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.