Poet, Author, Publisher - Friend, Adolfo Caso

I enjoy so much when I receive poetry from those in the publishing field...clients...publishers...friends I have made online!

Here is the latest from Branden Books Publisher and my friend, Adolfo Caso!

                                                                               ~~~

www.brandenbooks.com

On one hand, Americans accept to live under the principles of a representative democracy and have few qualms in sending soldiers to fight for their freedom and liberty; on the other hand, so many demonstrate against their soldiers to the point of insuring defeat or denying victory.

This un-typical peculiarity forms the basis for the poems by Colonel Adolph Caso, who believes that soldiers sustain and make hope meaningful.

Observations:

•·        An old woman dressed in black searches for her son's bones on Monte Grappa

•·        An actress joining Viet Cong soldiers returns home to an adoring America where she amasses greater wealth and popularity.

•·        A world-champion boxer refusing induction because "the military is owned by whites" (he is the only one to have suffered consequences) nevertheless has become a wealthy and undisputed world champion.

•·        The ever popular balladeer welcoming Chinese Communists to take over a greedy America gains more popularity and greater wealth on growing older.

•·        The officer returning home throws away battle field medals and later becomes a millionaire seeking and almost winning the presidency of the United States.

•·        And, Mr. Song, surviving the genocide in Cambodia, sees America as the only hope for his children.

Poems:

SILENT, THE ROCKS

Cool and silent is the peak
covered by lifeless shadows
and the color of the moon's
pale streaks.
Un-designated trees enjoy
a rampant breeze
while rows of rocks
speak their sorrows.

Do not be dazed; say the rosary.
This rock is not the stone
over which you wept before.
The sun has never shone here.

Rows of rocks weep over the sorrows
the anguishes that rooted them down.
Who knows of the bones in the burrows
or the steel that once
     was the crown
of men forgotten.
The symbol hangs on
though the rocks remain
over which to weep.

Come, old woman in black,
assemble the twigs of the deep.
Do not stop.
The stone is not your son's.
Below, your children await the fire.
Go!
Nourish them!
Another peak awaits.

THE NEW ADAM AND EVE

The puffed-up male
noisily following the partner
into the spring foliage
of the tree,
the branches sprawling
over the gurgling waters
of the cool brook
bending
around the foot of the mountain,
where ponds of still waters
are visited
by hovering flies
which quickly disappear;
the tadpoles
the trout
white butterflies
aimlessly
peaking and dipping through the air
the eagle from up on high
the animals wandering
through the virgin land
the bee
winging itself from flower to flower
the honey drops
exuding
from fruits ripened by the sun
the mountain lion
the rattler
raccoons in hide--
the limpid sunset:
all
an impressive spectacle
a dream come true
for the young run-a-way couple,
the new Franciscans
wearing the single robe and cord
drinking the waters from the spring
putting together the abandoned cabin
with trees
cut with their own hands
finally free
independent
living the youthful days
in vigorous bodies
singing to birds and animals alike:

Adam and Eve
cast-off
of their city and God,
away from the massive followers of Krishna
from the new materialism
finally free and independent
in their newly gained paradise
there at the foot of the mountain
near the river bed
free from beer cans and bottles
under the watchful eye of the eagle
satisfying today's hunger
with present finds
to run the risk
of being another's meal
than to be consumed piece-meal
through corroborated programs
free of newspaper print
strewn all over the land
or
piles to be processed
without leaving a single trace
of its real mafia
free at last
to wander about nature's spectacle
with hair ruffled by the breeze
bodies of healthy muscles
from years of meat diet and sports
eating nature's food
without the sacrificial offerings
of slaughtered pigs and cows
finally free and independent
enjoying the time of day
in and out
of the wooden shack--
the new Eve, in the presence of Adam,
taking today's pill
   so
     that
       they
can
  get
     laid

