text:
"Leaving things like the quality of care, safety, monitoring and enforcement to the whims of cabinet places politics ahead of our health care. It's no way to ensure the system will be available to all who need it." — Elisabeth Ballermann, NUPGE Secretary-Treasurer
Toronto (27 Nov. 2017) — The Ontario government is moving forward with legislation that lifts the ban on private hospitals, rolls private hospitals in with private clinics and renames them, offensively, Community Health Facilities. The legislation will make it easier for private hospitals and clinics to expand, and more difficult for the Minister to stop them.
In just 4 days, Ontario Liberals to eliminate 44-year ban on private hospitals
This legislation was brought in with no prior public consultation. It is a massive omnibus bill that repeals or enacts 7 entire Acts, and amends more than 30 Acts. The Ontario Health Coalition (OHC) was given 5 minutes to present to the Standing Committee on this massive piece of legislation. Now there is only 4 days to try to get the worst part of it withdrawn. "Without due consideration of the consequences, the government is making a grave mistake that could easily usher in very significant new privatization and threats to our local public hospitals," says Natalie Mehra, OHC Executive Director.
"Adding a for-profit angle to health care in Ontario is not only wrong, it's dangerous," says Elisabeth Ballermann, Secretary-Treasurer of the National Union of Public and General Employees (NUPGE). "Privatization of our health care system leaves Ontarians vulnerable to a number of risks, not only to their health but to their overall well-being."
There are problems already with how private clinics function in the province. They include patient deaths, serious safety breaches that have risked, among other things, potential infection of more than a 1,000 patients with HIV/AIDs, other serious health care quality concerns, for-profit privatization of our local hospital services, and new user fees for patients which violate of the Canada Health Act.
"We know that private health care costs everyone more and does nothing to deal with long wait times. This government either does not understand what it is doing by allowing private hospitals and increased private clinics, or they don't care, both are not acceptable." said Ballermann. "We are calling on the government to repeal these provisions immediately and recommit to quality public health care in Ontario."
Withdraw schedule 9 now!
Schedule 9 repeals the Private Hospitals Act, the Independent Health Facilities Act and the Healing Arts Radiation Protection Act. It replaces them with euphemistically named Community Health Facilities. These changes cover more than 900 private clinics — more than 98 per cent of which are not "community health facilities" but are in fact private for-profit clinics and are often chain-owned — and 6 private for-profit hospitals. The Private Hospitals Act was brought in in 1973 and banned all future private hospitals.
"This legislation gives cabinet complete discretion to make changes to regulations that govern our health care but without public consultation and input," Ballermann said
The act empowers the Minister of Health to have wide latitude in oversight of private hospitals, and in particular, enables the Minister to revoke licences and refuse transfers. These powers are critically important. When one of the largest for-profit multinational mega-health companies in the world tried to move in and buy the Shouldice Hospital, advocates were able to ask the Minister to intervene under this act.
Call your MPP today — protect public health care
"We will work with our members and allies to pressure the government to withdraw Schedule 9. We urge people to contact your Member of Provincial Parliament to urge them protect our public health care for all Ontarians," Ballermann said. The OHC has sent an open letter to all MPPs, advising them of the long-term consequences of lifting the ban.
Please email or call your MPP and ask them to help withdraw Schedule 9 of Bill 160.
More information:
The National Union of Public and General Employees (NUPGE) is one of Canada's largest labour organizations with over 370,000 members. Our mission is to improve the lives of working families and to build a stronger Canada by ensuring our common wealth is used for the common good. — NUPGE


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In serious love with this absolutely gorgeous duo I snagged from Zara earlier this month. Definitely my current to-go pieces. The boots are amazingly comfortable and this dream-poncho in cashmere warms my heart every time I wear it and ,trust me, it's almost daily. I often feel very cold all morning, so wrapping up in this greyish knit is the best thing to do,definitely need more of these poncho-wrap up-oversized blankets. Now if you want to know what's further on my fall-wishlist or if you just lack of inspiration, have a look at my favorites selection,here, or this pinterest board that I just started to fill up with pretty pieces.
As for the weekend,it's going to start super nice with our annual team meeting,which is probably going to be lots of fun since we're quite bunch of people right now. Afterwards we'll probably have some late dinner together and tomorrow I'll try to get up super early to shoot a few new looks for the coming week, head to the gym, get to the hairdresser( finally!) and try to tick off all that's list on my to-do list,such as paying my two parking tickets I got,whoops. So much stuff,so little time 😉
Fun fact: It's the most beautiful and sunny day of the week and here I am sharing my first real autumn 2015-outfit with you when all I did was showing off summery looks when it was rainy and cold outside haha.
Shop the look

subset: commoncrawl


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CeBIT puts on an annual award highlighting the best in show chosen and voted by CHIP editors. The selection process started back in January. Samsung Solid State Drive (SSD) is one of three nominees, including AMD 690G Chipset and ASUS XG Station.
Congrats to Samsung for taking home CeBIT's most coveted award in the category of Best Hardware for the SSD. Note: The acceptance video below is in German.
I can't wait to get my hands on the SSD for review!


