http://www.tdevito.com/pblog/index.php http://www.tdevito.com/pblog/index.php?entry=entry130321-145430 Parable of guilt
by Ivan Radoev

(as interpreted by Torre DeVito)

Oh, they speak of the ungraceful hit!
When, with your fists down
You contemplated the passing possibilities.
Are you truly defeated?

How loudly silence is protesting!
(Who else is there to protest?)
But the referee keeps counting
the unfair seconds:
…Five,
.....Six,
.......Seven,
........Eight,
.........Nine....

It’s not our fault, it’s the count!
Why does it run to nine?

And, as he washed his hands, Pilate said:
“As God is my witness
I washed my hands.” ]]> http://www.tdevito.com/pblog/index.php?entry=entry121125-161622 http://www.tdevito.com/pblog/index.php?entry=entry100720-034351 Here are a couple of my parodies. The first pokes fun at Lewis Carol's "Jabberwoky " and the second, a "dig" (pun intended) at the necessary speculative nature of forensic anthropology using Theodore Roethke's wonderful poem "I Knew A Woman ".

Cyberstalky

Torre DeVito
(with apologies to Lewis Carroll)

So willing, were the slimy perves
To gyre and gambol on the world-wide-wabe;
Their whimsy is to ogle curves,
And in chatrooms, outgrabe.

"Beware the cybertalk, my dear!
The claws that type, the jaws that chat!
Shun computer nerds, in fear,
Like that humorous blogger, Pat!"

They type their vorpal words to thee:
Meanwhile, the minxsome "ho" they seek--
They tempt you to join youtube, you see,
With your webcam, so they can peek.

One two! One two! And through and through
Their keyboard keys go snicker-snack!
You block their screen-names and I-P's
Ignore their spam attack.

And you, in prudish thought, withstood,
The cyberstalker, with eyes of flame,
So he whiffled off in a surly mood,
To burble on IRC and AIM!

"And hast thou stopped the Cybertalk?
Come to my site, my beamish girl!
Join Amazon! Yahoo! eBay!"
Learn Java, PHP, and PERL!

But beware the other slimy perves
That gyre and gambol on the world-wide-wabe;
Their whimsy is to ogle curves,
And in chatrooms, outgrabe.


I KNEW A HOMINID

Before Lucy became a pile of bones,
When small birds sighed, she would throw rocks at them;
Ah, when she moved, could she have stood or run?
The shapes of fossil bones do not explain!
Of Lucy's virtues scientists will speak,
Hiding ignorance in Latin names, and Greek,
("Australopithecus afarensis," how unique!).

As hypotheses go, we stretched them thin,
How might she turn, and counter-turn, and stand?
With clay we modeled muscle, sinew, skin;
Spent many hours with her ape-like hand;
She was the fossil; I, poor I, a flake,
Had many speculations, all half baked,
But what prodigious theories I did make!

I fleshed her out with clay upon her skull:
Full lips, as if, an errant grub to seize;
I envisioned her: half human yet quite dull,
With eyes and brow resembling chimpanzees,
And simian parts, and mobile primate nose
(All based on speculation, I suppose,
That ran in circles, and those circles moved).

Let bones be cast in silt or tar or clay;
Through processes and circumstance unknown;
Why study rocks? To know eternity?
The ages turned her skeleton to stone.
God alone can count eternity in days,
Yet from old bones I learn man’s wanton ways
(And measure time by carbon’s slow decay).

Note: One rejection slip from a science magazine
accused me of being a creationist. I'm not.
It's a joke, get over it!

I point out that scientists aren't always perfect,
but the line "God alone can count eternity in days"
is not meant to mean that there is no evolution.]]> http://www.tdevito.com/pblog/index.php?entry=entry100504-115941 We frequented a tiny, nearby playground
Where too-often their independence would brawl
With their desire of having me around.

Also at odds: instilling confidence and pride
And my desire to fend away bad things.
It was always "No, don't catch me!" at the slide,
And "Higher, Daddy, Higher!" at the swings.

On those swings, where I first taught them how to fly,
To pump their little legs and arch their chests,
And told them point their toes out to the sky,
That's where I learned the final push was from the nest.

And at that park I held their bikes and ran beside
And tried to teach them all they had to know:
Balance, and a smoothness in their ride;
While in their turn, they taught me to let go.]]> http://www.tdevito.com/pblog/index.php?entry=entry100408-085715
Lying in the grass
In our yard we watch the sky
You and I, and our two children
To glimpse the Leonids.

I point out Castor and Pollux
Off Orion's left shoulder
"Further left, beyond Cancer,
See the question mark?"
"That is the head of the lion."
"That is the place." I say.
"Just wait."

And in the silence I muse
On how the universe is expanding
Inexorably and Silently outward.
And, I wonder, how many of these stars
Have winked out of existence
In the distant past? Yet
We still see their glow, so that
Looking out is looking back in time.

I keep these thoughts to myself,
Silent as the pre-dawn canopy, until
Out of the constellation of Leo
Stars begin to streak across the sky
A few at first, occasionally, and then
Many and more frequently.

