Bird & Lil - one of those IM poems*   
5/25/2006 1:08 AM

lil: how was your day?

bird: actually quite a good day

lil: good

lil: good to hear

lil: good to know

bird: but days are days...

lil: Nightflights
Are of the silvered light

bird: Crisp

Like the edges of clouds
In autumn,
Forgiving darkness,

Hugging light

While flying to mornings,

Low,

Beyond radar,

Under stars.
Grappling earth

Fails to hold the light beams,
Spilling

Shimmering cascades of sound,

Another soft landing place

Inside this sound

Like the pulsing of tiny wings

Unknown, unseen,

In between

Then and tomorrow

 

* for newer readers - these just "happen" during IM conversations and are really a flow out of the unconcious or semi-conscious, as we don't plan, just react to what the other has set forth, usually instantly, never in more than a few seconds.  

pearlbamboo

copyright  e.p. hodges

 

 

                       Rose Comes Home

Her birthmother died two years after she was born.  Her adoptive parents were two of the most emotionally abusive people I've encountered.  Her adopted family's grandmother is 97, and she's maintained a loving relationship there with several telephone calls a week.  Her adoptive father told her two days ago that he was leaving Florida soon and never wanted to hear from or about her again.  She is NOT safe, IMHO, where she is, certainly not long-term and whether or not she will be allowed to stay or be kicked out on her friend's father's whim is not at all clear.

She's called me, "my real mommy" and my apartment, "my real  home" because you are the first person ever to really love me, since shortly after we met and pled with me often in the past to let her stay with me, but she needed more than I could dig out of myself then.  Now, not only does she need to get out of where she is, but the many phonecalls over the past few days have convinced me that she's made so much progress (and I'm finally on decent meds) that I've asked her if she wants to come and live with me.

I think we both cried when she said "yes!" but I am looking forward to this.  

Now to find a way to get a ticket... the halfway house where she stayed until recently is still the payee on her SSI check and will be until the first of next month, so we can't use that.  She's off to a shelter later today while I see what I can manage before her payee changes and she can get hold of her own money...

 

love ya,

pearlbamboo

 

copyright  e.p. hodges

 

Thank you all for the time you took to think about the question I posed.  I've read her all the replies and we've had extended conversations about them.  She also expresses her appreciation to each of  you. 

 

                                HELP is Today's Subject

Rose calls tonight    - "I told him [her "fiance"] that I thought we might be drifting apart, but really it's just that things are so complicated.  It used to be that things were really free and easy between us, now it's complicated." 

They are beginning to negotiate such things as how much time he spends with the boys and how much with her and why time with her is necessary.   (He lived in a males only setting for 3 years.)

How do I help her and by extension, her friend, neither of whom experienced love at home, understand this?

  

thank you,

pearlbamboo

 

copyright  e.p. hodges

       

 

                 "I'm going to die In the electric chair," she said.

I'd met her mother in the park a block away by the lake were we dutifully walked our dogs.  She told me about Rose's adoption, that there was a natural child, a boy, born two years later.  Then she talked for hours about how horrible Rose was, that she was clearly from inferior genetic stock (this from a pHd in psychology, but not from one of the top schools, thank heaven), that she was psychotic, and that she hoped fervently that she would do something just bad enough that the juvinile justice system would acquire her, leaving her beleagered brother, mother and father at last in peace. 

Rose came to visit for five days.  I saw her in front of her mom's apartment playing with the family dog and offered to take her to a neighboring coffee shop for hot chocolate. On the way through the park she was disturblingly nervous at the least little thing, inquired constantly about whether or not we were threatened by gangs (we were not) and finally collapsed in a small heap on the ground, crying "I'm going to die in the electric chair," over and over again.  I took a look at this little thirteen year old girl and vowed on the spot to do everything I could to help her.  Bending down to her, I promised her that I would see that no such thing would happen, that I would do my best to be her friend forever. 

She was famous for throwing gigantic temper tantrums.  Over the following visits covering 5 years, I watched the younger brother invade her space, hit her, take away her telephone or radio or cd player, try to snatch whatever she had in her hands, and so on, an assult approximately very 10  minutes most of the time, up to 15 minutes apart if he was seriously occupied watching wrestling.  Never once was he called to order and once, when I simply couldn't stand it and said something, I was chided in no uncertain terms. 

