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Category Archives: Poets Corner

The 2nd Email: Love’s 1st Send All

20 Thursday Jul 2017

Posted by Therese Trouserzoff in Neville Cole, Poets Corner

≈ 14 Comments

Tags

Crosby, e-mail, Email, Ray Tomlinson, Stills and Nash, Woodstock

collins-2-650

Story by Neville Cole   (Good to see you, sport)

As many people know – or at least those people out there with access to Google who have ever been curious about such things know – the 1st email was written by pioneering computer programmer Ray Tomlinson way back in 1971. He sent it to himself. Ray later noted that first message was “entirely forgettable. . . . Most likely it was QWERTYIOP or something similar,” he quipped in that wonderfully understated manner in which pioneering computer programmers are so adept.

Anyway, no offense to Ray, who I need not remind you will, for all time, be remembered as a pioneering (dare I say “groundbreaking”) computer programmer; but the story of “The 1st Email” is not exactly a page-turner. Now, the 2nd email? That’s a whole other story!

Woodstock_poster

To fully appreciate the monumental significance of “The 2nd Email,” travel with me back in time to the Summer of Love, specifically to the Woodstock Music & Art Fair — or, more simply Woodstock.

Again, Google informs us that “Woodstock” was a music festival that attracted an audience of over 400,000 people and that it was billed as “an Aquarian Exposition” and that it was scheduled over three days on Max Yasgur’s dairy farm in Bethel, New York (near the town of Woodstock) from August 15 to 17, 1969; but that the festival ultimately ran for four days and therefore did not end until August 18, 1969. Finally, the baby boomers among us are also aware that, for a fortunate few, the festival has never ended. Count Ray Tomlinson among those fortunate few.

You see, when Ray first arrived at Max Yasgur’s farm he was not yet recognized as a pioneering computer programmer. He was known at “that punk kid from Amsterdam, New York.” Ray was a “junior nerd” at the technology company of Bolt, Beranek and Newman (now known as BBN Technologies).

It is important to note that at BBM Ray did eventually become a pioneering computer programmer. I mean, the list of Ray’s accomplishments is, well… both pioneering and groundbreaking. As if helping to develop the TENEX operating system including the ARPANET Network Control Program, to implementations of Telnet, and implementations on the self-replicating programs Creeper and Reaper were not enough. Let’s not forget that Ray wrote a file transfer program called CPYNET to transfer files through the ARPANET and changed a program called SNDMSG, which sent messages to other users of a time-sharing computer, to run on TENEX.  I mean that would have been plenty in and of itself, but Ray also added code he took from CPYNET to SNDMSG so that messages could be sent to users on other computers—which is, of course, what is most important to us today because that piece of pioneering computer programming was the 1st email which lead, quite naturally, to the point of this tale: the 2nd email.

Anyway, back to Max Yasgur’s Farm. It’s the last day of Woodstock (extended to Monday as you will recall) and right around 3pm young Ray lay in the mud and filth staring at the grey skies above when like a bolt out of the blue the band he had been waiting to see – Crosby, Stills, Nash and (sometimes) Young – hit the stage. Ray, leapt to his bare feet and let out a primal cry (because he stubbed his toe on an old apple crate someone had apparently recently used as a makeshift urinal); but that didn’t worry Ray because CSN & (a somewhat belligerent) Y were at that very moment commencing a performance that would be, forever after, recognized as the defining moment of their stellar career, the apex of the Summer of Love, and quite possibly (in David Crosby’s drug-addled mind, at least) the greatest single moment in Rock and Roll history.

All it took was hearing Steven Still’s sweet soaring voice sing the first lines of Suite: Judy Blue Eyes for Ray to be transported to…what can only be described as “another dimension.”

It’s getting to the point where I’m no fun anymore
I am sorry
Sometimes it hurts so badly I must cry out loud
I am lonely…

But it wasn’t until, CSN (and that miserable SOB) Y continued on that Ray was (not literally) struck by a vision (not unlike) a lightning bolt with a (seriously just a metaphor) blinding flash.

I am yours, you are mine, you are what you are
You make it hard

In that moment, Ray’s life was changed forever. For at that very moment – in the mud, drugs, and mire – Ray saw Sweet Blue-eyed Judy in all her glorious flesh for the very first time. She was in every sense of the word a true (covered in) Earth goddess. Dancing naked and free as if no one was watching (No one but a love-struck Ray that is).

