Archive for the ‘video’ Tag

Jabberwocky Moon Over The Tumtum Tree   Leave a comment

Jabberwocky Moon Over the Tumtum Tree — Abstract Art by kenne

Jabberwocky

 
’Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
      Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves,
      And the mome raths outgrabe.
 
“Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
      The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
      The frumious Bandersnatch!”
 
He took his vorpal sword in hand;
      Long time the manxome foe he sought—
So rested he by the Tumtum tree
      And stood awhile in thought.
 
And, as in uffish thought he stood,
      The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,
      And burbled as it came!
 
One, two! One, two! And through and through
      The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
He left it dead, and with its head
      He went galumphing back.
 
“And hast thou slain the Jabberwock?
      Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!”
      He chortled in his joy.
 
’Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
      Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves,
      And the mome raths outgrabe.
 
— Lewis Carroll 
 

Houston’s Trudy Lynn   Leave a comment

Houston’s Trudy Lynn (October 24, 2002) at  Houston’s Photofest — Image by kenne

 

David Hidalgo – Cortez The Killer   Leave a comment

David Hidalgo, Los Lobos Guitarist — Photo-Artistry by kenne

Cortez the Killer
 
He came dancing across the water
With his galleons and guns
Looking for a new world
A palace in the sun
On the shore lay Montezuma
With his cocoa leaves and pearls
In his halls he often wondered
The secrets of the worlds
Oh, and his subjects gathered round him
Like leaves around a tree
In their clothes of many colors
For the angry gods to see
And the women all were beautiful
And the men stood straight and strong
They offered life in sacrifice
So that others could go on
 
Hate was just a legend
And war was never known
The people worked together
And they lifted many stones
They carried them to the flat-lands
And they died along the way
They built up with their bare hands
What we still can’t build today
And I know she’s living there
And she loves me to this day
I can still remember when
Or how I lost my way
 
Cortez, Cortez
He came dancing across the water
Cortez, Cortez
 
Came dancing across the water
 
Came dancing across the water
Cortez, Cortez
Dancing across the water
Dancing across the water
Dancing across the water
Came dancing across the water
Cortez, Cortez
Dancing across the water
Dancing across the water
Dancing across the water
 
— Neil Young
 
 

A Pala Valley October Visit   Leave a comment

Pala Casino, Spa and Resort Pool Area — Images by kenne

Since moving to Tucson ten years ago, we have annually spent Thanksgiving
with Joy’s family in southern California. However, because of COVID, this year,
we will be staying in Tucson. 

Instead of the usual big family get together (as many as 25 people), we decided
to meet two of Joy’s sisters (Jody and Jeri) at a neutral location, and of course, for them,
it would have to be a casino.

So, last Wednesday, we drove to Pala Casino, Spa, and Resort, which is located in
the mountains northeast of San Diego. Since I’m not into gambling, I spent time
around the pool, took photos of oranges, and listen to live music in the casino.
During past visits
, I usually spent time walking the 1.5-mile Pala Band of Indians
Cultural and Nature Trail behind Pala Spa. This time it was closed.

We returned to Tucson last Friday.

(During this time of COVID, we have found casino resorts to be relatively safe, keeping everything clean, requiring social-distancing and masks, except when eating and drinking.)

— kenne

My Introduction To Wallace Stevens   4 comments

Tom Turner (08/29/09) — Image by kenne

With so much of my knowledge of literature I was taught by my brother, Tom. In an April 26, 2003 note from him, he wrote:

“Hey . . . you
Metaphysical degenerates . . . 
Bantered alone by impulse . . . 
Here I am attempting to essay a few
coherent thoughts . . . God it’s risky!
‘God and the imagination are one.’

I am in the midst of trying to 
memorize a poem . . . ‘Final Soliloquy 
of The Interior Paramour’
by

Wallace Stevens . . . never mind why.”

Tom goes on to write about a piece by George Steiner
on memorization amid the technological revolution
where media is ubiquitous:

“The danger is that the text or music will lose
what physics calls its ‘critical mass,’ its implosive
powers within the echo chambers of the self.”

He continued — “I can really be in awe of
Shakespearean stage people in recitation
of exact lines!! Read closely . . .”

Our wills and fates do so contrary run
that our devices still are overthrown:
our thoughts are ours, their ends none of our own.
(The Player King’s Crucial Speech in the Play
Within the Play — Act 3, Scene 2, 183-209-Hamlet)

I probably don’t need to tell you that Tom
never memorized the Wallace poem.

Final Soliloquy Of The Interior Paramour

Light the first light of evening, as in a room
In which we rest and, for small reason, think
The world imagined is the ultimate good.

This is, therefore, the intensest rendezvous.
It is in that thought that we collect ourselves,
Out of all the indifferences, into one thing:

Within a single thing, a single shawl
Wrapped tightly round us, since we are poor, a warmth,
A light, a power, the miraculous influence.

Here, now, we forget each other and ourselves.
We feel the obscurity of an order, a whole,
A knowledge, that which arranged the rendezvous.

