Mind of Moog

Ambiguous light falls upon an unsuspecting hour. Memory, that silver star, refuses her curtain calls. I am enchanted by a spiral stairway— shadow play before and beneath it— and a single candle.

In mid-November, I started making block prints (e.g. linocuts). I had been drawing for two years as a kind of counterpart to my efforts in writing. Lately, I have been working on visual arts much more than my writing...

Always wrong. Get used to it. And use brings new ideas. Creation is always a relative matter of advancement. Lower costs mostly. But that's something. More time for thinking and being wrong.

I wind around you as a mountain path admiring your mind. "Speak now for both of us", I mumble alone, climbing into the silence.

It is snowing. Looking out the window- I sit in my room waiting (no car, unmotivated [city on COVID lockdown], oh well).  The snow looks like Dippin Dots. It rests on our balcony. My wife went out, came back in; now cotton candy-like fluff all over.  Only water. I wish I had my car but I really don't have anywhere I want to go. My eyes drift to the yellowing leaves, intermixed with fading greens. The ivy, by contrast, is going red. I want my car. I have nowhere to go. Without it,  I feel stranded in the middle of a desert.

Prince of Gangnam, those other dogs are your friends.  You must be kind to them. But instead, your young strength longs to be first always.  Do not forget your comrades. Fast-runner, majesty, slow down. Do not humiliate them because they are your loyal friends.

 

Wandering along my way, I watch   time’s course from the break of day   and wonder about its passage.   Funny, it is not dissimilar from more physical sensations, e.g. blowing of the wind.  

  Wind & water, sway together, but longing and logic seem closer.

  1. Permitted one day:   collect things be beyond border or else.   2. A broken circle closes behind me.   I spin-off indefinitely, absent gravity.   3.   My memories disserve me—I must leave that life behind   again and again; again and again.   4.   I see familiar forms. I think I am home— I slip into an abysmal zone— I gaze into a labyrinth  of memory,  sink into a haze of yesterday’s today.   5.   I did not abandon your memory. It might return.

  GAZING AT THE CREEK from above the trees spiral— the surface,  daguerreotypic reflection. Stratospheric strands   falling on the water; a breeze blows   past the sphinxlike supports of a low-water bridge.

 I wrote these for my wife's aunts in South Korea. There is some competition between their doggies and so they each got their own poem.                          1. MU’S RAINY-DAY BLUES   Mu looks  outside…   baths of water,  too wet for walks, no ice cream,    and smells muddled together.    O Mu, just rest .  The sun  will be back;  you will be walking past the bushes and the guard who says hello, then over the bumpy walkways to the park!                             2. SOL’S SEOUL STRIDE    Everyone smiles  when they see those long legs  striding around Seoul.  Ajuma, look at those  long-stemmed  yellow rose legs,    says the baker  to the street vendor.  Yes, they all agree! Sol  is so sociable and popular!    Rushing to his playdate,  he drags his poor master behind him  like a plow,    block after block. Sol,  bad boy! Those rope burns and bruises on your mommy…   All the girls like you,  Golden Boy,  Princ

sound of the wind: aeolian.  

To live well for me would be to wander in a garden. An earthly one. I wonder at the bitter roots of my mind’s fruits—why am I so faithless? I have learned by turning on myself, yet all the while my soul abides. I shed myself and find new skin, moving from vesicle to vesicle. Long is the day and short the night, but darkness shrouds my inner light.   When the sun rises, my cat rushes to the light. It warms her, she bathes in it. I admire her ability to enjoy these daily pleasures. We are not so far apart. I can see her intentions but I cannot reach that inner peace in her eyes.   Beauty lies all around us, I suppose it’s in the eyes. Too often, I sat waiting for another to kindle this light. How deep seem my shallows, how shallow my deep; for that which the eye cannot touch lingers beyond reach taunting the proud. I approach my shadow. Who approaches? I AM, speaks my soul.   Let us not linger too long in the depths. Brevity is the soul of wit.