text:
Early Riser
Friday, September 12, 2008
Places to go, things to do this week, so here it is, our menu for the week.
From my library
Gwendolyn Brooks
Charles Bukowski
Zbigniew Herbert
Manuel Blas De Otero
Steve Healey
William Blake
Ishle Yi Park
Julia B. Levine
Susan Holahan
From friends of "Here and Now"
Jim Corner
Christopher George
Kathy Paupore
Pam Hauck
And me.
So here we all are.
First, here's a poem by
Gwendolyn Brooks
, recipient of the National Book Foundation Medal for Distinguished Contribution to American Letters. The poem is from the collection of her work,
Selected Poems
, a Perennial Classic published in 1999 (first published in hardback in 1963).
Brooks was born in 1917 in Topeka, Kansas and grew up in Chicago. She first attended Hyde Park High School, a leading white high school, before transferring to all-black Wendell Phillips and eventually attended an integrated school, Englewood High School. Her enthusiasm for reading and writing was encouraged by her parents. When she was in High School, her mother took her to meet Harlem Renaissance poets Langston Hughes and James Weldon Johnson.
Brooks published her first poem in a children's magazine at the age of thirteen. When Brooks was sixteen years old, she had compiled a portfolio of around seventy-five published poems. At 17, she began submitting her work to "Lights and Shadows," the poetry column of the
Chicago Defender
, an African-American newspaper. During this same period, she also attended Wilson Junior College, graduating in 1936. After publishing many poems and failing to obtain a position with the
Chicago Defender
, Brooks began to work a series of typing jobs.
She published her first book of poetry,
A Street in Bronzeville
, in 1945 by Harper and Row, brought her instant critical acclaim. She received her first Guggenheim Fellowship and was one of the "Ten Young Women of the Year" in Mademoiselle magazine. In 1950, she published her second book of poetry,
Annie Allen
, which won her Poetry magazine's Eunice Tietjens Prize and the Pulitzer Prize for poetry, the first given to an African-American.
After John F. Kennedy invited her to read at a Library of Congress poetry festival in 1962, she began her career teaching creative writing. She taught at Columbia College Chicago, Northeastern Illinois University, Elmhurst College, Columbia University, Clay College of New York, and the University of Wisconsin.
Brooks died in 2000.
This poem honors her father, the son of a runaway slave who fought in the Civil War, who gave up his ambition to attend medical school to work as a janitor because he could not afford to attend medical school.
In Honor of David Anderson Brooks, My Father
July 30, 1883 - November 21, 1959
A dryness is upon the house
My father loved and tended.
Beyond his firm and sculptured door
His light and lease have ended.
He walks the valleys, now - replies
To sun and wind forever.
No more the cramping chamber's chill,
No more the lingering fever.
Now out upon the wide clean air
My father's soul revives,
All innocent of self-interest
And the fear that strikes and strives.
He who was Goodness, Gentleness,
And Dignity is free,
Translates to public Love
Old private charity.
Next, I have a nice short poem from frequent "Here and Now" contributor
Jim Corner
Jim is owner and publisher of
Desert Moon Review
, on the web now for the past seven years going on eight. He holds a Master's in English, Theology and Philosophy. He is widely published on the web and sometimes in hardcopy and is completing his first book:
My Life In Several Seconds, A Collection of Poetry
He lives in Mesa, Arizona with his wife Kathy and dog Trudy.
You can take a look at
Desert Moon Review
by clicking on the link in the link section on the right.
Working Weathers
A cool breeze has taken over
monsoon's territory. Sea of Cortez
has lost it's humid stasis, Gulf
of Mexico is battling Fay,
Valley of the Sun struts its dry heat
on this yellow-orange Sunday
for time and a half.
So, back to
Charles Bukowski
with a poem from his book
what matters most is how well you walk through the fire
, published by HarperCollins posthumously in 1999 from a selection of poems written between 1970 and 1990.
4 Christs
when I went up to Santa to read
they had the four of us
in the restaurant first
at an elevated table
with placards;
Ginsbin', Beerlinghetti, G. Cider and Chinaski.
it wasn't even the reading yet.
it was dinner first.
it looked like the Last Supper to me.
I arrived late
sat down
a thin man
with a scarf around his throat
got up and stood over me:
"guess you can't guess who I am?"
I looked.
"I'm G. Crider."
"ah, hello, Garry, I'm Chinaski."
he went back and sat
Ginsbing and Beerlinghetti looked like they
were used to all the attention
we were getting.
they sat
Jack Bitchelene hollered from the scumbag
crowd of minor poets also eating there
that night:
"hey, Chinaski, start some
shit, Jack!" I hollered back,
"eat yourself and die!"
Jack loved it. he opened his dirty Brooklyn
mouth and laughed all over Santa
his filthy grey uncombed hair
hanging in his face.
"look" I asked Beerlinghetti, "don't they
serve drinks up here?"
"we're waiting for dinner," he informed
me politely.
I got up from the table and went
over to the bar.
"give me a vodka-7," I told the
I got it down fast, ordered
a beer
and went back to the Last
on the way a guy grabbed my arm:
"Ginsbing says he doesn't know how to
relate to you," he said.
