I knew the sundogs foretold of beauty

statistics are sobering

This morning, I was horrified to read, but not surprised to know, that the Army commander of the Canadian Forces Base at Trenton, Ontario has been charged with murdering two women, as well as charged with two home invasions.

That sobering truth of the ugly effects of promoting war and violence yet never acknowledging how far reaching their maniacal tentacles are came on the heels of having heard that a group of 7 young boys looking for firewood were "accidentally" killed by Afghan police. The police, of course, as the report tells us, were in a "hunt" for "insurgents." Canada prides itself on training Afghan policemen. What sort of methods are we teaching them? What sort of sick misdirection are we providing? Canadians will never learn the names of these boys.

On this morning's radio report, I was horrified to hear that Afghan villagers have been leafletted to get out of the area. The NATO troops are going to "cleanse" the area of Taliban. The villagers have to scramble to leave for the showdown the occupiers have planned with "the insurgents." This news made me feel sick. What sort of violence machine have the Canadians become? Where will the villagers go? Is there even a place for them? Should they go hide in the hills? How should an impoverished people leave?

Then, I was looking for some stats on the number of displaced Iraqi people, when I was horrified to stumble upon the news that an American soldier has been charged with waterboarding his 4 yr.old daughter because she didn't recite her ABCs to his liking.

Looking for those stats, I visited Arabwomanblues who writes in clear language the realities that she has had to bear witness since the US led invasion and occupation of Iraq. Here are the official stats she lists (please read her full post for her full report):

From 2003 - present

* 1.5 Million Dead (Lancet report)
* 200'000 reported missing (official)
* 2 Million Maimed at least (official)
* 5 Million Exiled and Internally displaced (official)
* 2 Million widows (official figure)
* 4.5 - 5 Million Orphans (official)

These numbers left me reeling. In 2003, Iraq's population was only about 25 million. Canada's population is about 34 million today. I couldn't help but compare that if Canada within 7 years ended up with more 6 m. orphans or 3 million widows, what would we think? Would these statistics be hard to find?

On Arabwomanblues, not only did I find the shocking stats I was looking for, but also I watched the AlJazeera video on the effects of war on American soldiers that she had linked to. This report states 18 war veterans on average commit suicide EACH DAY in the US and families of soldiers who have returned from many deployments (what a euphemism) to Iraq describe their lives as hell.

Shouldn't Obama, who got the Peace Prize, be responsible for the ugly of war too not just its promotion?

And why don't more Canadians see our Prime Minister as a War Minister? That we live in a war economy? Why do many Canadians still believe the lie that we are peacekeepers when we are in fact active aggressors in killing fields and war profiteers?

a song about a home town

Song By: Jordan Burnell Video By: Matt Popowich Beat By: Andrew Michael Recorded / Mixed By: Brenden 'Geebawk' Beaudoin Co-Producer: Ronnie LaVia Westfort Films

So many of my friends here in Thunder Bay (including my dear long time friend Merts), have sent me the link to this video, I thought I must post it here to share with you, too. It's nice to see young people telling their stories in their own ways.

unpublished letters from birds

goldfinch caught by my sister, Katja. Find more of her feathered friends at her Red Bubble site.


Musical Variations of a Naked Woman....Qabbani abbreviated. See the full text here.

Two beautiful roosters
Crow on your chest
And sleep.
I remained sleepless.
The hand-embroidered sheet
Was covered with birds,
Roses and palm trees.


A Lesson In Drawing....Qabbani abbreviated. See the full text here.

My son places his paint box in front of me
and asks me to draw a bird for him.
Into the color gray I dip the brush
and draw a square with locks and bars.
Astonishment fills his eyes:
"... But this is a prision, Father,
Don't you know, how to draw a bird?"
And I tell him: "Son, forgive me.
I've forgotten the shapes of birds."

