It is with delight and a warm sense of friendship that I present Richard Dutton's poetry here as a celebration of his 75th birthday. Dick Dutton's strong and insightful voice resonates amidst Southern California poets. His unusual points of view, vivacious charm, and wry humor ring true and powerfully with personal vision. He is an encouraging and good friend. He and his wife Pauli Dutton are two wonderful poets. He came to poetry through her influence but his voice is individual and unmistakable.
RICHARD DUTTON’s main career has been as an aerospace engineer specializing in field, systems, software development, operations and performance analysis, and system procurement specifications for North American Aviation, Teledyne Systems Company and Lockheed Skunk Works. While in college he worked at Mat Lab at New York Naval Shipyard, Raytheon Research Division, and the National Bureau of Standards (NIST). He has also had stints as a stockbroker for Dean Witter and an electronics specialist in the US Army. After retiring, he began substitute teaching in the Los Angeles Unified School District and elected as a state delegate to the National Education Association where he has been a state contact. He began writing stories and poetry following his wife Pauline’s leadership and inspiration.
SOUND OFF / FACE OFF Richard Dutton (what’s his name?)
People don’t have names now
Their name was the key to opening them up
They have faces
Over time they disguise themselves
Faces can tell a lot
But a friend wants to be able to
Include sound to spill emotions
Telephone works better than silent video
Software recognizes face and voice
It translates speech to text or to commands
Computers in pencils correlate student’s notes
With the audio of the professor’s voice
Talk to programs faceless (so far)
Or to humans on face-book or video
See the earth from orbit
Your abode from different views
The computer is a brain extension
For memory storage communication
We are part of the world brain
(Accessible by voice for less reading)
Has Big Brother spread or caught
Knowledge viruses from the web
Broadcast with evil or good intent?
Too many media police watching you?
Are they changing A.D. to A.I.?
Expert systems can guide the Media-ocracy
The battleground is communication
Design babies can be DNA’d to accept the message
Will octuplet youngsters tweet on twitter?
Either get together or order frozen embryos?
Part of that is slightly late for my generation
Unless I had something like a feel-o-vision suit
Where are my hearing aids?
Can YOU hear ME now?
Umm… What’s your name?
God. is that really your face?
OPENINGS The door … opened …slowly
Father came in
I was four years old
Got a ride on his shoulders
The door … opened …slowly
Father came in.
I was six years old
He showed me how to do chess openings
I won with the opening checkmate he showed me
The door … opened …slowl
Father came in
I was eight years old
He explained Santa’s spirit was all around at Christmas
And that is real after all
The door … opened …slowly
Father came in.
I was sixteen years old
He told me I would be best as a lawyer or as an engineer
The door … opened …slowly
Father came in
I was eighteen years old
He told me he had a friend who became a doctor
And therefore was able to marry one of the wealthiest women
The door…opened…slowly
Father came in
I was twenty five years old
He said, “Put your money in things YOU think have a future”
The door … opened …slowly
I…came in
Was fifty years old
We started a game of chess
I won with the opening checkmate he had shown me
The door...to my mind…opens … slowly
Father …taught me…slowly
By letting me win
Increasing the challenge …slowly
Stretching my perseverance with each win
Eventually he would sprinkle some losses in
This was a help in my life
The door.. to my husbandry… opens slowly
To daughter and wife chess was an enjoyment.
I played them and would take wins there too quickly
That door closed and I don’t know how to open it
CAN I PLAY LAZARUS A THIRD TIME? Guilty of coasting, ignoring reality
And falling from the grace of higher education
Lying dead in a possible career path
No future in sight
The easy life was gone
Trapped in the purgatory of the Army
Perhaps Jesus would show me stepping stones
I prayed
Then the Army let me finish college and some grad school while I was serving them
I landed a lucrative job that paid more than professors or generals.
Enough to retire modestly
I coasted, ignored opportunities, made mistakes
Broke the habit of praying
Fell a second time into near poverty
I prayed
I was saved the second time by a figurative Angel from Heaven
Who, along with the GI bill, helped me
Get three masters degrees, a modest success and a small family
Now I am coasting again
Could I play the role of Lazarus a third time?