I sat down at the table.
dinner came.
we ate it.
then before our transportation to the reading
we were given orders:
each was to read
20 minutes.
I read 15 minutes.
Beerlinghetti read 25 minutes
Ginsbing read 30 minutes.
G. Cider red one hour and
12 minutes
then it was over.
and now the others say
I am the
among us.
I got to thinking, you know, I have Google which, though not perfect, is right probably more often than me, so why the heck do I need to know anything.
Which leads into this piece from last week.
knowing things
i'm not one
to act as if i know everything
but i'm starting to think
i might know everything
i want to know
in fact,
as i age
and begin forgetting
i'm learning
the pleasures of
guilt-free ignorance
i used to know
all the state capitols,
for instance,
but i don't know them anymore
and haven't seen that lack of knowing
having any negative
on my quality of life
i used to be able to name
all the kings and queens of England
from Arthur forward,
don't know that anymore,
just like i used to know all the books
of the Bible, King James version,
old testament and new, but
can't get past Ruth now
i used to know a lot of really useful things
like i used to know how to tune
my car's engine,
set the points,
adjust my carburetor,
and reline my brakes
can't do any of that now
everything's got too complicated
and learning how to do the stuff
you do now instead of the stuff
i did then
would take much more time
and mental exertion
than i'm willing
to expend
there's lots of things
like that,
things i used to know and
and things i never knew
and don't want to learn
there's just not enough time
to learn and relearn,
i'd rather spend that time
thinking a bit more,
maybe even deeper,
about stuff i already
it's truly amazing
how much ignorance
you can get away with
these days
Zbigniew Herbert
, born 1924, was known as a spiritual leader of the Polish anti-communist movement. A member of the Polish resistance movement during World War II, he is one of the best known and the most translated postwar Polish writers.
Herbert was a bachelor of the Order of the White Eagle (Poland's highest decoration awarded to both civilians and the military officially instituted in 1705) and was educated as an economist and lawyer. In the 1980s Herbert was the main poet of the Polish opposition. Starting in 1986, he lived in Paris, returning to Poland in 1992 and died in Warsaw in 1998.
In July 2007 the Polish Government decided that 2008 would be the Year of Zbigniew Herbert.
The Nepenthe Family
Did Jean-Jaques the Tender know about the pitcher plant
- it was described by Linnaeus he should have known it -
so why was he silent about this scandal of nature
one of many scandals but perhaps
beyond the capacity of the heart and tear glands
of the one who sought only comfort in nature
this criminal grows in the dark jungles of Borneo
and lures with a flower that is not a flower
but the main vein of a leaf fanned out in the form
of a pitcher
with a hinged lid and very sweet mouth
that draws insects to the treacherous banquet
like the secret police of a certain empire
for who can resist - fly or man -
the sticky nectars orgy of colors glowing with hues
of white of violet of meat like the windows of a red tavern
where a kind innkeeper with a beautiful daughter wife
sends the company of drunken guests drained of blood
to heaven or hell depending on their merits
it was a favorite of the Victorian decedents
combining the salon of debauchery with the
torture chamber
everything was there - rope nails venom sex the knot
the coffin
and we lie peacefully with the pitcher plant
among gulags concentration camps with no concern for the
that innocence in the world of plants - does not exist
Photo by Gordon B. George
We have a treat now, a poem by
Christopher George
, a good friend of "Here and Now," accompanied by the photo above of Chris on the beach. The photo was taken by his father,
Gordon B. George
Chris was born in Liverpool, England in 1948. He first emigrated to the United States with his parents in 1955. He went back to Liverpool for a refresher on his Scouse accent, living with his grandparents while attending Rose Lane and Quarry Bank Schools. Chris returned to the U.S.A. in 1968 and has lived there ever since. He now lives in Baltimore, Maryland, near Johns Hopkins University with his wife Donna and two cats.
I have to note that, though a couple or so years older than Chris, I was born and grew up just a few miles from Boca Chica beach, on the very southern tip of Texas and the United States where the Rio Grande River dumps it's muddy waters into the Gulf of Mexico, and have some beach pictures of my own. I was not nearly as photogenic as Chris at that age, nor as well dressed - bare-assed in the sand is what I was.
Anyway, my own misadventures aside, this great picture, taken by his father so many years ago, and the poem below make a wonderful combination.
Boy on the Beach
August 1951, era of the Festival of Britain,
which I do not remember...do you?
As the British pulled themselves up
by their shoelaces after World War II -
I was on a brisk beach at Laxey, Isle of Man,
dressed for warmth: shorts and tee-shirt.
Although some brave souls ventured
into the rolling Irish Sea...not me,
content to dig the wet sand
with my bucket and spade.
Manuel Blas de Otero
was born on March 15, 1916 in Bilbao. At the age of 7, he entered a preparatory school for later education under the Jesuits. Compared to the peace of his home, it was a harsh, repressive environment.
Because of family financial problems, he moved with his family to Madrid where de Otero found new freedom and a new sense of self-identity and in this environment, he began to write.
