Buoyant blog of septuagenarian (78) Kanadian poet and haikuist Chris Faiers/cricket. People's Poetry in the tradition of Milton Acorn, haiku/haibun, progressive politikal rants, engaged Buddhism and meditation, revitalizing of Callaghan's Rapids Conservation Area, memories of ZenRiver Gardens and Purdy Country LitFests (PurdyFests), events literary and politikal, and pics, amid swirling currents of earth magick and shamanism. Read in 119 countries last week - 43,329 readers in September.
And it will rank as one of the most important days in this country’s history along side the repatriation of the Constitution and the declaration of Dominion Status in 1867.
In our conversation, he describes how Canada is dramatically moving to untangle itself from American control — even in the face of intimidation and threat.
“Canada is saying no to Donald Trump’s America. Canada is the country that will take the most punishment in the world from this. We know America better than anyone else. For us to say no sends a message to the world that it is possible to say no to Trump’s America.”
Marche, who spent ten years writing for Esquire, is the author of The Next Civil War about the dangerous state of the collapsing American empire.
“The drive for sovereignty is totally unprecedented in the history of this country is being enacted in the military, in trade, economic policy and in the world of tech. Canada is winning. We didn’t expect this, but this is what we are seeing.”
But he also warns about the risk of sharing an unguarded border with an increasingly unstable and disintegrating world empire.
I encourage you to pour yourself a cup of coffee and listen. Marche offers an insightful perspective about what is happening in Canada and why this matters.
Canada is at a crossroads in its history. The road ahead will be rough.
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The haikuist used the literary technique of apostrophe to conjure Sano Tsunehiko (1834-1906), founder of a religious sect of priests who officiate at ceremonies such as weddings, festivals and the sale of fortune-telling papers. It seemed like yesterday to Helga Stania, when she “studied in Bonn and met the barrel organ player” on her way to market. Angela Giordano played in Avigliano, Italy.
ballads from the barrel organ… I was so young
* * *
a barrel organ-- we dance and sing the tarantella
A lover gently bypassed Dorota Kasparewicz’s emotional walls in Szczecin, Poland. Ugur Olgar was tempted to go skinny-dipping like a naturist in the Goksu River that flows to the Mediterranean Sea. AJ Johnson admired wildflowers in Stephens City, Virginia. Hoping to join in the fun, Daniela Misso peered into undine-filled Vera River that meanders through shade trees in Assergi, Italy.
evening of love-- her fingertips lightly touch the chambers of my heart
* * *
river dancing a barefoot ripple touches the bank
* * *
dry pond the banks brim with daisies
* * *
Laughter… on the water’s surface tiny bubbles
At a recording studio in Ankara, Turkey, Guliz Mutlu explored the meaning of not being. In a soulful mood, Minko Tanev reflected in Sofia, Bulgaria.
blue sky tea is poured jazzman laughing in the booth why-not-ness in bloom
* * *
midnight blues silhouettes in love dance on walls
Sagano ascended a steep staircase leading to the Shinto god of water, enshrined since ancient times in Kyoto. John Stephens clambered up a stone staircase to reach a sanctuary.
wet stone steps mountain water spirits pray Kifune shrine
* * *
after school-- pony tails bounce up the steps of Ise Grand Shrine
John Zheng in Itta Betta, Mississippi, slashed three words with virgules to make a scene happen all at once. The placement of the word light serves the double function of noun and adjective.
spring/light/breeze brushes across bluebells
In Zagreb, Croatia, Amir Kapetanovic extinguished the lights when day turned into night. Nicoletta Ignatti was silenced by soft, steady hissing musical sounds in Castellana Grotte, Italy.
through a dark grove… firefly trails in a clash quench the dusk
* * *
white noise water among the rocks… night song
Embracing silence between words connotes the Japanese concept of pausing (ma); for Giuliana Ravaglia it meant hesitating all night long in Bologna, Italy.