Each moment soon became as one. The siren call of David Crosby, Steven Still, Graham Nash and (was Neil Young even singing? What was wrong with that guy? It’s Woodstock f’christsake!) became Ray’s own thoughts. Each angelic phrase a love letter from Ray’s heart strings through his soul to his love.

Lacy lilting lyric
Losing love lamenting
Change my life, make it right
Be my lady​​​​​​​

And then, in (yet another) moment that Ray would remember with delight for the rest of his days, Sweet Blue-eyed Judy turned to him and simply smiled. Well, not simply. It was more of a smile-that-changes-the-destiny-of-a-pioneering-computer-programmer-in-an-instant kind of smile. It was the moment etched in time, a moment that would last for (not literally again but seemingly for) ever. It was the moment that made Ray one of “the fortunate few” and Woodstock truly HIS Woodstock.

Then, right after that moment I just described, things got just a little weird. For some strange reason, right out of the blue, Crosby, Stills, Nash and (dammit did Young just walk off stage? Where the hell is he?) stopped singing in English and, for no apparent rhyme or reason, broke into Spanish.

Que linda me la traiga Cuba
La reina de la Mar Caribe
Cielo sol no tiene sangreahi
Y que triste que no puedo vaya oh va, oh va

Then, stranger still, for probably the next 14 minutes they only sang one syllable… over, and over, and over…
Doo doo doo doo doo, doo doo doo doo doo doo
Doo doo doo doo doo, doo doo doo doo​​​​​​​


Doo doo doo doo doo, doo doo doo doo doo doo
Doo doo doo doo doo, doo doo doo doo​​​​​​​

But despite all this, Ray’s Woodstock was the most magical time of his young life; because it was there on Max Yasgur’s drug-riddled, trash-filled, sloppy, cold, damp, back paddock that Ray first laid eyes on sweet, beautiful, heaven-sent, blue-eyed Judy. It was just a such a damn shame that he never got up the nerve to actually talk to her or get her number.

Which brings us to forward to 1971 and that 1st email. Or rather, to the inspiration, for the 2nd email.

You see, just as Ray confirmed the delivery of that 1st email. The contents of which Ray later described as “entirely forgettable and I have, therefore, forgotten them.” You see, at the time – before Ray was rightfully recognized as a “pioneering computer programmer” his email messaging system was not considered “important,” or “clever,” or even, sad to say, “pioneering.”  Let’s just say it’s “development was not at the directive of his employer” and leave it at that. In fact, the only reason Tomlinson was pursuing his whole email idea was that “it seemed like a neat idea”.

Funny story: when Tomlinson first showed his email to a colleague, he remarked: “Don’t tell anyone! This isn’t what we’re supposed to be working on”.  Ha! What a sense of humor that guy had!

Anyway, back to the incredible moments just after that 1st email… What do you suppose came on the radio at that very instant? You guessed it! Suite: Judy Blue Eyes!

It’s getting to the point where I’m no fun anymore
I am sorry
Sometimes it hurts so badly I must cry out loud
I am lonely…

Ray knew EXACTLY what he had to do. The inspiration for his 2nd email hit him like Neil Young screeching out the chorus of “Keep On Rockin’ in the Free World” (seriously? how did that horrible nasal whine of his ever blend with CS & N in the first place?) Ray’s 2nd email would be the words he wished he’d uttered on that dank, filthy, rotting, garbage-strewn, cow bog back on that damp, chilly Monday afternoon in 1969… and he would send those words out to the whole world in the faint hope that the love of his life was also now a pioneering computer programmer who happened to be at that very moment connected to BBN Technologies famed ARPANET Network Control Program.

“Sweet Blue-eyed Judy of my dreams”, Ray typed up in a flash. “I am yours, you are mine, you are what you are. You make it hard. Love always, Ray.” Then, with all the hope and faith his beaming heart could muster, pioneering computer programmer, Ray Tomlinson launched the very first send all.

Ray never did get a response back from sweet blue-eyed Judy (if that was even her name! and who could tell what color her eyes were with all that mud?). He did however receive very shortly thereafter what has become recognized as ‘The 1st Dick Pic” and even more shortly thereafter that, the “1st email from a wealthy Nigerian Prince” which requested Ray’s assistance in transferring millions of dollars of excess money out of his country while promising to pay Ray for his help.

