David Thoreau.

Unfortunately, because I do not have Thoreau’s genius for writing simply (which requires skill and patience that most writers, such as moi, do not possess), I will have to deploy many more words than he for my own summing up of Maugham’s internationally renowned masterpiece.

But what Thoreau wrote so poetically is undeniably what the essence of Maugham’s story is about:

Carey, born with a clubbed foot and who grows up to be shy and insecure because of it, lives a life yearning to be someone he can never be, to love someone whom he can never love, and to be somewhere other than where he happens to be.

His yearnings, we find, go mostly unfulfilled.

What I enjoy most about the story is Maugham’s descriptive ability. His writing magically places me deep within the England and the Germany and the France of the early twentieth century. I can hear the cart wheels rolling along the cobble-stoned streets. I can see the crowded, smoke-filled cafe. I can taste the absinthe and feel the immediate allure and rush as it blissfully numbs away the bite of reality.

What I enjoy least about the story is Carey’s excessively drawn-out infatuation with Mildred, the cruel and insensitive simpleton who fancies herself to be of a station in life much higher than the one she is unable to escape no matter how hard she tries. While she does not have the capacity to improve her lot in life through earnest devices and effort, she does have enough smarts about her to understand early on in her relationship with Carey that she has a power over him from which he is also unable to escape no matter how hard he tries. She uses and abuses Carey with her power so often and for so long that I found myself becoming impatient and bored with, not only Carey’s unbelievable weakness, but with the story as a whole.

In the end (not of the story, but of the relationship between Carey and Mildred), Carey is not able to overcome his yearning for Mildred until she completely destroys her life and nearly destroys his, as well.

While I find the tortuous, one-sided love affair between Carey and Mildred to be a bit too much, through it I am reminded that any unhealthy dependency, be it our dependency on love, on money, on drugs, or on whatever, often takes us down a long and troubling path that, if we stay on it, will eventually lead us to the point of our destruction. And it usually is not until we nearly reach that point that we are finally able to realize just how destructive our dependency, our yearning, really is. Only then, if we are lucky and/or blessed (for unfortunately, many are unable to stop before reaching the point of their destruction and continue helplessly, fatally on), can we find the strength to separate ourselves from that which is destroying us and begin on a path to recovery.

Carey, like many addicts, nearly let his dependency destroy him.

But I guess that’s how life goes, and how it has always gone throughout the desperate ages — if we do not somehow find a way to come to peace with our satiated yearnings, our unrequited desires, they, like Thoreau so poetically, and prophetically, reminds us, will most likely be the sad songs we sing until we finally, and at last, are placed within our lonely graves.

Summing Up Maugham's Of Human Bondage

[image error]

W. Somerset Maugham

I suppose the easiest, and quickest, way to sum up Maugham's Of Human Bondage would be to write something along the lines of "most men lead lives of quiet desperation and go to the grave with the song still in them," which appears to be the case for the story's protagonist Phillip Carey.

If, however, that was all I wrote, then not only I would I be overly brief in this post (which probably is not a bad thing), I would also be overly unoriginal since we all know the above quote belongs to Henry David Thoreau.

Unfortunately, because I do not have Thoreau's genius for writing simply (which requires skill and patience that most writers, such as moi, do not possess), I will have to deploy many more words than he for my own summing up of Maugham's internationally renowned masterpiece.

But what Thoreau wrote so poetically is undeniably what the essence of Maugham's story is about:

Carey, born with a clubbed foot and who grows up to be shy and insecure because of it, lives a life yearning to be someone he can never be, to love someone whom he can never love, and to be somewhere other than where he happens to be.

His yearnings, we find, go mostly unfulfilled.

What I enjoy most about the story is Maugham's descriptive ability. His writing magically places me deep within the England and the Germany and the France of the early twentieth century. I can hear the cart wheels rolling along the cobble-stoned streets. I can see the crowded, smoke-filled cafe. I can taste the absinthe and feel the immediate allure and rush as it blissfully numbs away the bite of reality.