My son puts the drawing book in front of me
and asks me to draw a wheatstalk.
I hold the pen
and draw a gun.
....
My son sits at the edge of my bed
asks me to recite a poem,
A tear falls from my eyes onto the pillow.
My son licks it up, astonished, saying:
"But this is a tear, father, not a poem!"
And I tell him:
"When you grow up, my son,
and read the diwan of Arabic poetry
you'll discover that the word and the tear are twins
and the Arabic poem
is no more than a tear wept by writing fingers."

a Christmas card I bought once


When I love you.....Qabbani abbreviated, see the full text here

When I love you
A new language springs up,
New cities, new countries discovered.
The hours breathe like puppies,
Wheat grows between the pages of books,
Birds fly from your eyes with tiding of honey,
Caravans ride from your breasts carrying Indian herbs,
The mangoes fall all around, the forests catch fire
And Nubian drums beat.


Katja's birds.


Why do you ask? Qabbani abbreviated, full text here.

When I write
I roam light
As a legendary bird.

Canada Geese. from the web somewhere. photographer unknown.


The following poem by Qabbani, I don't know the title, but it's one of my favorites. I never get tired of reading it. Each time I read it, it is new. Now, that's magic.

I taught you the names of trees
And the dialogue of the night crickets
I gave you the addresses of the distant stars.
I registered you in the school of spring
And taught you the language of birds
The alphabet of rivers.
I wrote your name
On the notebooks of the rain,
On the sheets of the snow,
And on the pine cones.
I taught you to talk to rabbits and foxes
To comb the spring lamb’s wool.
I showed you the unpublished letters of the birds,
I gave you
The maps of summer and winter
So you could learn
How the wheat grows,
How white chicks peep,
How the fish marry,
How milk comes out of the breast of the moon,
But you became tired of the horse of freedom
So the horse of freedom threw you
You became weary of the forests on my chest
Of the symphony of the night crickets
You became bored of sleeping naked
Upon the sheets of the moon,
So you left the forest
To be ravished by the leader of the tribe,
And eaten by the wolf.

Nizar Qabbani

smoke gets in the eyes

I'm in the midst of marking so I haven't much time to post. I thought I would share with you 2 photos I took this morning. Each morning, I climb the stairs to the 3rd floor of this old Victorian-style house I live in, to get Sydney, our love bird, from her upstairs sleeping cage. Yes, although an African bird by species, she's a North American bird by culture, as we've put her in the midst of consumer culture: she has 3 cages. One upstairs for sleeping (bedtime is 8:30 pm sharp), one on the main floor where she socializes and spends her day (she loves listening to music, particularly accordion and flute), and one wooden summertime cage which I hang off a tree outside during warm days so Sydney can talk with the outdoor birds.

Anyway, the window in the front half of the 3rd floor faces Lake Superior, faces the rising sun, which you can see beginning its ascent. The sky was spectacular this morning, with a huge thunderbird wing spanning the sky, as if attached to Nanabijou (The Sleeping Giant), a peninsula that protects Thunder Bay harbour. First I tried to get a photo without the chimney stacks, but there was no way. The smoke kept getting in the way, no matter what angle I tried. I gave up. May as well let the smoke get in my camera's eye, it is impossible to remove the technology, the mark of humans on the skyscape. The neighbours' chimneys are puffing out smoke, showing that their furnaces too are working overtime to keep the house warm. Another frigid day.
With the bird on my shoulder I came downstairs to the main floor to start my day. Each night I draw the curtains in the front window to keep the heat in as old windows let out heat once there is no sun, and each morning I draw the curtains open. I sewed dark brown velvet curtains just for this purpose, to help keep this 100+ year old house warm in winter. This morning the sun that was so brilliantly beginning its golden ascent, glowed through the fabric, outlining the row of brass knickknacks that I have received as gifts from various people returning from the Middle East. This morning a small brass urn spoke.


The intrusion of consumer culture. Can we escape it? Get it out of the picture? Watch right to the end.