It didn't take long to see that her temper tantrums were her defense against her brother's intrusions and her way of punishing her parents for not defending her from her brother. Not wanting to see their own role, the parents had Rose tranqued out on heavy antipsychotics, from when she was 5 years old.   As near as we can tell from discovery in a never-litigated court case, despite many hospitalizations for being unruly and despite all the antipsychotics, no one had ever done a family work up, de regueur for treating children, even adolescents.  By the time she was 15, they had her on seraquel, sooo inappropriate for a teenager as to border on malpractice. 

One day when she was 15, over at my place, she perched on my lap and turned her face to me, "Tell me, why, if someone was going to adopt me, adopt means you especially love the child you adopt, why did people who abuse me bring me home?"   I had no answer.  I did promise to be with her as best I could the rest of  my life. 

She had been out of touch for the past year or so.  Last night, "Hello?  It's Rose and I'm OK and safe."

Sweeter words?  seldom have I heard sweeter words. 

 

pearlbamboo

copyright  e.p.hodges

 

 

 

             LILY HAS A SNARE DRUM!!!!!

Bird inquired the other night if I could use a real drum instead of a practice pad.

"Can I use a real drum?  You jest."

"No, I've an extra snare drum you can use if you want."

"I want."

"Actually, I'm giving it to you.  And if you stick with it, I'll give you a cymbal in a couple of months, when I think you are ready."

Whereupon I dissolve in tears, contemplating perhaps the best gift of my entire life, knowing that I could never ever afford even a cheap drum kit on my own.  .  

The drum and Bird arrived at 4 pm today.  Twenty minutes later we were playing some things together until he took off at a speed I won't match for at least six months. 

It appears I've made no serious mistakes figuring things out, me and my violinist's hands and internet instruction, just needed to position my thumbs more fully extended to butress the fulcrum of the grip.  That's all.  Hands are loose, already use my fingers, forearms still,

O I Love This.

Then I showed him a little video on the Moeller technique (more on Moeller later) and he watched, fascinated, declaring that he must at last get a new computer with a sound card. (YES!!!), taking back the sticks he gave me and practicing what he was watching himself.

And now, if you will excuse me, I am going to play rudiments (tomorrow, will explain rudiments tomorrow) and a couple of slow funk grooves until I drop or until Evy comes back from a jam with Acie and calls in her report, whichever comes first.

PIC TOMORROW!!!!!

Meanwhile, I am one seriously happy drummergranny

and I love you all.

 

pearlbamboo

copyrightr e.p. hodges

 

A Protected Post Follows

                                Lil and her drum practice pad -

As I understand, feel it, even before I lift my new Zildjian drum sticks, two things lie at the heart of a strong technique.  

The first principle is that RELAX is the word for the ages.  Only those muscles actually in use are to be tensed, even those working at the least possible tension, with some allowance made for others preparing for a different stroke, sticking pattern, etc. 

The second is that the stick does half the work.  The operative word here is REBOUND.  Bang the drum with everything relaxed, even the muscles in use, loose fingers, loose wrist, think only Down, Down, Downn, never Up (at least at this point)

If you have this right, the stick will rebound, will literally jump up into your hand, raising your hand and wrist as it goes.  (It requires a special technique to stop the rebound with the stick close to the drum.)    

THIS IS TRUE  Here's proof.   See lesson #6

and so I speak of this to bird, who's been drumming forty years, feeling intrepid, also shy....