A HIPPIE'S PROTEST

From a life, rich
of every want
never felt the pangs of hunger
or the feet touch the ground
other than the cool grass
on lawns made beautiful
by some Puerto Rican
working for some Italian
or on wall-to-wall carpets
shampooed as necessary
to keep the shag from knotting
beneath the feet,
the color television
screening images
of peroxide blonds on martinis,
the gratuitous killings,
words of lasting peace
amidst reports of battle slaughters,
the Watergate--from the small
to the big un-necessity
perpetrated by preacher politicians
scoring the recipients
of welfare checks
the crying babies with their emaciated faces,
farmers clad in Genovese cloth
patched wherever their skins and bones
have worked through
to the harsh bruises of labor,
and the affluent youth
protesting it all--
a rebel through lengthened hair,
barefoot on warm days,
the wheels of a supercharged beetle,
sixteen-speed bikes,
the girl wearing tailored jeans
shed at the feet,
discolored as though
sweat had perspired through,
patched with embroidered monograms
wearing America's flag
the stars on one
the stripes over the other cheek
and the mast wiggling its way up her ass,
wishing it were real!

SUICIDE THROUGH MURDER

Blood
I will give
as water
enough to invigorate a boxer
for another round:
Suicide
   through
     murder!

One hundred victims--
five times one hundred
pints of blood
lost to the ground
unredeemably wasted.

Collect for the doomed
what is left of the doomed
having still one breath
of blood
in its warm flesh,
the transfusion
to rehabilitate
for another battle--the spectacle
to keep
our peace-loving hearts
secretly
entertained:
Suicide
  through
    murder!

Blood of yellow today
brown tomorrow
black and white--the secret hope
to quench the ultimate thirst--
It is well
the ground to soak today
tomorrow another ground
and you will give me enough--
just enough--
for another battle--
to your heart's content
secretly
the PEACE button
on your breast:
Suicide
   through
    murder!

Suicide:
cowardice or courage
the latter lacking
allow the victim
to take the blood
of another victim
and you don't want me
to be
the victim of the victim
so long others
are currently available
though enough of yours
you will save for me
and others to follow--
always others!
Suicide
   through
      murder!

For me!
my brothers!
my children!
and theirs!
Five pints of blood
times one thousand
redeemable
transfuseable
five times one million
PEACE on heart
blue turned red:
frenetic excitement--
Peace!
   Peace!
      so long
the ground soaks.

If there be peace
you know
you will die:
Suicide
   through
      murder!

HYMN TO SONG

Awakened by dogs, barking
in the distance of his memory,
the refugee from Cambodia
stands silently by his new curtains,
staring into a morning darkness
steeped in nights of fear and doom:
his eyes opened glaringly,
his ears attuned to distinguish
between signals of life and death,
the bark of dwindling dogs
ear-marked for his capture,
and the brutal execution
of family and friends
together with anyone else
in the path of Pol Pot soldiers,
indiscriminate of age or sex,
establishing an order of death
for neighbors that never come back,
making the barrel of their guns
the democratic equalizer for all!

In his hideaway,
he listened, in controlled silence--
the wailing of poor and innocent beings
brought to slaughter while the world watched
in selfish indulgence.

Only scattered dogs responded with their bark
to alert the already hardened farmers,
and their emaciated wives and children,
one by one and in mass
numbering in the millions,
doomed,
with the active collaboration
of peace lovers knowingly fueling
the unfolding genocide,
with never an outcry or shriek against the perpetrators!

How did it happen?
Oh! Cambodia on Cambodians!
Why!
Why China on 120 million Chinese!
Russia on 90 million Russians!
And Turkey, on Armenians still weeping
in a world of callous denial!
Africa on African Blacks
in a continuous Calvary
between man-made AIDS and in-bred terror!
Germany on Jews for an ultimate solution
backed by a science of folly
maddening supremacy!

Glancing over the faces of his wife and children
sleeping in their New Jersey apartment
he mulls over the miracle
of their newly-found life,
to a future,
guaranteed,
with prosperity abounding
and needing only the muscle in his arm
and the resolution to work
like so many millions before him.

His eyes turning in different directions,
to lit-up lawns, shaped bushes and trees,
and to his neighbor, sleeping in opulence:
he thanked God for his fortune,
but not the One failing the others-
his trance broken by an image of stealth
moving over the lawns and by the trees:
a coyote appeared, howled,
and quickly disappeared.
Shaken, creases on his forehead
he turns to his wife and children.