I took these two poems from
The Steel Cricket, Versions 1958-1997
, a collection of "translations" by
Stephen Berg
. Actually, unlike Robert Bly who claim to translate in a dozen languages he does not know or read, Berg makes no claim of translation. Instead, he applies his own poetic sensibilities to poems translated by others. It's a kind of rewriting, rather than translation, leaving me somewhat unsure who I should credit for these poems. Though it takes considerable nerve (or maybe just good sense of humor) for a translator to slip his own name into the text of someone else's poem, I don't think there's anything inappropriate about what he does. (Can't say the same for Bly's translations, even though I like the heck out of most of them I've read and have noticed in a recent book that he has become more circumspect when describing what he does.)
The original language of these poems is Spanish.
Unfortunately, Berg provides no biographical information about the poets he interprets and the most I could find on the web about de Otero was several pages of Spanish very poorly translated into English. Out of all that, I got the little bit of information above. (Actually, even with my poor grasp of Spanish, I learned about as much from the Spanish as I did from the English translation.)
I walk around everywhere, I have to find out what causes suffering,
the one reason for suffering that's
bloody, tearful, but mostly dry,
cause of all the horrible things
done to men.
Not to Blas de Otero or Charlie, not Jeff, not to
Kulik or Berg, not Vallejo, no, that's not
what I mean. I go around looking
only for the cause, for the one cause
and the one suffering that's
always ready to begin
What I'm asking is who gets pleasure from men's suffering?
Who shaves for the sake of the pointless wind?
We know so little about what suffering is,
we're so proud of our pride,
but nobody can tell me anything about this when I ask.
Read the telephone book
or the Bible, it's easy to find something there.
I grab the telephone bible,
I hold on to
the Fisherman's Guide with both hands - and the dishes hit
the floor.
Since age six
I've been hearing the same every hour - holy sky,
holy, holy - as if issued from God at the end of His great work.
But when it comes to suffering, it's like the first day -
silences and welts of the double column. I can't stand it!
Imagine for a minute how miserable I felt
when I thought God, the only living thing, doesn't exist,
or if He does is made of nothing except
earth, water, shadow, and wind,
and that death - Oh I'm shaking like crazy -
is an emptiness without even the light from a staircase,
a colossal hole that sinks endlessly
into a nothing of moist silence.
They why live, sons
of mothers, at what windows be, crucified ones
and all you others? Enough death.
Enough. God, stop killing us wrong like this
of if you can't, just let us dangle way up
above you - howling river that overflows -.
It's a political season, towards the end of a race much tighter than I hoped it would be by this time. Us political junkies, and I think that describes me pretty well, tend to get a bit obsessive at such a time as this, which means a lot of political poems.
People that know me and my views might be surprised by this poem.
George Bush
i was listening
to Prairie Home
and Keillor
was telling one
of his trademark
stories and mentioned
the name "George Bush"
and his audience of
with rage,
a sound of hatred
so intense
it shocked even me
it seemed somehow
unfair, unseemly even,
this hatred,
this abhorrence,
for George Bush is
what he is, your
basic West Texas
a genial man
with a common touch
on the two occasions
i was able to observe him
up close, in a small room
with a small group of people,
a man who thinks -
a man who will always think -
he has done good, a man
who does not understand,
who will never understand,
the magnitude of ruination
he has brought to his country,
a hard man for me to hate,
even if i was
the type to nurse
which i'm not
he is what he is,
and does
what a person
like he is
is likely to do
and so, cannot
be entirely blamed
for the mess he made,
he did not,
after all,
take his position by coup,
not the second time
he was elected in the end
with the careless votes
of those easily moved
by superficialities
or through the arrogant
of those who couldn't see
past their own narrow interests
or through sheer lassitude,
all of these
among the many
who scream his name
in rage today
perhaps it is time
to remember the words
of that great poet -
"blame not the gods,
for we have made them"
Steve Healey
earned a Bachelors Degree from the University of Virginia and a Master of Fine Arts Degree at the University of Massachusetts - Amherst.
He is Associate Editor of Conduit Magazine. His poems have appeared in numerous journals, including L
American Poetry Review
Open City
, and
The next poem, from his book,
, was published by Coffee House Press in 2004.
things we say
in unison, to resemble a cathedral,
to be pretty and healed,
not worthy to receive you,
flesh wafer and blood grape.
You the star of what we say
after swallowing, sucking teeth,
considering how the priest shaves
his face, still hungry, multiplied
by zero, divided by scars,
thin enough to exit and say things
in motion. Like a wheel turning north
from a parking space under scarlet skies.
driving through air across a bridge
not found on a lipstick map.
Like branching toward an electric vacancy
to hear the silent things we say
bathing, soaking our breasts.
Because we don't die at the same time,
we don't stay here to see this time zone
weep the way a sleeping pill
sees water surrounded by clear glass.
The way water is fireproof,
fire marries what keeps it alive.
the way we say things burning papers,
to a parent dying ungracefully
with cosmetics and old movies,
to avoid being abandoned or infected
Things we don't mean to neglect
today, the birthday of no one
who recalls the things we said about
what still hurts for the wrong reason,
ex-lovers and ventriloquists
of tomorrow, jazz molecules above lips,
the whole planet curving away
like embryonic light.
