If All the Flowers

If all the flowers do not bloom today,

If one, a particular one, ceases to be,

Know that this flower had an enchanting spring,

Of love, of laughter, and of music.

Know that it will miss all the little blossoms it leaves behind.

Know that it will miss the big blossoms, too. 

If all the flowers bloom today

If one, a particular one, blooms too

Know that this flower will be more fragrant than ever before. 

Know that the gods and angels delivered their grace,

As they are elegantly known to do.

Know that they rendered a masterpiece so skillfully, so kindly,

On a snowy Manhattan day by the Hudson, by the George Washington Bridge.

A day, with my Annie besides me, 

With beauty like I have never seen before.

Azzam S. Elayan

Manhattan, NY

Dec. 10, 2013

Do Women Over-React?

Having four sisters, four sisters-in-law, tens of female cousins, nices, spouses of cousins, a number of female friends, female acquaintances, many female students, aunts (including one specially close aunt), a mom, and a wife, it's been my observation that women have to be pushed to the absolute limit, and beyond, before they react aggressively. And although the response may be characterized as aggressive, it is typically communicated in a more measured fashion than when it's communicated by their male counterparts. 

Regrettably, it's usually we, men, who tend to over-react and who frequently unleash "shock and awe," against women (especially in societies where marginalization of women is systemic). Most often, men do so for no good reason, or for no reason at all, except to assert a vague valuation of their manhood (or lack thereof).  

Dr. Azzam aelayan

November 19, 2013

Maria Is a Roma

The story from Greece of the little Roma girl, Maria, who was thought to have been kidnaped by a Roma couple, has just been turned on its head.  A DNA test conducted at the request of Greek authorities earlier this week has shown that the Roma couple was in fact Maria's biological parents, in a case that appear to provide yet another compelling anecdote of overt violation of the rights of the Roma people across Europe.  With her blond her and green eyes, the child challenged Europe's conventional understanding of the physical image and moral character of the Roma as a people.

European countries can't call themselves genuine democracies so long as this minority and other minorities are forced to live a substandard existence in ramshackle squalor, with no economic infrastructure, cultural freedom, political representation, or a decent permanent place to call home.  Europe's claims of caring about equal rights for all and advocacy for the weak worldwide can only be undermined, worldwide, when the weakest minority in Europe, the Roma, is formally treated with utter neglect and scorn.

Europe ought to do everything it can, and it can do a lot, to integrate the Roma in its societal fabric.  It should stop acting as if Roma are not European or worse yet, as if the Roma's misery is the result of choices the Roma themselves have made.  Denying reality or blaming the victims will only worsen the plight of these people, who represent an indisputable segment of the European community.  Europe needs to wake up and smell the rotten stink of its racist policies towards the Roma; it should do everything it can to treat this ailing organ and bring it back to full health.  

There is nothing genetically, intellectually, or psychologically inferior in the construct of a Roma infant, compared to a Caucasian infant, or any other infant.  So, why do the governments of Europe erect these artificial class divides, discriminate against the Roma, and relegate them, through sadistic policies, to the lowest troughs of their respective communities? It is time for Europe to treat the Roma, and all segments of the European community, as Europeans and give each an equal and credible opportunity to succeed.  The longevity of Europe as a viable economic and cultural entity in an increasingly fracturous global milieu may just relay on Europe's ability to even the playing field for its very own people.

Dr. Azzam S. Elayan

October 26, 2013

(Photo credit: The Guardian)

So Long, Hub!

A very special man died on Friday, October 11th, 2013. 

A world renowned botanist; a pioneer researcher of the ecological impact of acid rain; a beloved educator; a dynamic role model for students, colleagues, and friends alike; an artist who loved to paint; an essayist; a prolific science author; a cofounder of the Vermont Nature Conservancy; an inspirational story teller with a piercing sense of humor and a touching capacity for hilarious self-depricating irony; a loving family man to his late wife (Marie), to his children (Tom, Jim, and Andy), to his grand children (Scott, Alice and Connie), to his daughters in-law (Tom's wife Mary, and Jim's wife Ann), to his significant other (Mary Jane Dickerson), and to his extended family and their loves ones; a man of unequivocal integrity and abiding love for salt, bread, steak, home-raised trout (from his own pond), honey (from his own bee hive), many kinds of potatoes (from his own land), and straight-gin martini.