Within its vital boundary, in the mind.
We say God and the imagination are one…
How high that highest candle lights the dark.

Out of this same light, out of the central mind,
We make a dwelling in the evening air,
In which being there together is enough.

— Wallace Stevens

An Affirmation Of Life — Fifty Years Out   2 comments

Van Morrison — Source: Ryan H. Walsh

“Into the Mystic” in Van Morrison’s 1970 Moondance Album

We were borne before the wind
Also younger than the sun
Ere the bonnie boat was won
As we sailed into the mystic

Hark, now hear the sailors cry
Smell the sea and feel the sky
Let your soul and spirit fly into the mystic

And when that foghorn blows
I will be coming home
And when the foghorn blows
I want to hear it

I don’t have to fear it and I want to rock your gypsy soul
Just like way back in the days of old
And magnificently we will flow into the mystic

When that fog horn blows
You know I will be coming home
And when that fog horn whistle blows
I got to hear it

I don’t have to fear it and I want to rock your gypsy soul
Just like way back in the days of old
And together we will flow into the mystic
Come on, girl
Too late to stop now

“Into the Mystic” — the words and melody ethereally flowing together as one —
is about a spiritual quest.  But over the years the song has become much more —
an affirmation of life for me, and I would like to think for my generation,
as well, should we choose to embrace its sentiments, an anthem of lives
lived as we float down that stream, merrily or otherwise, after leaving
this mortal coil.  I am honored that my path intersected with friends departed,
and I am a better person because it did.  The fog horn has blown for them
and they will be coming home.

It is indeed too late to stop now.

Van Morrison — Into The Mystic

Sabino Canyon To Reopen With Partial Services   3 comments

CJ Woodard, Santa Catalina District Ranger

On Friday, September 18, 2020, District Ranger conducted a guided tour for Partner members ahead of the Scheduled Reopening of Sabino Canyon Recreational Area on September 21, 2020. Fifteen Partner members, five each from:

Friends of Sabino Canyon
Sabino Canyon Volunteer Nationalists
Santa Catalina Volunteer Patrol

In addition to the following video, images of the Drive-thru are in this Flickr Album.

Ten Years Ago When We Had A Monsoon Season   1 comment

In 2010 we experience our first Sonoran Desert monsoon season. There was lots of rain, wind and lightning.
This year’s monsoon season has been a nonsoon! So far we have had only 2 inches of rain.
This weekend’s forecast was for heavy rains and flash flooding — somebody stole our rain!

So, for this monsoon season the best I can do is revisit an August 31, 2010 posting. — kenne

Catalina Foothills, Tucson, Arizona — image by kenne

During this summer’s rainy season, many storms have provided much-needed rain to southern Arizona. However, when it comes to rainfall, not all areas are treated equally. We had received little rain till the other evening, so when the rain began, it was a time to rejoice. So much is special about the desert. I wrote a poem and produced a video. You can read the poem below and/or in the video.

Desert’s Rainy Season

Desert’s rainy season is
A product of summer highs
Mixed with atmosphere lows
Bringing a refreshing brief break
To her blue-skied summer heat

Desert’s wide-open spaces
Provide panoramic views
Showcasing threatening clouds
Only too often breakup
Before reaching your sky

Welcoming rains come
Only at Desert’s well
Playing havoc with forecasters
Never seeming to learn
She does not keep time

Wind shaking the trees,
Olive, palo verde and mesquite
Shadowed by rains wetness
Shining with each lightning flash
While drinking of life’s fountain

Olives falling from twisted branches
Rolled by wind over wet flagstones
Pounding rain leaving behind puddles
As rainwater exits through openings
In old pueblo walls

Wind chimes dance wildly
Ringing out in nervous joy
Desert’s unlocked sounds
Composing a melodic refrain
Proclaiming Desert’s delight

— kenne

The Song of the Smoke   Leave a comment

Source: unsplash

The Song of the Smoke by W. E. B. DU BOIS

Mountain Forests   3 comments

Coronado National Forest — Images by kenne

One of the things I love about living in the Tucson area is its biodiversity. Being in a desert surrounded by mountains (Sky Islands) with different forest biomes.

In the summer we spend time hiking in nearby mountain forests. However, this summer has been a little different because of the pandemic and forest fires.

Mountain Trail

Sabbaths 1999, VII

Again I resume the long
lesson: how small a thing
can be pleasing, how little
in this hard world it takes
to satisfy the mind
and bring it to its rest.

With the ongoing havoc
the woods this morning is
almost unnaturally still.
Through stalled air, unshadowed
light, a few leaves fall
of their own weight.

The sky
is gray. It begins in mist
almost at the ground
and rises forever. The trees
rise in silence almost
natural, but not quite,
almost eternal, but
not quite.

What more did I
think I wanted? Here is
what has always been.
Here is what will always
be. Even in me,
the Maker of all this
returns in rest, even
to the slightest of His works,
a yellow leaf slowly
falling, and is pleased.