Kathy Paupore
is a new friend of "Here and Now" making her first appearance with us this week.
Kathy lives in Upper Michigan with her family. Her poetry has been published in several ezines including
Sol Magazine
Amaze Cinquain Journal
, and
Loch Raven Review
. She has won an IBPC Honorable Mention and her poetry has been anthologized in
Poets Gone Wild
(Wild Poetry Press, 2005).
She is currently a moderator at Wild Poetry Forum.
Menominee River Songs
after Li Po
A long hot summer, deserted water
Menominee River will return your sorrow.
Unable to gauge the grief of the families,
I climb the train bridge to Wisconsin's side
gaze into Michigan, the distance of loss.
I look down at the river flowing past,
it never ceases unless the dam breaks.
I ask the water: will you remember
nothing of them as you carry their names
and each fistful of tears so very far?
Menominee River's white-tail deer are countless,
a flurry of leaps, colored leaves falling
coax spotted fawn out of the autumn woods
they frolic, drink the sun from the water.
Meandering river, in sadness I gaze
into blossoms of red, sorrow follows you
under the bridge, no matter which side,
the water flows, but I can no longer look.
Along the Menominee River banks
Michigan's woodlands are unforgettable,
the blue sky open, granite spilling ridges,
white water washes the rumble of stones.
Hundreds of white pines spread away here,
a hundred stands of maple trees ignite,
broad-winged hawks fly the endless ridges,
unseen, gray wolves night after night howl
stay away from the Menominee River,
the great-horned owl cries, warns of sorrow.
The burning sun heats up the river
scorches the sands, three crows gather.
He heard them laughing together
near the water, made them take flight.
On a slab of concrete at the train bridge,
three white crosses and bouquets of flowers.
On the sand abandoned clothing strewn,
on the waves wilted petals ebb and tide.
The river's a bolt of blue silk,
the shoreline stretches toward heaven
on the banks where children scattered
Only hoof prints of the white deer.
Train bridge mid-river at the swimming hole,
the Menominee's depths pass underneath,
in rough waters, a boat rocks, deserted,
a round hole near the bottom, trying to sink.
Campfire lights up the night sky,
from a leafless tree an owl whoos
on silent wings it whooshes by,
ghost stories are passed around.
Here's a poem by
William Blake
from the Penguin Classics collection
William Blake - Selected Poems
The sun descending in the west,
The evening star does shine.
The birds are silent in their nest,
And I must seek for mine,
The moon like a flower
in heaven's high bower;
With silent delight
Sits and smiles on the night.
Farewell green fields and happy groves,
Where flocks have took delight;
Where lambs have nibbled, silent moves
The feet of angels bright;
Unseen they pour blessing,
And joy without ceasing,
On each bud and blossom,
And each sleeping bosom.
The look in every thoughtless nest,
Where birds are covered warm;
They visit caves of every beast
To keep them all from harm:
If they see any weeping
That should have been sleeping
The pour sleep on their head
And sit down by their bed.
When wolves and tygers howl for prey
They pitying stand and weep;
Seeking to drive their thirst away,
And keep them from the sheep.
But if they rush dreadful,
The angels most heedful
Receive each mild spirit
New worlds to inherit.
And there the lion's ruddy eyes
Shall flow with tears of gold:
And pitying the tender cries,
And walking round the fold:
Saying, "Wrath by his meekness
And by his health sickness,
Is driven away
From our immortal day.
"And now beside thee, bleating lamb,
I can lie down and sleep;
Or think on him who bore thy name,
Gaze after thee and weep.
For wash'd in life's river,
My bright mane for ever
Shall shine like the gold,
As I guard o'er the fold."
It's funny, I have the poem and a distinct memory of hearing something that set me to thinking along these lines, but can't for the life of me remember what.
Probably something on NPR - getting a lot of my material from public radio these days.
have a really good day
of this...
you're driving
a country road
one day,
a little two-lane
and you come
to this field,
this calm
of clean
grass waving
in the breeze
and a herd of cattle
just standing around
munching away
and you stop
and walk
to the fence
and all the cows
come running
cause they know
that when the rancher
comes and stands
by the fence
he's probably going
to have something for
them, maybe some
nice dry crispy hay,
something good
they're thinking
so they come running,
great sad brown eyes,
innocent eyes,
like the eyes
of a fallen angel
cud chewing, tail swishing,
for you, and you say,
hello, cows,
i just thought i'd mention
that one of these days
i'm going to eat you,
a few minutes
over a hot grill with
a little salt and pepper
and maybe some A-1
if i leave you on the fire
too long and all your
dry up and you're
going to taste
really great
until then,
you all have a really
Ishle Yi Park
is a young Korean American poet, singer, and the first woman to be named the Poet Laureate of Queens. Dubbed "the Queen of Queens" by her fans, the Borough President declared Park's birthday as "Ishle Yi Park" day in her hometown.
