{"id":4871,"date":"2023-12-02T12:27:47","date_gmt":"2023-12-02T20:27:47","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/alteritas.net\/pastis\/?p=4871"},"modified":"2025-08-19T14:51:10","modified_gmt":"2025-08-19T21:51:10","slug":"wail","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/alteritas.net\/pastis\/wail\/","title":{"rendered":"Wail"},"content":{"rendered":"

Rare, the shrill coyote bark\u2019s become
\nSince our presence intruded on theirs.
\nNow nghts we suffer from our own noise,
\nleft in peace with the howl of our cares.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

****<\/p>\n

I lived seven years in my thirties in Berkeley and environs, a poetically \u00a0productive period of my life. I was working as a wine merchant and had given up on academic expectations, those that I had myself but also those others had of me. \u00a0The main bonds upon me were those of epicurean oenophile commerce. Poetry therefore came more easily.<\/i><\/span><\/p>\n

<\/i>Now I have lived almost another ten productive years in Southern California, my personal moment of waning twilight on hills where chaparral used to reign. <\/i>Despite this, few of my poems bear any trace of the Californian landscape.\u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/i>Here is one, which speaks to the systematic invasion of that landscape by humans with the resultant loss of habitant for its habitants.
\n<\/i><\/span><\/p>\n

Here are a few others:<\/i><\/span><\/p>\n

Thoroughfares<\/a>
\nOrthodox Cemetery at Fort Ross<\/a>
\nThe Horticulturist<\/a>
\nChaparral Sunset<\/a>
\nGiraffes at San Gorgonio<\/a><\/p>\n

Not to mention my recent verse in Mandarin. first line of a poem which I hope to finish before I pass.<\/em><\/p>\n

\u767d\u9e6d\u5728 \u8def\u8fb9<\/a>
\nb\u00e1i l\u00f9 z\u00e0i l\u00f9 bi\u0101n
\nAn egret lit on the roadside.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Rare, the shrill coyote bark\u2019s become Since our presence intruded on theirs. Now nghts we suffer from our own noise, left in peace with the howl of our cares.\u00a0 **** I lived seven years in my thirties in Berkeley and environs, a poetically \u00a0productive period of my life. I was working as a wine merchant … <\/p>\n

Continue reading “Wail”<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n

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