Sunday, November 21, 2004

First Stage Denial

First stage - denial.

Friday a week ago, a “local woman“, lost her twenty-year-old son to the war in Iraq. His story was on the daily news, for everyone to see. He was a hometown kid who'd gone to Boy's Latin and after the war, had plans to be on his way to Towson University. His former principal and teachers spoke well of his presence in life, said he was a really positive kid, with a great sense of humor, a leader. His father said that he’d always wanted to be a soldier, he had learned responsibility at an early age.

I know the boy's mother, so the first time I saw the report, and recognized her face, I watched with such sadness her gentle speaking and public grief. She talked about how you support your kids in what they want to do. How even though she was a pacifist, she knew he always wanted to be a sniper in the marines and she didn’t stop him. She understood the pride he had in what he was doing. I saw the pain on her face through the eyes of the network news, and all I could do was yell out no that didn't happen and curse.

Denial has never magically reversed death. Everyone who knew and loved this boy, for his promise yet to be fulfilled, will wish through out these days of family gatherings and celebrations for the nightmare of mortalities fragile truth to end. We will continue to hold vigil for those not yet returned, and those others destined to live their days entrenched in the jaws of war.

This son of America will be buried on Wednesday, the day before Thanksgiving, in Arlington National Cemetery.

Linda Joy Burke

All Rights Reserved By Author

Sunday, October 3, 2004

Lady of Baltimore

The  Lady of  Baltimore doesn't know

how to erase the line between those who are

oblivious to the notion of a having better life

and those who are oblivious to the notion

 of having a worse one.

The Lady of Baltimore clicks her red shoes

survey's the conveyances of Lexington Market,

drifts off on a temporal  cloud

in search of the exit from never never land.

The Lady of Baltimore

loves her red shoes,

but has no energy for dancing

for the living, makes no claim on the future,

strains against gravity

 

Linda Joy Burke

All Rights Reserved By Author

 

 

 

  

Monday, August 30, 2004

Locks

 Last week I locked myself out of my car, (so I thought). Was at the DMV on Dobbin road, which is near a bridal shop. I went in the bridal shop and asked the nice lady there if they had any wire hangers. She said yes and went to the back room to find them. She came back with two kinds of hangers, saying they were extra big which was better. I thanked her and proceeded to spend the next fifeteen minutes of that exceedingly hot day, unlocking the car door.  Mind you I hadn't actually closed the door all the way. So there was easy access to the lock. 

Greatful that I could get the door open, I took care of my business then went the Wildhides Florest just a couple of doors away. I bought two intensly beautiful yellow lily's for  $1.50(single flowers half price all day until September). Actually,  I told the store owner I wanted to give the woman in the Bridal shop a flower because she had given me the hanger to get in my car. When I told the florist that, she threw in the extra flower telling me,  "oh yeah she's such a nice woman".

Then she told me about how the woman who worked in the bridal shop had gotten stuck in some accident traffic near the tunnel, which made her late getting to the shop. She said there was a man waiting for her to open up, and  he was extremely angry with her for being late. The florist said that the bridal shop lady, "doesn't take any guff though", and had to put the guy in his place. She then showed me the small red topped parrot who was busily sounding off in the back of the store.

She told me she had 30 birds, so I asked her if she knew of the Bird Rescue organization that my neighbor belongs to. She said no, but belongs to two of her own. I got her name and e-mail address to share with my neighbor.  Then, saying something about having to come back and treat myself to flowers, I took the small bouquet and went back to the bridal shop. I walked in the door and not seeing the woman at one of the desks, I yelled out "hello" silly and familiar like. There was no answer, but then I noticed she was sitting at a second desk, to my right, talking on the phone to a client. I laid the flowers on her desk, said thanks, smiled and  turned to leave. She looked up and said, "aw that's so sweet of you maam". 

A couple of days later, I discover that my door doesn't actually lock when I don't close it all the way. All I have to do is bump it with my hip, which disengages the lock. Had I done that, there'd be no sweating in the sun, no talking about Wildhides history and buying half price flowers,  no exchanging of bird information, no paying it forward, and hopefully making someone's day.

