July 12: "I Ask You," Calumet, Veterans

Billy Collins finds some peace . . .

I Ask You

by: Billy Collins

What scene would I rather be enveloped in

than this one,

an ordinary night at the kitchen table,

at ease in a box of floral wallpaper,

white cabinets full of glass,

the telephone silent,

a pen tilted back in my hand?

It gives me time to think

about the leaves gathering in corners,

lichen greening the high gray rocks,

and the world sailing on beyond the dunes--

huge, oceangoing, history bubbling it its wake.

Outside of this room

there is nothing that I need,

not a job that would allow me to row to work,

or a coffee-colored Aston Martin DB4

with cracked green leather seats.

No, it is all right here,

the clear ovals of a glass of water,

a small crate of oranges, a book on Stalin,

an odd snarling fish in a frame on the wall,

and these three candles,

each a different height, singing in perfect harmony.

So forgive me

if I lower my head and listen

to the short bass candle as he takes a solo

while my heart

thrums under my shirt--

frog at the edge of a pond--

and my thoughts fly off to a province

composed of one enormous sky

and about a million empty branches.

This poem is about nothing much.  A crate of oranges.  A pen.  Burning candles.  Yet, it's also a poem of profound depth.  One enormous sky filled with a million empty branches.  

I think we've all probably experienced moments like the one Collins is describing.  Static and tranquil, they fill you with a sense of how small you are in a vast and beautiful universe.  The smallness isn't a bad thing.  It simply puts everything into perspective.

Greetings from Calumet, Michigan.  I rolled into town around 7 p.m., checked into my hotel, and immediately went to a rehearsal for the show in which I'm performing tomorrow night--The Red Jacket Jamboree.  When I got back to the hotel, my wife and I took a walk around the downtown area.  

I've been a part of the regular cast of this show for over seven years now.  What started out as a fun diversion in December 2017--an invitation to read some poems on a radio variety show--has become an important part of my life.  The Red Jacket performers and musicians have become family to me.

One of the things Calumet does every summer is hang banners on the light posts of the main thoroughfares.  The banners display pictures of and details about the city's military veterans, from World War I to Afghanistan.  I find the displays incredibly moving.  These individuals from a tiny hamlet in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan changed the world.  Some came home.  Some did not.

On our walk this evening, my wife and I stopped under each banner, read them, studied the young faces (most of them look like babies).  I'm sure none of these people considered themselves special or heroic.  They were simply Johnny and Jane from the Keweenaw Peninsula.  Yet, they put themselves in harm's way to fight for a cause in which they believed.  

Something small (a frog at the edge of a pond) becoming something large (an enormous sky filled with a million branches).

Saint Marty is so thankful for the sacrifices of all of the veterans from all the Calumets across the planet.  

January 21: You Dumb Bastard, Militarism, Bleeding Heart

"Saved your life again, you dumb bastard," Weary said to Billy in the ditch.  He had been saving Billy's life for days, cursing him, kicking him, slapping him, making him move.  It was absolutely necessary that cruelty be used, because Billy wouldn't do anything to save himself.  Billy wanted to quit.  He was cold, hungry, embarrassed, incompetent.  He could scarcely distinguish between sleep and wakefulness now, on the third day, found no important differences, either, between walking and standing still.

He wished everybody would leave him alone.  "You guys go on without me," he said again and again.

Billy Pilgrim isn't stupid.  He's naive, hasn't seen much in the world.  I think a lot of guys who fought in World War II were Billy Pilgrims.  Young and inexperienced.  Barely out of high school.  And they were given guns and sent across the globe to fight enemy Billy Pilgrims.  Most of them young and scared shitless.

I had a talk with my daughter about militarism last night.  She has been debating with her friends from school about the transition from sanity to insanity in Washington, D.C.  She is in the minority among her peers.  She's thoughtful, accepting, compassionate, and rational.  She was telling me how her friends believe that an increase in military spending in the United States will somehow make the world a better place.

I admire war veterans and the sacrifices they have made for the cause of freedom.  Every Veteran's Day and Memorial Day, I attend services with my family because I think it's important to honor those sacrifices.  The Billy Pilgrims deserve our gratitude and respect. My daughter understands this, as well.

I want the world to be safe for Billy and Milly Pilgrims.  I don't want to have innocent young men and women dying because political leaders are trying to make a point.  I don't think my daughter's friends understand this.  I am old enough to remember the last years of the Vietnam War.  I remember the black armbands and casualty reports on the nightly news.  The military recruiters calling my newly graduated brothers, trying to convince them to enlist.

The world is not going to be a safer place if we build bigger and better weapons.  Because then others will build bigger and better weapons.  It's an unending cycle.  Then, suddenly, someone decides to pull the trigger, and triggers start getting pulled all over the world.  And Billy and Milly Pilgrims, our sons and daughters, will die.

So, call me a liberal, bleeding heart bastard.  Call my daughter a liberal, bleeding heart bastard.  I will always err on the side of compassion, common sense, love, and acceptance.

Today, Saint Marty is grateful for the men and women who have fought and died for peace and freedom.

For my daughter's friends . . .

May 27: Memorial Day, Parade, Service, Rest

We went to the Memorial Day parade this morning in Negaunee, Michigan.  From what I understand, the parade used to be huge, rivaling the Fourth of July, in years past.  Now, it lasts all of five minutes.  There's a police car, a fire engine, two marching bands, and a contingent from the VFW.  Not many people show up on Iron Street to watch it any more.

I try to impress upon my kids the real meaning behind this day.  I try to make them realize that it's more than just a vacation from school and a time to eat corn on the cob and barbecued hot dogs.  After the parade, we went to the memorial service at the cemetery.  It's difficult making a twelve-year-old and a four-year-old understand the sacrifices of war veterans.  For most of my daughter's life, the United States has been engaged in foreign military actions.  She doesn't know any different.  Almost every week, she's heard news reports of suicide bombings and soldiers killed in action.  My son doesn't know any different, either.

Maybe, some day, my children will know only peace in the world.

This is Saint Marty's solemn prayer.

May 27: War Movies, Barbecue, Remembering, New Cartoon

In the United States, the fourth Monday in May is set aside as a day of remembrance.  We call it "Memorial Day."  We spend time on this day remembering soldiers who have died in wars.  Some of the wars the U.S. has fought haven't been popular (if war can be popular).  Korea.  Vietnam.  The Gulf War.  Iraq.  Afghanistan.  However, men and women who surrendered their lives defending a cause deserve to be honored.

I'm not a big believer in war.  I don't even like my son to play with toy guns.  There's too much violence in this world.  What I believe we do on Memorial Day is give thanks for the peace we, as citizens of the U.S., have.  And we give thanks for the people who gave their lives so we could enjoy that peace.  There are, literally, millions of people who died so that I could do things like type this blog post on a Sunday afternoon.  So that my father could sit in his living room and watch old war movies all day long (much to my mother's chagrin and annoyance).  So that I could get together with my family this evening and have a barbecue, eat hot dogs and bratwurst, and argue politics or whether Goofy is a dog or a man.  That's what all those people fought for, died for.  For the idea of happiness.

Tomorrow morning, I will take my daughter and son to a Memorial Day parade.  Then, we will go to the cemetery to take part in a Veterans of Foreign Wars Memorial Day service.  I want my kids to know that tomorrow isn't just about having a day off school.  It's isn't just about getting to sleep in late.  It's about honor.  It's about remembering.

Today, Saint Marty salutes all the fallen war veterans of the world.

Confessions of Saint Marty