You take my hand as
One meteor leaves a smoking trail
That lingers long after the fireball fades.
It is like this moment in my memory.
I watch you look into the shining eyes of
Our son and the wondering face of our daughter.
Together we contemplate heaven.

]]> http://www.tdevito.com/pblog/index.php?entry=entry100330-135921
Like an old dog on the front porch
Lying in a patch of sun
Trying to thaw the winter cold
That sleeps inside his bones:
Waiting on warmer days,
But the spring's long away.
Soon summer too is gone.

Like a fleeting memory that
Dances among the trees:
There's a scent of wild fortune
Drifting upon the breeze.
And the dog thumps his tail,
Dreams that he's on the trail,
How swiftly the moment flees.

I passed the field of a lazy man,
The vineyard of a fool.
Where thorns had come up everywhere
And weeds had come to rule.
A bit of slumber, a bit more sleep
Fold your hands it will keep
'Til poverty takes you to school.


- Torre DeVito March 30, 2010]]> http://www.tdevito.com/pblog/index.php?entry=entry100129-104313 I said, glancing at the TV
"What's that, Dear?" said she.

"You know, the author, 'Franny
and Zooey', 'Catcher in the Rye'"
Said I.

"We had a strange teacher in tenth
He made us read 'Catcher'" she said,
But I thought Salinger was long dead"

"Nope," I replied, he just managed to go
from being famous to being obscure
And hasn't written a thing since 1964."

"Fans once peaked through his windows
and stole his underwear for souvenirs
then he quietly disappears."

"J.D. Salinger is dead." I said.

"If the world shrugs at the passing
Of one such as he..."
I returned to my book, she to her tea.
]]> http://www.tdevito.com/pblog/index.php?entry=entry091215-081251
One of the big reasons we as human beings tend to procrastinate in our persuit of worthwhile goals is fear. We fear Failure, we fear success, and we fear ridicule - worrying that we will look stupid in the process of acheiving whatever it is that we wish to accomplish. Here are ten ways to overcome fear and push on to the goal.

1.Know what you want to accomplish. Focusing on the desired outcome takes the focus off of doubt. Doubt leads to fear. Keep your eye on the prize.

2. Make the decision to never quit. Once quitting is not an option, there is no room for fear.

3. Take Action. Action overcomes fear. Concentrate on your core skill set, the activity that gets you the greatest results. Lack of action creates idleness which opens the door to fear. If you’re in a sales profession, that means spending most of your time attracting new prospects and presenting to them.

4. Be committed in the face of setbacks. Commitment ignores fear and doubt long enough for action to overcome it. Stay with your plan and fight through adversity.

5. Become competent in your core skillset: Compitence leads to confidence which leads to commitment and action.

6. Guard your thoughts. Avoid distraction and negativity. Negativity feeds fear, distraction derails action. When a negative thought occurs listen to a positive CD or Audio book, spend less time with negative people, and curtail activities and people that sidetrack you.

7. Set intermediate goals and celebrate those milestones as you accomplish them. Practice delayed gratification - postpone personal pleasures and reserve them as rewards for accomplishment.

8. Visualize your success. Actively imagine yourself as having accomplished whatever it is you are trying to do.

9. Associate with like-minded individuals, positive people with vision whom you can emulate and who are also in persuit of worthy dreams, who will celebrate your success as you celebrate theirs.

10. Fill your mind with positive input. Visit web sites, read books, listen to CD’s, and attend seminars that build competence, confidence and self esteem. protect and feed your thoughts.
]]> http://www.tdevito.com/pblog/index.php?entry=entry090928-084908
I saw the sunrise on the city
From atop the Palisades;
Saw the skyline of Manhattan
Bathed in gold.
Saw the mighty Hudson river
Like a silent silver ribbon,
And the beauty made me shiver
In the late September cold.

After writing this down, I managed to loose it and find it before everyone began to show up. Once everyone did get there we returned to the scene of the crime: the old publication office that is now a vending machine room.

We also got to meet a lovely young lady from the current student paper whom we tried to corrupt with stories of our abuses of the power of the press. It would please my heart to think that we could inspire (instigate/ incite) another generation of hooligans and deviants to tackle the hard issues and get free haircuts and beer. I don't think it worked though: the young goody-two-shoes kept reminding us that the drinking age was no longer eighteen as it had been in the ancient past when we attended there. To make matters worse, when we pointed out that she would be 21 in her 3rd year there, she had no intention of attending a community college beyond her second year! What are these young people thinking??!!

During the time we had been visiting with the young reporter, I managed to misplace the above poem more than once, and ultimately left it to get locked in the new publication office.

We played on the stage, took lots of pictures, met with our old faculty advisors, and carried on as if we had never left Dutchess twenty-something years ago. We then left to get a sneak preview of a famous Poughkeepsie landmark that will be in my travel blog next week after the grand opening. See: Torre-the-Tourist

That evening we all had a lovely dinner at the River Station, including a wacky teleconference with a friend who couldn't be there, and the night was over. I crashed at a friends house, and headed back to North Carolina the next morning. That was yesterday. I drove all day and woke up to discover a cluster of mushrooms had sprouted in my back yard. That inspired this little poem, that reminds me of Dickinson a bit:

In the one or two days I've been gone
Some toadstools cropped up in my lawn.
Like tables round where fairies dance,
Or a tiny stonehenge for the ants.]]> http://www.tdevito.com/pblog/index.php?entry=entry090919-074151
Lord:
You are the Ganges!
You are the fountain at Lourdes!
And I have bathed in You
Only to pick up my burdens again.
Put on the same old clothes
With the same old sorrows in the cuffs,
Same old cares in the creases,
And the same old sins in the pockets.

