Planet of the Blind

He wishes he had kids
But Uncle History has no leisure for “sexy time”
Besides, he’s a saboteur—looking backwards…
He prefers puzzles to hope
The Minotaur, he loves the Minotaur
Give him the tragedy of architecture
Give him long winded myth
On the streets of Paris
He spots hopeful children
He thinks: the lamb in the brain
May still lie down with the lion
But then he gets dizzy
And must hold fast to a wall

Uncle History sees
Disappearing the innocent
Is easy—all you need
Is faith—inquisitors
MAGAs, Bolsheviks
Even Buddhists
With the right conditions
Make them “go poof”
He doesn’t need a Swiss watch
To keep track
All the worst have their leaders
“Dented can people”
Uncle calls them
Stalin, after dinner
Suffered guests
To listen to a gramophone record
Of howling wolves

Uncle History still grieves over Herodutus
Who recited his work at the first Olympics
How the crowd roared hearing him
So what he didn’t tell the truth?
Fascinations and mysteries
Always motivate men
They’ll go to war
When the lies are colorful
You know, the Persian War
Began with the abduction
Of goddesses
Pushing soldiers to fight
Always requires hallucinations
“The good old days” uncle thinks
All those Athenians
Seeing things
That weren’t there
“The good old days…”

He likes anti-aging cream, does
Uncle History—favoring
An ancient Egyptian formula
One that employs
Supernatural forces
He also likes incantations
Amulets, offerings, aromas,
Tattoos, and statuary
You should see his house
Meanwhile picture him
With a falcon’s hood
Over his head
And waving to ghosts
Everyone needs
Minor amusements
When wars
Are described as heroic

If Uncle History has a memory its shaky
Remember when Amelia Earhart
Took Eleanor night flying?
They swept over Washington and the moon
Appeared to follow
This was the height of the Depression
And the marble, for once, seemed hopeful
Now this story has been forgotten
History lives inside a vast electric relay
But two brave women went flying on a spree
When the nation opposed tyrants

Uncle History dives (occasionally)
To the wreck of Titanic
He doesn’t care about the machinery
He’s interested in toilets
And the captain’s bathtub
Its confirmation he’s after
Ghost feces of the dead
And the hint of a tragic last bath
He too would like to be
On the edge of panic
Though he’ll never get there
What with one thing
And another
What with the homely artifacts
Of loss—what with
His inability to look up

In his diary Uncle History really dishes–
Napoleon stinks of feces
Though he tries to cover it up
With antimacassar
Which only makes him smell
Like a rich man’s piss pot
His breath is like death after death
As for the Empress
She smells like burning bibles
His nose is Uncle’s best sense
Because no one ever sees him
He’s the future perfect
But he still shivers

“Don’t give up,” says the mouse to Uncle History
“There are monsters everywhere…”
“There’s always a fight between hunger and safety…”
And Uncle watches as the children starve
He remembers Stalinist purges
He watches Palestine
“What does a mouse have to tell me?” he thinks
Missing the point entirely
The mouse is correct about monsters
They hide behind hunger and safety
But Uncle is bored by this
He knows the monster is there
But he’s already moved on

Eivät olleet tänään kaikki tähdet kohdallaan

Not all the stars were right today

In Finnish, my father’s language, “toivo” means hope

I’m a toiveikas mies—a hopeful man

I come from a long line

I’m accepting of slow change

I push steadily, keep on message, say what needs to be said

Beyond the range of telescopes

And no matter their indifference

Not all the stars were right

Still happiness crawls in and out of me

Like that childhood song about the worms…

You can probe Uncle History but
There’s nothing there
His insides are just a hall
Of dead leaves
There’s a lot of writing of course
There’s always a lot of writing
Thucydides is on a pear leaf
Hobsbawm on an alder leaf
The sound of dead leaves in wind
Soothes Uncle History
Though he can’t sleep
It’s a grand reunion he’s after
The light and dark
Of a dream forest
He’s so empty
And he can’t read