Resting his eyes on their faces
he knows
they're in pursuit
of the American dream,
unfolding before his very eyes!

                                                        --Adolfo Caso, 2008

Tags: branden books, adolfo caso, poetry, publisher, hymn to song, suicide through murder, a hippie's protest, the new adam and eve, silent, the rocks

A new thank you...

I just got this today, so I thought I would share...but it made me realize that I probably should group some of my others and post!  So, for now...here's one from an author of two books I recently reviewed! I was asked to review his books by the publisher of BrandenBooks!

 

Dear Ms. Bixler,
>
> I want to sincerely thank you for the kind words you have been so very
> generous with in the past couple of book reviews that you have given me.
> All I can say is that I am really humbled. AND, if you find yourself in
> New York any time, let me know. I'd be honored to treat you to dinner.
>
> Thanks so much.
>
> Sincerely,
> Cristogianni Borsella
>

Tags: Cristogianni Borsella, BrandenBooks

A Textbook on Music Composition! 5 Challenge

Serge Ivanovitch Taneiev's Convertible Counterpoint In the Strict Style published in 1909 is now available for the first time in English! The English Translation is of the most distinguished treatise ever written on musical composition. G. Ackley Brower translated the work, known to be the greatest ever written in its field. As a textbook on composition, it has been highly recommended by Dr. Serge Koussevitzky, who wrote the Introduction, Serge Rachmaninoff, Leopold Godowsky, Gregor Piatigorsky, and others. Reading the list of those authorities would, in itself, confirm that any individual who is a serious scholar of music education should take advantage of this new opportunity to acquire the text.

I quickly highlight that the book assumes knowledge of simple counterpoint on the part of the reader. "The study of vertical-shifting counterpoint consists of an investigation of those combinations from which derivatives are obtained by means of shifting the voices upward or downward." (p. 25) Taneiev has developed a method by which the study of counterpoint is put on a basis of pure mathematics; i.e., an algebraic basis for a theory of complex counterpoint. Rimsky-Korsakov wrote that it would seem that his method ought to result in a dry and academic composition, devoid of the shadow of inspiration. In reality, however, "his own Oresteia proved quite the reverse--for all its strict premeditation, the opera was striking in its wealth of beauty and expressiveness." (p. 1) Indeed, Igor Stravinsky adds, "Taneiev was a good teacher, and his treatise on counterpoint--one of the best books of its kind--was highly valued by me in my youth.

Taneiev notes that skill in the handling of counterpoint is of such advantage in composition that the beginner should devote part of his time to its study, and indicates that this will be attained with the least expenditure of time and labor by following the methods he provides. The "result will be a greater assurance and freedom in part-writing, skill in improving the musical content of the individual voices, the development--of special value in thematic work--of the ability to extract derivative combinations, the profit to be gained by acquaintance with an infinite variety of contrapuntal forms as means of artistic expression, and the subordination of the whole realm of tonal material to the creative imagination." (p. 300)

The book has two major parts related to vertical and horizontal-counterpoint for two and three voices. The text includes both rules as well as musical scores and includes specific algebraic notations.

Music Education scholars take note: Tschaikowsky, fifteen years senior to Taneiev would submit to criticism from this pupil of his which he would tolerate from no one else. Indeed Rimsky-Korsakow, with all his technical brilliance, felt like a student musician in the presence of Taneiev, and admitted it. Given the major composers supporting this book and the author, need I even say that this is a MUST addition to your library!

Tags: music education, music composition, Taneiev

A Ghost Story Extraordinaire

Mr. Hancock’s Signature

By Brian S. Wheeler

Xlibris Corporation

978-1-4363-1858-7

310 Pages

 

When was the last time you read a great ghost story—for instance, one like The Legend of Sleepy Hollow? For me, a great ghost story is not full of ugly, murderous ghosts, it is a literary tale of delight and wonder, one that keeps you on the edge of your seat as the storyteller shares his words of how those in the afterlife may sometimes make the life of we who are left behind just a little different—and sometimes in necessary ways to right the wrongs committed in the past. I am very pleased to introduce Brian S. Wheeler’s Mr. Hancock’s Signature—a ghost story extraordinaire!

