Monday, November 27, 2017

Cedar Mesa, and 6 haiku toward ramen


















Cold as I had hoped
this whole river sliding on
past the cottonwoods.

Pecked into these walls
spirals, men, horses, and goats
and there, a mammoth.

Now catching our breath,
yellow light on the San Juan,
we change in the willows.

Bringing back water
I heard an "irregardless."
Those guys aren't German.

Round pot between us.
Could be my own breath, or yours,
this steam leaping up.

MSG and salt,
stiff book of wavy noodles,
crooked staff of life.

Monday, November 06, 2017

Trolls

In England the Valkyries came to be relegated to villages, where they degenerated into witches; in the Scandinavian countries the giants of ancient mythology, who lived in Jotunheim and battled against the god Thor, have degenerated into rustic Trolls. In the cosmography that fills the Elder Edda, we read that on the day of the Twilight of the Gods the giants scaled Bifrost, the rainbow bridge, and tore it down and, aided by a wolf and a serpent, destroyed the world; the Trolls of popular superstition are evil, stupid elves that dwell in mountain caves or in rundown huts. The most distinguished among them have two or three heads.

Henrik Ibsen's dramatic poem Peer Gynt (1867) has assured their fame. Ibsen imagines that they are first and foremost nationalists; they think, or attempt to think, that the horrid drink they brew is delicious and that their caves are palaces. To prevent Peer Gynt from seeing how sordid their dwelling places are, they threaten to put out his eyes.

 -- Jorge Luis Borges, from The Book of Imaginary Beings (1967)