lil: small miracle yesterday

bird: tell

lil: went through wessel's lesson on the buzz roll   (click here, then on #3)

lil: all of this feels really easy, loose, relaxed - my chinese teacher's (who    emphasized relaxation, the first English word I taught him) influence

bird: sheesh

lil: and later on, just this side of the right tempo

lil: stopped in astonishment at how well it goes

lil: lol

lil: there are things with this i will never get, lots and lots and lots and lots, way too late to start

lil: but there are already things i do get

lil: and that pleases me no end

bird: am way proud of your spunk

lil: tenks, babe

lil: i love this

bird: at times

bird: you amaze me

lil: bows head with lowered eyes

bird: a-hmm

bird: lift up, and amaze

lil: thinking of all the times i fail to amaze

bird: stop it

bird: amaze now

lil: will, will will will

bird: continue to not self-flag

lil: once one grasps rebound,

lil: the concept,

lil: the doing

bird: difficult

lil: no, easy

lil: from the beginning, took less than two minutes to have it working

bird: it engenders

bird: giving

bird: and taking

lil: YES

bird: dancing

lil: YES

bird: mais oui

lil: the stick is moving down with my help, and up with its own motion

bird: i see that you are beginning to understand

bird: it is a unique musical instrument

lil: once the first rebound happened

lil: i sat here with m y mouth open grinning ear to ear

lil: and then did it again another 100 times

lil: staying loose and "dropping the sticks," and then going on

lil: I LOVE IT

lil: and want to say tenks for your willingness to talk to me about drums along the way, even though i knew nothing at all at the beginning

bird: i will talk to you, till the end of time

bird: even if the time machine is slow

bird: this is just so fucking cool

 tis, bird, tis.  

 

pearlbamboo

copyright  e.p. hodges

 

Lily's been really really ill with bronchitis, a perfect welcome to allergy season and spring, and can now go 15 minutes without a coughing spell, hacking up what are assuredly pieces of her insides.

 

 

 

"I'll go to the drumwall with you," said Bird

Last night was that rarity, Bird and Lil on the telephone.  I peppered him with questions about drums and drumming.  All were patiently answered, none too basic or simple for a gracious, informative and sometimes amusing reply.  

Then I said I should be trying to figure out how to rewrite and publish the old dissertation, still as valid as it was 30 years ago when I started it and  had to put it by, and remarked again that I didn't want to return to the violin, that it never truly made my heart sing.  

"Your voice has changed," said Bird.  "When you talked about drums you had light and air in your voice.  Now it sounds old, tired, even a little bit defeated..  May I posit something here?"

"Of course."

"For the first time since I've known you, you have happiness in your voice, pure and clean, when you talk of drums and what you are learning about them.  I've never true heard that before.  I wonder if it represents freedom for you, if it is not the Bliss part of a dichotomy between Bliss and Duty."   

"If you want to learn, I'll go to the drumwall with you," said my muse, "just give me the word."

And so I did.  Early this week, Lil will be the proud owner of some 7a wood-tipped drumsticks and a Pearl practice pad, enough to work on rudiments and see where I can and can't go from here.  I'll tell you this - the way one holds a violin bow?  change the angle of the stick, and it's a standard right hand on a drumstick, already trained for years to deal with fulcrums and adjusting weight on the stick.  Granny playing the glass table with two fountain pens can tell that much already...

(rudiments - what are rudiments?  - for that and the history of the changes in the drumkit and how its played?  stay tuned)

and for a little experience of joy, click here and watch the first three Bernard Purdie video clips.  Then if you want to hear the classic, mile-wide Purdie shuffle groove, scroll down and click on Babylon Sisters.  

 

Bird and Lil -

Three nights ago, as Bird comments that Lil is almost always at her Dell when he appears on IM.

 lil: always here, really?

 lil: not always

 bird: virtually

 lil: not

 lil: am in the evenings

 bird: right

lil: friends fly at evening light

bird: season of nightfriends,

lil: time of the moon,

(bird: (ah) perceiving an unintended invitation to write )

more faithful than suns,

arcing heavens

with light spears,

star tears crumble

into faint rumbles,

we stumble upon

crystals

fizzling

into points of light,

scattering

pieces of me

to arrange

in unknown configurations,

a dark sculpture

settling for moons,

yearning for sons

and fields to gleen

with daughters,

their arms

holding up

always embracing

linements traced in

one thousand shelters

standing bold

and yielding sun

in shadows of rain,

evaporating

like years

in the mirror image,

i see

my face

 

 

I've an awful cold and sore throat, worst I've had in years.  So, cough, cough, I shall  exit stage right for now....,  

 

 

pearlbamboo

copyright e.p. hodges

                  
                          LUBOK - Russian Folk Art Reinterpreted.