yet it remains an empty space between the words
* * *
night of waiting… in the fading dawn the harsh rhythm of illusions
Tejendra Sherchan’s courtyard in Kathmandu, Nepal, was covered in fragrant blossoms that open for just one night.
her fertility night jasmines fall all night
Hungry for a quick bite in Kuching, Malaysia, the first place that came to Christina Chin’s mind was a sushi bar. Archie G. Carlos walked into a snack bar, “where an old man comments on my Guernica t-shirt. And soon the stories come flowing.”
the bar goes round and round sushi rolls
* * *
full moon stuffed with old Basque tales over pintxos
In Santa Fe, New Mexico, Matt Surprise introduced himself by describing humanity. Olivier-Gabriel Humbert paused between sips at a party in Les Avenieres Veyrins-Thuellin, France.
At times destructive Resilient but sometimes soar Are we not beetles
* * *
cocktails with friends-- a tiny water nymph clings to my straw
Sagano went to the theater to watch a musical. Robert Kania entered an opera house in Warsaw, Poland.
Shibuya crowd sits up straight on opening night “At the End of the Day”
* * *
Song to the Moon I see a water nymph at the opera
Sitting cheek by jowl, Tuyet Van Do spilled red wine in Melbourne, Australia. Head cocked to one side, Nash described tonight’s last quarter moon phase. Boryana Boteva was lulled to sleep in Sofia, Bulgaria.
starry night a bottle of shiraz overflows our hearts
* * *
half moon at a jaunty angle-- I’m tipsy too
* * *
wheat harvest merging with the summer heat maidens’ songs
Slobodan Pupovac slept comfortably on a feather pillow in Zagreb, Croatia.
starry sky in the stork’s nest the moon rests
Living in seismically calm Belgrade, Serbia, Divna Vuksanovic imagined spending an evening on the active Ring of Fire in Sakurajima, Kagoshima Prefecture. Visiting from Ochten, the Netherlands, S.T. Hills noticed fruit offerings alongside coins on a haiku-engraved stone monument.
Summer night lava from the volcano melting stars
* * *
memorial shrine monkey observes banana samurai’s tribute
Joanna Ashwell posed like a ballerina in Barnard Castle, England. Mutlu danced up a sweat.
rain or shine these tiptoes dance anywhere
* * *
silver gardenia dancing on the lake hot season gleams
Submerged, Vasile Moldovan observed this surreal movement in Bucharest, Romania.
waterfall flowing from the depths toward the surface... spirit of the waters
Lori Kiefer was comforted by twinkling string lights in London, England. A beetle on Laurinda Lind’s computer in Sackets Harbor, New York, “seemed like he kept trying to crawl under the plastic display bezel.” Nani Mariani was stumped in Melbourne, Australia.
campsite... from mum’s tent to ours fairy lights
* * *
laptop screen not that kind of window… beetle keeps trying
* * *
child’s question why do beetles buzz? i opened Google
Stephen J. DeGuire placed a bet in Los Angeles, California. James Penha interpreted the meaning of a faint ticking sound from inside a stand of timber in Bali, Indonesia.
mandibles or horns win the day beetle sumo
* * *
deathwatch beetles drum wood with their heads to woo-- not to augur doom
Urszula Marciniak smiled knowingly at a love quadrangle in Lodz, Poland. Stoianka Boianova heard love calling in Sofia, Bulgaria. Jessica Allyson quickly put away her gardening tools in Ottawa, Ontario. “From a fiery hot Italy,” Ravaglia contrasted reality with illusion.
two stag beetles fighting the third male embracing the female
* * *
golden beetle in the heart of a rose a buzzing flower
* * *
rolls of thunder the beetles burrow into the new roses
* * *
champagne and roses-- in the slow air his hands of salt
Picking “every day a rose for her,” Zdenka Mlinar described romance in Zagreb, Croatia. Gordana Vlasic feigned doubt in Oroslavje, Croatia. Mauro Battini’s garden lay bare in Santa Croce sull’Arno, Italy.