What I enjoy least about the story is Carey's excessively drawn-out infatuation with Mildred, the cruel and insensitive simpleton who fancies herself to be of a station in life much higher than the one she is unable to escape no matter how hard she tries. While she does not have the capacity to improve her lot in life through earnest devices and effort, she does have enough smarts about her to understand early on in her relationship with Carey that she has a power over him from which he is also unable to escape no matter how hard he tries. She uses and abuses Carey with her power so often and for so long that I found myself becoming impatient and bored with, not only Carey's unbelievable weakness, but with the story as a whole.

In the end (not of the story, but of the relationship between Carey and Mildred), Carey is not able to overcome his yearning for Mildred until she completely destroys her life and nearly destroys his, as well.

While I find the tortuous, one-sided love affair between Carey and Mildred to be a bit too much, through it I am reminded that any unhealthy dependency, be it our dependency on love, on money, on drugs, or on whatever, often takes us down a long and troubling path that, if we stay on it, will eventually lead us to the point of our destruction. And it usually is not until we nearly reach that point that we are finally able to realize just how destructive our dependency, our yearning, really is. Only then, if we are lucky and/or blessed (for unfortunately, many are unable to stop before reaching the point of their destruction and continue helplessly, fatally on), can we find the strength to separate ourselves from that which is destroying us and begin on a path to recovery.

Carey, like many addicts, nearly let his dependency destroy him.

But I guess that's how life goes, and how it has always gone throughout the desperate ages — if we do not somehow find a way to come to peace with our satiated yearnings, our unrequited desires, they, like Thoreau so poetically, and prophetically, reminds us, will most likely be the sad songs we sing until we finally, and at last, are placed within our lonely graves.

Short Verses and Other Curses #2

(a second round-up of haiku and other diminutive discourses of mine posted in various places throughout the cybersphere)

*

Primal December

I ache for those pagan days

Saturnalia!

*

It's those voices;

those penetrating and perturbing voices;

ethereal voices spoken from faceless mouths;

Yes, those voices.

*

how I view the world

requires not my eyes to see

my life's perspective

*

long and dark-filled days

the light that once pleased now pains

still, faith guides my way

*

tho' beyond my ken

speak unto me with thy tongue

whispered words betray

*

land between rivers'

nine year death knell rings no more

lies alone prevailed

*

Now is not so bad.

But, it always seems

to be a little better

as Then.

*

Surround me with such things

Erudite things

Simple things

Things of pleasure

Things of pain

Any thing

That can both

Take me forward

And can bring me back

To where I long to be

And to where I forever dread

*

minds provoked, pursued

the beating and burning heart

graves settle but dust

*

the blood turns not red

until the wound has occurred

truths are bound by scars

*

the slow burning fuse

the flash of the fireworks

none live less the spark

*

mete me with wisdom

mete me with the hidden way

blind, I find no bliss

*

empirical lust

a burning need for knowledge

cant douses the flame

*

Love's arrival

demands Epiphany's flourishing trumpet.

Love's departure

requires no such song.

*

forge forever on

tho' dark death rewards us all

forge forever on

*

whither journey's end

is that which eludes me

yonder shall I go

*

from mind to matter

believe it and it shall be

you determine you

*

sing out savior songs

dance free amongst the cherubs

listen for the wind

*

if we chance to win

we must also chance to lose

both promise rewards

*

who among us all

leave no footsteps in the sand

who can bar the tide

*

the word is as told

its telling built empires

decontruct it all

Is

Life is all Briers and Berries

all "Huzzah!" and "Hell fire!"

Greek Tragedies, Comedies

Life is both a rip-roarin' Kick in the Crotch

and a moist, long Kiss deep within the Secret Beyond

Life is all This

Life is all That

It's nothing more than Everything

It's nothing less than Nothing

Life Is

Period

And a Period is Infinite

Short Verses and Other Curses #1

(an initial round-up of haiku and other diminutive discourses of mine posted in various places throughout the cybersphere)

*

the wind is blowing

unsecured treasure take sail

there goes my resolve

*

Time's relentless pace

Truth content in slow pursuit

where has Wisdom gone?

*

The laughter fades

and the dawn never breaks

How still is the air

when the laughter isn't there

*

like decaying leaves

first we whither, then we fall

oh, the coming days!