Beloved:
I cast my cares to You,
Make a barge of my burdens
That You may carry them.
This time I turn out my pockets,
And drown my sorrows in Your depths.
And this time I will drink You
And be full of living water,
Clothe myself in Your Word.
This time I will caste off my sins
So they may drift away in Your vastness.
This time I will open my mouth
And your Word will pour fourth
like silver water.


- Torre DeVito
]]> http://www.tdevito.com/pblog/index.php?entry=entry090818-172012
Uwharrie

Sunlit patterns on pine needles:
Filtered light shines on the trail
The air is warm, and full of birdsong,
A doe in the clearing flicks her tail.

Ants find a beetle in the leaf mold,
A warm breeze stirs the long-leaf pine.
I crouch in the shadows with my camera
To capture this moment and make it mine.

And there in the gravel at my feet
I spot an oddly leaf-shaped stone:
A spearhead, a perfect clovis-point
Some deft and ancient hand had honed.

What had this forest looked like then?
Northern trees? Jack pines, and spruce?
Yet much the same, I keenly feel:
Home to quail, grouse, and goose.

And along the ridge, as evening fell,
Was the mournful cry of a coyote pack
Muffled by snow, thick on the boughs?
Was the ground criss-crossed with animal track?

Were deer in the clearing then, as now?
Did the ancient hunter crouch here too?
Did he capture the moment with atlatl and spear
And know this land, as I now do?

Torre DeVito

-------------------------------
Original:

Uwharrie

Sunlit patterns on pine needles:
Filtered light shines on the trail
The air is warm, and full of birdsong,
A doe in the clearing flicks her tail.

Ants find a beetle in the leaf mold,
A warm breeze stirs the long-leaf pine.
I crouch in the shadows with my camera
To capture this moment and make it mine.

And there in the gravel at my feet
I spot an oddly leaf-shaped stone:
A spearhead, a perfect clovis-point
Some deft and ancient hand had honed.

What had this forest looked like then?
Northern trees? Jack pines, and spruce?
Yet much the same, I keenly feel:
Whispering trees, a call of a goose.
Did the ancient hunter crouch here too?
And know this land, as I now do?

Torre DeVito
]]> http://www.tdevito.com/pblog/index.php?entry=entry090728-091621
The Abandoned Church
(A Ballad of The Great War)

Translated and further interpreted by Torre DeVito
from "IGLESIA ABANDONADA" by Federico García Lorca

I had a son who was named John.
I lost a son whom I look for in
the ruins of the church one All-Hallows eve.
I see him playing on the steps during a mass long since ended,
Dipping his little tin pail into the well of the priest's heart.
I beat the coffins for my son (My son!) and cast
chicken bones during a full moon to try and understand

I had a vision that my little child was a fish
left where they move the vendor's carts away.
I had a little child, a fish that died
in the ashes of incense burners.
And in my vision I was the sea. What? My God! A vast sea!

During his funeral I rang the bells,
but the bells have decayed like wormy fruit.
and I lit the candles, now devoured:
eaten like the spring wheat.

And in the wine, I saw the invisible reaper which
plucks the black heads of anguished soldiers:
in those trays with rubber housings
in which they pass arround cups filled with tears.

Amongst the holy flowers of the offertory you will find my heart
when the priest raises the host like one who lifts
a mule or an ox with his strong arms. He does this to
scare away the toads that come out at night to haunt
the frozen landscape of the chalice.

I had a son who was a giant,
but the dead are stronger than the living
and they know how to devour pieces of heaven.

If my child was a bear,
I would not be afraid of the alligator's stealth,
nor would I have seen the sea tied to the trees
to be ravished and trampled by regiments.
If my child was a bear!

I wrap my child in stiff fabric to dispell the cold of the mosses.
I know very well that I will get a sleeve or an armband;
but in the middle of the funeral I will break the rudder
we will drift to a rock in the sea - full of the madness of
penguins and seagulls, and it will cause those who sleep and
those who sing from the street-corners to cry:
He had a son. A son! A son!

I had a son! Not that he was more than my son,
but because he belongs to us all now, they cry:
Our son, our son, our son... ]]> http://www.tdevito.com/pblog/index.php?entry=entry090728-072505 by Torre DeVito

A young woman passes my booth
In the "Bamboo Garden""

Five Chinese woman snapping beans
At the table next to me
Have been gossiping about her
In Cantonese.

I cannot understand them, but
I know from their faces that it
Is a juicy bit of news about
One who is younger, and prettier.

Nor do I understand the busboy's
Comment in Spanish as she passes,
But I know he voices desire.

When she returns to her seat
She involuntarily, meets my smile with her own,
Then, remembers to frown at the stranger.

So much can be conveyed
Through actions, posture,
A look in the eye.


