I was in Lilongwe, the capital of Malawi, doing human-rights work. I made several Malawi friends. We decided we would go out in the countryside to camp. The African terrain was beautiful. We pitched a large tent and enjoyed chatting after roasting chicken over the campfire. We spoke Chichewa, the main indigenous language in Malawi. Before sunset, I saw, at a distance, an animal slowly approaching us. It was long and slender, about a-foot-and-a-half in length. It was a mongoose. When I stood up, the mongoose stopped coming toward us. We stood there looking at each other. After several minutes, I began to walk in measured steps toward it carrying with me some crispy cooked chicken skin. The mongoose didn't move. In due course, I got within 10 feet of the mongoose and sat down in the tall grass. The mongoose still hadn't moved, which surprised me. I tossed a piece of chicken skin at it. It landed within a couple of feet of it, but still the mongoose didn't move, only lying in the tall grass looking at (and smelling, no doubt) me. The sun continued to set. Finally, the mongoose moved toward the piece of chicken, smelled it, then picked it up and ate it, then lay down again in the grass. After a few more minutes, I tossed another piece toward the mongoose, again landing about two feet from it. And again, after a few minutes, it moved toward the chicken and repeated this ritual. I continued to do the same thing until the mongoose was within, I'd say, about four feet from me. The sun had set, but the two of us sat close to each other in the tall grass for about another half-hour, neither of us moving. I felt we were, each of us in or own way, getting to know each other. This was most surprising and satifying to me. Finally, I slowly arose and began making my way back to what was left of the campfire. When I turned around, I saw the mongoose then get up and amble into the darkness. I had made another friend in Malawi.

Dissembling is the abri of those who find being real is impossible.

Copyright 2020 Tod Howard Hawks

I am taking a wide interpretation of what is poetry here, but after all, what singers sing is poetry. I am 76, so I have listened to a vast number of singers, individually and in groups. But like you, I am particular. So here it goes:  SIMON AND GARFUNKEL, JOHNNY MATHIS, BING CROSBY, ANNE MURRAY, THE PLATTERS, WILLIE NELSON, LOUIS ARMSTRONG, TONY BENNETT, JOHNNY CASH, PATSY CLINE, B.B. KING, BRENDA LEE, ROY ORBISON, ARETHA FRANKLIN, BEE GEES, THE CARPENTERS, CAT STEVENS, JANIS IAN, THE MAMAS & THE PAPAS, ROBERTA FLACK, ELTON JOHN, BRUCE SPRINGSTEEN; CROSBY, STILLS, NASH & YOUNG; DON MCLEAN,  FLEETWOOD MAC, JAMES TAYLOR, k. d. lang, COLDPLAY, and ALICIA KEYS.

Copyright 2020 Tod Howard Hawks

Roy Orbison was no Luciano Pavarotti, but then Luciano Pavarotti was no Roy Orbison. Born in Nowhere, Texas, Orbison had an inauspicious musical beginning. He was shy growing up, but got a guitar at an early age. He drifted around tiny towns as he tentatively began his career and over the following years signed with several different recording companies. He remained extremely self-conscious as he slowly gained some success and wore dark-tinted glasses to allay some degree of his unease on stage. But in the late 1950s and early 60s, Orbison made it big, so big, in fact, that his songs went to the top of the charts in the U.S. as well as Europe and Australia. But by the mid-60s with the musical invasion from the United Kingdom--ironic though it was, he became close friends with the Beatles who admired his talent and songs--and the dramatic culture-change in America, Orbison's career and his popularity waned terribly. It was not until the 80s that Orbison experienced a grand resurgence of popularity, which pleased him so. But he did not have long to enjoy it. He died of a heart attack in 1988 at the age of 52. He was buried in an unmarked grave.

Copyright 2020 Tod Howard Hawks

There is no such thing as a minor poet.

Copyright 2020 Tod Howard Hawks

Adulation does not confer worth.

Copyright 2020 Tod Howard Hawks

Silence in the face of political corruption is treason.

Copyright 2020 Tod Howard Hawks