Park's poetry has been published in literary magazines such as
The Best American Poetry of 2003
, and
Century of the Tiger: One Hundred Years of Korean Culture in America
Her poetry CD,
Work is Love
, includes tracks with Korean traditional drums, Spanish guitar, beatboxing, and music produced by Japan's critically acclaimed DJ Honda. She has been featured at literary and music festivals, performing her unique blend of poetry and song at over three hundred venues around the world, including Cuba, Jamaica, Singapore, Korea, and New Zealand.
Park is also a regular on HBO's
Russell Simmons Presents: Def Poetry Jam
and was a touring cast member of the Tony-Award winning production of
Def Poetry Jam
The next poem is from her first book,
The Temperature of This Water
, published by Kaya Press in 1994. It is the winner of three literary awards, including a Pen America Award for Outstanding Writers of Color and the Member's Choice Award of the Asian American Literary Awards.
She has been one of my favorites since I first ran across her book, one of the few in my library I bought new and paid full price for.
My mother was the biggest love of my life. Before I could
speak english, I'd curl into the pleats of her khakis. I'd hang up
phones so people wouldn't wake her. I wedged my body
between her and the pillow when my father once tried to
smother her. All my early intelligence, I think, was born of the
intense desire to please her. I held in my piss. Stopped wearing
diapers. Twitched a shoulder-raising dance to make her laugh
instead of scratching off my chicken pox.
After my father beat her and retreated to the hot silence of his
room, filled with the fuzz and glare of tv, I would sit near her
in the soft corners. But not too close, I learned Such times
she'd flinch from my touch.
I knew her responsibilities intimately: to cook, to clean, to
stay home, scrub tub, set table, make dinner, stay home, stay
home, stay home. Once I sat through a children's play about
leprechauns with an audience full of other kids, my stomach
tight with fear because it was 5:30 and cutting close to dinner.
The green felt costumes with sharp, pointed edges, the painted
faces and frenetic children running on stage dizzied and
terrified me.
What time is it? Let's go. Let's go home
Another afternoon: fallen leaves and a series of wooden
balancing beams stacked higher and higher around a rusted
playground in Bayside. I balanced on them, fingers latched
lightly in my mother's hand until, high above her head, I let
go and ran. She'd let me run reckless.
She possessed that serrated, metal tinge that bared its edges
when he wore her down. His endless hisses and epithets -
shangnyunah, shibhalnyun!
- left us lying on our sides like dull
knives. Then she'd bark something harsh and exacting, about his
mother being a dog. His face would startle awake, a streak of
hurt and shock flashing across his cheeks before he pummeled
into her. A rush of bile and water filled my belly. For her.
Funny, he'd never hit us, just lift and carry us by our pajamas,
gently, to the next room. Hit me, I'd cry. Hit
. My father
would look at me with disgust and surprise before shaking his
head and locking the door.
My next poet, a friend of "Here and Now," writes under the pin name
I first met her at a weekly poetry gathering at La Taza coffee shop on San Antonio's north side. She is a native San Antonian who wandered around awhile before returning home in 1984. She says that, although she wrote while attending high school, she only began writing seriously a few years ago when she discovered that writing about her feelings helped her to deal with them.
You find out more about RatAva, read more of her work, and get the scoop on her chapbook,
, by visiting her website, "Wrong Planet...Right Universe." You can get there by clicking on the link in the link section on the right.
This is her first appearance in "Here and Now."
I love the word exacerbate
The way it rolls off the tongue
The sexy little x
Snuggling between e & a
The way it just stops
At the end
With the mere hint of emphasis
On its final syllable
I love its c, masquerading as an s
Tripping up misspellers
The way a flirt
Makes a married man think twice
About whether or not
To try this one
Only to find that things aren't always
As they seem
But most of all I love
That so many other words rhyme
And some of them
Express an opposite meaning
And it's like a gift
To the poet
Who mixes the words
That transform exacerbate into ameliorate
I discovered a poet new to me last week at one of my friendly local used bookstores. The poet is
Julia B. Levine
and her book is
. Actually, it's not such a used book, published last year by the University of Tampa press.
I couldn't find a biography on her anywhere on the web and the bio-blurb on the back cover is less than intensive. She is, it says, author of
, winner of the 2002 Tampa Review Prize for Poetry, and
Practicing for Heaven
, which won the 1998 Anhinga Prize for Poetry as well as a bronze medal from Fore Word magazine. Her other awards include the Discovery/
The Nation
Award for Emerging New Writers and the Pablo Neruda Prize.
I did learn from the web that she received her Ph.D in Clinical Psychology from the University of California, Berkeley and lives and works in Davis, California.
Dark Carpenters
I'm not sure what the ants were waiting for -
the right heat or darkness,
a certain kind of silence turned up high.
But the night their wings broke through,
you cut your engine, the heat of your voice
leading me further down the dock.
Imagine stepping through a door into sea.
Imagine loving anything the way we do,
words poured onto the world's cold table,
and no language to name the shyness inside my desire.
A trawler shone its one light across the water's gun metal.
Above us, I remember corridors of stars,
and closer in, bats lacing up the passageways of sky
as we turned and drove the coast highway south.
Did you take me there, only to see that door?
Did you want me to know we fall
and fall again,
into the black, black water of a life
we did not choose?
