S. Berliner, III's sbiii.com CULTURE - Continuation Page 1 keywords = cultur language art literat sculp paint word Webster dictionar encyclopedi encyclopaedi Brittanica thesaur Nofretete Nefertiti Burma-Shave signs Holling Paddle Pooh Jitterbug Oz Norma Prehistoric Mastodon

Updated:   30 Dec 2019; 14:45 ET
[Page created 26 Apr 2003; converted 15 Apr 2013
    original AT&T Worldnet Website begun 30 May 1996.]

URL:  http://sbiii.com/culture1.html
[was at "home.att.net/~Berliner-Ultrasonics/culture1.html"]

S. Berliner, III
Consultant in Ultrasonic Processing
"changing materials with high-intensity sound"

[consultation is on a fee basis]

Technical and Historical Writer, Oral Historian
Popularizer of Science and Technology
Rail, Auto, Air, Ordnance, and Model Enthusiast
Light-weight Linguist, Lay Minister, and Putative Philosopher

note - The vast bulk of my massive Web presence (over 485 pages) had been hosted by AT&T's WorldNet service since 30 May 1996; they dropped WorldNet effective 31 Mar 2010 and I have been scrambling to transfer everything.  Everything's saved but all the links have to be changed, mostly by hand.  See my sbiii.com Transfer Page for any updates on this tedious process.

S. Berliner, III's


Continuation Page 1

CULTURE - General

You may wish to visit my previous page and continuation page 2 on Culture (kultcha?),     with Mahmood Rezaei=Kamalabad, Artist in Steel, Wiener Werkstätte, Early Influences, and GOODREADS Error Messages.   rev (07 Aug 2018)

See also the Infinity Printer Page:   new (30 Dec 2019)
  George Gamow's One Two Three ··· Infinity.
  Going Gamow One Better
    (with digressions into orthographies)
  W3C Unicode Charactersets

This page is basically unindexed; scroll away!

    Amy Lowell's "Patterns".

(moved here from main page 26 Apr 2003)
    TAPS ("Day is Done")
    Prehistoric Mastodon
    Mahmood Rezaei-Kamalabad, Artist in Steel.   new (11 May 2013)

While not much of a poet (although you might enjoy my prose "Eternity and the Horseshoe Crab"), nor an afficionado of much modern poetry, I heartily recommend the poetry of my late Scots-Irish-American friend, William B(rendan). McPhillips, "A POET ON A MAGICAL JOURNEY HOME".  In a more classical vein, try Amy Lowell's "Patterns" for real power; Lowell having been (or being reputed to have been - she died before I was born but there doesn't seem to be much doubt) a lesbian, and "Patterns" being exceedingly sexist, it was apparently not available in Net collections of her works, which are rather specific in their selections.  Finally, I found it:


(moved here from main page 26 Apr 03)

    Amy Lowell
         I walk down the garden-paths,
         And all the daffodils
         Are blowing, and the bright blue squills.
         I walk down the patterned garden-paths
         In my stiff, brocaded gown.
         With my powdered hair and jeweled fan,
         I too am a rare
         Pattern.  As I wander down
         The garden-paths.
         My dress is richly figured,
         And the train
         Makes a pink and silver stain
         On the gravel, and the thrift
         Of the borders.
         Just a plate of current fashion,
         Tripping by in high-heeled, ribboned shoes.
         Not a softness anywhere about me,
         Only whalebone and brocade.
         And I sink on a seat in the shade
         Of a lime tree.  For my passion
         Wars against the stiff brocade.
         The daffodils and squills
         Flutter in the breeze
         As they please.
         And I weep;
         For the lime-tree is in blossom
         And one small flower has dropped upon my bosom.

         And the splashing of waterdrops
         In the marble fountain
         Comes down the garden-paths.
         The dripping never stops.
         Underneath my stiffened gown
         Is the softness of a woman bathing in a marble basin,
         A basin in the midst of hedges grown
         So thick, she cannot see her lover hiding,
         But she guesses he is near,
         And the sliding of the water
         Seems the stroking of a dear
         Hand upon her.
         What is Summer in a fine brocaded gown!
         I should like to see it lying in a heap upon the ground.
         All the pink and silver crumpled up on the ground.

         I would be the pink and silver as I ran along the paths,
         And he would stumble after,
         Bewildered by my laughter.
         I should see the sun flashing from his sword-hilt and the buckles on his shoes.
         I would choose
         To lead him in a maze along the patterned paths,
         A bright and laughing maze for my heavy-booted lover.
         Till he caught me in the shade,
         And the buttons of his waistcoat bruised my body as he clasped me,
         Aching, melting, unafraid.
         With the shadows of the leaves and the sundrops,
         And the plopping of the waterdrops,
         All about us in the open afternoon--
         I am very like to swoon
         With the weight of this brocade,
         For the sun sifts through the shade.

