Yale Class of 1969 |

What's The Listserv?

The “Listserv” is/was a tool promoted by AYA back in the late 90’s. You could add your name and email to a “list” for our class. Then any email sent to “Y1969-l@ayalists.yale.edu” by someone on the list would be forwarded to everyone on the list. It was meant to be a sort of discussion forum.

Because 1) it was an “opt-in” list, 2) AYA did a poor job promoting it, 3) it had a poor user interface, 4) it took some technical skill to sign up, and 5) it was a fairly clunky tool … because of all that, only about 120 people out of our 1,056 Classmates signed up for it.

AYA has now discontinued it — no further signups are allowed. See http://aya.yale.edu/content/class-lists-0. The promised replacement is over 12 months overdue. But the original Listserv still works. Sort of.

In the aughts, the “early adopters” in our Class tried to use the tool to share information re: jobs, apartments, vacation destinations, announcements, recommendations and so on — groping for what would make a good use of the Listserv. It never really caught on.

During one election season, 2006 or 2008 I think, discussions on the listserv devolved into a partisan wrangle, and a lot of people unsubscribed to avoid the spammy flood of emails.

Nowadays, use of the Listserv is very low — Dan Seiver trolls for information on the recently departed, and the occasional veteran-from-the-aughts, as was the case here, will open up a Yale-related discussion.

Lucky Lobster Rag

Celebration of Whole Foods’ (imagined) treatment of live lobsters they decided it was immoral to sell

Bill Newton, Soprano Sax
Ed Butler, Percussion ‘FJ Ventre, Bass
Jon Shain, Banjo
Jon Shain, FJ Ventre – Lobster Chorus

LYRICS

Way down back of the Good Foods Store
They built us out an ocean floor:
That’s where we lucky lobsters love to loll.
They feed us scraps of hard salami,
chevre, olives, edamame.
Each day we’re on another kind of roll.

Pilgrims thought we were fertilizer;
Later gourmets learned to prize our
Springy sweet white flesh dry-brushed
With tangerine and salmon.
To sell us from captivity is wrong they say
But secretly, we think our great good fortune
Might have more to do with Mammon.

And could they grill us?
No no no…
And they couldn’t just kill us?
Nah
What would they tell
The tofu swells
And the friends of free range buffalo?

Pa got sold before our day:
At a dandy dinner in old Back Bay
In nutmeg, cream and brandy gladly met his destiny.
Now his shell’s out west some forty mile,
The rest of him has cleared Deer Island.
He’s back in the harbor singin’
Nearer my cod to thee.
And would they sell Us?
No no no!
Or braise and jell us?
They’ll have to keep us well, or we’ll cast our spell
And wilt all their radiccio.

Meanwhile my life’s like no other:
I play mah jongg with my twin brother;
We dance the quadrille, sing our songs
Till quarter after three.
Till morning then we fall asleep
On cobble in a happy heap:
Some jellyfish our night light
If we ever have to pee.

Old friends arrive from stores everywhere,
In sacks of rockweed
Next day air!
And could they poach us?
Too slow OO- eee.
They’re going to coach us, with
Yoga classes, meditation,
Ten step meetings,
Each crustacean’ll
Be all the lobster he or she can be….

Now lobster rhymes with dinner bell
For years at sea we’ve known this well.
We thought our last swim would be in
Some big blue speckled pot.
So every day, the chosen many,
We circle round, phase our antennae
With a lobster podcast live at noon
Give thanks for what we got.

Lucky lobsters live forever
Drinkin’ sparkling clementine.

Wyethstown

From the standpoint of a woman coming of age in the Boston Valley area of Western New York, ca. 1850

Kaitlin Grady , Cello; FJ Ventre, Bass

LYRICS

My family came and settled down, year of thirty-four,
Homesteaded near Wyethstown, your father owned the store.
We played together, laughed and cried, since we were very young,
Over hill and meadowside, of golden-green we’d run.
And there was noone to say I’d regret the day
That the railroad come.

They built the railroad by us when you were twenty-two.
You quit your job at Wyeth’s farm to help them put it through.
In summer sun I’d watch you sink the steel into the ground,
Then we’d walk together in the woods on the ridge above the town.
The summer that the railroad come, and I loved you.