*

matters of the soul

ascendant hallowed secrets

the aching wind cries

*

well-worn and wanting

pocked and patched yet still preferred

beauty lies within

*

transcendental we

eternal epiphanies

pure stardust and light

*

ten-year retribute

sanguinary salvation

land of the horsemen!

*

sullen sky today

yet still, aspirations burn

shadowed paths revealed

*

my mind is abuzz

aspiring and desiring

a karma fuel source

*

There is no point.

That's the point.

*

the silent stars know

so, too, does the muted moon

angels fall from grace

*

If we all are of the same matter,

then we all must matter the same.

*

the moment is nigh

when once self-evident truths

succumb to madness

WRITE TO PURGE – my guest post for Author Alison Naomi Holt

From author Alison Naomi Holt's blog:

I'd like to welcome guest author, Kurt Brindley. I struck up a friendship with Kurt through Twitter, and in him I discovered a man who is passionate about the repeal of the military's Don't Ask, Don't Tell policy. His book, THE SEA TRIALS OF AN UNFORTUNATE SAILOR, debuts today and I'm proud to host him on this auspicious day when the repeal of DADT officially goes into effect!

As a special bonus to one lucky reader, Kurt is giving away a signed copy of THE SEA TRIALS OF AN UNFORTUNATE SAILOR. To enter the give away, simply leave a comment at the end of this post and your name will be entered in the drawing which will be held on September 27th, 2011. Good Luck!

 

WRITE TO PURGE

by Kurt Brindley

To me, writing is hard.

And it sometimes hurts.

And rarely does it ever come easy.

But still, I cannot stop myself from writing.

I'm not exactly sure why.

I am sure that I am not one of those writers who passionately declare such things like, "I write to live," or, "If I didn't write, I would die."

While I understand the reason for these types of sentiments from those types of passionate writers, I hardly believe them to be completely sincere.

Well, based upon my own sentiments toward writing, I find them hard to believe, anyway

But who am I to judge, right?

Who am I?

Why I'm the one doing the writing, that's who. And since I'm the one doing the writing (and since Alison so kindly (foolishly?) posted my writing on her blog), it means that I am also the one who gets to do the judging around here for now.

Yeah…(sinister laugh)…here comes the judge.

Watch out.

To continue reading, visit alisonholtbooks.com.

 

In Honor of the End of the Don’t Ask Don’t Tell Policy

An offering from POEMS FROM THE RIVER, a collection of my poetry that will soon be released.

~~~~

We War

War is an ugly thing, but not the ugliest of things.

The decayed and degraded state

of moral and patriotic feeling

which thinks that nothing is worth war

is much worse.

The person who has nothing for which he is willing to fight,

nothing which is more important than his own personal safety,

is a miserable creature and has no chance of being free

unless made and kept so by the exertions of better men than himself.

~ John Stuart Mills

We war, don’t we

We warriors

We worriers for the world

You, Red Death Warrior

You mobilized

You sanitized

Purified to perform ancient rights of battles

And to stake patriot claims of fragile freedom

In hearts alien, hearts eternal,

Hearts ignorant of all you know

You know

You know

You know, noble warrior,

While you wander through the heaven of Hell

Raking the shit scattered pieces

Of bitter and broken promises

Into neat, heaping piles made ready

For the devil’s dusty full bin,

I, Warrior of The Forgotten Peace

Arming my chair of flaccid command

Long for the glory fight that I never had

The fight I will never know

The fight you will never forget

You know

You know

~~~~

I would like to congratulate and thank all who courageously sacrificed their identities, and in some cases, their lives, in order to proudly and honorably serve their nation while Don’t Ask Don’t Tell was national policy.