Some people would say that I wasted all that time, but from where I'm typing I think I might have gained some. 

e Linda Joy Burke  All Rights Reserved By Author

Wednesday, July 21, 2004

July 21, 2004

I have decided to turn the outside world off,
silencing the desire to ferret out other people's
opinions about things I can not touch,

I pick up trash in front of my house,
am gifted with finding a book of postage,

and lost instruments that had rolled out of

my car unseen in the middle of the night,

like errant meatballs.

I pick up what trash I can touch,

continue to go out of my way
to exercise my tired bones,

In this quiet, I rattle my mass

of imagination free

listen to the tumble.

Can you
hear the air?

It is the only thing

that costs nothing.

Linda Joy Burke

All rights reserved by author.

 

Sunday, June 13, 2004

June 13, 2004

Ray Charles and Ronald Reagan

Ray Charles died this week on June 10, 2004 the day before the official day of Mourning for the 40th president of the United States. I remember being a kid in D.C. growing up listening to Ray Charles and Nancy Wilson, Johnny Mathis, Nat King Cole, Ella Fitzgerald, Frank Sinatra all the crooners. My folks, especially my mother loved listening to the smooth dusky music of these legends. In fact even now they prefer the music of that era to contemporary jazz, and R&B.

Sunday nights in our house, were dedicated to watching Wild Kingdom, Walt Disney, and the Ed Sullivan Show. The Sullivan show was great cause you got to see everyone that you’d heard of on the radio, but would probably never see in person. His mix included all kinds of musical sounds, unlike today where everyone is off in their own segregated song worlds. I saw Johnny Cash, James Taylor, Carol King, The Beach Boys, Willie Nelson, Bob Dylan, Glen Campbell, the Carpenters, The Momma’s and the Papa’s, and of course the Beatles, along with The Who, Jose’ Feliciano, The Jackson 5, Ray Charles, Johnny Mathis, Nancy Wilson, “little” Stevie Wonder and many others. I found all the music to be interesting, though the blind musicians especially Ray taught me something that I wouldn’t really get until I was much older. Blind folks were smart, not victims, and had productive intensely creative lives too.

Ray Charles was so amazing to me then, rocking back and forth on his piano bench, singing his memorable “Georgia, Georgia - the whole day through”. I was always afraid that he’d rock himself off to the floor one time, but he never did. He was the first blind person that I’d ever seen and contrary to what we knew about blind folks back then, he seemed absolutely radiant. He always had that huge smile on his face when he sang. He’d tilt his head back and off to the side a little, as if he was feeling the rays of heaven showering down on him and send his songs directly to the audience and what I imagined were his angels.

I was ten when I saw him sing live at the Carter Barren Amphitheatre in D.C. Of course to a little kid going to a place like the Carter Barren was like something out of a fairy tale. In order to get to the amphitheatre you had to go down this long paved path that went into the middle of the woods in Rock Creek Park. The path was lit by artificial light, but was more dark then bright. It wasn’t scary though, just wondrous and naturally beautiful. The trees towered like regal sentinels along the way and flowering azaleas and honeysuckle and other plants hunkered down forming a labyrinth into the park for squirrels, chipmunks, deer, raccoon and other wild things. When it was humid, the air was full of the honeysuckle scent. Hundreds of other families and couples walked along with us, and the atmosphere always seemed to feel like a big old Sunday picnic.

I learned early that I loved live music, and going to these concerts made me feel something that I never felt at school or at most other gatherings even mass. I didn’t know then, that this was part of what happened when you grew up in a country and learned the country’s rituals. Going to those concerts in the Carter Barren made feel like I was part of the free America. All I knew as a kid was that there in that crowd of folks, I saw folks like me, and I watched Ray Charles and the Rayletts, I felt like I belonged.