]]> http://www.tdevito.com/pblog/index.php?entry=entry090722-161123 -----------------

A Soldier Dreams Of White Lilies
By Mahmoud Darwish
Interpreted by Torre DeVito

He dreams
Of white lilies,
An olive branch,
And her breasts
In evening blossom.
He dreams of a bird,
He tells me,
And of lemon flowers.
He does not intellectualize
About his dream.
He understands things
Only as far as he
Senses and smells them.


He tells me:
"For me, my country is this:
Drinking my mother's coffee,
And coming home safely at dusk."

"And your homeland?"

"I don't know a homeland," he said.
"I don't feel it in my flesh and blood,
The way they describe in the poems."

Suddenly I saw the land through his eyes
As one might see a grocery store,
a street, or a newspaper.
"But don't you love your homeland?"
I ask him.

"My love is a picnic," he said,
A glass of wine, a love affair."

"Would you die for your country?"

"No!
All my attachment to my country
is no more than a story
or a fiery speech!
They taught me to love it,
But I never felt it in my heart.
I never knew its roots and branches,
Or the scent of its grass."

"But what about patriotism?
Doesn't it burn in you like suns and desire?"

He looked straight at me and said:
"I love my country with my gun,
Not by unearthing feasts
In the garbage of the past.
Patriotism is a deaf-mute idol,
Whose age and meaning
Are unknown."

He told me about leaving for the war,
How his mother silently wept when they
Led him to the front,
How her anguished voice gave birth
To a new hope in his flesh:
That doves might flock
Through the Ministry of War.

He drew on his cigarette
And said, as if fleeing
From a swamp of blood:
"I dreamt of white lilies,
An olive branch,
A bird embracing
The dawn in a lemon tree."

"But what did you see?"

"I saw what I did:
Not an olive branch, but
A blood-red boxthorn.
I blasted men in the sand....
In their chests....
In their bellies."

"How many did you kill?"

"It's impossible to tell.
I only got one medal."

Pained, I asked him to
Tell me about one of the dead.

He shifted in his seat,
Fiddled with the newspaper,
and then said, as if chanting:
"He collapsed like a tent on stones,
Embracing shattered planets.
His high forehead was crowned with blood.
His chest was empty of medals.
He was not a well-trained fighter,
But seemed instead to be a peasant -
A worker, or a peddler.
Like a tent he collapsed and died,
His arms stretched out
Like dry creek-beds.
When I searched his pockets
For a name, I found two photographs,
One of his wife, the other of his daughter."

"Did you feel remorse?" I asked.

Cutting me off, he said,
"Mahmoud, my friend, remorse is a white bird
That does not come near a battlefield.
For a soldier, remorse is a sin.
In that place, I was like a machine:
Spitting hellfire and death,
And turning space into a black bird.

He told me about his first love,
and later, about distant streets,
about reactions to the war in the
radio and the press.

As he hid a cough in his handkerchief
I asked him: "Shall we meet again?"

"Yes, but in a city far away."

When I filled his fourth glass,
I asked jokingly:
"Are you leaving? What about war and victory?"

"Give me a break," he replied.
"I dream of white lilies,
Streets of song,
A house of light.
I need a kind heart,
Not a bullet.
I need a bright day,
Not a mad, fascist
Moment of triumph.
I need a child to cherish,
A day of laughter,
Not a weapon of war.
I came to live for rising suns,
Not to witness their setting."

He said goodbye
And went looking
For white lilies,
And a bird
Welcoming the dawn
On an olive branch.

He understands things
Only as far as he senses
And smells them. "For me," he said,
"My country is To drink my mother's coffee,
Or to return to my home safely, at dusk."
]]> http://www.tdevito.com/pblog/index.php?entry=entry090710-074230 That you are safe, and sound, and whole, and home.
We cannot know the time that you have had
Nor know the many struggles you have known.

The battle now is peace, and we must cross
This gulf that lies between us, now you're near,
To overcome the nagging sense of loss
Upon regaining all that we hold dear.

And we who give you prayers and praise
For the terror that you've kept from our fair shore,
Are caught up in our thoughtless daily ways,
And blissfully remain untouched by war.

Though there be many thoughts you cannot share
Please do not let our ignorance intrude
Our words seem hollow, if we even dare
Express concern and love and gratitude

We cannot know the time that you have had
Nor ever know the struggles you have known.
Thank God for you're return, and we are glad:
That you are safe, and sound, and whole, and home.]]> http://www.tdevito.com/pblog/index.php?entry=entry090616-213506
By extrapolation, we humans must also be the products of a determining set of causes. The very neurons in our brains firing along paths laid down in the only way possible, our DNA made up of a pre-determined set of material donated by two individuals who were fated to meet. We go through our lives believing in free will, while playing our parts in an unchangeable script, with only the illusion of choice and chance. This of course presupposes that there is no randomness built-in to the physical world.

But what if choice and will are not the effects of processes in a corporeal brain? What if, instead, they are products of a spiritual mind whose laws are not the same as those that govern the physical world? Unfortunately this in no way removes the possibility of determinism. The spiritual world could as easily be a determined stream of cause and effect. The age-old argument stands: If God is Omniscient, and knows how everything will turn out, is it not fated (or pre-determined) to turn out just so? But God is also Omnipotent, if he wanted man to have free will, couldn't he make it so? This is sort of like the old conundrum: if God can do anything, can he make a boulder so heavy that he can't pick it up?

