A Tribute to Life Magazine a Film by by David Hoffman

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To get this all, visit https://www.createspace.com/204454 . I made this 1 hour documentary for the 50th anniversary of the great photo essay journal, Life Magazine. It was a thrill to interview so many brilliant photojournalists like Alfred Eisenstadt, Gordon Parks, and many others and to come to understand American and world history through their eyes. This film is being offered for personal use only and not for educational purposes. If you would like to purchase a DVD, please visit http://www.createspace.com/204454 .….David Hoffman via YouTube

David Hoffman

David Hoffman is one of America’s veteran documentary filmmakers. During his 50-year career, Hoffman has made five feature-length documentaries….Wiki

Life Magazine represents a period in history where photojournalism expressed the news in a strikingly personal way. We remember the stories but, oh the photos! Hoffman’s brilliant documentary doesn’t just take us back to those photos, but makes us want more.
Hoffman’s view is one of film, which , like TV and video media,  seems to have replaced photo journalism. This film, however,  combines the moving image with the still. One point is so well made. We returned to the Life Magazine photograph to see it again. It had time and repetition on it’s side. It sank in. In this Facebook world, images pass by so fast! Maybe Life was the precursor to these times because the images were more important to us than the text, but it sat there on the coffee table and we went through it again for the photos.
There were fewer outlets for creativity in those days. Today everything rolls by like traffic, and we squeeze a thousand images a day into our lives on screens that scroll, seemingly, endlessly, into the earth.
We are on image and information overload and it’s been good to visit a time when so much talent could be put in one place. It’s not that we are not as good, it’s that our talent is diluted and greatness can pass by unnoticed as our minds are trying to cope with the freeway of information and images.
I was far from involved, but I remember feeling a strange sense of loss when it was announced that Life Magazine was shutting down.

………….david michael jackson

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gentle jesus walked into town poem by Becky Buchanan

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Becky and Boodil from thatBeckygirl

the gentle jesus walked into town today
wearing a worn cashmere sweater:
an olive green pullover,
and a pair of faded jeans that fit him well
before he could get into the door of the Ozark Restaurant
and Pancake House
he was accosted
by a loud speaker
from a town-crier
who was laughing
“you better watch out
you better not shout
you better not cry
I’m tellin you why . . .
cause we’re watching you . . .
they’re watching you
from space
from the space between your teeth
from the fillings in your teeth
from the . . .”
jesus stepped inside, sat down
and
ordered bacon
and a spinach omelet
the waitress
looking wide eyed
with an open
mouth
said
“good GOD! you can’t eat
spinach . . . e-co-lye, she whispered from behind her hand
and the bacon
will kill you too
just a little
slower she winked
jesus winked back
and
ordered a cup of
green tea
the waitress
ran off to pour him coffee
the regular boys were sitting at their table
talking their regular war
and big trucks and fast women
and “I won’t play with you if you don’t play fair”
and
“I got more money
than you do’
the “regular” big boy board games
but then some one got upset
with someone
and decided
to take his ball
and go home
bumping his chair back
against Jesus’ chair
he said,
“excuse me,”
“you’re forgiven,”
jesus said
which made the man look a little funny at jesus
a group of middle aged
women
walked in and
sat down in the booth next
to jesus
and started in . . .
“I hope that bird flu stays with them birds
and don’t get to us . . .
and I hope there ain’t no ticks on them
birds . . .cause I don’t what no Lyme disease
and I hope their ain’t no mosquitoes
on them ticks . . .
my body can’t take no more diseases
I already got . . . let’s see
heart and lung and breast
and kidney
and “what’s that other one called
Betty?”
“dementia”
“what?”
“ I said DEMENTIA, and you’ve got hearing loss too.”
“Oh yeah, and trouble with my eyes.”
jesus sprinkled pepper on his toast and sneezed
the whole table said
“God bless you!”
jesus rose to his feet, raised his hands
then thought better
of making the sign of the cross
and just said
“God bless you too!”
when he finished his eggs
he stepped back out side
where the town crier
was now crying
jesus said
“can I help you sir?”
and the town crier said
“I just heard the trumpet buddy
and everyone from the
town has vanished into thin air!
it’s the rapture
and I’m left behind!
jesus being an empathetic soul
gently touched the crying man on the shoulder
and immediately
the town crier turned into a silent pillar of salt
the gentle jesus
leaned down
took a pinch of the man
and threw it over his left shoulder
“just for good measure” he said
“just for good measure.”

and her new CDfull circus moon
and her new CD review:

P.T Barnum once said,
“I don’t care what you say about me, just spell my name right.” The
circus has always had a mystique, unique to the greatest show on earth.
Poet Becky Buchanan explores circus life through the eyes of Mary, the
fictional first lady of the big top, who finds herself rather reluctantly,
“living among them” in the late 1800’s, early 1900’s. 