One last note about Ray Tomlinson… He once noted that he preferred “email” over “e-mail”, joking that “I’m simply trying to conserve the world’s supply of hyphens.” What a card! What a legend! What a story!

—ooo—

 

 

 

Haiku Trilogy – the Bee

14 Tuesday Apr 2015

Posted by Therese Trouserzoff in Poets Corner

≈ 7 Comments

Tags

Basho, bee, Buson, Haiku, Issa

bee-with-pollen-241132730_std

The bee staggers home
exhausted from the harvest
dinner and dancing

Laden with pollen
he pirouettes on his heel
and dusts himself off

You’ve been drinking and
flying again ! says the fat queen
No royal jelly !

by Emmjay

… back story: so I attended a duo of Haiku classes at Sydney Uni continuing education.  Small class.  Very experienced and lovely teacher.  It were grand.

basic rules of haiku:

  • three lines of 5:7:5 syllables  – let’s not be obsessive about this – after all, we isn’t Japanese, is we ?
  • something that evokes the natural world / the season (did you know that aboriginal cultures often regard Australia as having six seasons – look it up – I was labouring under the illusion that at best Australia had 2 or three seasons, wet, dry with hot or cold variants – not necessarily in any particular order.
  • a kireji – or cut.  – a breaking point where the poem whacks the reader a bit – see the last Haiku above – it has two cuts.
  • there are other subtleties (like developing one’s own signature vocabulary – say using the word “arsehole” whenever the topic of Tony Abbott is on the table – you might like to use a different work for the same purpose – that’s up to you, but let’s not get ahead of ourselves here.
  • so have a go – maybe read some translations of Basho, Buson or Issa – still top of the pops after 300 years or so……

Hung One On Whitman

08 Thursday May 2014

Posted by Therese Trouserzoff in Neville Cole, Poets Corner

≈ 8 Comments

Tags

'Shoe, Algy, Asty, Big M, Emmjay, Gez, Gregor, Helvi, Hung One On, Lehan Winifred Ramsay, Merv, Neville Cole, Vivienne, Voice, Warrigal

poets_pub

Story by Neville Cole

I’ll admit it. I tied one on with Hung One On down the Pub last night. As I recall, it all started amicably enough. All the locals were there celebrating the 5th Anniversary. Viv’s spread was a real treat. Gregor took to the mic early on and told some raunchy jokes. Big M was singing Karaoke. I had a grand old time catching up with Algy, Shoe, Voice, Asty, Lehan, Gerard, Helvi, Warrigal and, of course Emmjay. But, much, much later, as closing time drew nigh, things got a little…well, strange. Hung grew increasingly introspective, almost wistful, as the night went on and we began to talk – as we often do when we get this way – about life, about love, and about…poetry.

“Some day, Mate,” he says to me, “I’m gonna go walkabout. I gonna drop this…” he paused for a moment to choose just the right word, than added: “façade…and start living.”

“I know exactly what you mean,” I replied, appropriately emphasizing exactly in exactly the right way as I downed my last Trotters.

“I think you do. I think you do. I know you do!” Hung said with a sudden smile. “You and I aren’t the types to be penned in by… by rules…and, and rules. We are the truth tellers. We are the rebel alliance. We are poets, man…and we should be out there poeting our guts out.”

“We are poets,” I agreed with him. “When I look at you that’s exactly what I see.” I was at this time somewhat fixed on the word exactly as you might have already guessed. But I continued nevertheless: “You, for sure, are a fucking poet, Hung. Walt Whitman’s got nothing on you, brother.”

“Walt Whitman!” Hung leapt to his feet like a sleeping dog woken by a noisy cat. “That’s it!” Hung cried climbing his stool to reach the bar.

“Hey, hey,” Merv sang out. “Closing time, Hung. You don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here.”

“Hear him out, Merv,” I said quietly. “He’s on a roll.”

“Warrigal kept to himself. Quietly sketching away in the corner; but I saw a wry smile break across his face as Hung began to recite a poem in a loud, clear voice.

“Song of MY self,” Hung announced to the almost empty bar. “By Hung One On Whitman.

And what followed, I recorded exactly as it poured from his soul…’cause no one would believe it if I didn’t write it down.