just the coast the sea and the two of them the dolphin dance
* * *
romance-- is a rose enough
* * *
on the first date twenty-five red roses picked in vain
Charlie Smith and his best friend Wendy walked at dusk in drought-stricken Raleigh, North Carolina. Mutlu beheld a magnificent moonrise. Jacek Margolak’s mouth was parched with stardust in Kielce, Poland. Lilia Racheva sparkled last night in Rousse, Bulgaria.
brutal heat fireflies, dogs, and people wait late moonrise
* * *
stag beetle antlers of midnight lifting the moon
* * *
empty well the bucket returns full of stars
* * *
blue-green beetle wings, sparkle on old jewelry a new beginning
Aching in Ajax, Ontario, Chen-ou Liu aligned his back toward the glow of the Milky Way and began rolling. Timothy Daly strolled through Fountainebleau, France. Melissa Dennison prefers dancers to chiropractors in Bradford, England.
stiff joints again... the upturned dung beetle flailing its legs
* * *
my only real friends in that forest near Paris... the dung beetles
* * *
flamenco-- the click beetle’s curved spine
Subhash Roy Choudhury watched Cockroach People’s Party demonstrators late at night near an 18th-century astronomical observatory in New Delhi, India. On her toes in Newcastle, Australia, Jennifer Smyth-Davey expressed the feeling of “regret that is always part of combat--Pyrrhic victory.” Tony Williams was suddenly “surrounded en masse” in Glasgow, Scotland.
Jantar Mantar, 3 am-- cockroach tests the darkness and finds a way through
* * *
Quick-witted cockroach dodging my relentless shoe crunch but no winners
* * *
dozens of beetles on the forest floor… I stand on only one
Amir Kapetanovic admired flowers at the Institute of Croatian Language in Zagreb, Croatia.
stifling summer-- white geraniums freezing the pupils
Elizabeth Moura listened to the words of American folk artist Goebel Reeves in East Taunton, Massachusetts.
Hobo’s lullaby crickets in the freight yard remind him of home
Ignatti listened to a violin-like evening vigil. Hifsa Ashraf stood watch in Rawalpindi, Pakistan.
armor laid aside-- the cricket songs smell of rust
* * *
candlelight vigil flicker in the eyes blue flames
In Phoenix, Arizona, John Daleiden whispered “See Saw Margery Daw, Johnny shall have a new master.” A variant alludes to mythical mischievous fairies of British folklore: “Sold her bed and lay on the straw; Sold her bed and lay upon hay; and pixie came and carried her away.” Damir Damir tried to hold on a little longer in Kotor, Montenegro.
Oh, the games world leaders play-- see-saw Marjorie Daw
* * *
a few more hours of summer: the sea is tired, the sea is salty
“Honestly speaking,” admitted Ashoka Weerakkody, “quiet moments and unadulterated traditional Sri Lankan singing voices” are captivating. The haikuist is neither a fan of electronically produced sounds nor noisy streets in Colombo. High-pitched falsetto notes were originally perceived by Italian opera purists to be artificial. In Toronto, Ontario, Marshall Hryciuk listened until “al niente.”
fake notes blended with genuine silence synthesized music
* * *
wavering cardinal song fades into false dawn
Listening to folk music in Northern Luzon, Philippines, Anthony Q. Rabang commemorated the 40th anniversary of a peaceful uprising that ended a dictatorship.
moon almost full cathedral bell tolls people power
Reading “The Thousand and One Nights” stories, Sagano learned that guests were often executed because of a king’s misuse of power and traps set by a genie.
they did guests proud those who disappeared Arabian Nights
Envisaged as an Arabian nights story in a Western world setting, Daleiden’s haiku conjures “Salome, Where She Danced,” a 1945 film about a town named after a dance-hall performer who entranced outlaws.