In Honor of the End of the Don't Ask Don't Tell Policy

An offering from POEMS FROM THE RIVER, a collection of my poetry that will soon be released.

~~~~

We War

War is an ugly thing, but not the ugliest of things.

The decayed and degraded state

of moral and patriotic feeling

which thinks that nothing is worth war

is much worse.

The person who has nothing for which he is willing to fight,

nothing which is more important than his own personal safety,

is a miserable creature and has no chance of being free

unless made and kept so by the exertions of better men than himself.

~ John Stuart Mills

We war, don't we

We warriors

We worriers for the world

You, Red Death Warrior

You mobilized

You sanitized

Purified to perform ancient rights of battles

And to stake patriot claims of fragile freedom

In hearts alien, hearts eternal,

Hearts ignorant of all you know

You know

You know

You know, noble warrior,

While you wander through the heaven of Hell

Raking the shit scattered pieces

Of bitter and broken promises

Into neat, heaping piles made ready

For the devil's dusty full bin,

I, Warrior of The Forgotten Peace

Arming my chair of flaccid command

Long for the glory fight that I never had

The fight I will never know

The fight you will never forget

You know

You know

~~~~

I would like to congratulate and thank all who courageously sacrificed their identities, and in some cases, their lives, in order to proudly and honorably serve their nation while Don't Ask Don't Tell was national policy.

September 20, 2011

September 20, 2011, will be a historic day for our country, and a special day for me.

It will be historic because the United States's discriminatory Don't Ask Don't Tell policy will finally be put to rest.

And it will be special to me because I hope to release my novel THE SEA TRIALS OF AN UNFORTUNATE SAILOR on that day in honor of the historic event.

But, like the cup half empty kind of guy that I am, I won't believe either will happen until I actually see them happening…

But I'm hopeful it will all come true.

I can hardly believe that DADT is finally coming to end because it has been a powerful presence in my life since my decision in 1994 to work outside my career field of telecommunications, and outside of my comfort zone, to become a navy Equal Opportunity Advisor. My duties as an EOA required me to become thoroughly familiar with the DADT policy and to facilitate seminars and focus groups regarding it at navy commands throughout the Western Pacific. A key element of my training was not to just remind sailors that they could not ask about someone's sexual orientation, but also to make it very clear since it had become an issue in the military that, just because their values or stereotypes or perceptions or prejudgments motivates them to do so, doesn't mean they can harass or abuse or murder someone who they perceive has a sexual orientation that is contrary to their beliefs. I use the word "perceive" because rarely do homosexuals violate DADT policy by telling others, especially others hostile to their lifestyle, about their sexual orientation. Consequently then, the most likely way a homophobic person can be motivated to act upon his or her (mostly his) homophobic tendency to want to harass or abuse or murder is by perceiving a service member to be a homosexual based upon the perceived homosexual's behavior or personal characteristics. Facilitating the discussion of such a sensitive, and often combative, nature for three years was very challenging, yet very rewarding for me.

If I can hardly believe that DADT is finally coming to an end, I can only wonder how one feels who loves his or her country so much that he or she was willing to join the military knowing that the DADT policy required him or her to suppress his or her identity and sexual orientation in order to serve. (Normally, because I am a man and because I choose a male identity for myself (It's a gender thing, you wouldn't understand…probably.), I would not bother with all the "he or she" and "his or her" distraction; I would simply just write "he" or "his," just as I would expect a female writer to just write "she" or "shis," I mean, "sher," I mean, "her," but I feel in this situation, it is important for me to highlight and reiterate the fact, in an effort to remind everyone, that both men and women have chosen to make this enormous sacrifice for their country. Talk about Patriots. All you heterosexuals out there go ahead and try imagining what it would be like to not only not be allowed to tell others who you love, but also to not be allowed to completely express your love to the person whom you do love. Hard to imagine, isn't it, since it's our privilege to not have imagine such an absurd way of life?

And I can hardly believe that my novel is finally going to be released because it, too, has been a powerful presence in my life for nearly as long as DADT has been. Consequently, I find it hard to believe that in a few short days I will finally be able to call the project complete.

And I also can hardly believe that my novel is going to be released on September 20, 2011, since it is only a few short days away and, because of a few issues I am contending with, I still have yet to complete the publication review process with the publishing service I am using. So, at this point, September 20, 2011, is more like a target release date than a set release date. But we'll see.

Regardless of whether my novel is actually published on September 20, 2011, or not, the date will always be special to me since it was DADT, or more specifically, since it was all the harassment and abuse and even murder that was inflicted on so many service members because of DADT, that provided the unfortunate impetus for why I wrote the novel to begin with.