Or was it later, in that damp room,
a broken river of ants coursing through the walls,
your boots on the cement landing,
your hands on every door my body hid,
that you felt it too: all those wings unfurling,
love's dark carpenters
husking the absolute carapace of being,
breaking apart the old body
just to make it new?
My daughter tells me she is
no longer a virgin,
just before Benicia on 680,
the Pacific glassy and wild in sun,
slow descent of the coastal mountains
gaining speed through the stunning green,
a flock of wrens
rushing to wake the dark between the trees.
Sure, there's plenty to be afraid of:
her future, spilling as it is carried forward.
How, already she knows
anyone can dream anyone into being,
his hand on the gorgeous swell of her thighs,
his hand anywhere he wants.
And there, above the freeway, a line of Holsteins
plodding home, udders swollen,
as if the entire horizon had ripened
into a sweetness asking to be let down.
There are tears in her eyes, in mine.
There are places no one ever expects to leave,
tiny nothing of her laid against my chest;
the everything that I was with her,
in those unmoored hours before dawn.
Silence Prepares Us for the Fields
That's what you said the day it was clear
we were no longer young,
the hillsides stunned with drifts of lupine.
Wild iris split apart the meadow
with purple blades, and though damage
was a word I didn't want to use,
a hundred grebes dove at once;
a floating graveyard slipping underneath
the distant sea, and you beside me,
This how the sky will look
when we are gone
. As if all that mattered
was that it did:
and endless rush of swallows
dragging shadows across the perfect quiet,
until there was nothing,
finally, but my hand
brushing slowly across your hair.
It was April. It was the argument
we had lost.
Not even touch to prepare us
finally, for the silence
of a body standing deep inside the fields,
listening to the little ivories of fescue
rising up, lying down, in wind.
For everyone grown tired of my long rambly stuff, here's a short, very unrambly thing I wrote last week. Those who like long and rambly are just going to have to wait their turn.
birds call
in the still-
the day
claim the
morning breeze
rustles trees
the tender
of leaf
alarm sounds
awake awake
asleep on my arm
a soft feline
Susan Holahan
was born in New Jersey and grew up on Long Island, New York. She received her Ph.D. in English and her J.D. from Yale University. She taught creative writing at Yale College to pay law school tuition and daycare. Briefly, she worked at New Haven Legal Assistance and from the late 70s through the early 90s worked as a journalist in New York and Connecticut. In the mid-90s she taught writing at the University of Rochester. Currently, Holahan writes poetry, essays, reviews and lives in rural Vermont.
My next poem is from her first collection,
Sister Betty Reads the Whole You
published by Gibbs Smith of Salt Lake City in 1998, which was winner of the 1997 Peregrine Smith Poetry Competition. Her poetry has appeared in
Black Warrior Review
Women's Review of Books
, and
Seneca Review
. She has been nominated twice for the Pushcart Prize.
What Fire Has to do with Sorrow
Widowed, waiting in a chair to die, she traced on the table
before her, on the chair arm, on her thigh, shapes like letters
with her thick-nailed
index finger, her crabbed hand looping around, back, over
calligraphically. I lick the word. I make the flourishes myself.
I can't read my messages.
Desire -
, each word placed far from the last. And one
project after another she begins then stores: squares cut for
a quilt she'll never piece.
When he left her again last night, cold as he leaves her
only in dreams, she stumbled in his slippers, struggling
to parse a sentence
he would never utter for signs of his return. In joy words
flash upward, not like flames but like the graphic images
of flames.
Dead Letter
to Lore
- a stranger
in the family, you let them
let you see their clothes, their
houses, eat their food. they called
. When all I knew was
poor was ugly, Germans killed
Jews like us, and Jews like us
couldn't say
or have
cats, they told me your husband's
mother called you that German
Woman. No one told me
German Jewish. Later they'd
say you
your family; you
dropped them by some German road?
I studied you. I'm taking
your place in my family.
Now, here's
Pam Hauck
, another new friend of "Here and Now" appearing here for the first time.
Pam lives in the foothills of the Appalachian Mountains. Her creative nonfiction, fiction and poetry have appeared in
The Phoenix
The Southern Scribe
Blue Magnolia
The Tactile Mind Quarterly
The Hiss Quarterly
From the Heart 2: Stories of Love and Friendship
Women of the Web Anthology of Poems
The Dead Mule
The War Journal
Pen Pricks
, and various other venues.
Bath of Bane
I soak in a balsam bath,
drown my memories of you.
The way you said, Dammit woman,
don't you know I love you
the night you saved me from myself
when my blood sugar dropped.
Candlelight shadows my silhouette
against wallpaper of wild roses.
I feel fragile, stripped
of your protective armor.
Juice from a peach
you picked in the south orchard
trickles down my chin like tears
too torpid to turn loose.
A pit of pain remains
between my breasts
as though it's all that's left of you.
I scrub my sins, wash away
reasons you left me,
the bitter bile of my betrayal.
I sit in a tub of cold dirty water
bathed in guilt.