This was Dr. Hubert Vogelmann; a singular man who was greatly admired for his achievements, and revered for his intellect, by all who knew him and read his writings.  Indeed, he won virtually every award and accolade his peers & the State of Vermont could bestow upon him, including a plaque at the top of Camel's Hump Mountain acknowledging his groundbreaking work on the effects of acid rain on forest ecology.  

Dr. Vogelmann deserved all the awards and accolades he received but he never, not even once, made a big deal about any of them.  I guess you can call him the salt of the Earth, the Earth which he so loved and to which he is returning.  Those who knew him well, we simply called him Hub!

Hub, you will be so very dearly missed.

Dr. Azzam Elayan

Saturday, October 12, 2013

Philadelphia, PA

The Quiet Matador

Barcelona sun falling on her blush-rose cheeks,

through the grapevine canopy,

while they dine with family and friends. 

He professes his love to her from across the veranda, 

without words and without moving his full red lips.

She smiles and looks away,

onto the vineyard stretching farther than the eye can see!!

Then she looks back in his direction,

their eyes meet and linger in a sweet embrace.

He conveys his desirous longing,

with wordless murmurs and rending sighs,

she frees an acquissant smile in return,

as if needlessly seducing a willing bull!

His pointed glances find her heart,

effortlessly, 

her Catalonia wind-soaked laughter confirms her love,

and will to die with every arrow slung, over and again!

Dr. Azzam Elayan

September 27, 2013

The Reasonable Language of Food: Bourdainian

The reason "Parts Unknown: Jerusalem" resonated so deeply with so many Palestinians and so many Israelis is that the program's host, Anthony Bourdain, spoke Palestinian to Palestinians, without uttering one sentence in Arabic, and spoke Israeli to Israelis, without uttering one sentence in Hebrew.

He talked about a basic idea which everyone could understand and agree on: eat together, live together, with no hatred, no check points, no suicide bombings, no barbed wire, no violence, no walls, no ugly walls, no occupation, and no war.  He spoke in a language which both peoples could understand but it's not a language that either side has ever claimed as their own.

In honor of Mr. Bourdain, I will call this language Bourdainian, because it is distinctly his own.  It is the language of compromise around what we love and, obviously, need: food.  Not just any food but good, wholesome, and delicious food.  Indeed, it is food which is made with much thought, much care, and much attention to details.  It may be food with national identity, regional character, and ethnic heritage, but it can be enjoyed and cherished by all.

Unfortunately, Anthony's critics, the people who were so offended by his innate moxie and daring to mount the double-humped beast that's the Palestine-Israel dichotomy from a non-customary, humanist perspective, can or choose only to speak either Palestinian or Israeli.  To those I say re-educate yourselves-learn Bourdainian.

Dr. Azzam Elayan

September 24, 2013

The Google Gard

Google has invested billions of dollars in creating a very diversified portfolio, with huge holdings in energy, real estate, fiber optic networks, materials R&D, banking, insurance, telecom, mobile technology, and no surprise, wifi access technology. And now.....and now this...Calico! Are you ready for your life extension? It's almost here!

http://touch.latimes.com/#section/-1/article/p2p-77461385/

One day, each of us will only need to carry one plastic card for all our financial transactions and the card, which will be known as the "Gard," is going to have only one word on each side: Google! The scannable Gard will also contain one's entire credit history, driving record, online activity, voting record, shopping pattern, sexual orientation, professional profile, legal record, "Like and Comment" history, medical history, insurance record, genetic make-up cross-checked against likely disease predisposition as a function of medical history and life style! The good news is that the Gard will be offered in both of our favorite colors: pink and blue!