heat distorted the mesquite dance-- Salome
Mike Fainzilber interpreted a dream, considered consequences and will meditate before Rosh Hashanah, which falls this year on Sept. 11 in Tel Aviv, Israel.
the hostage’s wife their nightly appointment her first dream
* * *
all his vows a ring of bright water
* * *
all the crannies in the Wall his unread confession
Isabella Kramer danced for joy in Nienhagen, Germany. Lakshmi Iyer spun around until she got dizzy in Kerala, India
round and round the puppy jumps leaves tumble
* * *
buzzzzz… our granddaughter runs around the house
At the end of a long day, Joseph Elliott turned out the office lights in Kingston, Ontario. Morgan Ophir imagined the thoughts of a Tokyoite who didn’t get home last night.
beaver moon all the work I didn’t notice
* * *
metro station floor salaryman dreams of his first peach
Seyed Edris Hosseini prepared for bed in Shiraz, Iran. Ophir turned off a reading lamp in Sydney, Australia.
midnight toothbrushing on the mirror-- a small beetle
* * *
separate bedrooms a soft peach has become a stone
Ivan Georgiev passed gas in Gottingen, Germany.
her apology-- gas bubbles are found even in gemstones
Shall we dance at http://www.asahi.com/ajw/special/haiku/. The next issue of the Asahi Haikuist Network appears Sept. 18. Readers are invited to write a haiku using caesura punctuation to silence a moment in autumn, on a postcard to David McMurray at the International University of Kagoshima, Sakanoue 8-34-1, Kagoshima, 891-0197, Japan, or e-mail to (mcmurray@fka.att.ne.jp).
* * *
David McMurray
David McMurray has been writing the Asahi Haikuist Network column since April 1995, first for the Asahi Evening News. He is on the editorial board of the Red Moon Anthology of English-Language Haiku, columnist for the Haiku International Association, and is editor of Teaching Assistance, a column in The Language Teacher of the Japan Association for Language Teaching (JALT).
McMurray is professor of intercultural studies at The International University of Kagoshima where he lectures on international haiku. At the Graduate School he supervises students who research haiku. He is a correspondent school teacher of Haiku in English for the Asahi Culture Center in Tokyo.
McMurray judges haiku contests organized by The International University of Kagoshima, Ito En Oi Ocha, Asahi Culture Center, Matsuyama City, Polish Haiku Association, Ministry of Foreign Affairs, Seinan Jo Gakuin University, and Only One Tree.
McMurray’s award-winning books include: “Teaching and Learning Haiku in English” (2022); “Only One Tree Haiku, Music & Metaphor” (2015); “Canada Project Collected Essays & Poems” Vols. 1-8 (2013); and “Haiku in English as a Japanese Language” (2003).
Monday, 7 November 2016
Soft or Hard Collapse for Amerikan Empire?
I published this essay on the eve of the Amerikan 2016 presidential election. It's been getting a lot of visits on this blog, so I decided to reread it. Unfortunately, I kinda called things the way they're going.
This is the eve of a turning point in the ongoing collapse of the Amerikan empire. Tomorrow's presidential election will help determine whether this inevitable collapse is a soft landing, like that of the British Empire. After World War 2 the brits faded empire softly folded into being an Amerikan protectorate, what one analyst memorably called 'a theme park for the Americans'.
A Trump victory offers a potentially harder and quickening collapse than a Clinton win. As a fan of Vlad (the bomber) Putin, Trump's victory could signal a rapid deterioration of the U.S. into a mafia state similar to Russia. In place of the Russian oligarchs, a rogue Amerikan mafia state would have as leaders the 'hollow men' board of directors of the multi-national corporations based in the U.S.
A Clinton win would be more of the same old same old. She'd likely continue inadequately managing the weakening imperialist policies of Obama, who couldn't manage much of anything he promised while in office, including closing Guantanamo and implementing an efficient national health care system. As Mao said, I don't care if a cat is black or white, as long as it catches mice.
