E Y E W E A R, THE BLOG - FREEDOM MEANS BEING UNAFRAID TO WRITE WHAT YOU THINK

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CANADA NEEDS DEFENDING

This blog, whose main editor and writer voted in the Canadian federal election, thinks the Liberals, led by Mr Carney , would form the best government to stand up to Mr Trump ; but does not think any strong government that opposes Trumpism would be especially unfortunate. The main thing is to stand strong against Trump. Trump, whose unbalanced (and recent, again) trolling online about Canada as the 51st State is, at the least, incredibly, absurdly rude, DESTABILISING, WEIRD, and undiplomatic; coming from a US president with nuclear weapons, and the army to conquer Canada, it is also provocative, and frightening, whether said in jest, half-jest or all earnestness. Probably Mr Trump doesn't know for sure himself. The USA could dominate Canada more than it already does, militarily, economically, and politically. Canadians, by a landslide majority, do not want to become Americans. And the entire history of the founding of Canada, as a settler colony made up of French and British compet...

We stopped writing about Easter

We stopped writing about Easter When our tree ran out of gas; The eggs warmed; the crosses burned. Buns sued Maine. The bunny made ominous Threats towards Greenland. The parade Turned itself into a hatchet, and dug itself out Of the grave. The land gave up its dead, And not in a good way. Friday went backwards, And the living died like they were in dubious prison For the criminally bald. The mild weather Spoke ill of old Europe, and the wind sang About the merry days of ruination in the markets. The cherry blossoms stopped at every border, To pay for themselves with their own vanishing; Fear went freelance like a befurred farrier, The dangling promises hung themselves out to dry, And no one woke to find anything sweet hidden In plain sight, it was all very unclear where any Of us were; and then Romans handed us nails, Some non-Canadian wood, ordered us To vote with our blows, which brought in a landslide Of blood and flesh, pouring out ...

poem for my 59th birthday

The currency I traded in Is bearish now, at fifty-nine My volatility index has squandered Its lows and highs, is in decline – The lyric force is muted by the times, Which lie like bricklayers build brick To brick – as that song went, another And another – that was the image, If I recall, from dark gyms, at fourteen Or so, terrified to dance slow, or quick, With those around me on the walls; Music, that brings us back to ourselves, Takes us out to sea as well, Like a drug that can murder or revive; What language can I use to defend a form, A rhetoric, even, that has been designed To crush whole peoples, sign by sign? Tanks roll on, drones scour the air like hawks, To hurt the ones below, but only poetry kills By sound or fine-bonded lines. To me, What’s serene or boundless in a poem thrills, But it advances in English, crushes like a love That will not slow dance to urgency in grade nine. The world was bad in sixty-six, has always been, One supposes, ruled by the man...

THE END OF AMERICA

The modern idea of America - perhaps the post-modern idea is a better way of putting it - was born in 1945. Or, as historians have been reminding us, 80 years ago. This America had won the biggest war in history, from their perspective (the rest of the Allied powers know better) and now, could set the rules of the international systems that would rebuild world order from the chaos. The Germans were crushed, the British empire was gone or going, and in debt, and only Russia could arguably pose a growing threat (with China eventually kept in check by Nixon 's triangulation). So the Cold War began. During that time - 80 years - the West was basically America, plus its allies. And as such, the world system, built to suit America, allowed the USA to prosper as never before. Yesterday, Liberation Day for Donald Trump , the seemingly unstable, worst president in US history - the convicted felon no less, with mysterious empathy for the Kremlin - announced the end of the global system, bui...

SNAFU

It's been 12 days since I posted about the growing menace of the Trump government. It is worse, sadly, since then. Threats to bomb Iran. Flights to Greenland, and ongoing threats to seize it any which way. Ludicrously lax security and lying vilification of journalists; amateur hour at the Pentagon from the telegenic crusader with the menacing messages inked to his white skin. Tariffs to crush Canada, and other nations. Threats to law firms. Threats to museums. Detentions and forced expatriation of PhD students on proper visas. Crushing of dissent, of opposing views of history, and, shockingly, the near-constant crumpling of opposition, as media, universities, law firms, and politicians bow down under threat. Measles and Avian fu spreading. Denial of the globe warming. No alliances. No secure promises. Litigation and bullying. The general actions of authoritarian take-over - more destruction of the "Cathedral" - more work to make the CEO-king the unquestioned ruler. Dark ...

poem for after the spring equinox 2025

The Grand Minima (7 x 6) for William Empson Totting it up a plethora of minuscule debris fields, eon by inch, the daily granular fractures, chipped bits and bobs, dust bunnies that don’t ever quit, the towering trivial pizza box style of personal architecture – love lies, business crops wilt, soar, the whole a broken abacus possessed by a stammering Ouija board whose misspelt detritus inspires poetry in the super-rich or bored, the rising tide lifts all quotes, all toffs step off yachts to sleep between sheets when the port appears like a murdered ghost – we host what we love most, we live in a blackhole inside a blackhole, like mice are denizens of a tinier Manhattan project, the nuclearism is unclear, but here it goes, small into smaller, like faller into fall or inside the deep dive is the pool looping around its Ouroboros dream of self – we’re colliding with the sun that grows us, as dancers sw...