Dr. Azzam Elayan

Wednesday, September 18, 2013

Mandela Day (July 18)

No one has cast a greater shadow across the planet on behalf of, or made a more eloquent case for, freedom and equality than Thomas Paine, Mahatma Gandhi, Martin Luther King, Jr., and Nelson Mandela!  Today is Mandela Day in South Africa! Happy 95th Birthday, Madiba!

http://www.newsday.com/news/region-state/mandela-day-celebrations-around-the-world-1.5717949

Manhattan

The fragrant flowers beneath the windowsills,

the warm feel of the walls of Brownstone homes, 

the stream of fine looking, 

middle-aged professionals,

in fine threads 

and expressions of overt self awareness, 

in brand name loafers 

and 4-inch high heals,

the exaggerated echo of ambient chatter, 

the forbidding gaze of broken men and women, 

the chaotic flux of yellow cabs, 

the on-and-off switching of street lights and uniformed sirens,

the involuntary mingling of fast-moving throngs along the streets and avenues, 

the clamor of flashy ads, 

splashing off giant screens at every intersection, 

past piles of neatly tied trash bags,

at the feet of towering edifices, 

with swaying shaddows of a new gilded age, 

the lush, manicured park 

at the center of the aqua-walled city, 

the enchanting little zoo 

at the edge of the park, 

across from opulent townhouses, each worth a small nation's treasure,

the titanium dollar street, emblazoned with equity speculators, 

futures traders, and pinstriped suits, 

hedging against the sardines 

in euphoric greed,

the vast museums with exhibits 

featuring fossils of prehistoric creatures, 

exhibits of paintings by Monet,

Rembrandt, von Gogh, Matisse, and Degas, 

and even exibits of stunning gowns, 

by Versace, Wang, Lagerfeld, and Saint Laurent,

the restaurants offering food for every tongue, 

with pungent aromas 

from every corner of the planet, 

the hot dog and kebab stands, 

the colorful ice-cream trucks, 

the oversized concrete playgrounds

in unexpected places, 

the vanishing newsstands, 

The murmurs of lovers 

at cafés and in horse-drawn carriages, 

that is you, Manhattan, 

that is you, beloved Manhattan. 

Dr. Azzam Elayan

July 9, 2013

Her Eyelashes, His Eyelashes

Long black eyelashes 

curve way up and way down.

They flutter above and below

gazing fair blue eyes,

like tails of grey whales,

splashing above and below

the surface of the sea.

Dr. Azzam S. Elayan

June 26, 2013 

Dedicated to my two children.

Now You Come To Me

Wipe these teary eyes

These eyes that haunted me

All these lonely years, my dear.

These tears may leave tracks

So deeps you can't erase

Off your lovely smile

Off your gentle face. 

(This is an excerpt. Entire poem will posted soon.)

Azzam Elayan

2001

For Willy

Standing center stage, searching for a muse.
Scorching light splashes across my silhouette.
Willy Cochran is gone! Really?!
Eyebrows sweat, I say nothing & leave.

Azzam Elayan
April 27, 2013

No Act

Standing center stage, searching for a muse.
Scorching light splashes across my silhouette.
Eyebrows sweat, I say nothing & leave. Applause!

Azzam Elayan
April 27, 2013

Boston Boy

Yellow rage rings close to the ground so low,
the sidewalks get mangled in sorrow and steal.
Many were hit, some killed, the angels retreat.
Your little hand falls out of mine,
I stand still, for a moment, shell shocked;
the world moves across the lines of
frenzied madness, and in between.
I see the gods murmur but otherwise,
they stand still, too, 

dazed and shell shocked, like me.
Menacing horror is in synthesis,
shredding concern for every care,
in one sadistic reveal,
as I hold you to my chest and scream.
The marathon city by the bay,
with the storied streets, 

Boylston and Newbury,
the Charles River, 

flanked by Brownstone homes, 

Fenway Park,
they are mourning you, already, 

in every shade of grief.
I remember your birth, 

as a forging spring,
and I reject this moment,
it can not be real.
I whisper lullabies in your ear, my boy, 

we lie there, on the bloodied concrete,
no words tickling your lips,
no butterflies dancing on your cheeks!
I bind your wounds and kiss them,
I hold you even closer, 

your limp body clings to me.