When I lived in DC, retired from the State Department, I sold jewelry of my own design to local museum shops like the Smithsonian and at Eastern Market on Saturdays on Capitol Hill.  

Half the pleasure was from being around other artists and craftspeople.  One of my favorites was Victor, immigrant from Kiev, artist, creator of lubok prints.  I have three modest ones, one a gift from him "to acknowledge to you that I recognize your artistry, that you are a true artist and not a fabricator of baubles"  (he was sober).  The other two I purchased.

It's been waiting for a frame for a long time.  I got it all together during the week and it now proudly hangs on a wall, just over a 1940's Brazilian tray, the center of which is iridescent turquoise butterfly wings that just exactly match the color of these flowers. 

Yum.

              

Victor explains his medium thus -

"Lubok is an ancient Russian form of engraving that utilizes carving, printing, and painting - all done exclusively by hand. Historically, Russian Lubok was used as a means of communication [as opposed to high art or icons] within the culture and was utilized in posters and as illustrations in religious and secular books. The Lubok also provided artistic material for Russian theatrical designers. At the beginning of the century, Igor Stravinsky's Petrouchka, hero of the Russian show booth, appeared on the theatre boards in the magnificent sets by Alexander Benois. [Benoit designed for the Ballet Russe, the troop led by the magnificant Serge Diaghilev].

Lubok was the source of inspiration for many Russian artists regardless of their orientation. Among those working in the ancient Lubok style were many twentieth century artists such as Boris Kustodiev, Kazimor Malevich, Ivan Bilibin, Vladimir Mayakovsky, Mark Chagall and many others. Russian Lubok is treasured above all for its simple beauty, the child-like innocence and charm of its imagery and for its ability to celebrate its manifestations." 

Victor's other Lubok can be seen, lusted after, coveted, desired, here. Although they don't appear in this online catalog, he used to make wonderful greeting cards ornamented with a lubok....  Oh dear, now I want to go back to DC...

A truly marvelous website, A Virtual Museum of Russian Primative [sic] shows several mid-19th century lubok.  It was just after this time when the lubok shifted from being a folk art to "art for the people."

And a discussion of the development of lubki from its origins in the 16th century to the twentieth century can be found, well written and easy to read, here.

This photograph, to be hung with the three lubok and by one of the Eastern Market regulars, Daniele Piasackary, still awaits its frame .  Soon, soon.....

                            

pearlbamboo

copyright  e.p. hodges.

 

                   Bird and Lil Wonder Through Words Again

        "There is no one else on planet earth I could do this with"  Bird. 

Relatively new readers - These pieces develop line by line (sometimes word by word) as bird and I  throw them back and forth to each other in IM, almost always late at night. And, almost always, we get into a sort of "zone" and frequently can anticipate each other's turn of phrase and sometimes feel like we are using telepathy, especially towards what will become the "end" of the piece...  

This one was a line by line one (you've seen the first verse before).  Mild editing, including adding line breaks and removing two lines that just didn't flow, mean you can't tell who is writing what by counting lines. 

This is a truly wonderful way to play -

Leaving
Fermenting
Sweet and lonely traces

Folding and scolding
In upon themselves
Like haiku

Forever evering,
I find you

 

In evening,
Believing in landscapes,
And horizons

At dawn,
Believing in bright,

Receiving fantastic light dances

We fall

Into carbonated water

Mixed into a froth with clouds

Effervescent and top coming.

We rise,
Lifted by bubbles,
And dance

Tickled in pink,
To primordial

Sounds and songs,

Stages and pages

Watching for runes telling of joy,

We find a new air,

Breathed accidentally,

Impeccably true,

For you and I
And I and you 
He and she and it

If they dont quit the dance.

(I know I wrote this

For I and you)

 

In open, of memory

Clear and wide
And sometimes blue,

Cast through dark secrets
Into light and dance

And effervescent laughter

We find rafters of straw. 
Crumbling in winter's thaw 

The rafters fall in spring

Murmurs and blood

Carry us forward

No looking back

No lost tomorrows.

 

 

pearlbamboo

 

copyright  e.p. hodges