One wanders around in labyrinthine search of oneself.   Born at the center, we drift outwards until the end.   This mortal coil, is my labyrinth.   I wander in doubt, but with faith in this wandering life, which is mine.   Its walls are only as narrow as my eyes; my perspective is as deep as my gaze.   The more I wander, the more I wonder at the intricacy of   my labyrinth, my world.   As far as I can see, it keeps going— it is growing, it seems.   Once, it was maddening not to be able to see a means to the end.   All our ends,                     are means— we are not lost—                           now I see that I am circulating.   We move like blood from the heart to the brain and back.

I want to will, I will to want, I remain still.   Is this wanting willed, or is it my will that is wanting? -James B. Moog

O, stay not thy visits diva in fur! You move like jazz and weave to me. Wordlessly, I infer your desires. Do not leave. I hear you slinking, undeterred, in spite of our spat, I cannot cleave myself from you. Though you injure me with your claws, I believe it is only your temperament— there, your greening eyes repent! My fury dissipating like a dream; I forgive you and recline serene. You pounce upon me in no time— how could I blame you, my feline?   -James B. Moog

1. "I tell you, the egg is but a means to an end..." 2. "Yes, Egg is something to be overcome." 3. [SLAM!] "All that ain't for me...you see..." 4. "I'm proud to be an egg!" 5. "Egg is in!" 6. "And I'm an egg about town." ["Here we go!; "Wheeee, Yah!] 7. "Don't put us all in that basket!" 8. "So you see, guys, I'm a free range egg now!"

Every face is  like a window (a mirror).  Every face seems my own for a moment (if it speaks clearly, if I listen carefully). I am among them and experience them all at the same time. Yet, when I look closely at my own visage it seems false and distant. I extend myself to those others  in close sympathy; myself, I experience at a                                                     l                                                       a                                                        g.

I never got Beyond  the Pleasure Principle; I couldn't figure id out.

1. "This here...is Egg City" 2. "Who am I? Okay, sure, I'm an egg" 3. "But not just any egg" 4. "I'm a BAD EGG. Rotten to the CORE" 5. "I got a feverish desire for FAME" 6. "But lately...I been crackin' up" 7. "My head is all scrambled"  8. "So I'm gettin' outta' here... Leavin' Egg City for good!"

1: Call everyone in. Tell them... 2: I'm proud to be an egg! 3: After all...at the end of the day, it's all "over easy" 4: But all yolking (joking) aside, being an egg ain’t easy... 5: Sometimes, I think there’s something... I don’t know...growing inside me!

  Daybreak   Hopes sown out of season cling Like bulbs in frozen ground To aspirations of Spring   Yet Summer’s decadence cannot abate Autumnal declines and long winters bound To negate   Just as the Sun with Sisyphus’ might Presses up and across the horizon Before sliding into night   That which remains must evolve Change displaces but also enlivens Those who spring with new resolve   -James B. Moog

I started another blog that I will loosely term a "lifestyle blog." It is really a place for meditating on the nuances of everyday objects and the time that we pass as "leisure." My first post is on chairs. I came up with this idea as a means to prompt myself to think about an everyday object in more creative ways. The more I thought about the subject, the more I realized that such an exercise can be very fun and even surprising at times. I hope that you will check it out. Thank you for reading!

Drawn by my wife Emily and adapted from Walter Kaufmann's translation.

Write a short poem (rhyming not necessary) that includes each of the following 5 words (anywhere and in any order). Poems should not exceed 7 or 8 lines.      Remote      Shelter      Digital      Breathe      Distance It is easier to breathe at a remote distance— in my digital shelter, for instance. -James B. Moog Poems submitted for April 24

Today’s prompt Write a short poem (rhyming not necessary) that includes each of the following  5 words  (anywhere and in any order). Poems should not exceed  7 or 8 lines .      Aspen      Shadow      Fever      Hidden      Promise Aspen now hidden. A promise of fever Lingers like a shadow. -James B. Moog Poems submitted for April 23