         Underneath the fallen blossom
         In my bosom,
         Is a letter I have hid.
         It was brought to me this morning by a rider from the Duke.
         "Madam, we regret to inform you that Lord Hartwell
         Died in action Thursday se'nnight."
         As I read it in the white, morning sunlight,
         The letters squirmed like snakes.
         "Any answer, Madam," said my footman.
         "No," I told him.
         "See that the messenger takes some refreshment.
         No, no answer."
         And I walked into the garden,
         Up and down the patterned paths,
         In my stiff, correct brocade.
         The blue and yellow flowers stood up proudly in the sun,
         Each one.
         I stood upright too,
         Held rigid to the pattern
         By the stiffness of my gown.
         Up and down I walked,
         Up and down.

         In a month he would have been my husband.
         In a month, here, underneath this lime,
         We would have broke the pattern;
         He for me, and I for him,
         He as Colonel, I as Lady,
         On this shady seat.
         He had a whim
         That sunlight carried blessing.
         And I answered, "It shall be as you have said."
         Now he is dead.

         In Summer and in Winter I shall walk
         Up and down
         The patterned garden-paths
         In my stiff, brocaded gown.
         The squills and daffodils
         Will give place to pillared roses, and to asters, and to snow.
         I shall go
         Up and down
         In my gown.
         Gorgeously arrayed,
         Boned and stayed.
         And the softness of my body will be guarded from embrace
         By each button, hook, and lace.
         For the man who should loose me is dead,
         Fighting with the Duke in Flanders,
         In a pattern called a war.
         Christ!  What are patterns for?
The female-type collectors to whom I refer above seem oblivious to copyright protection;  I was about to reproduce "Patterns" here when I noticed the longest copyright notice I have ever run across in my life, a full page of such in "The Complete Poetical Works of Amy Lowell", undated Cambridge Edition, fourth printing.

How odd that there is no publishing date!  Even Louis Untermeyer's introduction is undated.  The latest copyright is 1925 but the volume (from my local public library - I can't find my anthology) was acquired June 1975.  Christ!  What are copyrights for?

The poem was first published in The Little Review for August, 1915.

The copy I finally located and reproduced above was unrestricted (it has since been reproduced all over the place).  Actually, in long retrospect, it IS a cry against old forms and repressions.

"Day is Done"

If you, too, have felt the chills while listening to "Taps" but have never seen all the words to the song until now, or didn't even know there was more than one verse, here they are:

Day is done
Gone the sun
From the lakes
From the hills
From the sky
All is well
Safely rest
God is nigh

Fading light
Dims the sight
And a star
Gems the sky
Gleaming bright
From afar
Drawing nigh
Falls the night

Thanks and praise
For our days
Neath the sun
Neath the stars
Neath the sky
As we go
This we know
God is nigh.

The story, as I was told (and have not verified) is that it all reportedly began in 1862 during the Civil War, when Union Army Captain Robert Ellicombe was with his men near Harrison's Landing in Virginia.  The Confederate Army was on the other side of a the narrow strip of land.  During the night, Captain Ellicombe heard the moans of a soldier who lay severely wounded on the field.  Not knowing if it was a Union or Confederate soldier, the Captain decided to risk his life and bring the stricken man back for medical attention.  Crawling on his stomach through the gunfire, the Captain reached the stricken soldier and began pulling him toward his encampment.

When the Captain finally reached his own lines, he discovered it was actually a Confederate soldier, but the soldier was dead.  The Captain lit a lantern and suddenly caught his breath and went numb with shock.  In the dim light, he saw the face of the soldier.  It was his own son.  The boy had been studying music in the South when the war broke out.  Without haviung told his father, the boy had enlisted in the Confederate Army.

The following morning, the heartbroken father asked permission of his superiors to give his son a full military burial, despite his enemy status.  His request was only partially granted.

The Captain had asked if he could have a group of Army band members play a funeral dirge for his son at the funeral.  The request was turned down since the soldier was a Confederate.  But, out of respect for the father, they did say they could give him only one musician.

The Captain chose a bugler.  He asked the bugler to play a series of musical notes he had found on a piece of paper in the pocket of the dead youth's uniform.  This wish was granted.  The haunting melody, we now know as "Taps" ... used at military funerals was born.

