About That Poem: 'Byzantium in Jersey'

My grandfather, 1969, Budd Lake

This is the poem I read at the S.P.E.A.K. open mic in March at the Puffin Cultural Forum in Teaneck, NJ.

I began my reading by reciting from memory the first part of a favorite poem, "Sailing to Byzantium" by Yeats. The workshop before the open mic was about structure in poetry, and I have always appreciated the subtle structure of Yeats' masterpiece -- 10 beats per line with an ab/ab/ab/cc rhyme in each of its stanzas.

I was also pleased to read in Robert Pinsky's autobiography "Jersey Breaks" that "Sailing to Byzantium" was a favorite of his too.

So, with apologies to those two great poets, here's the full text of my homage:

Byzantium in Jersey

 

This, my grandfather, in his Sunday best:

a cigarette dangling from its holder,

a tattered suit, a worn Italian vest,

with me at his side, decades less older.

He does not hold my hand. There is no rest.

He lectures as we walk, points my shoulders

to Monarch butterflies in flight toward me

along the shores of Budd Lake, New Jersey.

 

This, a back country road, is my classroom:

milkweed, honeysuckle, red columbine,

hummingbirds, spotted touch-me-nots in bloom,

blue robins’ eggs, goldenrod, dandelions.

My grandfather names them for me, assumes

I will remember that sparrow, that vine,

the chicory, those edible lilies,

the mew of mimicking catbirds we see.

 

Like the sage I loved, these vanished from me.

 

I live in the suburbs, reminisce now

about ancestors. One Sunday, I walk

the Hackensack riverbank in a drought.

A murder of crows chase a gyring hawk,

then roost in the sun on a golden bough.

Hearing their echoing caws, I pause, stalked.

This, I know, is my father’s father’s song

of what is past, or passing, or to come.

---------

Here's a video of my reading:

My March Into Hell During March 2025

I've spent the first half of March 2025, more or less, at the side of Virgil and Dante, beginning with the read of a fascinating autobiography by America's former poet laureate -- who translated "The Inferno" three decades ago. I admire Robert Pinsky greatly, and I was pleased to learn that my local library's book club planned to read a modern novel loosely based on Dante's descent into Hell.

The novel disappointed me. I had read such wonderful reviews of the author. So I went back to listen the original "Inferno," which I first read in college. And then I found I had descended even further.

Hopefully, I will emerge this week to see starry skies again, with Venus in both the morning and evening skies.

Jersey Breaks: Becoming an American Poet by Robert Pinsky
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

A friend recommended this book. It didn't disappoint! I listened to the Audible version so I could hear the poet read it, but then I bought a hard copy so I could go back and reflect on my favorite passages in a more tangible way. Oh, and it inspired me to watch Season 13, Episode 20 of "The Simpsons," which is also wonderful. Thank you, friend.

 

Let Us Descend by Jesmyn Ward
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

I felt stuck in the mud trying to get through this book. Thin, hard-to-follow plot, with words that seem to scream, "Admire the writing here!" I appreciated the references to "The Inferno," so this has at least inspired me to reread the original work by, as the author puts it, "the Italian." Also, it was helpful to discover something about myself: not a fan of "magical realism."


The Inferno of Dante by Dante Alighieri
My rating: 2 of 5 stars

Having read and enjoyed Pinsky's "Jersey Breaks" and being a lifelong fan of John Cleese, what could go wrong with this audiobook version?

Well, three things: 1. the production is a bit muddy, especially in the first hour or so... it's as if Cleese is reading with marbles in his mouth.

2. It's an abridged version of "The Inferno," and that isn't entirely made clear up-front.

3. Some of the translation seems... weird... like encountering "incontinence" as a reason for winding up in Hell (yes, I know, there's another, far less recognizable meaning of the word, but). And, here, for example, when we're suddenly (due to abridgment) on the verge of the 9th Circle, and we encounter a spirit with a wound "split from his mouth to his farting place" and who speaks with a comical Scottish accent. In fact, Cleese's voicings are problematic throughout. I kept thinking, "There's a penguin on the telly!" whenever he'd voice a spirit in a familiar Monty Python affectation.

