The Plague Diaries and the Annals of the New Utopia (IFT)

[JFN]

Brian, are you on two a day again? You're unstoppable!

Lovely upbeat start with your sunflowers. Beautiful stuff.

And… downbeat. I like the narrative style of Naive, and the tone is perfect for the subject matter. Yes, the drill, crisis after crisis, seems to be that the rich profit.

The Remnants is a fascinating concept for a story. Beautifully told, I was hooked from the get go.

L4, 5 & 6 of S4 of Lockdown are brutal and just. Same old drill for the not so rich & famous.

Ah, the Rattle image. Strong ending on that one. I may have to have a look at this ekphrastic myself. (I've got Shake It Off stuck in my head now, so thanks a bundle for that ).

That's quite a dream sequence in Complications with the constantly shifting landscape, which seems to be not unlike the real world at the moment. I thought the repetend would have annoyed me by now, but it hasn't.

I really like S9, 10 & 11 of this most recent effort. I also like the idea behind the prayer of the pen.

Looking forward to more prolific offerings. Keep well,

John

[BrianIsSmilingAtYou]

Thanks for the detailed analysis, John.

You wrote "I thought the repetend would have annoyed me by now, but it hasn't."

This stopped me in my tracks, and started me on a new train of thought.

That train of thought led to the next "New Utopia" poem, on the one hand (a meta-poetic meditation on the meaning of "You know the drill").

On the other hand, it led to an examination of what the repetend means in The Plague Diaries.

Understand that the repetend serves a purpose. I write the stanzas with an understanding that they will come to that repetend. I considered leaving it out for special circumstances, like the dream sequence, but I left it in. Dream and reality become one.

I made the dream sequence there very long, 10 stanzas out of 15 total in the poem. It recounts, fairly accurately, an actual dream that I had. I made the sequence lengthy to draw the reader into the dream. Long enough, maybe, to forget that the sequence was embedded in another context, so that the reader would be there with me in the dream. So that being brought back would engender the same difficulty that I had on waking, sensing the strange parallels and confusion that that can entail.

Going back to the repetend--there is an ultimate purpose. If you do not see the repetend, it means that the narrator/poet has probably died.

Maybe a new narrator will pick up at that point. Or, maybe, just silence. I do not know. It depends on whether it is the narrator or the poet that has died.

BrianIs AtYou

[BrianIsSmilingAtYou]

IV. Shelter-in-Place



Mom's hearing is not so good anymore.
When I keep a social distance,
and speak in a regular voice,
she says "What?" If I repeat louder,
she tells me not to yell.
So, I line up perfectly in her line of sight,
and speak with pure articulation
of the lips and mouth,
hoping she can see what she cannot hear.
You know the drill.

Still, she sometimes gets upset.
"Why didn't you tell me that Ken
called in the first place?"
"That's the first thing I said, Mom."
We make a deal that I won't try to say
anything to her from the kitchen,
or TV room, or dining room,
when she is in the bedroom—
and vice versa—and it mostly works.
If she speaks, I assume she is trying
to get my attention, and I will go
to the bedroom. Sometimes I find her asleep,
and she has been talking in her dreams.
You know the drill.

Yesterday, she called out loudly,
"Stony is here!" I ran in and asked her
"What? Who is Stony?" She was half-in, half-out.
A mostly unintelligible discussion ensued.
Fifteen minutes later, she calls me in.
"Who is Stony? What are they doing?"
"I don't know, Mom", I replied.
"But you said, 'Stony is here'", she says.
"No, Mom. You said 'Stony is here'—half-asleep—
and I asked you who that was."
Around and around.
You know the drill.

Some good news arrived in Plague-town.
Twin City pharmacy called again,
and, somehow, they were able to get
her pain pills today, sooner than expected.
They can deliver. I say OK,
but decide not to tell Mom until it’s in hand,
so as not to raise her hopes,
and get in a futile argument,
if they still do not arrive for some reason.
In the meantime, she manages with Advil,
and rest—not nearly as good as Vicodin.
You know the drill.

I take the opportunity to do a mid-day workout,
with 20-pound dumbbells.
I’ve been doing my best
to hold to a New Year's resolution
to keep exercising regardless of circumstances,
but I never expected these circumstances.
I've probably lost an inch already
around my waist, and I'm feeling firmer.
You know the drill.