— Wendell Berry

Since I write and share poetry nature, I was not surprised to receive a Wendell Berry poem from one of my hiking buggies, Deborah. She wanted to know if I had posted it in the past, having not it gave me good reason to do so along with the video, “The Women Who Planted Trees,” by Emily Barker.

Mt. Lemmon Trail

Subway In The Sky   1 comment

BoliviaCable Cars Connect El Alto Plateau With La Paz In The Valley — Images by kenne

A PAZ and EL ALTO, Bolivia — In these two cities, geography and rank stand in inverse relation. La Paz — the seat of government, old money, and a lighter-skinned elite — sits in a valley. Above it on a high plateau is the frenetic city of El Alto: poorer, younger, and generally darker-skinned. La Paz has always looked down on its upstart younger sibling above.

Now, that relationship is being challenged, and this urban Möbius strip, where down is up and up is down, is getting a new twist. A mass-transit aerial cable-car system, a cross between a ski gondola and an elevated train, is being installed to better connect them, chipping away at the physical barriers and possibly some of the psychological ones. Read more here.

Cable Cars-B&W-72Subway In The Sky

 

David Lindo, The Urban Birder   Leave a comment

David LindoDavid Lindo (London, England), The Urban Birder at the Sabino Canyon Visitor Center — Image by kenne

As a blogger, I follow a lot of bloggers, mostly those into music, poetry,
and nature photography. One of my favorite blogs is Michael Stevenson’s “The Hobbledehoy.”  

Yesterday (08/09/20), Michael reblogged “A month in the life of The Urban Birder, David Lindo.
” Right away, I thought, “I know who David Lindo is.” Why do I know him?
In February of 2013, David presented to the Sabino Canyon Volunteer Naturalists (SCVN)
in Tucson, Arizona.

I videoed the presentation, which was about 45 minutes. The idea was to make
it available in the SCVN library or on our website.
Well, without going into the details, it didn’t happen.

So, after Michael posted the article from Country Living,
I decided to reduce the length of his presentation and put it on YouTube.

This happening here in Tucson took place long before the Karens of the world were making news in Central Park.

— kenne

Nothing Gold Can Stay   1 comment

Golden Columbine WildflowerGolden Columbine — Image by kenne

Nothing Gold Can Stay

Nature’s first green is gold,

Her hardest hue to hold.

Her early leaf’s a flower;

But only so an hour.

Then leaf subsides to leaf.

So Eden sank to grief,

So dawn goes down today.

Nothing gold can stay.

— Robert Frost

 

 

Bougainvillea & Sunsets December 2012Sunset — Image by kenne

 

“Video Guide To Visiting Mt. Lemmon After The Bighorn Fire”   Leave a comment

John Lewis, Dead at Age 80   1 comment

I want to see young people in America feel the spirit of the 1960s
and find a way to get in the way. To find a way to get in trouble.
Good trouble, necessary trouble.

–John Lewis

John Lewis-art-72John Lewis, Dead At Age 80 — Photo-Artistry by kenne

I came of age in the 1960s, a time of national unrest centering around civil rights and the Vietnam War. I served three years in the Army during the Vietnam War era, marched and demonstrated for peace and justice. Now nearing my 80th birthday, I remember will the assassinations John F. Kennedy, Martin Luther King, and Robert Kennedy while embracing the “Beat” generation, its writers, and beliefs.

Having lived in Alabama in the 40s, I couldn’t help but notice state troopers and county posse men attacking the unarmed marchers with billy clubs and tear gas after they passed over the county line. The event became known as Bloody Sunday (March 7, 1965). After Bloody Sunday, President Johnson and Congress began working on a voting rights law on March 15.

A third march started on March 2, averaging 10 miles a day, the marchers marched “Jefferson Davis Highway” from Salma to Montgomery.  The marchers arrived in Montgomery on March 24 and at the Alabama State Capitol on March 25. With thousands having joined the campaign, 25,000 people entered the capital city that day in support of voting rights.

The route is memorialized as the “Selma To Montgomery Voting Rights Trail”, and is designated as a U.S. National Historic Trail. The Voting Rights Act became law on August 6, 1965.

“On the front lines of the bloody campaign to end Jim Crow laws, with blows to his body and a fractured skull to prove it, John Lewis was a valiant stalwart of the civil rights movement and the last surviving speaker from the March on Washington for Jobs and Freedom in 1963.”

He died on the same day as did another civil rights stalwart, the Rev. C.T. Vivian, a close associate of the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.

For Rep. Lewis, the Black Lives Movement was a very moving experience, “. . . very moving to see hundreds of thousands of people from all over America and around the world take to the streets — to speak up, to speak out, to get into what I call ‘good trouble.” John Lewis was a genuine “profile in courage.”

“When you see something that is not right, not just, not fair,
you have a moral obligation to say something,”
he said on the House floor, December 2019, to impeach President Trump.
“To do something. Our children and their children will ask us,
‘What did you do? What did you say?’
For some, this vote may be hard. But we have a mission
and a mandate to be on the right side of history.”

— kenne

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