Determinism and free will are not mutually exclusive, though they may seem to be. Perhaps (As the character "Forest Gump" says in the movie of that same name) "both are going on at the same time". Certainly we seem to have free will, but an awful lot of things happen to us and around us that are beyond our control. This is "Compatibilism" a very Hobbesian1 take on the problem of free will that asserts that determinism and free will can coexist.

One thing that seems to be beyond argument is that we as human being have the appearance of free will. That we make choices (be they predetermined or not) and can decide on how we will react to a given stimulus. In "Man's Search for Meaning" Victor Frankl puts it this way: "Everything can be taken from a man but one thing; the last of the human freedoms - to choose one's attitude in any given set of circumstances, to choose one's own way."2

In other words: the only human freedom exists between the stimulus and the response. This is profound and liberating. No one can make us angry, happy, sad, or anything else. We have the freedom to determine our own actions and attitudes, despite our circumstances, and despite what happens to us.
From a Christian standpoint if free-will exists, it explains a lot of the harder concepts of doctrine. If God gave us free will, then it makes perfect sense that salvation is a choice. It also explains the problems of pain and suffering in this physical world as byproducts of cause and effect and personal choices, and other peoples choices inflicted upon us.
________________________________________
1 Thomas Hobbes (1588 - 1679) Source: Leviathan, Page 136-137
2 Viktor Frankl (1905 - 1997) Source: Man's Search for Meaning, Page: 104-105;

FREEDOM

Though life may be fleeting and fast
The present is shaped by the past.
Thus tomorrow will grow
From decisions we sow.
For our choice is the seed that we cast.

Now here's where true freedom exists:
In the space of an instant, amidst
The provocative fact
And the way we react,
In the choice that we make or resist.
- Torre A. DeVito
]]> http://www.tdevito.com/pblog/index.php?entry=entry090612-103423
Here are the recipes I use:


===== Rub Recipes =====

Torre's Basic Rub
4 parts garlic powder
4 parts onion powder
1 part paprika
1 parts black pepper
1 parts chili powder
1 part brown sugar
1 part salt (or Adolf's Meat Tenderizer)

Torre's Greek Rub
(similar to Cavender's Greek Seasoning
but w/o the mono sodium glutamate or
corn starch)
4 parts oregano
4 parts garlic powder
4 parts onion powder
4 parts thyme
4 parts basil
4 parts marjoram
2 parts dill
2 parts parsley
2 parts rosemary
2 parts cinnamon
2 parts nutmeg
1 part salt (or Adolf's Meat Tenderizer)

Torre's Cajun Rub
(similar to Zatarain's)
-9 parts basic rub + 2 parts each turmeric, red
pepper, and chili powder + 1 part black pepper or:
4 parts garlic powder
4 parts onion powder
2 parts Turmeric
2 parts black pepper
2 parts chili powder
2 parts cayenne pepper
2 parts paprika
1 part salt (or Adolf's Meat Tenderizer)
1 parts sugar

Torre's Rib Rub
- equal portions of Greek Rub & Cajun Rub, or:
8 parts garlic powder
8 parts onion powder
4 parts oregano
4 parts thyme
4 parts basil
4 parts marjoram
2 parts Turmeric
2 parts black pepper
2 parts chili powder
2 parts cayenne pepper
2 parts paprika
2 parts dill
2 parts parsley
2 parts rosemary
2 parts cinnamon
2 parts nutmeg
1 parts brown sugar*
1 parts salt (or Adolf's Meat Tenderizer)*

===== Smoke =====

The secret to great smoke
is to soak hickory chips in
equal parts of water, beer,
and apple juice for 24 hours.
Place the chips in a metal pan
and place the pan in the fire.
Spray the chips frequently with
water as you slow-cook your food.
Pouring a little beer in the fire
to make a little beer steam is
also good.

===== Mop Recipes =====
A mop is a basting sauce, and should be
thinner than traditional barbeque sauce

Torre's "Doctor Bud" sauce
12 parts Texas Barbeque Sauce Glaze**
4 part soy sauce
4 part Dr Pepper
4 part Beer
1/16 part hot sauce

Lamb Mop:
2 parts peppermint schnapps
1 parts Texas Barbeque Sauce Glaze**
1 parts mint jelly

** see glaze recipes
(or use bottled barbeque sauce - I recommend Sweet Baby Ray's)

Hot & Sweet
( Great as a Carolina style pulled pork BBQ sauce)
4 parts apple cider vinegar
2 parts maple syrup
2 part soy sauce
1/16*** part hot sauce

===== Glaze Recipes =====

Texas Barbeque Sauce Glaze
8 parts tomato paste
4 parts honey
2 parts garlic powder
2 parts Maple Syrup
1 part Soy Sauce
1/16*** part hot sauce

Mint Glaze
- 2 parts Texas Barbeque Sauce Glaze
to 1 part mint jelly or:
9 parts mint Jelly
8 parts tomato paste
4 parts honey
2 parts garlic powder
2 parts Maple Syrup
1 part Soy Sauce
1/16 part*** hot sauce

* If you combine Greek and Cajun, you end up with 2 parts salt,
and white sugar not brown sugar but otherwise the same.