Then there’s the food situation.
Whole Foods market is in walking distance,
and Main Street Metuchen,
with its plethora of restaurants and shops—
some shuttered, some not—
is not much further.
I walked to Main Street regularly—
in the old days—
before the plague.
You know the drill.

Mom is still being a Mom. She plies me
with cookies and pie, and I have to gently refuse
at times, so that I won't undo the effects of exercise.
Still, the fudge cookies were nice,
and the pumpkin pie was something else,
even if out of season.
You know the drill.

My job, however, is to get her regular meals, not sweets.
Hot cereal in the morning. Maybe a small pastry.
Half a sandwich at lunch, if she’s hungry.
I need to remember that the other half
of yesterday’s turkey is wrapped and in the fridge.
I need to monitor—milk, eggs, bread, TP, rubber gloves.
How low can we go?
You know the drill.

I change up the evening meal daily.
It started out as a fish fest, though,
so some of it seemed the same.
Cod with veggies over rice Friday night. Thumbs up.
Too tired on Saturday, her sleep schedule was confused,
and she ate only a sandwich, and she slept.
Sunday, she is hungry early. It's breaded shrimp,
with sautéed onions and pasta with sauce. Thumbs up.
Monday, fried flounder with peas and potatoes. Thumbs up.
You know the drill.

Tuesday, I switch it up. Beef stew,
and I worry that it's a little bland.
I'd rushed it a bit, and the beef
in the house wasn't the right cut,
and had to be defrosted—
no time to brown the meat
properly, or to caramelize the onions.
Everything was rushed.
You know the drill.

I was expecting an indifferent reception,
but I got another thumbs up,
with "It would be nice
to have some dinner rolls with this."
There's enough leftover in the pot
for another day. I'm happy.
As much as possible,
under the circumstances.
You know the drill.

---
BrianIs AtYou

[BrianIsSmilingAtYou]

Need to Know



Future Me is trying to speak to Present Me—
to tell me something now.

I keep writing, as a repetend:
"You know the drill."

I write it as a compulsion, afraid to stop,
yet fearful that that repetition—

that that tattooing effect—will turn people off
through over-familiarity.

Mocking in tone, snide, but maybe more—
and I am afraid

the Future Me knows—really knows
the drill, and I—

I need to know. What is the drill?
Do things blow up further?

Does Mom die, despite all my best efforts?
I do not know the drill.

I need a New Utopia, where I could see
just one day ahead,

and warn everyone about tomorrow.

---

BrianIs AtYou

[lauriene]

Shelter-in-Place has a lot of great material. The hum drum "you know the drill" works well as a vehicle to drive the story of the elderly mom with dementia and her loving son who takes care of her. The focus on food, scheduling and the days of the week is cool, too.

Need to Know is a mindbender, especially in this time of uncertain futures. I like the idea of your present and future selves communicating with each other... great idea for a working poet like you.

I'll be back to read more soon. Keep writing!

[Dunc]

Brian

The Remnants ─ A remnant rather than a revenant? A suitably strange idea, like a short story.

Lockdown ─ Actually I have no idea where I was or exactly when our lockdown came into effect, perhaps because there were various stages to it as our authorities got more serious. And we have public health, which makes it hard on the practitioners at a time like this, but easier for the citizenry. To what extent is Obamacare doing the job there?

Need to Know ─ "If you can look into the seeds of time, / And say which grain will grow and which will not, / Speak then to me.” Macbeth said it to his three ladyfriends, but you're saying it to your mirror, and I'm half sympathetic to that. The other half of me says that the future could only be knowable in this sense if it was fixed, that is, inevitable, and doesn't want to know the number of my days, or those of my kin or friends. (Lottery numbers would be nice, though.)

As usual, your photos are gorgeous.

Regards / Dunc

[Sorella]

Brian,
Felt your troubles in Complications, vivid -- now following the New Utopia path.
Andy Warhol is a tour de force of word play.
Sean F. is appealing: inventive, lucid and full of rationality, with sci fi overtones.
Need To Know -- the title has a double meaning, the poem heart-wrenching in its depiction of powerlessness in the here and now.

Dropped in on Shelter-in-Place: the hearing thing! I know the feeling.

Original stuff, interesting illustrations.

