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amolosh

Updated: Nov 15, 2024

With a Nod to Old Possum

In Amolosh’s book of impractical cats

Osage deserves a special page!

He’s ginger, large, and murderous of paw.

Is he just going through a stage

Driving his poor mistress bats

With horrid proofs of tomcat lore?

What else might he yet have in store,

Flaunting his orange underpants and more?


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amolosh

Updated: Oct 2, 2024

Hiroshima mon amour was released in 1959.

I was just twenty at the time

And only saw it—at the Academy Cinema on Oxford Street—in 1962.

Now, over sixty years on, I’ve found it anew.

Has cinema in the meantime ceased to be an art?

Penelope Gilliatt in The Observer claimed it was no longer one.

(The screenplay for Sunday Bloody Sunday was her movie "moment in the sun.")

Pauline Kael, her great rival, played Devil's Advocate, the contrary part.

Now, naturally, they're both long dead and gone.

How best to put it? On connaît la chanson!

But Penelope drank herself to death,

while Pauline presently had nothing new to say.‡



† "Same old story!"

,

‡ The New York Times called Kael's announcement in 1991 that she was retiring from regular film-reviewing "earth-shattering."

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amolosh

Newton's pendulum



Einstein’s space-time, so long

our physics' answer to confusion,

is now, it seems, a doomed illusion,*

like heat, water, air, and more

that we thought fundamental before,

an output of some even greater basic

that unifies the deadly with the quick.

“Ah, hah!” you jeer. “Let’s see 'em make that stick!

The fabric of the universe

is not a medieval curse!

They'll just come up with something worse!"

Alas, I'd note (although it makes me sick),

overlapping waves of probability that bump

are what gave rise to Donald Trump.



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