TV COLORS OF NEWS & STORIES YOU’VE HEARD TOLD WHEN YOUNG – IT’S NOT TOO LATE – A GOOD STORY WELL TOLD IS ALWAYS ENTERTAINING
Newscaster , Bernard Shaw - Born MAY 22, 1940 - He is also remembered for his reporting on the 1991 Gulf War. Reporting with CNN correspondents John Holliman and Peter Arnett from the Al-Rashid Hotel in Baghdad, he found shelter under a desk as he reported cruise missiles flying past his window. He also made frequent trips back and forth from the hotel's bomb shelter. While describing the situation in Baghdad, he famously stated "Clearly I've never been there, but this feels like we're in the center of hell."
I’m embarrassed. He’s colored, like me. His colored people have an American lit of their own, overlooked by W. E. B. Dubois, and the means to satisfy all the needs of a self-sufficient civilization. Bernard is a veteran. He’s seen war before. Get up off the floor. You’re on tv, fool! Everyone, even the Iraqi aiming his RPG at you and watching tv. But who listens to a Yellow on how Blacks should act? There was a time when that was exactly our function , as the Model Minority. Sad but true, behind every Chinese-American alive today, there is a Chinaman who sold out to God and the White Man for the suit of the Chinese-American in the 1920s, or 1930’s or 1940’s or the 1950’s or the 1960’s etc In the 2015 the San Francisco Chronicle Sunday mag publishes 100 ChineseAmericans and not not one knows or has heard told a Chinese children’s story and the paper shouts with glee, the Chinese have forgotten their fairy tales and just yesterday’s Chinatown. Chinese-Americans’re so smart, we have no childhood not told by a White Charlie Chan acting like a White faggot. Today every Chinese-American on tv limps their wrist and says, "Oh my! That White man plays Charlie well."
I’m used to whispers and children cuddling their parents and leering at me. Groceries at the Safeway in Placerville, Post Office in Diamand Springs, and El Dorado doesn’t exist anymore. That's where Uncle Jackie and Aunt Bea are buried. The whispered or shouts of “Jap” are meant to raise fight out of me, but Uncle Jackie and Auntie Bea are Irish show people and I am in their care. “You’re not a Jap. A shout of ‘Jap!’ Jap is Do ya wanna fight? To a Japanese, that is. They want to fight you, they better not call you ‘Chinaman.’ Which makes no sense at all. So, forget it for now. Into the pot, and let it stew.“
LOUIS SIMPSON- Louis Aston Marantz Simpson (March 27, 1923 – September 14, 2012) was an American poet born in Jamaica. He won the 1964 Pulitzer Prize for Poetry for his work At the End of the Open Road.
At the age of 17, he emigrated to the United States and began attending Columbia University, where he studied under Mark Van Doren. During World War II, from 1943 to 1945 he was a member of the elite 101st Airborne Division and would fight in France, the Netherlands, Belgium, and Germany. Louis was a runner for the company captain, which involved transporting orders from company headquarters to officers on the front line. His company was involved in a very bloody battle with German forces on the west bank of what is now the Carentan France Marina - Simpson wrote his poem "Carentan" about the experience of US troops being ambushed there. In the Netherlands, he was involved in Market Garden and Opheusden fighting. At Veghel his company suffered 21 killed in a brutal shelling while in the local church yard. At Bastogne bitterly cold temperatures had to be endured while the 101st Division was surrounded by enemy forces for days. After the end of the war he attended the University of Paris. Subsequently, he returned to the US and worked as an editor in New York. He later completed his B.A. at Columbia University's School of General Studies in 1948,
ADAM CURTIS – film - “THE LIVING DEAD” - Documentary - THERE’S LOUIS SIMPSON- ON PART ONE - “ON THE DESPERATE EDGE” HE TALKS ABOUT WAR- I WAS IN HIS CLASS OF 40 – Entry into the class is based on a number of pages of writing.