Sorella

[BrianIsSmilingAtYou]

lauriene, thanks for the comments. You bring up the repetend, as others have, and it seems to be working well.

I question this in "Need to Know", a mindbender, as you put it. I will try to keep things interesting for you.
---
Dunc, thanks for the usual detailed look. I actually had not thought or "revenant", that is a wonderful accidental connection to "The Remnants".

In "Lockdown", it was a bit of a risk to make the claim everyone would remember, and you have called me out.

"Need to Know - I've got you quoting Macbeth. I hope that's a good thing by half, at least.

The photos are half mine, half mined from the Internet. Those few from the Internet are mostly public domain and free licensed images (unfortunately, this is not the case with the anime screenshots, though).

---
Sorella, Complications - glad it was vivid
Andy Warhol was fun, out of the blue, I tried to take the Rattle challenge in a way different from what anyone else might do.
Sean Francisco was me punning and musing about the name, and some weird sci-fi philosophy ideas. Glad you found it appealing.
Shelter-in-Place - the hearing thing has resonated with another friend (not on PFFA) with whom I shared this.

---
More plagues to come.

And a song.

Later. Tonight, after I let it sit. A newly written set of song lyrics that a jazz friend of mine will be attempting to put to music.

I wrote other song lyrics for her years ago, that I never posted here, but for which the song was the title (and intended first post that never happened, posting something else) of my 2015 NaPo:

No One Ever Answers When I Call

BrianIs AtYou

[BrianIsSmilingAtYou]

V. Relative Calm



There followed a day of relative calm.
I made it out to Stop and Shop Supermarket,
put on disposable rubber gloves—
the same kind that we use
when dealing with Mom's colostomy.
You know the drill.

I do my shopping, but little has changed.
The TP and paper towel aisle is still completely bare,
and there are random outages.
No eggs. No ground beef. Little pasta.
But more to the point,
none of the New York crumb cake that Mom likes.
You know the drill.

Somehow, I convince myself this afternoon
that I'm too busy to do another workout.
The twenty-pound dumbbells just sit, gravely.
Mom tells me later that she’d casually tried
to pick one up, not knowing its weight.
No luck. Didn’t even budge.
Instead, I find time to make French Toast—
with a side of turkey bacon—as good as the real stuff—
and it feels like absolute luxury.
You know the drill.

The good news is that the Democratic Republic of Congo
has finally beaten back Ebola.
I think of a new friend from last summer—
Navneet—from the Punjab, like Samina,
but India rather than Pakistan, Sikh rather than Muslim—
a doctor who served with Médecins Sans Frontières
in Sierra Leone, during the last Ebola outbreak.
You know the drill.

I wonder how she’s doing.
She's not on Facebook, where I get most updates,
and the thought of making a special inquiry feels strange.
She liked my poem at the open mic last summer,
and she (jokingly?) called me “boyfriend”
after the summer movie in the park,
but schedule conflicts left things at that,
and we took it no further.
You know the drill.

The neighbor friend in Metuchen was finally able to get tested,
but it will be 72 hours before he hears back.
A reporter from the Philadelphia Inquirer
posted in a Media, Pennsylvania, Facebook forum,
asking people for stories about trouble getting tested.
I ask if she’d be interested
in talking to a lead from New Jersey.
Still waiting for a reply.
You know the drill.

Another friend, Gina*, tells me she's staying
in South Jersey, isolated with a couple
that have snakes for pets—
terrifying, yet elating, at the same time.
In the pictures she posts, she has a look of fear
mingled with happiness.
You know the drill.

She sings and strums a song live
and posts it on Facebook.
There are some audio troubles,
but everyone works through it.
Beneath the sound of her voice and guitar
there are birds singing
against the clouded gray sky.
You know the drill.

Another dream.
Folks are swimming in a large wading pool,
like at Dorney Park and Wildwater Kingdom,
but there is a feeling of apprehension.
As I put a toe in the water,
the man next to me says, "Wait!"
and points out a strange creature,
like the spawn of an octopus and a shark,
circling the crowd, which does not seem
to notice or care. "You cannot cross.
It will latch on to you!"
You know the drill.

Suddenly, the creature grabs another swimmer.
The man taps my shoulder.
"You should be good for now! Go!"
The creature takes its time
dismembering its desultory prey,
as I make my way across the pool
to the other side.
You know the drill.

