Grandfathers

My paternal  grandfather, John P. Lang, in an atypical suit. We called him Bunco, as in bunk. The other cousins called him Poh-Poh. He was marvelous man, full  of not bunk but quirks and wisdom.

 

 

 

 

 

 


My maternal grandfather, George L. Maclaine, whom I never knew. He died in 1929 in a tram accident in the Houston Heights (elevation 90′), leaving my grandmother, née Ann Terese Masterson, to raise their three children during the Depression.

He was the first Maclaine “ghost” I  never knew. The second was his son George Maclaine, who died in 1944 during WW2, after whom I was named and about whom I wrote in Delayed Reaction (link in bio)

 

 

Grok’s Reading of an Older Version of “Global Warning”

 



The poem Global Warning, presented in the provided document, offers a sophisticated and wry meditation on the nature of poetry itself, employing the metaphor of invasive plant species to characterize its persistent, almost uncontrollable presence in human life.

The text draws a deliberate parallel between poetry and kudzu—an aggressive, fast-growing vine notorious in the American South for overtaking landscapes—or the drifting seeds of dandelion fluff, which spread with casual human breath. The poet describes poetry as proliferating beyond its intended bounds: it “goes wild, turns weed,” transforms its “niche” into “a whole ecology,” and “clings to everything.” This imagery culminates in the mock-prophetic address, “O Peoples of the Earth, hear me on this!” followed by the assertion that poetry draws sustenance from carbon dioxide and every exhaled breath, rendering it an inescapable byproduct of human existence. The closing imperative—“We must live with the change it brings”—echoes contemporary discourse on climate change, lending the title its double meaning as both a “warning” about poetry’s ubiquity and a playful variation on “global warming.”

The accompanying prose reflection, written years later, reveals the poem’s prescience from the author’s perspective. Composed over a decade ago, at the outset of retirement with expectations of sustained, perhaps ecstatic poetic production, the work anticipated a subtler reality. Rather than dramatic, Dylan Thomas–like inspiration, poetry has manifested as a constant, simmering background process—never quite reaching a “boil”—yet impossible to eradicate or ignore. The author acknowledges becoming continually “entangled” in it, mirroring the kudzu-like persistence foretold in the verse.

The piece appears on the website alteritas.net under the section “Pastis @ Bandol,” where it is attributed to the poet George Lang. This blog serves as a platform for his original poetry, translations, and personal essays, often exploring themes of nature, memory, transience, and the craft of writing.

Overall, Global Warning functions as both an ars poetica and a gently ironic self-commentary. It portrays poetry not as a rarefied art but as an invasive, adaptive force—vital, tenacious, and ultimately inseparable from the breath of life itself. The retrospective prose underscores this insight with quiet resignation and recognition, affirming the poem’s enduring relevance.

We called my paternal grandfather Bunco

We called my paternal grandfather Bunco, as in full of bunk.  He was Po-Po for the other paternal cousins.

Bunco was from Oklahoma. The whole batch of them, the Lang’s, were deemed hayseed unsophisticates by Granny, my mother’s mother, who never let us forget that our, that is her, family went back to Davy Crockett and Tennessee, which she thought conferred some sort of nobility. Though an impoverished widow who worked as a single mom on refinery row, Granny thought of herself as a fallen noble. She was a proud Episcopalian. My father converted in a vain attempt to win her over. He died an Episcopalian lay pastor in Livingston, a podunk East Texas town on the edge of the Piney Woods.

What Happens after Skinny Dippin’

What happens to Virg, Bea and Johnny after the end of Skinny Dipping’ with Alligators.

Virg, following his love for oysters, becomes acquainted with some members of the Pointe du Chien Indian Tribe. Falls in love, again, with an Indian maiden.\Bea, after a vengeful encounter with the Pimps, marries a Mississippi creole by the name of Danny. Settles down to a domestic life.

Johnny makes it to NOLA. Becomes a writer of sorts. Skinny Dipping, the poem, would appear in appendix. There he meets an aging Hub-Cap.   

Hub-cap’s got PD. One of the first to try levadopa.

We’ll leave him in the midst of his dithering.

Don’t know if I’d live long enough to write it.   

Pointe-au-Chien Indian Tribe