MR. NICE GUY, WE MIGHT FINISH LAST

1.
Yesterday, before we began our weekly practice session, my friend and I briefly discussed politics. Not only a good amateur musician, my friend is also wise, and, as one might suspect, knowledgeable regarding one of the greatest wisdom traditions of all, Sufism. We were lamenting the deterioration of Pakistan. He informed me that years ago, when more and more Pakistanis were turning to a radical interpretation of Islam, The Rand Corporation came up with a bright idea: to counter the increasing threat of radical Islam in Pakistan by providing financial and moral support to Pakistani Sufis. We thought about Graham Greene's novel, "The Quiet American," about a do-gooder American who, after reading a few books at college, is ready to reform the world. (Aldon Pyle, the American in question, is sent by the United States government to Vietnam--the novel takes place in the 1950s--where he, of course, screws up.) My friend and I put Bach aside for a while and laughed at the Rand Corporation's naivete. Sufism is a form of wisdom second to none, but as such, alas! will always be a minority movement. You have to be ready to receive its teachings. This readiness includes the realization that one is not the center of the universe; that one's neighbors are neither better nor worse than you; that one should not only help and love oneself, but, especially, others too. This presumes a good deal of maturity before one can appreciate Sufism. This is why, Kabbalah, the Jewish version, was to be taught only to mature men, that is, married and over forty. Unfortunately, most Pakistanis are below forty, many of whom are in a state of rage intensified by hate and hormones. I read that a radical Pakistani recently stated that the first thing to be done when the Taliban assumes power is the destruction of every Sufi shrine in the nation. Those in the Rand Corporation who advocated a Sufi approach remind me of modern, silly versions of St. Francis, willing to wade into dangerous waters, to preach vegetarianism--to sharks. Must one lose one's legs before wisdom arrives?

2.
Mr. President, are you, too, wasting time trying to win over sharks? Are you guilty of preaching Sufism to American radicals? It is one thing to believe that all people, deep down, are good; it is quite another to ignore the degree to which this goodness can be corrupted.
Mr. President, many progressives expected you to make sweeping changes. (I thankfully admit that you have, despite everything, accomplished much.) I always believed, however, that you were more centrist than liberal--not at all bad, in my view. I knew you were--and are--a passionate advocate of capitalism. After all, once you got enough money you bought a luxurious house; you send your children to elite schools, etc. You are no Che Guevara, not even a Jerry Brown. But I knew you knew--and know--that for capitalism to work efficiently its rough edges must be smoothed. We simply cannot prosper as a capitalist nation if large swaths of our population are unemployed, without health care and without access to decent education and adequate housing. Sure, Sufis might hope for something more than the minimum, but you, as a good man and a good politician, know that trying to impose justice by force--which is a good deal different from trying to smooth capitalism's jagged edges--might result in forms of tyranny much worse than capitalism.
Yes, Mr. President, what you are trying to accomplish is very good. Good people, great and small, support you still. But what about the sharks? I cannot believe that you don't know the source of Republican inspiration. Haven't you followed the money? Don't you realize that Republicans are almost to the person out to destroy you? They wanted to get Clinton, since he, to their thinking, threatened their thirst for wealth; they got him with his pants down. You they try to destroy by lies, with a subtext of race. You want to provide some help to those in need, not only for justice' sake, but to help capitalism function better. They call it socialism and redistribution of wealth. You want to extend unemployment benefits, a way to help those in need and a good way to stimulate the economy; they say you are a reckless advocate of big government spending. (This from people who supported Bush's reckless spending, resulting in deficits greatly exacerbated by tax cuts!) Mr. President, you can't expect reason from those whose raison d'etre is greed. How can you have a conversation with those who have only one thought, tax cuts?
All right, I admit, sharks are also living things; it is decent of you to treat them with respect. But there are better fish in the sea. If you continue to turn your back to these, Mr. President, in a misguided attempt to reach out to a group of great whites, the good fish that are still behind you just might swim away.

ECHINODERMS AND POLITICIANS

Among bloodless creatures
Without hearts or brains
I prefer echinoderms
To politicians.

Imagine a sea cucumber
By the name of Jane
Striving toward an office
From the bottom of the sea

Who has learned a single word
In 400 million years
--by this pronoun Jane’s elected--
Me Me Me Me Me

Imagine a starfish named Joe
Who can point east west north south
And chooses one that promises
More mollusks for his mouth

We have many Janes and Joes
Subslimely in the Senate and
Much more in the House
--It’s an epidemic!

How can Mother Green allow
Beches-de-mer without conviction?
Everyone of them deserves
A Permian extinction.

WILD LUNCH

How secret the crab spider is!
Waiting for hours, a live spring
To be gobbled by a beak
Or discharged by a bee. Hungry

Spider, pure silence! I understand
Yours better than any mailman’s
Or doctor’s. We, poet and predator,
Are part of the same cosmic hush.

The only difference between them and us
Is perverse imagination--They’re dissatisfied
Because they think their lot is to be gods;
By nature we know whatever is is enough.

(Enough is here in his back yard
With a chicken sandwich. Flashback:
A gazelle eats grass. Flash forward:
A leopard with its carcass up a tree.)

Gods? I was once Bee, I was once Spider;
Before that, spider, I and bee were dust--
While one writes this, the latter lands--
Satisfied, poet and predator eat.

