There ought to be a word
to describe
the condition you find yourself in
when you’ve made a plan
and set it in motion
only to discover
that your plan has been overtaken
by changed circumstances,
that surprise has set in,
that how you envisioned things being
bears little resemblance
to what has unfolded in their place,
rather than having to resort
to employing 80 other words
to paint a picture
of what ought to be describable in one.
17 December 2015
Tim Konrad
I sometimes recall
an afternoon long ago.
I was sitting on a couch with the father of my first wife
visiting an old friend of his
a poet, an eccentric and intriguing man
with a sizeable mound of empty wine bottles
rising up through the weeds
growing behind his house.
We were drinking beer
and talking of important things–
of life and art and zen–
all matters of terrible import to me
for I was a dreamer
back then.
Me in my mid-twenties
and they in their late forties
we carried on.
me mostly listening,
to the exchange
taking place between these two men.
I sensed mystery, excitement
stimulation of the kind
that can occur when people of exceptional intellect
engage in the trade of ideas and concepts
I remained silent mostly
not because I had figured out at that point in my life
how much more one can gain by keeping quiet
and listening,
not because I didn’t have that much to add
to the discourse,
for beer can loosen tongues that ought not be set free,
but mostly because I didn’t want to appear foolish
to demonstrate my ignorance
in light of the illumination taking place around me.
At a certain point,
I don’t recall exactly when,
our host said something
that struck particular resonance with my father-in-law
he responding with a laugh and a knowing smile aimed at his friend.
I couldn’t quite make out what was said
but, sensing its importance, I sought clarification
and was told, in essence,
that I wouldn’t have understood it had they explained it to me,
that there were just some things
you had to be older
to understand.
I have often recalled that afternoon
and what I’ve learned from it,
over time
through the years.
17 December 2015
Tim Konrad
Forced
by circumstance
to sit inside
when the bird show
I came to observe
is out there,
I must resort to
improvisation. at least
there’s beer
here.
***
Egret
regret . .
The flying egret images I made
yesterday
will have to suffice
for now.
*****
The birds
won’t miss me
anyway.
***
Flexibility.
maybe that’s the lesson
today.
It started out unexpectedly–
the day did
with a knock on the door
earlier than any self-respecting alarm clock would consider.
A water emergency!
Water gushing out of the ground
like it was late for the flood,
trying its damndest
to catch up
before all the fuss died down.
Which is exactly what happened
after the water
was shut off.
the leak remains, though
an item for someone else’s
tomorrow agenda.
***
Maybe the water
was on to something?
Maybe the egrets knew
the viewing platform
would be closed?
Maybe
things would seem different
if I got some sleep!
17 December 2015
Tim Konrad
On thinking about paradigm changes
like those involving the advent
of a different way of looking
at the world–
in short, a new way of life
And how that intersects with climate change,
which will, over time present us with challenges
whose response will likely involve
significant changes of attitude and perspective
on the part of the participants involved.
I ponder the responses
of those fact-resistant presidential candidates
appearing on tv last night
in the latest Republican presidential debate spectacle
In particular, a certain Senator, for instance,
who talked about potential job losses
as a reason not to pay attention
to the pending climate catastrophe
as if the two comparisons
had some sort of legitimacy . .
as if the two ideas
were somehow equivalent.
Or another senatorial candidate for president
who derided President Obama
for declaring our biggest threat
was climate change
This Senator, meanwhile, claimed our real primary threat was Islamic extremism.
Don’t these people realize
that defeating Islamic extremism
will not be of much benefit
to anyone
if we’re all dying off
from the toxins produced
in the name of American Exceptionalism?
Do either of these men or their fellow aspirants
possess the kind of understanding
or wisdom
that is needed to navigate the unpredictable waters
of sea change?
The uncharted territory
one must traverse
when confronted with
a new world
with different rules?
Do they possess the flexibility of mind,
the imagination,
to lead us into this new paradigm shift?
Imagine what must have gone through
the minds
of the Miwok men and women
(living in what is now known
as the South Grove of Calaveras Big Trees State Park)
when they saw the White men
take down a tree–
a giant sequoia tree, largest of its kind,
a tree the Miwok people had revered
for countless generations–
Imagine what they must have felt
when they saw the White men cut down this tree,
this Great Being,
and proceed to make of its stump
first a bowling alley, and then, a dance floor.
These people, these Miwok people,
Were witness to a paradigm shift
just as surely
as the one that faces us today–
and one they surely must have had misgivings about,
just as many of us aren’t happy with the climate news these days–
The end of their lives as they had known them
and as their parents had known them
and their parents before them
down through the generations.
The end of the world as they had known it,
an end to reason as they had understood it
an end to people living in harmony with the natural order of things
as they had perceived them to be
for countless generations.
We, on the other hand,
have no such heritage to pass on
no such lineage to cite
no such understanding of the natural order of things
no such arrangements with the spirits of the wilds
no such beauty or wisdom or gratitude
to pass on to our children.
We leave for our children
uncertainty, fear, insecurity
social decay, poisoned rivers, fouled air
spoiled marshes, ruined corals
decimated forests and
mass extinctions of our fellow beings.
We pass on to our children a heritage of chaos–
environmentally, socially
politically, militarily
and, most disappointingly, spiritually.
Unheeded or forgotten are the words of wisdom
that guided and informed
the indigenous peoples of the world
whose stewardship
successfully preserved the lands and the seas
for their benefit and that of their descendants
over countless generations.