 

In a little town in Monteray County, a young man named Stephen Hancock rocked on his porch as one by one every piece of furniture was being sold at auction. He was the last of a family who had lived long on their land, farming and providing for their needs. They rarely left home, choosing to bury their own right in the front yard where they could keep the small plot free from weeds and filled with flowers. Now people roamed through the flowers, sat on the tombstones, waiting to find that treasure that had lived in their neighbor’s home. If they thought about Stephen that day, it was only to pray that they never would see the end of their family’s line and also lose their homes. But Stephen just did not have the skills and heart to carry on the farm. His brother had been the one who had loved the land, but he had gone to war and when they sent home a casket, the only thing inside was an American flag.

 

Stephen’s father was still alive at that time and his father sent him into town to find a stone that would do honor to the son who had given his life for his country. Stephen roamed through row after row of stones, trying to find the perfect one. All afternoon he searched, until finally, in desperation, he was taken into an old shed, so dark that they had to use a flashlight. And then that light disappeared, seemingly lost as it hit something that refused to reflect the light. That’s when Stephen found the obelisk, its blackness was so deep, that he couldn’t look away. Where did it come from? The salesman couldn’t recall ever seeing it before... Later, Stephen and his father planted the empty box at its feet.

 

And it was there at the obelisk that Stephen said goodbye to his family and left the only home place he had ever known. It was also the place where Ian Washington, a young boy out for a bit of mischief, heard Stephen as he spoke to his dead brother, even though an empty casket was buried.  And it was there that Ian saw a bright light and heard a humming sound that would stay with him through his life. He later wondered whether it was fate that brought him back to that little country town to become its city engineer.

 

For it was not too long after his arrival in town that the ghost train made it first visit back to the old train station. And when the sounds of the whistle from invisible steam coming from the invisible train disappeared, there was a coffin left alongside the old tracks. And surely it was fate that when the security guard found that coffin, the only city official he could find to sign off on its burial was, Ian Washington, the new engineer.

 

When that coffin was opened, there was nobody living in town who could identify the man who had died and been brought there—that is, until Mr. Drumming, who was one of the oldest and most prosperous farmers, was contacted and it was discovered that the body was that of Stephen Hancock. Indeed it had been Mr. Drumming who had purchased the land that had been the Hancock farm, for a lower price than it was worth, plus a promise.

 

Ian Washington could not share the secret that he had eavesdropped on the last prayers of Stephen Hancock, but he also couldn’t forget his declaration that there would be nobody to bury him when it was his time. Ian Washington knew he was meant to ensure a proper burial, but there was no room in the little family cemetery that was now completely encircled by rows of corn. And Mr. Drumming was not interested in working with Ian to provide additional land.

 

And so the body was taken to a funeral home. There William Compton cared for him just as he would for anybody and promised to keep him there to wait for final burial as soon as a location could be found. But by the next day, the body had disappeared.  It was found later that day and returned—only tobe again stolen that night. There were some who said they caught sight of something that looked like a man dragging a dead body. At least one knew it was a golem of a man.

 

Jack Johnstone had seen that golem, just as he saw the others—those that lived in the depths of the river. As a young boy, he had been one of those children who challenged the river by jumping from the train tracks into its depth. And it was Jack who had one day convinced his young friend that it would be easy and would gain him a good reputation in town. The young friend instead became one of those who never came up to the surface but stayed there, waiting. It was then that Jack had begun to see them, as they taunted and followed him as he left.

 

Jack Johnstone had become the town drunk and during those hours under its influence, he would start talking about what he saw. Soon he had a following and it became a church, a strange church indeed, where all the men carried guns and Jack Johnstone carried Fire and Brimstone, two ancient pistols that he laid across the Bible each Sunday.

 

And as Mr. Hancock’s body was moved from place to place, it was Ian Washington and Jack Johnstone who joined together with the now-haunted funeral director and other town people to help ensure that the dead walking in Monteray would finally be able to go home. But would they succeed? And would the engineer of the Ghost Train wait?

 

This tale is riveting, yet brilliantly written in a voice that tantalizingly tells of a small country town where the dead walked, until neighbors stopped fighting and drew together to help those who could no longer help themselves. You’ll be sorry if you miss this one!