Now Wyethstown is weathered-in, all blanketed with snow.
Alone I read your letter in the embers dyin’ glow.
I’ll wait a winter while you court your girls of quality
By sidewalk-light in New Orleans, and never think of me.
And I never thought, when the railroad come, you’d ever go.

Things aren’t much changed in Wyethstown since you left that day.
With six long summers come and gone there‘s little more to say.
But Sunday after church we cross the golden fields of hay
And climb the ridge above the town, to wait along the right of way,
For the white smoke comin’ risin’ in the sky,
Blue, as your son’s eyes followin’ the train, as it goes by.

Pictures On The Wall

A song of letting go, or not

John Shain, Guitar; Doug Hammer, Piano

LYRICS

A board of pinned up souvenirs, upstairs in a forgotten room.
I’d passed them by these many years; I thought I should go through them.
Here, a steeple draws my eye
To sky scrubbed clean with cotton clouds:
The pilgrim church where you and I
Would read our poems, say our vows.
Next, a formal on great stairs with family, friends and flowers:
If we had doubts we didn’t know it;
If we knew, we wouldn’t show it.

Saint Francesca of San Marco, pigeons in your hair;
Running down the beach with gulls,
You’re almost in the air.
Next, astride a cannon in the fort in Nova Scotia-
Elysees, Galatoires, Ocean City bumper cars.

(Refrain)
Pacific Tides would pull you,
I tried but couldn’t hold you.
No picture when you said “you’ve done your best, I just can’t stay”.
No picture when we loaded full your wagon for the West;
I rode with you to Omaha and kissed you on your way.

Here’s the postcard that you sent from Reykjavik last year;
Traveling with new family, found contentment now I hear.
In your Mother’s town, now
No more steeple in the square:
Clapboards, yew trees,
Bulldozed down; just concrete condos there.

(refrain)

One more photo on the sofa
This one I might keep.
Velvet Elvis, dogs, cat, you
All curled up in a happy heap.
That was then, and then was golden
Sheaves of love and laughter.
This is Now and Then is done,
But Now reopens after all:
With trembling fingers, one by one
I’m tearing down these pictures on the wall…

(refrain)

Last Fire

Written against the prompt “Fire” for a Dan and Faith Song Challenge Sept 2017

LYRICS

I bring fire to all the planets in the galaxy
With a crystal that I hold to catch their sun
All gather round for warmth; I tell them it’s a gift
To use with love and share with everyone

So it always starts out well; they learn to tend the fires
Share them, cook, stay warm, keep beasts at bay
Then someone wants the biggest fire and someone wants the only one
Once fighting starts it all will burn away.
And the prairies burn,
And the forests burn,
And soon it’s only cinders and ash.

Had high hopes for this one planet I enlightened long ago:
They learned to share the fires, make tools and glass.
Built Cathedrals with stained windows let the colored sunlight through
Orchestras and choirs sing Allelu
Alleluia
…

Then they started burning anyone who wouldn’t sing their tune,
Burned books of foreign thoughts and foreign songs
Then they learned to can the fire
And rain it down on everyone
And everything will burn before too long
And their cities burn
And their forests burn
And soon again it’s cinders and ash

Now I’m some empty planet of some sun i’ve never seen
Should find one near that’s not had fire before
But so far all I have done has only come to stone and ash
And I don’t want no part of it no more

So I’ve collected fuel; found some tinder in my poke
For one last time I’ve caught the sun in crystal
I lie here in the warmth; my diamond shattered at my feet
I’ll still be here after the fire dwindles

Farewell to all the silent stars
The planets stone and ash
The planets stone and ashen soon to be

Still warm but getting colder
Use the fire well!
Colder
Share the fire with love!
Cold
Love!
Cold

Turning The World

Starts in the Australian outback, comes around the world and back home; Sympathetic Vibration

Kaitlin Grady Cello; FJ Ventre Bass

LYRICS

Ripples widen in the pool that cradled every ancient soul,
Catch sunsparks, eucalyptus leaves, and sky;
The bark canoe slides forward as he leans back on his pole;
Beneath his breath his Father’s song will rise.