- ONE DAY HE BEGINS CLASS BY READING FROM MY WORK- HE STOPS AT “THE AIR was so hot the street SMELLED LIKE PEANUTS” HE READS ON A BIT, AND ASKS, “WHAT IS THIS PERSON DOING IN SCHOOL? HE SHOULD BE WRITING.” EVERYONE INCLUDING A BLOND SORORITY SWEETHEART TURNS TO LOOK AT ME. THAT IS A MOMENT I BASK IN, JUST ENJOY WITHOUT COMMENT. I LEARN THERE ARE WOMEN THAT ARE TOO PERFECT, TOO BEAUTIFUL, TOO RICH FOR ME TO TOUCH. JUDY BEEBELAR IS A BLOND STATUE, AND LATER TINA CHEN IN A PLAY OF MINE. DAMN, SHE IS BEAUTIFUL, BUT REMOTE. WOMEN I ADMIRE LIKE A RARE AUTOMOBILE , WALK AROUND , STARE AND HANDS OFF – Then there exists in Alameda, Navy Town through a tunnel under the estuary to a man-made island, a girl with the most quivering, smiling, come hither flesh. Every part of her shudders or twtches your way, drives a boy crasy. A Lesbian Jewess whose flesh, the droops breasts full of floaty stuff. Every look from her is a frank and sexy “Hey, Sailor.” And hearts beat fast, and snorts blast beat out of noses. She smiles out of films in the open air shops with movie machines, where her flesh moves lighter than her bones. She smiles and shows the rich of her spread. In the military in town in the 50’s, Roberta is everybody’s dreamfuck. Nobody cares who she fucks, as long as she fucks you. She is advertised on the covers or insides of every men’s mag in DeLaurer’s huge bookstore on Broadway a block from the bars, used books and notions, and the Army & Navy Entertainment block. She is a live advertisement for sex right now!
Louis Simpson does not advertise he is a poet. He does not read from his own work. I never hear him read his own work to the class of 40. Adam Curtis’s The Living Dead, finds Louis Simpson speaking in his flow of plain language in the soft rhythms of Jamaica, talking about being 19 years old in the glorious 101st Airborne Div.
CARENTAN O CARENTAN
Trees in the old days used to stand
And shape a shady lane
Where lovers wandered hand in hand
Who came from Carentan.
This was the shining green canal
Where we came two by two
Walking at combat-interval.
Such trees we never knew.
The day was early June, the ground
Was soft and bright with dew.
Far away the guns did sound,
But here the sky was blue.
The sky was blue, but there a smoke
Hung still above the sea
Where the ships together spoke
To towns we could not see
Could you have seen us through a glass
You would have said a walk
Of farmers out to turn the grass,
Each with his own hay-fork.
The watchers in their leopard suits
Waited till it was time,
And aimed between the belt and boot
And let the barrel climb.
I must lie down at once, there is
A hammer at my knee.
And call it death or cowardice,
Don't count again on me
Everything's all right, Mother,
Everyone gets the same
At one time or another.
It's all in the game.
I never strolled, nor ever shall,
Down such a leafy lane.
I never drank in a canal,
Nor ever shall again.
There is a whistling in the leaves
And it is not the wind,
The twigs are falling from the knives
That cut men to the ground.
Tell me, Master-Sergeant,
The way to turn and shoot.
But the Sergeant's silent
That taught me how to do it.
O Captain, show us quickly
Our place upon the map.
But the Captain's sickly
And taking a long nap.
Lieutenant, what's my duty,
My place in the platoon?
He too's a sleeping beauty,
Charmed by that strange tune.
Carentan O Carentan
Before we met with you
We never yet had lost a man
Or known what death could do.
Carentan is not a myth psyched from the Greco-Roman mists of Freud, his nephew Debrays, or Advertising. It is not a product, made to manipulate the people to serve a productive purpose. Carentan is a myth of individual experience smashes against the accident of reality. The vets are told to forget the war.
THE WAR COMES BACK IN DREAMS- THE MEMORIES OF VETS- MEMORIES OF THEMSELVES IN THE JOY OF MURDERING AND MAIMING- WHEN THEY ARE YOUNG -IS THE WORLD THEY REALLY LIVE IN - WHAT THE HELL IS THIS GUY TALKING ABOUT ? I WANT TO TAKE A RIFLE RIFLE BUTT CRUNCH HIS SKULL - IDEAS AND SENTIMENT DON’T COUNT FOR ANYTHING- HELPLESSNESS AND ISOLATION-