 

Song of my self

 

Come breathe the musk of morning
sit silent at the desert dawn;
Listen for my breath
Here me cry the empty sky
into being
Bathe in the light
I am not lost
nor hidden in rock
I am not dead
you are not dreaming
we are Life eternal.

Throw off your shoes
Did toes in solid earth
Draw kindred souls into your veins
There is not end in sight
no apocalypse is nigh
there is not one of us will die
we all are Life eternal
we are the one supernal
I take you in as you do I
Give yourself to the forests and the seas
We are all what feeds the other
There is no turning back
This is a never ending track that leads back to an open door
no floor
no ceiling to block the light
you are in my sight
no need to fear the night
Feel my warmth on you skin
Let me in
Turn your face to me
Give me a smile for today
You are Life eternal.

Look to the sky
Not a cloud to block the blue
This is my gift to you
This blue sky
that greenish-yellow leaf
the purple pinkness of the flowers
the richness and ceaseless variety
you are wrapped in a multitude of color
all for you this glorious display
I paint the world this way
To make each day your canvas
Take it in
Hold it with you to look upon
During the hours of grey and black
Remember my gift
Seek it out
The new day is just beyond the horizon
It will not be slowed or stopped
It will not hold back from you
Even if you doubt or despair
Even if you curse and cry
Even if you lose your way
Even if you forget
A new day is coming
Every moment
a hundred million every second
all across the Earth
a billion others like you and I
feeling with us
We are Life eternal.

Hung stopped for a moment, then a moment more, then paused, then graceful as a dancer, he bowed deeply and humbly. Emmjay and I cheered. Even Warrigal rose to his feet in applause.

I don’t remember much that happened after that. It’s a bit of a blur. I remember watching the sun come up a few hours later and replaying Hung’s poem in my head; but that’s about it. Still, it was a top notch 5th Birthday bash and I can’t wait till next year’s party.

 

You Gave Me Hyacinths A Year Ago…

23 Tuesday Jul 2013

Posted by Therese Trouserzoff in Poets Corner

≈ 6 Comments

Tags

T.S. Eliot, The Waste Land

446ts_eliot

T.S. Eliot

Malcolm Turnbull – a Poet for PM !

20 Saturday Jul 2013

Posted by Therese Trouserzoff in Emmjay, Poets Corner, Politics in the Pig's Arms

≈ 14 Comments

Tags

:Poets at the Pigs, Malcolm Turnbull, poetry reading

ac-poll-main-20130719094612795303-620x349

What rough beast slinks towards the Prime Ministership ?

from Brisbane Times  Friday 19th July…

“Opposition Leader Tony Abbott has played down a new opinion poll showing that the Coalition could win an election in a landslide if Malcolm Turnbull was leading the Liberal Party.

A ReachTel poll for the Seven Network released on Friday shows the Coalition leading Labor 58 to 42 per cent, on a two-party preferred basis, with Mr Turnbull at the helm.

With Mr Abbott in charge, the Coalition lead narrows to 51 to 49 per cent.

The poll also shows Mr Turnbull leading Kevin Rudd as preferred prime minister 65 to 35 per cent against the Labor leader’s 52 to 48 per cent advantage over Mr Abbott.

Conducted on Thursday night, the poll of 2922 residents nation-wide had a margin of error of 1.8 per cent.”

Read more: http://www.brisbanetimes.com.au/federal-politics/federal-election-2013/we-want-malcolm-turnbull-voters-say-20130719-2q87x.html#ixzz2ZX60EF9M

Friends of the Pig’s Arms – I never thought I’d ever say this, but …..

Malcolm Turnbull is far, far in front of Rudd and that unspeakable Lycra clad buffoon in terms of some of the character traits a person (I believe) should have to lead a nation.