The battle is bloodless and quiet, no struggle—
the creature started from the head,
so that the victim could not scream or breathe,
and the blood from the severed jugular
went directly into the creature's mouth.
You know the drill.

The crowd in the pool continues as before,
laughing and throwing beach balls,
climbing on each other’s backs,
dunking friends in the water.
You know the drill.

On the other side, the people are sipping
cold drinks and wearing wide-brim straw hats
and sunglasses. "How's the water?"
"Looks a bit cold!" "Little Jimmy has been eaten!"
"I'm not sure this was the best choice
for a vacation," says an older,
fatherly-looking man.
You know the drill.

---

BrianIs AtYou

*Gina also appeared in last years' (2019 NaPo) Trust

[Jee Leong]

The shark-octopus killing is both hilarious and scary. The absurdity fits the moment when some of us are posting pictures of ourselves drinking quarantinis and some of us are posting pictures of what's going on inside the hospitals.

[BrianIsSmilingAtYou]

Thanks, Jee! This was my second poem with an extended dream sequence in The Plague Diaries, both based on real dreams that I wrote the outline of after waking. I then roughed them into the shape you see here. So far no more actual dreams (fingers crossed), but the idea of dreams (as metaphor, as idea, as aspirations) will be a continuing theme in what I plan. The two dream sequences in the past pieces are intended to plant the seed of that theme in the reader's mind. Mom's "pleasant dreams" were mentioned earlier in The Plague Diaries as well. after the first dream sequence, as a contrast to the violence of the narrator's dreams.

With respect to pictures, I'm just happy that I was able to find a sharktopus picture, and it was amazing to me how well it fit with the picture that Gina had posted on Facebook. It was a natural to put them together. I had to shrink Gina and blow up the sharktopus to match the size, but it ended up looking pretty good.

BrianIs AtYou

[BrianIsSmilingAtYou]

I wrote in one of The Plague Diaries about doing a workout with 20 pound dumbbells. I was watching Mom's DVDs of The Honeymooners as I worked out, and managed to fall in love with Audrey Meadows, who plays Alice Kramden, Ralph's wife. They are the two main characters of this early 1950s sitcom. I feel like I'm accidentally encroaching on romac1's territory this year.

I wrote the following song lyrics in honor of her today, and gave them to a jazz singer friend in the hope that she could put them to music. We'll see.

I wrote other song lyrics for this same friend years ago, that I never posted on PFFA, but for which the song was the title (and intended first post that never happened, posting something else) of my 2015 NaPo:

No One Ever Answers When I Call

---

To the Moon, Alice!



(Spoken intro/possibly sung lightly)

I'm in love with Audrey Meadows!
In love, now! Don't you know?
Her deadpan Alice overshadows
“The Honeymooners” show.

(Sing)
Some folks will laugh at Ralph, that bum—
not good enough for her.
He'd make some scheme. She'd ask, "How come?"
And give that deadpan stare.

"I'll send you to the Moon!" He'd rant,
with nothing else to say.
Poor Ralphie-boy, you know you can't—
you know there's hell to pay.

(Chorus)
I'd never send her to the Moon,
unless I joined her there,
where I would fall into a swoon—
from love—not lack of air.

And Norton, crazy Norton, woo!—
his limbs would flail and splay.
He'd sleepwalk, yeah, the whole night through,
but she'd know what to say.

Now, what to say of Trixie? No—
there isn't much to say.
She played a small part in the show,
but it was night and day

compared to Alice, lovely Alice!
I'll accept no other!
I'd buy a lovely golden palace
for Alice and her mother.

(Chorus)
I'd never send her to the Moon,
unless I joined her there,
where I would fall into a swoon—
from love—not lack of air!

(Instrumental)

(Repeat chorus)

(Fade)

----------

Looking for a similar treatment as something like the song in the video linked below, by my friend, Andrea Carlson. She plays plenty of gigs, and is working on a new album. She has done a tour of Europe every summer for the past 6 or 7 years, and has been featured every year during the tour at the Edinburgh Fringe Fest.
https://youtu.be/Z6v79Cb_mHc

BrianIs AtYou

[Emily Bronte]

Brian, wow.

I will be returning to these many times.

What an amazing account of a truly extraordinary, insane time.

Can't wait to see what comes next.

[BrianIsSmilingAtYou]

Thanks, Emily. You are always a great support.