April 20 Write a short poem (rhyming not necessary) that includes each of the following 5 words (anywhere and in any order). Poems should not exceed 7 or 8 lines. Breath Last Rage Close Fortune “Rage-Goddess, sing the rage of Peleus’ son Achilles, murderous, doomed, that cost the Achaeans countless losses.” King Agamemnon held his fortune too close, his pride doubly cursing his great fighters’ their bodies made carrion. Apollo, son of Zeus and Leto, incensed by the dishonorable treatment of his priest by mortal Agamemnon,swept a fatal plague through the army that spread upon man’s own breath. Man killing Rage flowed through Achilles’ blade as well, driving it toward his King but Pallas Athena appeared before him beckoning caution. Wise men fear the Gods and Achilles stayed his rage and returned to his men at last. Poems submitted for April 20  

Prompt Write a short poem (rhyming not necessary) that includes each of the following 5 words (anywhere and in any order). Poems should not exceed 7 or 8 lines.      Soft      Glass      Honey      Gust      Rest A wanderer, though still I might rest but for the cold gust hard against my skin, now cracking like glass. Oh, to reside forever in halcyon fields where the wind flows sweet and soft like honey… — James B. Moog Poems submitted for April 17

Prompt Write a short poem (rhyming not necessary) that includes each of the following 5 words (anywhere and in any order). Poems should not exceed 7 or 8 lines.      Sunlight      Ceiling      Nostalgia      Bleak      Mother Faust's Dream The passageway is bleak, the ceiling low—far below sunlight. “Follow it down, ’twill lead you to the Mothers.” Beyond nostalgia: delight in what exists no more and yet waits to be. — James B. Moog Poems submitted for April 16

Prompt Write a short poem (rhyming not necessary) that includes each of the following 5 words (anywhere and in any order). Poems should not exceed 7 or 8 lines.      Silent      Oxygen      Truth      Dedication      Owl The truth is hidden like the legs of an owl and silent like oxygen. It takes some dedication... — James B. Moog ALSO A silent moonlit dance. against the silhouette of an owl’s desire Behold its prey, straining for oxygen, in dedication to its own truth. — James B. Moog Poems submitted for April 15

In the Winter of 2016, my omonim [1] visited me And my Korean fiancé, her daughter, Emily To plan our wedding ceremony, Eagerly anticipating our matrimony. Before going to dinner one night, We visited a Merdardo Rosso exhibition. Illuminated by interactive light, My omonim insisted, love creates the aesthetician. I think back often to what she said: Indeed, True Relations clarify. Now, I find myself well-wed, And wise enough to never dare defy My wife or her mother In the least With no one above her I am allowed celestial peace. Returning to Ol’ Rosso, I enjoyed his plasters most oscuro, Supported only by dusky luminescence While his works in wax seemed incandescent. -James B. Moog [1] Omonim means mother-in-law in Korean.

April 14 Write a short poem (rhyming not necessary) that includes each of the following 5 words (anywhere and in any order). Poems should not exceed 7 or 8 lines.      Gift      Fall      Brief      Still      See Send us your poem via our  Submissions  page or post on Twitter or Facebook using the hashtag  # lifelines . I submitted a haiku this time: Spring’s gifts are so brief. Still, I long to see Summer, Fall, and Winter too… -James B. Moog And another poem: The fruit of knowledge, overripe, a gift of gravity after a brief fall.  We see only the necessary. -James B. Moog

Prompt Write a short poem (rhyming not necessary) that includes each of the following 5 words (anywhere and in any order). Poems should not exceed 7 or 8 lines.      Star      Stairway      Memory      Hour      Light *** a pathway of pebbles at night, memory’s labyrinth of light reaches a dark star through an hour ajar and a heretical power ascends subterranean staircases to the heart. — James B. Moog Many thanks to Orlando Luis Pardo Lazo who did me the great honor of surprising me with a Spanish translation which I prefer greatly to the original English: Senda de guijarros nocturnos: la luz laberíntica de la memoria  rebasa a la estrella oscura  de esta hora entreabierta.  Entonces una fuerza herética asciende las escaleras sumergidas  que dan directo a nuestro corazón. -James B. Moog Finally, I couldn't help submitting another poem anonymously: Ambiguous light falls upon an unsuspecting hour. Memory, that silver star, refuses her curtain calls. I am enchanted by a spiral stair