LEGATO AND NARCISSISM

Today I read on the New York Times op-ed page an article by David Brooks entitled, "The Gospel of Mel Gibson." In it, citing the recent tirade of the actor as an apt illustration, Mr. Brooks laments the rise of narcissism in our society, characterized by individuals who demand attention and admiration for themselves and are unable or unwilling to consider the needs of others. Oh, the examples that each of us could give of egotists that we either know or read about in newspapers! Although discontents have been complaining about the deterioration of society for thousands of years, I fear Mr. Brooks might be right. (If you don't believe me, read any newspaper.) We Americans--understandably-- are loath to join our fellow workers every morning in a song of praise for the corporation we work for, but--unfortunately--are very willing to sing our own praises before a mirror. Neither example makes for good music. The center no longer holds, as Years predicted; a good case can be made that narcissism is indeed getting worse.
Surely a little egotism and sense of importance can be useful, especially when one is young, but a lot, not. But when a sense of self crosses the threshold into narcissism, it is always bad, both for the individual and for society. There is no need to descant on the defects of runaway egotism here; they are obvious.
The descent is not inevitable. A good way to rise above narcissism--other than through practicing wisdom and love--is to take something or some things in life very seriously. One's vocation, one's avocations, etc. When one takes such things very seriously, one automatically becomes humble. An example: one tries to write the best play possible. Even with Herculean effort and a bit of Orphic talent, however, one will have written a play that is, at best, when compared to one of Shakespeare's, merely passable. But in the process one might have enriched one's inner life; one might have produced a work of art for the delight of others; and, through selfless labor, one might have come closer to overcoming the poison of narcissism.
Trying to play an instrument with the best technique and expression possible, with the utmost faith to the composer's intention, is one of many ways to become less egotistical and more deeply content. I do not want to get too technical, but there are good lessons that anyone can obtain from music. One of them is the concept and practice of legato. It is a good metaphor for the good life and is the subject of this essay.
The Italian word legato means "connected." In a legato phrase, every note must be connected with the next, with as little silence between them as possible. In my instrument, the piano, this means lifting the pressure on the key of the previous note while pressing down on the key of the subsequent note. Believe me, this is not as easy as it sounds--it requires great muscle coordination. One is not allowed to cheat by overlapping notes; each sound must be independent but be connected to the next note without pause. Good phrasing--which will also be briefly discussed--and good legato can make even a good amateur sound great.
But this essay is not a music lesson; it's a lesson on life. Let us consider each note as an individual. Each has its own "pitch," that is, unique characteristics. But if that pitch arises unconnected from the one before it and leads to another unconnected note, the musical effect is ruined. On the other hand, legato does not vitiate the individuality of notes. Each note is important--but its importance is not only in itself but in the beauty of interconnection.
Phrasing, the degree of stress on each note, is compatible with legato and just as important. It can give direction to a musical phrase by proceeding from soft to loud, for instance; it can bring out a melody. In any given piece, some notes are indeed more important than others, but all are essential. Let me give an example from Shakespeare: "To be or not to be, that is the question." To my ear, this verse is best phrased with an emphasis on "that" and a lesser emphasis on the first "be." This is open to interpretation, but I think most lovers of poetry would agree that the emphasis should not be on "question." The phrase would be rendered meaningless, however, if the word "question" was left out.
What I'm trying to demonstrate by this musical example is that narcissism is noise--as is a sense of inferiority, for that matter. The individual might be part of a beautiful Mozart melody or "merely" part of a chord in the bass. Melody and bass complement each other; each alone is a greatly diminished thing. Do you consider yourself important--in other words, have genes and environment allowed you to prosper? Can one ever claim one has accomplished great things alone? I can tell you this: if a mother-figure didn't connect with you in early life; if a father-figure didn't connect with you later in life, you would very possibly be asserting your importance to an asylum mirror. But even if we're important enough to be part of a great melody, if we are unconnected to our neighbors--even those way down in the bass--the effect is lost. Not to mention the effect that results when we leap off the page and play our one individual note over and over. This is "to tell your life the lifelong day/ to an admiring bog," as Dickinson aptly wrote. It is not the good life.
I must now present a coda to this musical essay: understanding legato is not the same as being able to do it. I, for one, find it difficult to transfer the legato of the mind to the legato of the hands. Unfortunately for the lazy among us, it is the latter by which beauty and truth are communicated to others. It takes years of practice to master the art of legato and of phrasing. Similarly, overcoming the staccato of egotism isn't easy--but for my sake, your sake, that is, for our sake, it is incumbent on us to try. We might not become great, but with sincere practice, great progress is always possible.
Listen to a Bach prelude performed by a master; then listen to the Johnny-One-Note coming from your air conditioner. In which of these two collections of sounds do you wish your little note to be found? Find your true legato voice--Connect, connect!

LICHEN LOVER

If it had them, yes I would
Shake a lichen’s hand. Not
Yours, who must cohabitate
In villas in Paris or Rome--

They live on tombstones in Irkutsk
And Riyadh; in slag heaps; on
Boulders surrounded by desert
Or ice; only primitives thrive?

Remember the terrorized doe
You left in a cab in Biloxi?
(“Two shall become one flesh!”
They were on the Mount, but

Fungal and alga components
Don’t have to listen to bipeds--
Theirs is the purest Christian marriage
Since evolution began:

Mycobiont and photobiont move
Perfectly, like left-hand staccato
Balancing right-hand legato
In the D major prelude by Bach.

Too bad you're a joyful noise.)
I’m still in that cab in Biloxi,
Far from lichens--Thanks to you,
Music’s a shattering dish.