A frantic medic instructs me, loudly: let go,

as another extracts you, swiftly, 

away from my tight embrace,

before I could say farewell;

no possible farewell could ever be!

They take your tiny frame to the world beyond, alone,

and away from my stammering heart,

far from the jagged air lining the sordid carnage,

I collapse to the ground, 

unconscious.

I dream of a little bear cup, 

hurrying from one tree trunk to the next,

looking for honey combs,

hoping to impress his daddy bear.

He finds one, he is thrilled,

beyond thrill, 

he jumps high, 

as high as he could.

He sits on a branch and reaches in, 

he grabs a handful of honey,

samples a mouthful.

Aaah, it's so delicious,

he quickly declares!

The branch beneath him breaks,

as fate intervenes,

and fate often intervenes.

He falls to the ground,

he dies,

but only for a blink of an eye!

He climbs on daddy's back,

he sings:

I love daddy and daddy loves me!

Azzam Elayan
April 17, 2013

Dedicated to the little boy, his sister, mother, and father, and all the innocent victims of the 2013 Boston Marathon tragedy. And, to innocents victims everywhere.

I Turn To You

When all the sweet-scented flowers wilt,

The gregarious laughter of my beloved ends, 

And the enchanting little blue bird

Stops coming by, 

I turn to you, 

As I always should have. 

When the stunning moonlight 

Illuminating the arc of my life dims,

The clementine water well 

At the edge of the meadow runs dry,

And dear friends walk away, 

In clusters, or one at a time,

I turn to you, even long after 

You have been gone!

Azzam Elayan

April 13, 2013

Dedicated to my dear father, Said Elayan.

(Photo Credit: Terry Sohl)

If

If you are living in a world of boundless beauty, 
where hate has no address on the map,
where people speak in elegant verse, always, 
and the road, every road, is paved with only good intentions,
stretching from healthy, iron-fortified, perfect infancy to an ever youthful and vibrant adulthood, encased in succulent opulence, and where birds of every kind can fly and land anywhere at well, in full confidence, where flowers, wild and non-wild, never die, where jaguars and peccaries, and every carnivore and herbivores, see eye-to-eye, where Abel and Cain can lie side by side, with only pure thoughts in the heart of each, then you are living in a dream or you are seriously tripping!

Dr. Azzam Elayan

Adorable Amor

As the wind fiercely blows,

and the cedar window shutters chatter 

the rattling cottage door, 

I close my eyes and relish

the feel of your fingers 

on my lips, my amor! 

I hold you close and caress your cheeks,

and I remember our first embrace,

some years ago, when the sand

was smooth, like silk, 

the moonlight was soft, as your gaze, 

and the ocean waves 

would tease the sea gulls 

along the Nantucket shore!

The white sleeveless shirt you wore,

with the delicate neckline,

the short fitted blue floral skirt, 

the beige leather sandals 

complementing your manicured 

light pink toe nails, all I vividly recall.

I remember the many embraces 

I dreamt of sharing with you 

before that day, much long before. 

In loving you, I found a place to go 

for comfort, for meaning, and 

for learning the art of being 

a fearless lover, a reckless dancer, 

the way of being happy, for sure. 

The window shutters calmed down

and the howling wind melted 

into the ocean breeze. 

We sailed across the point 

of no return, and laid upon 

the cotton clouds, where we have

previously been so many, many times,

where we keep that love,

our love, the love we so adore.

Thank you for all the moments which have since passed, 

for the burning moments of today.

and for the moments to come.

Those are treasures, those will endure. 

Azzam Elayan

Monday, February 25, 2013

Dedicated to my beloved wife.