Here’s the proof:  recorded at his recent appearance at the Pig’s Arms  Poets at the Pigs…

Malcolm Turnbull

Lait to the Debate

21 Sunday Oct 2012

Posted by Therese Trouserzoff in Lehan Winifred Ramsay, Poets Corner

≈ 19 Comments

Tags

Lait, Lehan

Lait

Painting and Poem by Lehan Winifred Ramsay

achieve
approve
arise
backlash
barrage
beach-side
better
brands
business
car oil
cast
cheesecake
cogent
collapse
commercial
complacency
conformity
co-operation
critique
danger
deep
deep down
degrading
desire
direction
domestic
economic
emaciated
embrace
engagement
eroded
escalating
escape
family
for granted
finished
forge
fresh
hard-fought
hen
hit
home deposit
injury
laugh
leave
legs
luxury
manifesto
materialism
money
names
negotiating
ok
overdrive
partnerships
pass
pathetic
power
property
purely
reality
rear their heads
re-ignited
reinforce
relentless
remarkable
rigid
rise
rooted
run
sacrificed
self-fulfilment
shackles
show
shower
significantly
squeezed
starvation
steam
stifling
strident
structures
subjugation
subtle
taking
task
tension
tough
transform
under 40
unequal
unheard of
verbiage
vigilant
violence
virginal
virtual
wildly
work
wrong
yearned

What you need and what you want

09 Wednesday May 2012

Posted by Therese Trouserzoff in Poets Corner, Sandshoe

≈ 18 Comments

Tags

Poem, uneducated indifference

On my way (unsigned)

Poem and Graphic by Sandshoe

What you need and what you want

(A Personal Poem to uneducated indifference)

…To be spoken as a rhyming riddle…

 

What you need and what you want

might be two different things

yes the hidden brilliance mocks me

no the moon hangs and threatens

 

without

there is a fool

waiting to entertain

the jesters wanting nothing.

 

   CBWilson ’94 ©

 

Laddie Come Home

30 Monday Jan 2012

Posted by Therese Trouserzoff in Emmjay, Poets Corner

≈ 8 Comments

Tags

First Dog on the Moon

First Dog on the Moon

For days, it seems, we’ve lost our dog
We wander round in hazy fog
Our fear, it seems, – he’s run away
He’s spat the bone,
No more Dog play.

We wouldn’t give him up for quids
Sad old Crikey runs his good dog vids
We want him back, and make it soon.
Return to us, First Dog on Moon.

But where’s he gone ?
Is it unsound ?
Has anyone looked down the pound ?
Has he gone for good ?
Will he be found ?

But hark, to all, he will prevail
Return to us with waggy tail
I bet he has an iron-clad reason
He’s been chasin’ chicks in doggy season.

Who’s a clever boy, then ? Gooboy !

15 Thursday Dec 2011

Posted by Therese Trouserzoff in Emmjay, Poets Corner, Politics in the Pig's Arms

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

First Dog

Thanks to Crikey and First Dog on the Moon - DO Subscribe

Best in Show

We have the greatest Moon Dog on Earth
He fills bleak days with riot and mirth
He never rolls over or has to beg
Just pisses on the bastards’ leg.

And in return gets pats on head
From all the Doggonauts well-read
In all his toons and bouts of whimsy
Lays bare the politics of flimsy.

He speaks for us with loud clear voice
Draws pumpkin scones like Barnaby Joyce
Destroying monster bigot rants with
Talking confectionery and underpants.

But best of all – and what a hoot
His Interpretive Dancing bandicoot
Presents the truth – don’t you agree
Far better than the ABC.

All hail to you, our Firstest Dog
More power to your right front paw
Keep on harassing disgraceful skunks, and
Chew the arse out of red swimming trunks

When tired from hard days of works
Of punching heads and dates of jerks
And stripping bare the false and venal
Go home to your loving pack and kennel.

Congratulations, Firsty and all the best from the Staff and Patrons of the Pig’s Arms

The Horse*

23 Saturday Oct 2010

Posted by Therese Trouserzoff in Poets Corner, Sandshoe

≈ 23 Comments

Tags

horse

the old Onehunga School, Auckland, NZ

By Christina Binning Wilson (aka Sandshoe)

I have dreams to tell

and you would have me quiet

demureness your necessity

I have dreams to sell

and you would tell me chastity.

Be still.

There is a horse.

It is in the tree.

My horse is as a friend.

You speak of rain.

It is upon the pane.

* Through a picture window, I watched the behaviour of a canopy of great branches extending across the gully from where an oak tree grew beside the verandah of a bungalow I occasionally glimpsed on the other side; sometimes there was a person was briefly visible seated in a chair. However the wind blew it fascinated me a formation of a leaf at the end of a branch that swayed closest remained to my eye the shape of a wooden horse that was a diminutive gift from Sweden given my daughter as safe keepsake by a friend.

Written at ‘The Castle’, Parnell, Auckland, 1987

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