At the tail end of my youth I was a Marxist, and one of our major Marxist tenets was defining the 'major contradiction' in a political situation. Trump brings to the fore at least two major contradictions in the Amerikan empire. These are the internal contradictions which confound every empire - a large percentage of the citizenry must be marginalized so they can easily be recruited to fight the foreign wars necessary to hold the empire together - while externally the colonies of oppressed people continue to struggle to free themselves.
In fairly recent decades we've witnessed the weakening ability of the Amerikan empire to hold sway with its once powerful rule of Pax Americana. First the Amerikans got their ass kicked in Vietnam. I'm proud to say I was one of the young people who actively resisted participating in that horrible war. Now they routinely get their butts kicked, as witnessed by Afghanistan and now Syria. This is where the dividing line between a 'soft' Clinton and a 'hard' Trump blurs a bit. Trump is supposedly an Amerika Firster, a protectionist, while Clinton has sounded hawkish on Syria. They are both such blustering cartoonish characters that neither offers much hope, although Clinton at least appears sane!
All in all, sitting up here on the sidelines in Canada watching the bizarre reality TV show which is the U.S. of A., I'm grateful I had the foresight to leave the U.S. forever in 1969. I never realized what great entertainment it can be watching an imperialist ship of state sink so slowly and crazily.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
On 2016-11-07, at 3:21 PM, Kent wrote:
Right on Chris!
Kent
. . . .
Thanks Kent!
this is quite the bizarre show - not with a whimper or a bang, but as an episode of "The Simpsons"
Chris
I have a personal interest in Cassie's latest novel Wild Summers, as she
based a lot of it on my memoir Eel Pie Island Dharma. It's impressive
how vividly her imagination recreates that heady time in the summer of
1969 when the world was undergoing the cultural upheaval of Beatlemania
and hippiedom.
Her main character, seventeen year old Joan
Summers, is experiencing a boring summer break as a disaffected upper
middle class teen in Twickenham. Then the heady ferment of the sixties
moves next door in the person of a rising young rock star. Her older
sister is the cool one who attracts his attention, while nerdy Joan
remains in her sister's shadow. A visit across the footbridge to
mythical Eel Pie Island and the inhabitants of its abandoned hotel's
hippie squatters cause a change in Joan's perspective. The unexpected acceptance of the bohemian gaggle of young people living in the ruined
hotel causes Joan's life to change in directions she has never imagined.
This
is the second novel acknowledging the influence of my memoir. The first
was by the very established writer Hari Kunzru. His second novel, My
Revolutions, also used the atmospheric and cultural turmoil described in
EPID. Hari has gone on to establish himself on the A list of British
authors, and it is my belief that Cassie Steward's book is at least the
equal of his novel. I find her characterizations more believable and
fully rounded out than Kunzru's, and her plotting more interesting and
credible. Not to knock Hari whose literary credentials are secure, but
to show how accomplished Cassie Steward's writing is.
In Canada
where I worked as a librarian, Wild Summers would be classified as a
Young Adult (YA) book. I believe it is one of the more important books
in the YA canon, perhaps the equivalent of teen classics like The
Outsiders or The Catcher in the Rye. I believe Wild Summers will help
Cassie achieve the sales to also establish her as a financially
successful writer. But I also believe Wild Summers has the potential to
become a teen classic. Reviewers, librarians and book shop owners pay
attention to this brilliant and absorbing novel. Written with young
people in mind, adults who remember their teen angst will enjoy this as
much or more than their kids and grand kids. Harry Potter and Stephen
King teen territory is being invaded!
Every "great" empire fades and most die. They expand too far, too fast. The money spent on maintaining their militaries (e.g. the U.S. Navy has gone broke, missiles, bases around the world). Grossly misspending the money that should be supporting their citizens with healthcare, education and housing. In Canada we've been wise to this historical fact since our founding. Push Canucks too far and you'll get some very nasty body checks.