The Lone Traveler

The tireless traveler is finally tiring,
Requesting a permit to settle,
At the edge of a lake,
Bank of a river,
Deep in the woods,
Foot or back of the hill.
How could he settle 
Afar from mother, father,
Afar from childhood beloveds?
How could he settle
Afar from the narrow streets,
In the ancient cities,
From the heated seas,
Flanking the Fertile Crescent?
The Fertile Crescent is no longer fertile,
The Nile and the Euphrates,
The broken circle is bleeding.
He wishes to return to the Fertile Crescent,
Under the unsullied skies,
Entranced by harmonies of whales,
Seducing, being seduced,
Melodies ascending from the depth of the enchanted seas,
Mingling with stories of a wandering sailor,
Songs of migrant canaries, carrying messages,
From the Red to the Mediterranean Sea.

......

(The above is an excerpt from a poem which I wrote years ago.)

Azzam Elayan

I See You

I see you weaving between
the lanes of torment,
wandering across the broken lines
of regret, searching for
a valiant surrender, a road
on which to repent. 
Tell me your sins, every sin,
spare me none,  
and start at the end! 
Embrace your anger,
let the madness speak, quietly,
apologize for nothing, except nothing.
Move, even if inconsequentially,
move and speak.
The locomotive of time, grinding
beneath you, is weighted;
your life blue prints lie abandoned
on your feathered road,
bonded by sorrow and resident neglect.
Edit, re-write, or burn them.
Start anew, if needed,
speak, move, or be crushed!
You are a lover, with no love,
a dreamer, with wide-lens dreams.
Describe your dreams to me,
where were they to take you,
and how did they get caught
in mangled heft?
I see you weaving between
the lanes of what could've been,
dreaming of a place like no place,
known or to be known.
Yes, I see you now, I see you!
Do you see me?

Dr. Azzam Elayan
February 1, 2013

Morning Dance

She lives in Amber, by the
desert sea. She loves to dance
in the cool morning breeze. Her
balcony is made of gold,
her eyes a fantastic dream. 
    
Here, she rises in the infinite
distance, just above the
shore. I then recall your warmth
in her grin, and I, too,
relent and love my day.

Dr. Azzam Elayan
January 30, 2013

If Polar Bears Could Talk!

The polar bear is by far the largest 4-legged carnivore left on Earth. Global warming, egged on by the "developed" world insatiable appetite for fossil fuels, is certain to deliver this magestic creature into oblivion. If polar bears could talk, they would probably say nothing to the developed world; they may just opt for a middle claw gesture.

Azzam Elayan
January 30, 2013

Please check out the link below and sign the petition. (You may need to copy the link and open in a new page.)

https://secure.defenders.org/site/Advocacy?cmd=display&page=UserAction&id=2354

Lance Armstrong-He Is Just One Of The Guys!

Lance Armstrong will be making a "limited confession" to Oprah tomorrow (Monday January 14, 2013) that he did indeed engage in doping during his Tour De France domination period, according to an article published yesterday in the New York Times. After denying this charge for nearly 15 years, the truth, finally, appears to be on the verge of coming out.

Lance Armstrong confessing, after so many people from within his inner circle levied the doping charge against him over the years, should surprise no one! I suspect the majority of super star athletes dope and, obviously, they do so to gain that slight advantage in competition and to secure everlasting glory & wealth! In extreme doping cases, like this one, the truth is inevitably exposed, and only infamy can follow.

The great irony in Armstrong's case is that his previous sponsors & advertisers can, if they choose to, take him to financial ruins for false self representation and, potentially, for brand damage. Although not surprising, seeing a fellow human being and his empire of "Good" slowly dismantled is very painful! To paraphrase the #1 New York Times best-selling author James Frey, the world of Lance Armstrong is being shattered into "a million little pieces!"

Wait, James Frey! Isn't that the guy who was found to have doped most of his #1 New York Times best-selling book "A Million Little Pieces!" with lies and half-truths? Isn't he the guy who made Oprah cry? Her early endorsement of the 2003 supposed autobiography pushed the book to the coveted #1 spot and made Frey a household name. Look out Oprah, another James Frey, another doper, is coming your way.

Azzam Elayan
January 13, 2013