 

G. A. Bixler

for IP Book Reviewers

Tags: Brian S. Wheeler, Mr. Hancock's Signature, ghost story, liteary fiction, golem, ghost train

Interested?

Conspirator's Odyssey Great Alternative Historical Novel

Conspirator’s Odyssey: The Evolution of the Patron Saint

By Aaron Kinte Kuykendall

 

With an exciting alternative history novel, Conspirator’s Odyssey: The Evolution of the Patron Saint, Aaron Kinte Kuykendall presents his first book in a new “Conspirator’s” series.

 

Why?  This one-word question is one that many of us first learn and continue to use throughout our lives.  Why was John Kennedy assassinated?  Why did 9-11 happen?  Why are we in Iraq?  We want to know the “why” of it.  Only once we know why, will we then turn to the other questions of who, what, when, and where.  Alternative history has found a place in literature as we all seek to learn the “why” behind what happens in our world. For many times, we are not satisfied with the answers to questions that are spoon-fed to us through the media.

 

Mr. Kuykendall presents an obviously well researched novel that moves us through the United States late 1940’s history into the future in a thoroughly plausible response to many of those incidents about which we have found no satisfactory explanation.  Is any of the book true?  Is all of it true?  Only readers can match their own knowledge of historical events, evaluate the options found in Conspirator’s Odyssey and arrive at their decision.  However, this reader can assure you that the concepts are logical, that the story presentation is excellent, and the characters just may haunt you in their respective roles within our government.

 

Major Kalista Flaker of the United States Army is the heroine of this story.  Yes, she is a major in the army; however, she has also now inherited the role of leader of a secret organization, one that reaches across the world, fighting against those who conspire against the United States.  It is a bitter pill to swallow that most of those she fights against are found within the agencies of the US government, especially within the security sections.  However, facing the reality that she has lived through, she had no choice but to accept and respond to these dangers.

 

Everything that had happened dated back to before she was born.  There had always been talk of UFO sightings and she had scoffed at them along with most Americans.  It wasn’t until she was sent on a mission to Vietnam, had talked to a war prisoner and received a vial of his blood that she knew the truth.  She had tested and studied the blood and found unknown DNA and other elements.  The soldier had alien blood in his body!

 

She would never forget that mission.  She had been in charge of a group of rangers and SEALs.  Selected to lead the group by General Thimpkin, the man who had guided her, mentoring her almost as a father, she alone had been told of the full extent of the mission.  The group was being sent to Vietnam because they had learned that there were Vietnam War prisoners still alive.  They were all to be killed.  Indeed, everyone on the mission was to be killed, except her.  General Thimpkin had made special provisions to get her out.   Everything had happened as planned—almost. Following orders, they had killed the American soldiers, prisoners who had lost limbs, who were barely holding on to life.  In fact, she was puzzled how they were still living!  

 

Kalista pulled Buckner to the pickup site, the only one of her team she had found alive, and had saved his life.  And then others as she once again ignored commands of her superiors.

 

Buckner continued in a coma for more than five years.  Much had happened during that time and Kalista was ready—ready to seek revenge.  But she needed help—she needed Buckner, so while he had been comatose, she had injected him with a variation of the blood the soldier had given her before she killed him. The alien DNA had been test-injected into those poor soldiers and had lived through years of torture and hunger when they should have been allowed to die. 

 

Kalista knew that if her research had been productive that others would have also been working on the same DNA. She was sure she had discovered what would happen in a successful transfer into a human.  She and Buckner would be testing her theories.

 

For, you see, all of it tied together.  Project Aneman was still moving forward. They knew the answers to why Kennedy was dead, why there had been bombings at the World Trade Center. They knew who would be elected next. And they knew they had an ongoing mission—to find and destroy conspirators who had sought power and money through abuse of authority and position. The only thing they didn’t know yet—were the conspirators human?

 

As the first in a series, Conspirator’s Odyssey should be on the must-read list for those looking for and who enjoy reading alternative historical answers!

 

 

 

 

Tags: A. K. Kuykendall, Conspirator's Odyssey, government conspiracy, alternative history, series