** see glaze recipes
(or use bottled barbeque sauce - I recommend Sweet Baby Ray's)

***(if a part is an ounce, then about 3 drops)
]]> http://www.tdevito.com/pblog/index.php?entry=entry090530-130237
Here is one I just came up with:

tired,
she eats
the peach;
talks to a
butterfly;
drinks
moon and night.

His need is
everywhere,
But for her
that quiet house
is you.

Read Poetry Juice

Read Vampire ]]> http://www.tdevito.com/pblog/index.php?entry=entry090523-225452 As we approach memorial day, I thought I'd share a poem that always brings home to me the terrible price of liberty, and shames me for taking it for granted. That poem is In Flanders Fields by Lieutenant Colonel John McCrae, MD (1872-1918)

In Flanders Fields

In Flanders Fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.
John McCrae

------------------------------------

That and these lines from Lincoln's Gettysburg Address:

"...from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion -- that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain -- that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom -- and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth."

------------------------------------

GETTYSBURG

The trees are full, and red, and gold
And pregnant with the autumn
Above the fields of all the battles
And graves of those who fought 'em

Plows still turn up cannon balls
From that War Between the States
Small monument to men, who fought,
For here they met their fates.

The signs are here, in the very air,
If you know how to read 'em:
Blood sacrifice: the awful price
Of this precious thing called "Freedom"

Torre DeVito

]]> http://www.tdevito.com/pblog/index.php?entry=entry090519-093954 Capriciously. Waiting for me to sit
At my computer to slip behind my back
And out the door, and down the street
To play with the children. The children
Who have all the time in the world.

The task at hand glowers at me from
behind the task that I am doing,
And the one behind that is trying to
Distract me until the hours have
Sped, and the day has fled away
Into restless nights.

Then the unfinished tasks
Crawl into bed with me. They place
Their cold feet against my back
Or perch upon my chest, purring
Contentedly as they suck
My breath away.

Torre DeVito]]> http://www.tdevito.com/pblog/index.php?entry=entry090518-201756
Note: The following limericks were written by me, (copyright 2009 by Torre DeVito) and though intentional politically incorrect, are meant to be in good fun, and not intended to hurt anyone's feelings, or to be mean spirited. The famous literary figures that I poke fun at in my limericks are those that I deeply respect, so please don't send me gobs of hate mail! For that matter, don't send me gobs of fan mail unless you include gobs of cash. Thanks!

Literary Limericks:

Shakespeare
The plays of one William Shakespeare
Are held by the world to be dear,
But, far too amused
By a certain Will Hughes,
All his sonnets appear to be queer.

Byron
Of poets romantic, the best:
Robert Gordon, Lord Byron, was blessed
With a personal muse
(And the passion of Zuess,
for poetry, lust, and incest).

Romantic Poets
The romantics (except Robert Browning)
Died young, with achievements crowning.
Lord Byron, poor chap
Died for Greece, of the clap,
Keats of TB, and Shelley by drowning.

Haiku
A japanese man name of Woo
And a peice of paper or two:
A lotus in bloom,
The light of the moon,
It's a limerick about Haiku.

Puck
A crazy wood fairy named Puck
Was a sprite who was quite full of pluck
He could make a right ass
Out of folks, but alas
He invariably stepped in their muck.

Romance Novels
A girl who likes gothic romances
(With swooning, long gowns and dances)
Reads how passions are "slaked"
By heirs, heroes, and rakes
'Til her own heaving bosom draws glances...]]> http://www.tdevito.com/pblog/index.php?entry=entry090502-114147 Words wonders:
Where in the
World the word for
One who studdies
Bugs Began?]]> http://www.tdevito.com/pblog/index.php?entry=entry090408-085050

Despedirse
(To Say Goodbye)

My friend Carlos and I
Stood outside the building
At the end of my watch.

"Your family is here?"
He asks.
"Si," I reply,
"mi Padre, y mi hermana,
"my father and sister.
"My mother passed away in oh-four."
He nods his head knowingly.

He says:
"Mi madre, en ninety-eight...
"Ten years last year..
"I can't believe.."

We contemplate the evening
Thinking our own thoughts
Each in our own language.

"See you tomorrow?" he asks.
"Si, hasta mañana..." I say
My words trailing off.
I cannot express the sense
Of connection I feel.
Not in Spanish or in English,

But Carlos can with his eyes.
"See you tomorrow, then."
He says.
I nod, and smile, and walk away.

]]> http://www.tdevito.com/pblog/index.php?entry=entry090221-182133
See Wikipedia: Federico García Lorca

Most of the translations of his work that I have been able to get hands on are abysmal, so I attempted my own translation of one of his more famouse poems: "IGLESIA ABANDONADA" or "The Abandoned Church". Translating from the Spanish is quite dificult when a poem
contains this much imagery and alegory. The symbolism is abundant
and sometimes seems inconsistant. After spending several hours with
this poem, I have a deeper appreciation for it, but am not convinced that I truley have a better understanding of it.