Oh, well, if you really want a harrowing version of Hell these days, check out the new Netflix series "Adolescence." It's much more nuanced and arresting than this translated classic.

View all my Goodreads reviews

Tomorrow Is Yesterday

Like Charlie Brown running toward a kickoff with Lucy spotting the football, I submit poems every year for the Allen Ginsberg Poetry Awards sponsored by The Poetry Center at Passaic County Community College.

Every year, I never hear anything back. Undaunted, I asked my wife to choose what I should submit this past January. These were new poems I wrote following weekly prompts by New Jersey poet Dimitri Reyes.

She picked out several, but not one of my favorites, "Tomorrow Is Yesterday," referencing a "Star Trek" episode that aired in 1967.

I took another look at it after attending a Tuesday "Poetry Circle" at The Sanctuary in Butler. The evening's prompt was "brave new worlds." I immediately thought of "strange new worlds" and revised my poem a bit (no piece of writing is ever "finished" in my world).

Then I read it this past Thursday at Boonton Coffee's monthly open mic. That's me in the photo, taken by the talented poet Renee. Thank you, Renee, and thank you, NJ Poetry Circle.

Tomorrow Is Yesterday

 

It’s a Thursday night in January 2025,

And I have conjured my father in this poem.

 

Dad is 58 years younger,

And we are in the same living room in New Jersey.

 

He has boldly returned from the dead, 

And we are watching “Star Trek” together.

 

Suddenly, on the liquid dilithium crystal TV display,

Multicolored lights begin to flash. Sirens sound.

 

Dad holds tight to the arms of his chair,

Rocking side to side in an exaggerated motion.

 

We are aboard the Starship Enterprise,

Slingshotting around the sun fast enough to reverse time.

 

Arriving on a Thursday night in January 1967,

The day 2 feet of snow fell in Chicago.

 

My father sits in his easy chair, 58 years ago,

775 miles away from the storm.

 

He is a metaphorical thousand miles away from me

In the same room where I am a frightened boy,

 

Nestled on a worn orange Danish modern couch,

Who now clearly foresees his father’s death.

 

I join my former self there,

Wrapping my small body with a protective arm.

 

I whisper in my ear:

“It’s OK, it’s OK, it’s OK.”

 

Then a tractor beam envelops me and my past.

Its light absorbs us.

 

My grasp on myself dissolves.

Credits begin to roll, and I am transported

 

By the otherworldly vessel of this poem,

Back to my living room in January 2025...

 

Where it’s snowing in New Jersey.

An implanted image has wormed into my brain.

 

I see Dad, seemingly asleep, in a ghostly chair.

He has become Captain Kirk at the conn.

 

In this strange new world,

He still changes my future forever.

In Praise of Book Clubs (and 'The Marriage Portrait')

This is, ostensibly, a review of "The Marriage Portrait" by Maggie O'Farrell. So let's start with that.

This is a wonderful book... a great read. It's full of detail, and it's a harrowing character study of an early 16th-century duke in Italy and his remarkable young bride.

Well, it's mostly about the bride. I just thought the psychopathic husband was chillingly written. My only reservation about this book is how it jumbles timelines back and forth. I would have enjoyed it more as a ticking timebomb of a narrative rather than a series of scenes that ping-pong in time.

But here's the real reason I'm writing this. This book is something I would never have considered reading on my own were it not for my local library's book club. I've written before about how joining a book club at work exposed me to great books that I never would have considered reading.

That work book club disbanded, so my local library came to the rescue. I also recently joined a club that is taking its time reading two book/chapters of Emily Wilson's translation of "The Iliad" every month.