I have been ungrateful
Should Jesus be my friend when he does miracles for me
and I pray only when times are bad
I passed up more opportunities than most people get in a lifetime
Am now frozen in indecision
I know I was supposed to do things for the world
But I have less time left and low resources
I need to “resurrect” the opportunity
God and Jesus know how I feel when I pray
It’s up to them
GRANDMA’S LITTLE PROFESSOR On and off I lived with Grandma
Had sugar sandwiches and sweet pickled cucumbers
A few times slept on her bed
She would always call me her little professor
On the way home from Sunday school
Stopped off to see her with my bible
She knew I told the truth with her
Gramma said, “When I’m in Heaven
I’ll be looking down watching you”
Before Grandma died Aunt Ada told me
“I’ve been telling her that you’re a professor
So please go along with that”
When Grandma asked me I told her
“No, but I’m making much more than a professor”
Sorry Grandma, sorry Aunt Ada
Later I went for a Doctorate in Business Administration
But didn’t complete it
Sorry Grandma
Was a Witter Critter in San Marino
(Dean Witter is now part of Morgan Stanley)
Apparently marketing securities was not my bag
Sorry Grandma
Later after retiring from Aerospace
I didn’t get that job teaching calculus at PCC
Sorry Grandma
At Seventy One I’m a Substitute Teacher at LAUSD
Sorry Grandma
Maybe my daughter will be a professor
If she doesn’t get married first
I CARRY YOU WITH ME I carry you with me
As we are joined
I dream of Yosemite
With the light brown bear…
Waking us, out in
Our sleeping bags
Us down the river on
Air mattresses
You are with me
San Francisco
“Dance your ass off”
Mark Hopkins or the “Y”
You are with me
As I re-travel
Eurail pass
Sex on the ferry boat
Almost missed at the Lourve
You are with me
Or my old stomping grounds
Where we lived, relatives
Church pews, libraries
You are with me
Back stage, dancing,
Poetry, your office
Seeing you those times
on TV and in movies
You are with me
Our college classes together
The parenting of a genius daughter
Now so far away
You are with me
When I walk alone
At night or day
When I am alone at home
I carry you with me, forever
When I walk alone
At night or day
When I am alone at home
I carry you with me, forever
THE DREAM CAR How did I come here?
Or was it a dream?
I did appear
Or so it would seem
Inside the car with my impressive companion
Outside the car must have been time travel -- Fast!
Was there anything outside the windows?
I saw green lights and street signs go past
Did I drive or did we fly?
I did see a beautiful sky go by
But my mind was not on the car
My companion traveled me afar
A dream through life
With my wife
THE ELECTRIC METER To make it through the day
At home I have an electric heater
She warms my life in every way
She’s so good you can’t beat her
She knows when my power is low
She’s also an electric meter
She charges me up so I can go
I always say, “I love you.” when I greet her
Ever since so long ago
I was so happy to meet her
WHAT SHOULD I WRITE? What do I write?
Checks, Credit card slips, crossword letters
My name on the board, brief reports about work
Who would read those?
But my messages for the world are lost
In the Internet ocean and media swamp
Should I warp myself to sound bites in debates
When warped ideas control the mike?
Screened by Nielsen, viewership, advertisers, ownership
Sensationalism and attention span limits
The current topic is deemed “newsworthy”
And is given the right of way
Entertainment, news and hypnosis have a lot in common
Public opinion is herded like sheep
By two teams of smiling sheepdogs
Where each calls the other team wolves
This breeds split opinion
Which breeds controversy
Which brings in politics
Which brings in money
Oops, I don’t have money!
How can I broadcast my simple ideas?
I’m not trying to write a book
I’m not trying to write a bible
But my truths disappear in a sea of blogs
A local paper might help
If we’re in the same choir
When major media is the battleground
What they want to hear is what I need to write
A timely, sensational, controversial, and entertaining book
To a large segment of society’s delight.
That’s tough to do with my ideas
But that’s what I should write. Right?
MEDIA-OCRACY Should we call it MEDIOCRACY?
MEDIA-R-CRAZY?
MEDIA-R-RACY?
The MEDIA-OCRACY
Takes over the republic
And the democracy
Monopolies in the
Flow of information
Worse than oil
Flow in this here nation
Do we realize that
The power of the press
Can usually out-bat
The power of the prez?
And who is who controlling
Pen, mike, camera and election?
But who would advertise it
As they want power and extension?
All of us media zombies think
We can handle ninety-nine percent
But they still spread knowledge viruses
With evil or good intent
High schools, churches and colleges
Are part of media hypnosis
Movies, TV, the net, and books
Is Poetry in this psychosis?
In this MEDIA-OCRACY?
One of the richest experiences I have shared with Pauli and Dick is our collaborations as Poets on Site. Last year we travelet to Sunset Beach, to the Anderson Gallery. Dick, Pauli and I viewed the same painting by Milford Zornes, Greenland and we all wrote our impressions:
Milford Zornes,
Greenland,1954, oil painting
Richard Dutton
sun almost gone
mother earth's rising body
obscures horizon
moon above icebergs
families floating on rippling water
with white shawls overhead
Pauli Dutton
snow moon overhead
crystal frosted crowns
float on rickrack sea
Kathabela Wilson
thousand peaked origami cathedrals
tents shimmering with glacial glow of veiled inner moons
one has escaped—our moon innocently knowing
what it was and what is hidden like a word
oh white Greenland of our unconsciousness
One of the delights of Poets on Site is the deep sharing of experience and the presentation of our individual, insightful, simultaneous impressions. A wonderful bonding and heightening of artistic visions.
Poets on Site at the Anderson Gallery: PAULI and RICHAD DUTTON 2nd and 3rd from right. In photo, left to right: poets Mira Mataric, Sharon hawley, Kath Abela Wilson, artist Bill Anderson, Deborah P Kolodji, Richard Dutton, Pauli Dutton, and Wendy Wright.
