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Showing posts from August, 2016

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10 Essential Tips to Find That Perfect Corporate Gift

Your regarded customers, steadfast clients and stunning representatives are your most significant resource. The correct blessing picked with care and consideration will fortify connections, regardless of whether to remunerate accomplishment or commend achievement. Why settle for a conventional blessing when you can dazzle with the phenomenal?

I have assembled the fundamental tips to locate that corporate blessing.

Simply read on

1) Must Always Select A Quality Gift

As a matter of first importance, you should choose a blessing that you would be glad to put your organization name on. Your client and customers are destined to accept your blessing as an impression of how you view and worth relationship with them.

On the off chance that your initial introduction taking a gander at the blessing, is floating towards it being modest or normally accessible stuff, odds are that they will see precisely the same way.

2) Always and Always Check Corporate Policies

In all honesty, numerous associat…

Lost Menagerie

This is the 461st post on Stillwater Symposia, a running start to someday tag-team with Garrison Keillor and his Writer's Almanac. Songs and notes and photographs, memoirs, memes, momentos, all are welcome as each week unfolds.

Regarding weeks, I was going to wait about ten more to post my 200th on Lost Menagerie, especially as I had the 'title track' in mind. Alas, at 190, I did not want to wait. It's a round number, anyway:

When someone set the circus free, sometime 2 a.m. to daybreak, when officers convened, one asked another, “what’s the priority? you got tigers on the loose, dancing bears, some drunken clowns” – “every maringotka opened up?” – “Pandora’s box, it seems, and then you got the guy who did it” – “the clowns, quite obviously” – “no, that’s too clean; it’s more likely you and me” – “hey, I have no interest in setting creatures free” – “your kids will fly the coop someday” – “that’s them, not me” – “let’s get back to this priority.”
All was not lost, reasonably: the se…

1,000 Words, Pt 1

Every Thought...

Week 35: Water

This was a whimsical experiment, taking up the pen and hoping to be inspired.  I know well that life, or any moment of it, cannot reduce to words, but I would still try to capture the beauty of it.


  TWL, Part IV: Translations

  311.5     IV. Death by Water

ACT FOUR: This is the water section, the fourth of five sections of The Waste Land that adopt the themes of the classical elements of earth, air, fire, water and wind (see note 0.5). Eliot foreshadowed the title and theme of this section pages earlier when Madame Sosostris generally warned her patron to “Fear death by water” (line 55). Like the previous sections, this shorter section is full of allusions, but the primary source of the text is now Eliot’s own voice, loosely translated from a poem he first wrote in French.  See notes 312-321.

“YOU” THE READER are in this poem.  One might argue that the poet could just as easily have been talking to himself (see line 17) or addressing a particular audie…

Lessons from a Paper Route

An old guy on the cross-town train sat next to me, and after axle clacks of nothingness, pulled some papers, folded in fours, from a pouch on the harness of his German Shepherd, lying guard like most of us.
Then drumming his pen and making small marks, mouthing reminders of clauses someone had typed, he added two lines by hand and asked me to witness that which he signed and dated by doing the same.
‘What is it?’ I knew without asking, yet leaned in to hear what he’d call his last will. ‘My take on today as it bears on tomorrow,’ and with that, he trundled away, granting some privacy for how I’d comply.
‘Listen,’ I whispered without more to say, silently seeking clues on the sheets—his loose-fitting suit, his choice of seat if he planned to blow up the train— ‘I hesitate messing with fate,’ and signed anyway.
‘Thank you,’ he smiled, and blew on my autograph before filing it safe with the dog. ‘Why put it there?’ ‘His tag has my name.’ ‘Let’s say he dies first, do you have the same?’ ‘I’ve never thought…

Everything Is Burning

Every Thought...

Week 34: The Fire Sermon

Now and then I feel compelled to rewrite an established text, as here with The Fire Sermon: a translation, though I do not know the language; a restatement, yet I want to make it my own.


  TWL, Lines 307-311: Augustine, Buddha and Jesus

  307     To Carthage then I came
  308     Burning   burning   burning   burning

  309     O Lord Thou pluckest me out
  310     O Lord Thou pluckest

  311     burning

307. CARTHAGE, literally “new city,” second home of Queen Dido and the site of her tragic affair with Aeneus (see Virgil, Aeneid (note 92), was for St. Augustine a new world.  See Augustine, Confessions (398 AD) 3.1.1, as cited by Eliot (translation not identified).

Eliot: “V. St. Augustine’s Confessions: ‘to Carthage then I came, where a cauldron of unholy loves sang all about mine ears.’”

See also Confessions 10.16.25 (tr. E. B. Pusey, 1838):

  “For thus do I remember Carthage, thus all places where I have been, thus men's faces whom I have seen…

Dreaming Of Unending

Every Thought...

Week 33: Sialia Sialis
An over-advertised drug once led me to change the name of my Eastern Bluebird poem from Sialis, a Latin word for the bird, to Somewhere, suggesting uncertainty.  I return now to the truer mood.

08/12:   TWL, Lines 296-306: Epigraphs And Epitaphs   296     ‘My feet are at Moorgate and my heart      297     Under my feet.  After the event   298     He wept.  He promised “a new start.”   299     I made no comment.  What should I resent?’   300     'On Margate Sands.   301     I can connect   302     Nothing with nothing.   303     The broken fingernails of dirty hands.   304     My people humble people who expect   305     Nothing.'   306        la la 296. THE MOORGATE NYMPH: Moorgate is an Underground stop in London’s financial district. This is the second of three Thames-daughters nymphs speaking, suggesting either three separate events or three perspectives of the same event.  See note 18 for the general events that set the mood of this poem (the war, t…

pernicious villanelle

I wonder when the shoe is going to drop— metaphors and footwear stores upending a fear that later life has got to stop
will never heed a friendly traffic cop, even out of sight, in wood trails’ wending. I wonder when the shoe is going to drop.
And what propitiates this agitprop? Who’s behind this nothing-so-offending that fear for later life has got to stop?
I’m all for crows that sabotage the crop, farmers, too, for all their scare-pretending; I wonder when the shoe is going to drop
and harvests as we hope them gigaflop, Dobermans elope instead of fending fears for later life, pens that have to stop.
Answers almost never come from Aesop (all respect for Attic truth transcending). Why wonder when the shoe is going to drop? This fear for later life has got to stop.

Dog Days

Every Thought...

Week 32: Walking Song

I have etched this Walking Song into memory, perhaps more than any other of my poems, at first while out simply walking the dog, and eventually while driving, working, waiting in line...


  TWL, Lines 266-295: Songs Beyond The Isle Of Dogs

  266     The river sweats
  267     Oil and tar
  268     The barges drift
  269     With the turning tide
  270     Red sails
  271     Wide
  272     To leeward, swing on the heavy spar.
  273     The barges wash
  274     Drifting logs
  275     Down Greenwich reach
  276     Past the Isle of Dogs.
  277            Weialala leia
  278            Wallala leialala

  279     Elizabeth and Leicester
  280    Beating oars
  281     The stern was formed
  282     A gilded shell
  283     Red and gold
  284     The brisk swell
  285     Rippled both shores
  286     Southwest wind
  287     Carried down stream
  288     The peal of bells
  289     White towers
  290            Weialala leia
  291            Wallala leialala

  292     ‘Tra…