Is it a poem about losing one's son to war? And exactly how does all
the Catholic symbology fit in? Is he likening the loss of his son
to Mary losing her Son?

Well here goes nothing:

================================
The Abandoned Church
(A Ballad of The Great War)

Translated by Torre DeVito
from "IGLESIA ABANDONADA" by Federico García Lorca

I had a son who was named John.
I had a son.
He was lost by the arches of the church one All-Saints Friday.
I saw him play on the final steps of the mass,
Dipping his little tin pail into the priest's heart.
I've beaten the coffins. My son! My son! My son!
Pulled out a chicken foot from behind the moon and then
I understood that my little child was a fish
near where they move the vendor's carts away.
I had a little child.
I had a fish that died in the ashes of incense burners.
I was a sea. What? My God! A sea!

I got to play the bells, but the fruit had worms.
and the dying candle flames
ate the spring wheat.

I have seen alcohol, an invisible stork
plucking the black heads of anguished soldiers
and seen those trays with rubber housings
in which they pass arround cups filled with tears.

Amongst the holy flowers of the offertory you will find my heart
when the priest raises the mule and the ox with his strong arms,
to scare away the nocturnal toads that haunt the frozen landscapes of the chalice.

I had a son who was a giant,
but the dead are stronger than the living
and they know how to devour pieces of heaven.

If my child was a bear,
I would not be afraid of the alligator's stealth,
nor would I have seen the sea tied to the trees
to be ravished and trampled by regiments.
If my child was a bear!

I wrap this stiff fabric tight to avoid the cold of the mosses.
I know very well that I will get a sleeve or an armband;
but in the center of the mass I will break the rudder and then
they will come to the rock - the madness of penguins and seagulls
And they will cause those who sleep and those who sing from the street-corners to say:
He had a son.
A son! A son! A son
That was not more than your son, because he was your son!
Your child! Your child! Your child!

==================================
Notes on this translation:

Line 4:
"I Saw him playing on the final steps of the Mass"
"Le vi jugar en las últimas escaleras de la misa"
I am tempted to replace "final steps of the Mass" with "top step of the church"

Line 5:
"Dipping his little tin sand pail into the priest's heart."
"y echaba un cubito de hojalata en el corazón del sacerdote."
a more literal translation is "and throws the cube of tin in the heart of the priest" "echaba un cubito" could be a play on words to mean "throws the dice." I struggled with the translation here, and the meaning of this sentence eludes me. The "cubito de hojalata " is definitely a toy pail but what does the sentence mean? "Echaba" also hints of a spanish idiom that means to miss or mourn someone.

Line 8
"I understood that my little child was a fish"
The word for "little child" is more literally translated as daughter.
I think that the feminin ending here is meant as a diminutive, and chose to use it as such, because introducing a second child here seems to add nothing to this confusing poem.

Line 9
"near where they move the vendor's carts away."
"por donde se alejan las carretas."
More literally "where they move away the carts" I think Lorca is referring to a street market, but I have no way of proving this (see my note on line 40).

Line 14
"I got to play the bells, but the fruit had worms."
"Subí a tocar las campanas, pero las frutas tenían gusanos."
This is exactly what it says. I thought perhaps that bells might be a type of fruit, but frankly I find no connection or any reasonable explanation of the metaphore here. Perhaps some forgotten idiom of early 20th century Spain would link fruit to bells. Line 15 makes it clear that the things of the church are somehow blighting the narators crop (fruit of his loins) while it is still young.

I am tempted to rewrite this passage as:

"I got to ring the bells, but the bells were wormy fruit.
I got to light the candles, but the candles were maggots
That ate up all the spring wheat"

Line 18
"I have seen alcohol, an invisible stork"
"Yo vi la transparente cigüeña de alcohol"
More literally: "I have seen the transparent stork of alchohol"
OK, the Stork is a christian symbol of watchfullness. It is also a form of shackles that slowly tortures it's wearer. but the plucking/pruning imagery of the next line suggest the stork is somehow a metaphor for alcohol.

I think that I will write an "interpretation" rather than a translation - "I have known alchohal, that invisible reaper..."

OK here it is:

The Abandoned Church
(A Ballad of The Great War)

Translated and further interpreted by Torre DeVito
from "IGLESIA ABANDONADA" by Federico García Lorca

I had a son who was named John.
I had a son who was lost beneath the arches of the church
one All-Saints Friday.
I saw him playing on the steps as mass was ending,
Dipping his little tin pail into the priest's heart.
I've beaten the coffins for my son! My son!
Cast chicken bones during a full moon to try and understand
I had a vision that my little child was a fish
In a stall where they move the vendor's carts away.
I had a little child, a fish that died
in the ashes of incense burners.
And in my vision I was the sea. What? My God! A sea!

And I got to ring the bells, but the bells became wormy fruit.
and as I watched, dying candle flames
ate the spring wheat like maggots.

I saw alcohol, that invisible reaper which
plucks the black heads of anguished soldiers
in those trays with rubber housings
in which they pass arround cups filled with tears.

Amongst the holy flowers of the offertory you will find my heart
when the priest raises the host like one who lifts
a mule or an ox with his strong arms. He does this to
scare away the toads that come out at night to haunt the frozen landscape of the chalice.