Those
who have underestimated Donald Trump’s viciousness and determination
have always paid the price. But Canada has taken the measure of our
enemy. We know exactly what we are up against.
Our strategy is clearly confounding the MAGA machine.
They
are enraged that we walked away from the negotiating or more accurately
the intimidation table. Their key spokespeople are shouting and hurling
insults, saying that they will teach us a lesson. Trump says we will be
sorry for having the nerve to stand up for our sovereignty.
Hence Donald Trump’s pathetic “executive order” renaming one of the Great Lakes.
If he thought that was going to freak us out and get under our skin, he is swinging wildly and missing.
If
my dad, John Angus, were alive, he would be on the phone right now
telling me how this is the political version of the legendary Rumble in
the Jungle — the 1974 showdown between Muhammad Ali and George Foreman.
My dad did everything in boxing metaphors.
Going
into the fight, George Foreman was considered the guaranteed winner. He
had unprecedented punching power, having knocked out the greatest
heavyweights of the generation with ease.
Muhammad
Ali was considered to be past his prime. Few thought he would stand up
to the fury of Foreman’s fists. People were worried that Ali would be
seriously injured or worse.
When
the fight started, Ali shocked all the pundits. He didn’t use his
speed. He didn’t try to run. He hung on the ropes and let Foreman come
to him.
But
just before the end of every round, Ali would jump forward with a
flurry of perfectly aimed jabs and hits. It confused Foreman and
infuriated him. So Foreman swung harder and began missing more.
You could see this in Prime Minister Carney’s response to Trump’s declaration about changing the name of Lake Ontario.
Carney let Trump own the online space for most of the day, then responded with smart, brutally effective jabs.
It
was as if he was mocking Trump’s tactic of over-the-top superlatives
when he explained that the Indigenous word for Ontario meant “the lake
is big.” He was trolling Trump because the PM knows that the word
actually means “the sparkling waters.” A follow up jab hit home with his
use of the word hydronym. Yes, I have to admit I had to look it up.
Then Prime Minister Carney finished with a blow that stung:
“Canadians know that naming reality means calling it Lake Ontario — then, now and always.”
Those jabs sting — like when Ali kept hitting home until the raging bull Foreman was out of energy and completely disoriented.
Ali took him down.
When asked later what the heck he had been doing in the ring, Ali described it as the rope-a-dope.
Canada is doing the rope-a-dope now.
Premier Wab Kinew is another expert at the cutting jab all while keeping the smile on his face.
He
compared Trump to an aging rock band playing its tired old hits in a
casino 50 years after those songs meant anything. These are all
rope-a-dope tactics while the big punches — exports of potash, energy,
critical minerals - are kept in reserve. MAGA knows those hammers will
fall if Trump tries to go further.
What
we have hit them with are very targeted measures right down specific
parts, fittings, and couplings that are used in everything from air
conditioning to forklifts.
No doubt the MAGA influencers will think this response is harmless.
But
here’s the thing, those mouldings are made in particular factories in
key states that are now scrambling with the fallout of finding
themselves in Canadian gunsights.
These are well-aimed body blows.
The Trump regime is shocked that we didn’t come out swinging.
We are holding back the major leverage.
Rope-a-Dope.
As
economic uncertainty in the United States grows and the midterms loom,
Canada’s precision punching will start to have an effect.
Check out my analysis of how things are going in week one of the war.
If
any photos or images on this site are under copyright, please let us
know and we will provide appropriate credit. This content is used in
accordance with applicable copyright laws, including “fair dealing”
under Canadian law and “fair use” under Section 107 of the U.S.
Copyright Act, for purposes such as criticism, comment, and news
reporting.
The
Resistance is a 100% reader-supported publication. If you enjoy the
work as a free subscriber, we hope you’ll consider upgrading to a paid
subscription. Thank you.
Poetry for Lake Whatchamacallit
, here, 
(Illustration by Mitsuaki Kojima)