[I am indebted to M. Desantis for this story.]

NORMA PENCILS and PENS - one of my most prized posessions as a small boy was my Norma four-color mechanical pencil; it came with BLACK, RED, BLUE, and GREEN leads and a large pink eraser under the cap.  The lead holders were extended and retracted by sliding serrated buttons on color-keyed slides out and back; they engaged detents which held the lead holders in or out and there was a third detent which extended the lead holder far enough out that you could screw it in or out to adjust or replace the lead [shown at approximately full size (5-¾" / 145mm long) on a 14" screen]:

Norma Pencil Retracted
(20 Sep 04 photo by and © 2004 S. Berliner, III - all rights reserved)

The above picture shows all holders retracted for pocket storage.  This example is NOT my orginal pencil; that one was badly worn away, down to bare brass, on all operating and contact surfaces after 20 or more years of heavy use.  This one was a much-later business gift (ca. 1970? - it has my name incorrectly engraved on the other side, probably by a classic old Hermes machine, just like my old eyeglass frames and my slide rules).  Ca. 1960 or later, Norma dropped one color and added a ball-point pen.  rev.gif (21 Sep 04)

Here's the pencil with the BLUE lead out normally:

Norma Pencil Blue Out
(21 Sep 04 photo by and © 2004 S. Berliner, III - all rights reserved)

and here it is with the RED lead out fully (for adjustment):

Norma Pencil Red Fully Out
(21 Sep 04 photo by and © 2004 S. Berliner, III - all rights reserved)

There's a guy/gal, apparently H. Kirtley of West Virginia, who hasn't the courtesy to identify him/herself or provide an e-address, who offers a " Dolphin Stress Test", which my cousin, a shrink, failed.  I tried it and don't get it.  What do dolphins have to do with anything?

Besides, why should I give a good G-d damn about a stupid picture of two cows or steers jumping out of the water?

I checked it twice; you can double check me!

PREHISTORIC MASTODON - here are fragments of a ditty from the Junior* Natural History Magazine ca. 1940-44 (or so); the magazine was published by the American Museum of Natural History in New York City and it's not archived (01 Mar 2008) - or so I thought; read on:   rev (16 Apr 2013)

Prehistoric mastodon
Didn't have his glasses on - - -
- - -
Fell, was buried, fossilized. - - -
Archaeologist, with glee, shouts,
"HA, them's bones I see!"
- - -

and that's all I can remember.

Can anyone out there please remember the whole thing or tell me where to find it (preferably before I die)?

* - YEE, HAH!  On 15 Dec 2012, in a stubborn fit, I refused to be beaten and found it via Google (thank you)!  It appears to have NOT been in Junior Natural History Magazine after all, but rather in the regular Natural History Magazine, of April 1943, quite likely following page 174 (i.e. - pp. 175-176).  The quotation, which does NOT give the illustrations, follows {corrected 21 Apr 2014}; formatting was in diagonally-descending order as I had recalled BUT only on the first of two pages and the feature was across a two-page spread, with the drawings in the lower left and upper right corners of the first page and fitted around the humped text on the second page:   rev (21 Apr 2014)

"For a quick review of the science of rescuing prehistoric animals from oblivion, the following pictorial condensation in a lighter vein is offered.  It is the work of three men - two paleontologists and one artist.  Dr. E. H.Colbert first thought of the presentation,  Dr. G. G. Simpson, produced the rhymes, and the artist, of course, is responsible for the drawings.  Although contrived in a jovial spirit, the story it tells is essentially true.

174 {page (preceding?)}

1. A prehistoric
Didn't have
  his glasses on.

2. By a tumble
  was surprised
Died, was buried,

3. Paleontologist
  with glee
Shouts, "Ah!
  Them's bones I see."

4. From the ground
  each bone is pried,
Sent upon its
  final ride.

5. With months of toil
  each fossil bone
Is chiseled from
  encasing stone.

6. To classify and
  name the beast
Require a learned look,
  at least

7. The bones assembled
  rise once more
Into their shape
  of long before.

8. And artists give them
  eyes and such.
Including skin
  you'd hate to touch.

9. In the
  exhibition hall
The bones are placed
  admired by all.

10. While quarts of midnight
  oil are burned
Recording all
  that has been learned.

11. This is how a
  beast long dead
Came to life in
  books you've read.


    [Reconstructed and re-assembled in numerical order,
        with verse 11 added - SB,III - 16 Dec 2012/21 Apr 2014]

Now, who has the illustrations?  I finally asked the Museum again in Apr 2014 and they came through nobly, as requoted above and as follows (from the Internet Archive) - reassembled to pixel accuracy from six pieces:   rev (21 Apr 2014)

(click on thumbnail for larger image)
[Apr 1943 image courtesy of AMNH via IA]

There!  At long last, 71 years later, I 've seen it in full once again and now so can you!  Oh, of course - the APRIL issue!