Instead, we hear
insane notions
of economic “progress.”
We see rampant, unrestrained, resource-hungry
Endless Moreness!
Visions of Mammon! Chamber of Commerce endorsed and approved!
The cancer of the heart
that is the driver of our modern dreams of success/excess,
The myth of perpetual prosperity
that will ceaselessly consume until nothing remains,
until all the workers whose jobs
are saved
by the likes of those who think like the Senator from Florida
have asphyxiated from the ruined air
they didn’t see coming
in their rush to participate
in the fleeting pursuit of More.
Just how much more
does it take
for there to be enough?
16 December 2015
Tim Konrad
Old places
speak in tongues
that new ones cannot ken.
16 December 2015
Tim Konrad
Old ways
Dead now
Make room for the new
16 December 2015
Tim Konrad
An afternoon well spent (?)
dancing with angels ’round the head of a pin.
Lots of old ground covered
round and round and round again.
Same song. Song same
been sung so many times before
infusing it with energy
Electric!
not seen since the meadowlark
chose which song to offer
on the afternoon breeze.
Sweet song,
Song same. Same song
been sung so many times before.
Welcome, but demanding
inconvenient, but timely . .
Always timely
if nothing else.
Crafted by tensions drawn across polar opposites
tautly drawn
tightly formed
firmly established.
The song same . .
ubiquitous
suffocating!
Normal bodily functions temporarily suspended! Special Event in progress!
Same song sung so many times before
Are there limits to what you can know?
song same . . . round and round . . .
don’t know where to go no more
This is how you do
the do what you do what you don’t wanna’ do no more
at least not this way
waltz
That is . . .
Until you choose to stop
dancing.
15 December 2015
Tim Konrad
Waiting for the geese
camera in hand
great idea I had
They always come through
each evening, about dusk
enroute to neighborhood bodies of water
wherein to assemble their nightly flotillas
They would make lovely photos
flying by, thought I
That’s why
I went out, camera in hand
to wait for the geese
They make lovely whooshing sounds, I recalled,
as their wings slice through the air
when they come gliding by
each evening, about dusk
Swooshing by
in perfect V formation
like they learned it watching videos of the Flying Angels
sailing headlong over the Golden Gate Bridge . . .
Life imitating art
and destined in my inner landscape to be
held digitally accountable
If I’d paid them much attention
I might have given more notice to the almost militaristic precision
with which the geese performed
their nightly flyby
each evening about dusk
When, as if they had been drilled by Mussolini himself
they would glide swooshing overhead
like nothing could ever stop that train
from arriving at its destination
with a precision
that made time itself seem more urgent
and all else less so
Or so it seemed
Until just now
when I, camera in hand
went out to wait for the geese
the goddamn obviously not Italian fascist geese
who stood me up
who smacked me in the face with the pie of presumption
smothered in assumption syrup
and speckled with strawberries
(thank God for the strawberries)
the unconcerned, migration-minded geese
foreign nationalists with naught but a passing interest
Canadians, to be specific
who did all of this
without shifting a claw,
redirecting a beak
or
even lifting a feather.
24 September 2015
Tim Konrad
The Memorial
A somber occasion
old friends brought together
to commemorate one’s passing
memories recalled
recollections shared
stories told, some maybe embellished
a song sung
a few words spoken over the departed
pictures, pictures, pictures
bittersweet cognitive dissonance
good times remembered
old secrets shared
warmth, hope, tears shed
the innocence of little children
old friends in the making
goodbyes, farewells
and then back home
to wait for the next one.
12 December 2015
Tim Konrad
Safely encamped
at a friend’s house in a quaint foothill town
I look up from my book
and see a bird in the kitchen.
A cute little bird
pretty markings on his chest.
While I ponder what kind of bird he is
I’m certain that’s the last thing on his (or her) mind
as he/she tries frantically
to find a breach in the walls
any means of escape
from the (hardly) menacing human in the room.
I try to reassure the bird
that I only have its best interests at heart
as I try to nudge it toward the door.
The bird is having none of this
as it eyes me suspiciously
and fails to play along.
I try whistling to gain its confidence
to no avail.
It sings, but we’re obviously not in harmony.
Eventually
We both decide to call it a night.
***
In the morning
back in the kitchen
with some deft handling
involving a broom
my unwitting room-mate is freed.
The bird
now allowed to pursue his avian business
in settings more familiar
than the confines of my friend’s home
I depart for breakfast
in the sleepy Tuesday morning tourist town
my friend calls home.
I pick at my breakfast
as if it were disappointing
when it is anything but.
The Latino cook
wearing a backward-facing Superman cap
knows how to cook an omelet!
But somehow
I forgot to bring my enthusiasm.
The coffee is slow to break up the fog
that lingers
from a rough night’s sleep.
A fly competes for my coffee.
It’s a waiting game with flies;
Armed with more patience than prudence,
they usually win.
I let the fly sample the jelly the waitress left in a small bowl
hoping that will satisfy him
but soon I spy him hovering near my plate.
The insect brain
is a source to be reckoned with.
I look up as someone passes.
We exchange smiles in a mirror.
Now the fly has called in reinforcements!
One cleans his feet while perched on my reading material
while another samples the catsup.
Based on their behavior
flies could just as accurately
be called “eats.”
Bird freed, and flies fed,
the sun is coming through the cloud cover
(it turned out to be a tease)
reminding me I have a date
with a river.
27 October 2015
Tim Konrad
sonora2sonoma 