Two thousand years away,
A gondolier leans on his oar;
From turrets, steps, canals and stones
His Father’s Father’s song resounds.
All who pole and all who row
And sing their soul’s song as they go:
You can feel them turn the world around.

From towers all around the town
Long shadows as the sun goes down:
The vesper bells all hear each other ring.
The organ’s diapason honeying the choir’s eleison
To their Father, as the congregation sings.
The spirit moves to minarets,
Muezzins make the call to prayer:
The faithful bow in concert on the ground.
All who sing and all who ring and all who join in listening,
And all who play and all who pray
Will know they move as one, one day.
Hear them as they turn the world around.

You’re both in bed now, feigning sleep;
You’re newlywed, and new to fight;
You’d floated through all yesterday in bliss
Sharp words both ways cut both ways deep
You hope you’ll make it through the night;
Your Father never sang a song for this.
But listen for her breathing: match your drawings-in to hers.
If she sleeps, then so may you;
If not, her hand may yet find yours
Late enemies in unison
Anemones unfurl
Wave together…
Nearer ever…
Hear each other,
You can turn the world.

Still Point

An ode to meditation – where it comes from, how it starts, how useful it is

Doug Hammer Piano, FJ Ventre Bass

LYRICS

Time now, time beckoning, time out of memory,
Glimpses of dreams not yet dared,
Reborn romance, second chances past reckoning,
The future, now Now, is repaired.
Here at the high mark where all waters rise,
Before they start falling away,
Widen the moment in front of your eyes:
You can dance through all time in a day.

Lamb in the oven; cinnamon, ginger,
Songs from your Grandmother’s heart-
Easter time, family gathers for dinner-
Take your place till they’re ready to start.
Early this morning, out under the apple tree,
Fall’s drops a-dapple with sun
Cidery air up to blossoms, cerulean…
Grandfather’s blessing’s begun.

At a still point,
And you yearn to stay,
But the world turns,
And it slips away.

Gone now the apple tree,
Long gone the family
Raised in the home that they built in its place.
You ride to the strains of a loopy calliope
Reaching for brass rings they no longer make.
But you’re finding apple trees everywhere now:
The forest in new-fallen snow,
Gull above beach cliff, towers in Tuscany.
Cradle them, then let them go.

In the windlessness on the canyon floor
Breathe the sky down in.
And again before
Each dip of the paddle,
Each flick of the pen,
As God writes your name in his hand.

Don't Remember Train

Started in a dream from which Rick hasn’t awakened

FJ Ventre, Bass; Ed Butler Percussion

LYRICS

I don’t remember getting on this train
Already out of town along the bay.
The seats are pretty comfy though
I’ve got some food from home:
Some bread and cheese, an apple;
I’ll sit and watch the shoreline slide away.
But I don’t remember getting on this train.

I never bought a ticket for this train.
Conductor smiles and nods as he goes by.
I ask when the next station is
“Don’t worry you won’t miss it:
You’ll slow way down before you stop
That’s how you’re gonna know.”
And I don’t remember getting on this train.

If I weren’t on this train I’d be out there on the tideflats,
Rake and wire basket digging clams.
Back to the cottage kitchen where the chowder pot is simmering,
Mom and Barb are cackling ‘bout the butcher’s jokes today.
But the laughs I hear are just two gals behind me to my right,
And I don’t remember getting on this train.

Just got back from sittin’ with my Dad.
He’s ridin’ just a few cars up ahead.
He still enjoys the ride, the gentle rocking side to side,
“Look how the sunlight hits that hill
Remember when we climbed it ?”
“Not that one Dad, but yes it surely looked like it that day …”

And look who’s here beside me now
It’s so long since I walked you home!
You let me take your books, I couldn’t think of what to say.
But here now we can talk about our trials and our travels,
And sit and watch the golden fields roll by.
Still, I don’t remember getting on this train.

Classmates in Jonathan Edwards College

Legend

Beekman Cox Cannon

Master of J.E., 1965-1969

2016: The Jonathan Edwards Trust at Fifty

Memories and Observations

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