Mahmood Rezaei-Kamalabad - Artist in Steel

On my Tractors page, I feature some of the iron work-cum-steel sculpture of former neighbor and renowned Long Island North Shore tractor expert-cum-steel sculptor Tommy Malloy.  Somewhat coincidentally, now that I live on the Boston North Shore, I ran across new neighbor and renowned auto mechanic-cum-steel sculptor Mahmood Rezaei-Kamalabad.  To quote his own words, Mahmood "has been an artist and philosopher in Cambridge for over thirty years.  Much of his work has focused on the uniting of the world's three main religions towards a place of spiritual cooperation in the leadership of the world."  His steel sculpture amply displays both his artistic genius and his metalworking talent,   new (11 May 2013)

From Teheran, Persia (Iran), "Mahmood studied Art in high school and after he graduated he moved to the United States to attend university.  He received a Bachelors and Masters degree in fine arts and then attempted to get a PhD in Islamic Science and Western Science under the interference wave and depth, related to holography and Islamic geometric patterns.  Due to economic problems, Mahmood was unable to finish his PhD.  At the present time, Mahmood works as a mechanic to make a living."

Mahmood honors his Sumerian heritage, one of the world's very first great civilizations.  His spotless shop and fascinating studio are at:

    Aladdin Auto Repair
    162 Alewife Parkway
    Cambridge, MA  02138-1102

  [if you know the area, just go to the end of New Street, behind the Fresh Pond Theatre, and keep right .]

and his website is at http://www.yazero.com/mahmood/; if you are desperately rushed, you can skip the lengthy intro (which would be a pity) and go directly to the index of Art Work (click on each image).

Just his site URL alone starts right off with Mahmood's philosophy of world peace; "YAZERO" is a combination of "YA", an Arabic word used when calling someone (such as Allah) and "ZERO", from the Arabic "şifr" (cypher). Greenwich Mean Time - - - to Jerusalem.

Here's Mahmood as auto mechanic and as artist and mystic:

mahmood2 mahmoodR
(photos courtesy of M. Rezaei-Kamalabad - all rights reserved)

I went back to Mahmood's studio the day after first visiting and took snapshots of his outdoor work and some of his other work displayed indoors.   rev and photos added (05 May 2014)

The outdoor collection (in no particular order):

MR-K-10 MR-K-1o MR-K-io MR-K-11
(13 May 2013 photos by and © 2013 S. Berliner, III - all rights reserved)

MR-K-1i MR-K-ii MR-Kiii MR-K-i2
(13 May 2013 photos by and © 2013 S. Berliner, III - all rights reserved)

MR-K-i2 MR-K-13 MR-K-i3 MR-K-i4
(13 May 2013 photos by and © 2013 S. Berliner, III - all rights reserved)

The entrance:


Previews of what lies within:

MR-K-16 MR-K-2o MR-K-21
(13 May 2013 photos by and © 2013 S. Berliner, III - all rights reserved)

The indoor work:

MR-K-17 MR-K-18 MR-K-20
(13 May 2013 photos by and © 2013 S. Berliner, III - all rights reserved)

"Hoo" is another name for Allah, in Islam.  When one is calling another, "Ya" is used.  Mahmood was interested in how the Internet site Yahoo can be translated into Ya Hoo, or the calling of God.  This piece is a representation of Ya Hoo:

(photo courtesy of M. Rezaei-Kamalabad - all rights reserved)

More to follow.

You may wish to visit my previous page and continuation page 2 on Culture (kultcha?),
    with Wiener Werkstätte and Early Influnces.   rev (19/22 Apr 2014)

May I also suggest that if you are on or near Long Island, you enjoy the Big Grey Celtic music concerts?  The only thing Celtic about me is my touch o' the Blarney (BS = Blarney Stone) and my Scythian roots (my mother was a Magyar), but I dearly love the Irish and Scottish music.

Serious fans of art must, of course, visit the Museum of Depressionist Art and the The Gallery of the Unidentifiable!

If you enjoy creative lunacy, visit the Pseudodictionary!

Stay tuned!


  What happens to all this when I DIE or (heaven forfend!) lose interest?  See LEGACY.


See Copyright Notice on primary home page.

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