It becomes a little more difficult as the days go by. My notes that I am working from for the Plague Days are becoming sparser, but I keep getting new inspiration for the Annals of the New Utopia (which sometimes feeds off the other). Like in 2007, where I did a nursery rhyme + another poem each day, this dual approach is keeping me on my toes.

BrianIs AtYou

[BrianIsSmilingAtYou]

VI. My First Exercise Walk



I take my first exercise walk
since social distancing began.
Traffic is down on Main Street,
but there is more than I expected.
Rush hour, I think—whatever that means
in the Plague Days.
You know the drill.

The birds are making a horrible racket
outside the Chase Manhattan bank—
that, and Metuchen Borough Hall,
seem to be their favorite haunts.
The usual reaction is to futilely
shake one's fist, and yell "Quiet!"
but the birds today are a symphony.
You know the drill.

Down the street, on the sidewalk
outside Antonio's Brick Oven Pizza,
a father and son linger, waiting for pickup.
I press the button to cross the street.
The car wanting to turn from Highland Avenue
is uncharacteristically kind,
and does not try to run me down.
Is this still New Jersey?
You know the drill.

I see others coming the opposite way
as I walk towards Hillside Avenue
and Cai's Cafe. I ostentatiously
step aside to let them pass.
Their eyes move strangely to meet mine,
and I suspect that mine move the same,
like the eyes of a portrait on the wall
moving side-to-side in a cheesy old horror movie,
but there is no "Hello!" or head nod,
as would be normal when we were still human.
You know the drill.

I cross to Cai's, and the three art chairs
from last summer are out there.
Smiley faces, hearts, famous pictures
and names—empty of occupants.
The street is more deserted now.
Rush hour was short. Maybe ten minutes.
You know the drill.

I pass Hailey's pub, where we held Jen’s wake
ten years ago (still painful to think of),
and there are two ladies outside the next storefront,
smoking and joking, only a foot or so apart.
One lays a hand on the other’s shoulder,
an innocent, unthinking gesture
that suddenly becomes self-conscious.
They glare at me as I pass, as if I were
violating an intimate moment—
a sweet and sensuous shoulder fuck—
and I, an ill-mannered voyeur.
You know the drill.

At the train bridge, I see a jogger coming my way.
The underpass is narrow and blocked in. No room.
I ascend the stairs on the left-hand side
to let him go by. As he passes, it becomes easier
to see that he is Asian behind the mask.
I worry about becoming self-conscious.
Both of my sisters-in-law are Asian,
my nieces and nephews half.
It's not something that I used to think about,
though it has been more on my mind in recent years—
with a sense of worry and fear—
as political winds have changed.
You know the drill.

Next stop is the old Colonial Cemetery.
I make a video there, with commentary:
"The sun is starting to set, and I'm here
at the old Colonial Cemetery, downtown Metuchen...
spending time in the community of the dead
is probably safer than almost anything else...
a lot of these graves go back to colonial times...
Revolutionary War...the Yellow Fever epidemic...
a sobering reminder of our own mortality..."
You know the drill.

I walk further, as far as the Middlesex Greenway,
but it is almost dark now, and I do not descend
the stairs. Distant figures still move
on the path below. I step well aside
for an older woman on the way.
When I turn back, she is returning
the opposite way. I step aside again.
I stop by the Vanity Hair & Nail Boutique,
which has placed the statue of an angel
behind the glass door. Pray for us.
You know the drill.

During the walk back to Mom’s, I muse
on similar thoughts, but I put them away.
Ken should be done changing
Mom's colostomy now. It will be time
to do the laundry and take out the trash.
You know the drill.

I put the gloves on. Her stoma had leaked,
her skin is raw, and her clothes are a mess.
With the irritation on her skin,
there is even some blood.
We have bleach and a spray for hard stains.
This is old hat, not something we started
with COVID-19. Our regular routine
has prepared us for the new normal.
You know the drill.

More to tell. But you know much of it,
if you watch the news. The air is cleaner
in Los Angeles for the past three weeks
than it has been in a long time—
and people are walking, talking—
at a distance, of course. I muse to myself
that a new show, "The Walking Living"
will soon be hitting the airwaves,
but it seems too much like fiction.
It is better than my dreams last night.
You know the drill.
 
---

BrianIs AtYou