I had a son who was a giant,
but the dead are stronger than the living
and they know how to devour pieces of heaven.

If my child was a bear,
I would not be afraid of the alligator's stealth,
nor would I have seen the sea tied to the trees
to be ravished and trampled by regiments.
If my child was a bear!

I wrap my child in stiff fabric to dispell the cold of the mosses.
I know very well that I will get a sleeve or an armband;
but in the middle of the chursh service I will break the rudder
we will drift to a rock in the sea - full of the madness of
penguins and seagulls, and it will cause those who sleep and
those who sing from the street-corners to cry:
He had a son. A son! A son! A son
Not that he was more than your son, but because he was your son!
Your child! Your child! Your child!








]]> http://www.tdevito.com/pblog/index.php?entry=entry080627-130217
Croissance Pauvre
de Torre DeVito

Il fut un temps, après une histoire d'attention particulière
Nous avons parlé de volumes avec des mots simples
Et nos conversations étaient comme de vastes forêts
Où chaque nuance est passé comme un grand séquoia.

Quand est-ce que les insultes commencé à
Incinérer notre dialogue, dévorant
Verbes et adjectifs en flammes?
Le grand incendie a cessé de brûler depuis longtemps
S'est transformé en braises et finalement en cendres, mais quand même ...

Tous ceux qui nous restent sont les suivants:
Un enchevêtrement de mauvaises herbes, des correctifs de sable,
Et un désert de pauvre croissance des arbres.
Pour l'observateur occasionnel les cicatrices sont obscurcies:
Une vie nouvelle est mieux que des cendres froides
Mais maintenant une vécu repousse insuffisante
Lorsque une fois les séquoias puissants existe.

============================

SCRUB PINES
By Torre DeVito

Once after slow careful ages
We spoke volumes with single words
Vast forests of conversation
Where every nuance rose like some tall sequoia.

When did angry words first burn
Through our dialogue, devouring
Verbs and adjectives in tongues of flame?
That cruel inferno burned out long ago
Smoldered and died, but even so...

All we are left with are these:
A tangle of weeds, patches of sand,
And a wilderness of second-growth trees.
To the casual observer the scars are hidden:
Warm life from cold ashes, better by contrast,
But now mere scrub pines stand
Where mighty redwood grew.
]]> http://www.tdevito.com/pblog/index.php?entry=entry061011-071821
Feeling victimized leads to a kind of spiritual paralysis. Just as stagnant pools breed microbes, stagnant lives breed fear, uncertainty and doubt - choking out all life, light, and happiness. Victims are at the mercy of their victimizers, dependent on others to save them from their plight. By contrast, those who realize that they are in situations of their own making know that they are capable of getting themselves out of that situation. This empowers and entitles them to take action. Action leads to competence, competence leads to entitlement and confidence, and confidence further empowers the individual to action.

We understand our basic freedom best when we embrace the fact that we are primarily the product of our own choices. Even when events occur that are beyond our control we can choose how to react, if and how we will respond, both physically and emotionally. For instance, even in the wake of a great tragedy we can choose to remain positive, to do what is necessary to move on.

I give you this gift, the knowledge that you are the only one who can MAKE you angry. You are the only one who can MAKE you sad. You are responsible for your own feelings, and though you cannot chose what happens to you, you can choose whether and how to react. Happiness is a choice. Success is a choice.
]]> http://www.tdevito.com/pblog/index.php?entry=entry060919-065724
What if we changed our speaking? What if we avoided the negative, excuse-ridden monologue and dialogue of our typical day? If our mantra became "I can!" - "I will" - "It shall be done" then our subconscience would work to bring things about.

I will continue this thought later.]]> http://www.tdevito.com/pblog/index.php?entry=entry060918-103313 http://www.tdevito.com/pblog/index.php?entry=entry060816-121958
Anger update: 3 days w/o a blow up!]]> http://www.tdevito.com/pblog/index.php?entry=entry060811-231534
I also tend to be very diplomatic in public. Situations that would set me off in private are generally handled coolly and calmly.

Unlike my co-workers and acquaintances, my family gets to witness or, worse, be the brunt of my outbursts, and like toothpaste once out of the tube my anger cannot be put back away.

One of my heroes in life, Victor Frankel states, in his extremely moving book Man’s Search for Meaning, that “the only human freedom lies between the stimulus and the response.”

Reflecting on this I suddenly realized that there was only one person who could make me mad, and that was me. No matter what the stimuli I could decide upon my response.

Though this thought was very empowering, I also realized that it is beyond my own ability to overcome the anger that I have trained myself to respond with. Fortunately I believe in a loving God, and believe that He has the power to mend what I cannot.

I make this public declaration that I will do my best, and let God do the rest when it comes to my temper. I will hit my knees tonight and ask for help, in faith that it will be given. And will ask my family’s forgiveness and forbearance tomorrow.

I also use this venue to share with others who might be looking for help, and for others whom have overcome their anger in hopes that the will share their thoughts and encouragement with me, as well as their well wishes.

The only things we can control in life are our attitude and our actions. I’ve decided, with Gods help, to take back the reigns.
]]>