Apr 14, 2012

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The New Prayer

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Forgive me for the
sins I do not confess;
forgive me for the sins I deny.

Forgive us for saying,
“I am not a racist.”

Forgive me for my silence, Lord.

Forgive me

Lord

for my racism.

May we not deny it but change it
into the love of forgiving peace
In Charleston.

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By Any Other Name by – Paul Malécot

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“…By Any Other Name…”

Be not so afraid
of “getting it wrong.”

that you get nothing

for it is

in our mistakes

that we are truly human

It is thru our “humanness”

that we may find again

our innocence

for only as children

can we taste the Rose

without even

the awareness of thorns

which are but

our own paranoia

For, We are the Rose…..

– Paul Malécot

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Silent Rape – A Poem By Ron Olsen

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Silent Rape
by Ron Olsen

Cameras on the corner
Drones with eyes above
The NSA listens in
To sounds of hate and love
Copying your email
Your every movement followed
Credit cards leave a trail
Of dinners out you’ve swallowed

A module plugged into your car
Locates you in a flash
Telling the company where you are
And whether you’re likely to crash
Where you are
And are likely to be
Now
Tomorrow
And forever
Stripped of all privacy
At the pull of a government lever

Your life in public files somewhere
You’re nailed to the wall
Who you are and want to be
Medium, big or small
They have your profile
From the Net
Your tendencies
Propensities, too
Eccentricities
Health records
Potential for disease
Everything’s targeting you

Your willingness to do as your doctor says
Your voting and trips to the loo
Who you like
And don’t
And why
Who you’re listening to
Your philosophy
And spiritual needs
Each and every detail
They’ve got it all
They’ve got it pat
They’re riding you on a rail

All you’ve done
Or failed to do
That book you bought on line
An association with Karl Marx
Means you’re no longer prime
All you wanted was a read
But it’s turned you into a threat
For the billionaires who buy the polls
And track you on the Net

An average selection
Of a new generation
Accepting it as their norm
Naïve to the truth
That the freedom they have
Might be lost in the oncoming storm

 
©2015 Ron Olsen/All rights reserved

Ron Olsen is a Peabody and Emmy award winning journalist, essayist and poet.  He lives in Los Angeles.

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No More Bocars to Ride

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Boxcar Willie and Woody and Freight Trains

Oh there ain’t no more boxcars
for Willie and Woody to ride
No hobos in containers
as the freight train rolls by
They could ship themselves from China
but they wouldn’t get much air,
take the last train to Clarksville
but they couldn’t get out of there
Oh they don’t have to hire no railroad dick
and you can’t catch the train cause it goes by too quick.
Oh what’s a hobo to do
what’s a hobo to do
stand on the street and sing the blues
thumb don’t work and the cop says move
This modern world don’t feel no pain
and only graffiti rides that train

 

 

 

Poem and video by David Michael Jackson

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ODE TO DAVID by Daisy Sidewinder

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Wait for me
under a tree in Wales.
I’ll find you
when we’re both free
to dance in the fields
where Mad Welsh poets
once wandered, thinking.
Where minstrels sang
of courage and love.

Wait for me.
We won’t be young and carefree.
No, we’ll be
sanded by time
Lines for laughter past and future
Nicotine stains, chipped teeth
voices raspy
The way we were
When we loved most and best
When we wished we’d met sooner
Or had more time.
When we knew that all the others
were just friends or lovers.

Wait for me
Under a tree.
Dance me into eternity
With you.

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Jesus is Coming

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Jesus is coming.
Jesus is coming.
Jesus is coming.
He’s going to step out
on that mount of trash
and speak.
He’s going to walk from plastic to plastic across the water.
Jesus is coming.
He’s going to grab factory chickens
and feed the multitudes.
Jesus is coming.
He’s going to say, “Come, I will make you trash collectors of men.”
He’s going to walk into our temples and turn over tables.
He’s going to tell the Christians to clean this mess up.
He’s going to say, “That’s not what I said, that’s what they remember.
You miss the point,
Never mind.
The guy in the cave, btw
was nuts
crazy
bazonkers.
Prophets were never Gods
Clean this mess up.
What have you done to my earth?”

Namaste

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