How could "The Iliad" possibly relate to my current life? I thought that at first. Then I read the detailed description of each army battalion poised for battle, including the captain's name and hometown. That very weekend, I attended a Notre Dame vs. Navy football game, where, with much ceremony before the battle began, each Navy squadron in attendance marched onto the field to be introduced by their leader's name and hometown.

The next month, I marveled at how adroitly "Homer" handled the initial description of Helen -- whose beauty should be indescribable, considering its impact. He merely relates the reaction of the elders of Troy, gathered like crickets along the walls of the city as she passes by. One chirps to another, "I understand now why men are fighting this war."

Then, further on, these images: Hector's son playing with the plumage of the hero's battle helmet... and the Trojan fires, like so many stars along a nighttime shoreline, as they camped overnight in front of the Greek ships. I'm looking forward to more great scenes to come, and I recommend listening to this epic because it's narrated by Audra McDonald.

Meanwhile, the New Milford NJ Library book group will next be reading "Let Us Descend" by Jesmyn Ward, and I hear that the nearby Teaneck NJ Library is hosting Erik Larson in person later this month to discuss his latest, "Dead Wake: The Last Crossing of the Lusitania." In addition, a good friend recently recommended "Jersey Breaks," which I am also listening to, so I can hear the book in the voice of poet Robert Pinsky.

So much great stuff to read and see and hear. So little time! It reminds me of how fast life passed for the young dutchess Lucrezia de' Medici in the early 16th century. I recommend that you read about her life. There's a wonderful book about that, by Maggie O'Farrell.

A Baker's Dozen of Haikus

Back in November, I decided to pair an original image with a caption in haiku, and post these on social media every Monday morning. So far, that gives me 13 image/haikus, which you can view on Instagram by searching on the hashtag "#mondaymorninghaiku📝" -- OR...

Just look below 🙂 (and follow me at @bvarphotos... I'll follow you back there).

Wizards are sleeping
Emerald City at dawn
There’s no place like home

Eleven roses.
Incomplete, without meaning. 
One rose, just now. Home.

I drink beer alone.
I only drink wine with you.
I like wine better.

This haiku, for you.
A memory at Christmas.
Music in the air.

You attract full moons
My center of gravity
You cause the sunrise

Fifth Avenue lights
A cathedral in shadows
Invisible prayers

Another year gone
But I offer hope: this poem
Creates a new world

Animal robots
picturesque and colorful,
their zoo in shadows

Crossing Abbey Road,
making all my nowhere plans.
Worlds at my command.

Bottle an angel. 
Drink it dry. Savor its taste.
Hang it from a star.

The reflecting pool
Holds a penny for his thoughts,
A dollar for hers.

Boardwalk ghosts possess
the Jersey Shore in winter,
chill the ocean air.

Falls starting to freeze,
Waters churning underneath.
Me, from a distance.

Adventures in TikTok (My Top 2024 Posts)

Notre Dame Chorale (see the YouTube link at the bottom of this post)

Here are three short videos I posted on TikTok in 2024 that received the most views, along with a recent favorite.

Posting here for posterity because who knows what will happen to the platform in 2025 🙂

1. Navy Midshipmen break formation to get to their seats before the start of the Notre Dame football game at the Meadowlands in October.

2. One of our void cats staring at ceiling lights imitating stars.

3. From back in January 2024, after the opening of the walkway extension along the East River.

PS... From just a few weeks ago, before the Notre Dame bowl game victories, when ND Chorus alumni from around New Jersey brought the band back together to sing the opening prayer (the Angelus in Latin) at a Communion breakfast on the St. Elizabeth University campus in Morristown.

Last but not least (related to the photo at the top of this page), here's the Notre Dame Chorale on a visit to the abbey at Delbarton in Morristown, singing both the alma mater and fight song -- a concert cut short so everyone could head off to watch the Orange Bowl this year: Posted on my YouTube channel so you can view the entire 2-minute performance.