*****************

On the evening before the 40th president’s burial and the “National Day of Mourning” I was channel surfing to see what news of the day was. Live coverage of folks moving through the viewing line of the Rotunda droned on non-stop on Cspan. The BBC broadcasters spoke about the thousands of American’s who were coming to pay tribute to Reagan at the Capital. Interviews from folks who had come from cross country to stand in the line for hours to walk passed the draped casket oozed affection and gratitude for the life of this one departed American. A so-called scare sent viewers scrambling out of the Rotunda on policemen’s orders of “run get out of here now”. I watched one woman scurry about in absolute panic like Chicken Little, while newscasters said everything went very well. I wondered why they didn’t just tell the people that it was only a drill.

One of the big three networks showed a montage of concerts featuring Ray Charles singing America. It was truly moving to see Ray, in each venue singing with that fervor of his, "Oh beautiful, for spacious skies”…It wasn’t really all about remembering Ray’s life though. Footage of Ronald Reagan whispering something in his ear at one concert, and the 41st and Reagan  glad handing him were in another clip.

Later on that evening I watched another montage supposedly dedicated to Charles. They played him singing the anthem in the background, juxtaposed with scenes from above Reagan’s casket in the Rotunda of the Capital, a stealth bomber in a clouded sky and eventually concerts of Ray‘ with both 40th and 41st president in the background. There were, no compelling retrospectives of Ray‘s life, interviews with close friends, talks of memorial plans or weeklong dedications to his life though. Two days later, when I went to search the news of the mainstream media’s front pages and sadly even in the entertainment sections, Ray Charles was old news.

********

On July 11, 2004 I watched the televised funeral services for the 40th president of the United States. The video from the Capital to the National Cathedral to Andrews Air Force Base was stunning. The control and precision of the military color guards, poll bearers, and bands was reminiscent of a more controlled and orderly time. One newscaster said that it was good that other countries could see this part of America; it would give them the impression that we could put on a good ritual.

Indeed I marveled at the fact that those men and women could stand motionless in the rain, or extreme heat for what seemed to be endless hours and not falter. Yes, the majesty of this state funeral planned before “elevated” terror levels was astounding. With so many important people all in the same place, there was the constant nagging fear that something awful could happen.

Three thousand people filled the National cathedral, all dressed in black. Clergy from different denominations were represented, though the Imam who was present only walked in the procession. In that sea of funeral black, the absence of people of color was glaring and remarkable for someone - we are told as American’s was so loved. The later west coast funeral on the hillside in Simi Valley was no less spectacular or troubling. The sunset backlight created a heavenly golden hue over the mourners. More relaxed then the formal dignitary filled Cathedral service, I finally saw some genuine affection and comfort passed between Nancy and her children. 

As I watched I kept wondering how much this state funeral cost, and who was paying for it. I wondered if the people who attended either ceremony felt a little peculiar, did they wonder were the people of color were?

Current 20 or even 30 something’s have no real idea about the Iran Contra scandal,  and Reagan's disinterest in the anti apartheid struggle in South Africa. Sadly, they  also don’t know of Reagan’s inability to really deal with the integrated society that America was becoming. Watching both funerals and noticing that the majority of the people of color present were worker bees, or diplomats, doesn’t bode well for the furthering the idea that the 40th president was the “peoples” president or a “great communicator” .

The old boy network has buried their "Great American Hero" though, and the bells from coast  to coast have tolled. In the back of my mind I can hear Ray's melodic imploring " America - America, God shed his grace on Thee..." and I see him there swaying and singing on that bench in front a baby grand in the bye and bye.

 I wonder if he's invited Reagan to his afterlife party?

Linda Joy Burke All rights reserved by author.

 

Monday, June 7, 2004

June 7,2004

Whose Hero Are You?

Today there is the feeling of mourning, en masse as American Newscasters reveal in dazzling testimonials the story of the life and death of Ronald Reagan the 40th President of the United States. Thousands of Americans will file past his coffin, and what is Heroic in Americana will be celebrated. Today, all other potential news of human interest disappears in the wasteland of not a priority. Now the headlines read Reagan Reagan Reagan, Iraq, Afghanistan, Israel, and Gaza Strip. Gas Prices, west coast fires, corperate scandals.

America needs to remember her heroes, though I know that some would question whose hero R was. Clearly because he was able to live so long, looking as good as he did, to his "mommy" Nancy his beloved, Ronnie was her Hero.

HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

I'm wondering about those who can't claim him though, the one's who've become the under class, marginalized without a clue as to how they got there. Will they care about what he might have done right, in spite of what they don't say about what he did wrong?

Yeah, America needs a hero in the 21st century but instead, we keep getting idols.

I remember when we were so afraid of what would happen when the "new" millennium came to be. So many envisioned the end of the world especially "True Believers" I was friends with some of those folks, who believed that all you had to do was charge up your credit card and kiss your future good bye.

 They were right when you think about it. The first year of the "new millennium" was the end of the world, as we had previously known it and we were so unprepared to deal with the fact that so much was truly out of our control.

***********************************************************

What's sad is that no one took the warning signs seriously about that huge mind altering disaster in September of 2001. I saw Bin Laden's interview on 60 minutes (I think- it was one of the network TV magazines) months before the buildings were toppled, where he said that America had better watch out. He warned us then, and as I watched this sound byte on my TV screen I said out loud is anyone listening to this, someone's gotta be paying attention to this. I'm just a dumb civilian and I knew that this brazen threat was no joke.

*******************************************************************

Yeah, America needs a hero or two, but truly we need a hero who's alive.

For some reason I've been thinking a lot about that movie Road Warrior and Tina Turner's "We don't need anotherHero, we don't need to find a way home." The movie was quite a symbol for what happens when folks become resigned to accepting the worst of human behaviors as normal. In this end of "civilized life as we know it" there was corruption involving fuel, reckless boys driving extreme vehicles, subjugation of the marginalized and Thunderdome the futuristic down and dirty version of current underground "fight clubs" and the WWW's Smack Down. These days don't seem all that far removed from Thunderdome. We've gone from simulated war games for entertainment and a moment of downsizing military spending, to "Shock and Awe."

WMD's more lethal than the last generation's threat are not necessarily relegated to the dominion of War though. Star Wars may not even stop them. Nature will make sure of that.

**************************************************

Now the makers of mass media images of life imitating art are blurring the fine line between rational and irrational behaviors amongst everyday people. Reality TV would have you believe that no one has substance here and Stepford is the true Soul of America.

*************************************************************

Yeah America needs a hero or two.

A nation that has unleashed what is savage from within, must not detach from its Soul. Heroes help with that keeping connecting, like Oprah, if you aren't prejudiced against the whole "talk show" circuit thing. Even though she's living large, she still embodies the message that individual and collective responsibility creates change in the body personal and the body politic. The choice is in our hands regarding whether the change is positive or not.  Creative responsibility keeps us connected to our SOUL.

***************************************************************

Yeah America needs a hero or two and they don't really have to be millionaires, though in some cases money can change everything. The truth is that the Heroes are out there, we just take them for granted. We are so myopic sometimes that we truly miss the little things that make one heroic.

One of my heroes is a lady who lives down the street.Once a month she picks up all the garbage in the neighborhood.  She walks up and down the five blocks in front of her house with her recycled grocery bags picking up refuse and there isn't a sign up saying that she's adopted the street. She's not a youngster either; she's someone's grandmamma.

*************************************************************

Yeah America needs a hero, someone we can reach out and trust/touch/trust/touch.

.

Linda Joy Burke

All Rights reserved by author. No portion of this entry may be used without expressed consent of the author.

Sunday, June 6, 2004

Waking in the morning after a night of sadness, grief and weeping/ wondering where the lights of the world are when/ what I hear in the daily news is / about those who  would steal away what is good/  there are the sound bytes of woman weeping and wailing/ their children's flesh torn from their hearts/ So I am here in sterile suburbia waiting/ for the sweetness in the world to return/I am waiting to breathe in relief/ a rebirth of innocence no bad news/ no tales of children, mutilation and death/ no tales of greed, power over reason/ no rushing to get on numbly to the next thing /   I am waiting for the wasting away of the precious things to end/ I am waiting for the poems of Rumi to be a daily prayer/ no more righteousness to change the mind of the non believers/ only a pure love  easily streaming/ worn clear and through to the brain and the heart's bed/  Beloveds all in a country knowing - more about creating than breaking down.