Now here's a last poem for the week from me, a return to political mode.
i have this awful feeling
and right-wing bullshit,
lacking any talent
for governance,
it's all they can do,
ever do,
i have
this awful feeling
that they're going to get away with it
just like they did
years ago
and eight years
it's like the abused wife
i once knew,
the abused wife
who worked for me -
after marrying three times
in twelve years
to three different
abusive men
it was hard to see her
as an entirely
it-s the same
with this election -
if the same old drivel
prevails again
for the third time
in a row,
i'll hold no sympathy
for those persistent
who elect them,
then get what they deserve
it just seems
that i'll get
what they deserve
as well
Who the hell has time for subtlety - the bad guys are fighting back hard and the good guys have to do the same.
Between bouts, if you happen to be in downtown San Antonio, along the Riverwalk, and feel a desperate need to buy a book of poetry, my book,
Seven Beats a Second
, is now available at Ruta Maya, above the river at Martin and Soledad. Also available, great coffee, wide smiles, and lunch specials as good as it gets.
In case I don't see you there, remember all of the material presented in this blog remains the property of its creators. The blog itself was produced by and is the property of me...allen itz.
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text:
Hoover, Ala. – In the opening round of the 2014 Southeastern Conference Baseball Tournament, the eighth-seeded and 24th-ranked Alabama Crimson Tide fell to the ninth-seeded Kentucky Wildcats, 7-1. With the loss to the Tide is eliminated from the tournament.
"It was a tough day for us and we didn't' perform very well today," Alabama head coach Mitch Gaspard said. "We knew going in it could potentially be a tough matchup with A.J. (Reed) on the mound and us starting a freshman. We got off to a rough start, as Nick (Eicholtz) struggled in the second. Jay (Shaw) did a nice job to minimize things there, to give us a couple opportunities, but we couldn't get the big hit."
Kentucky (33-22) got a good start from A.J. Reed (11-2), who got the win after throwing five innings, allowing one run on six hits with two walks and two strikeouts. In relief, Andrew Nelson threw the final four innings without allowing a run on two hits with a strikeout to notch his first save of the year.
Alabama (34-22) collected a total of eight hits in the game, as Georgie Salem was 2-for-4 with a pair of singles for his team-leading 22nd multi-hit game of the year. Wade Wass was 2-for-4 and had his team-leading 19th double of the season. Wass' RBI double in the third inning drove in Salem for the Tide's lone run of the game.
Alabama used a total of six pitchers in the game, as starter Nick Eicholtz (3-2) took the loss after allowing two runs in one-plus inning of work. Although he did not allow a hit, Eicholtz had four walks and hit one of the seven batters he faced.
Jay Shaw allowed two runs on four hits over the next three innings, Ray Castillo and Mitch Greer had an inning of work, Tucker Hawley gave up a run on two hits in 1.1 innings and Taylor Guilbeau finished out the night with 1.2 scoreless innings, allowing one hit with a strikeout.
For the Wildcats, Storm Wilson, Matt Reida and JaVon Shelby had two hits each and all three scored two runs, and Austin Cousino was 1-for-3 with three RBI.
"For us over the last three or four weeks, that's been the same theme, we've been too giving on the mound and creating opportunities for our opponents and we haven't been able to get many timely hits," Gaspard said. "It's a bad formula, particularly with the schedule we've had to play on the back end of the season. This team will regroup and this team will be very dangerous come regional time when this team is fresh."
After Eicholtz hit the first batter of the Kentucky second, he and walked the next two to load the bases, forcing Alabama made a pitching change just seven batters into the game. Reliever Jay Shaw got Reida to fly out to left field, but it was deep enough to allow Michael Bernal to score from third. After a Shelby single re-loaded the bases, Cousino's fielder's choice allowed Storm Wilson to score, giving the Wildcats a 2-0 lead after an inning and a half.
The Tide responded in the bottom of the third, when Wass doubled to the wall in left center field to drive in Salem, who singled to start the inning.
The Wildcats added two more runs in the fourth when Cousino dropped a two-out, bloop single down the right field line to drive in Wilson and Reida, who both singled earlier in the inning. The Wildcats added two runs in the sixth inning off Castillo, before capping the scoring with a run in the eighth in an RBI fielder's choice by Ka'al Tom off Hawley.
After Reed left the game after six innings, Nelson retired 12 of the 14 batters he faced and did not allow a runner past first base over the final four innings.
Get all the latest information on the team by following AlabamaBSB on Twitter, Instagram and Facebook. General athletic news can also be found at UA_Athletics on Twitter and Instagram and AlabamaAthletics on Facebook.
Courtesy: UA Media Relations


text:
Noodle Soup at floating market in Thailand
July 3, 2012 2 Comments
Noodle Soup at floating market
in Thailand
This noodle soup is really good soup and easy to find and taste it at floating market in Thailand.
You will see how to cook the noodle soup from boat, ingredian such as mince pork, slice pork, chicken,
chilli, garlic, fish sauce, onion and more.
It is like a fast food which you can get from every city in the country. But at floating market is really special, we call "Keay Tew Rau" , this name is so popular for the test of noodle .
At floating market was callded ""Domnoen Saduak floating market" , it is the main tourist place in Thailand which is about 1hrs from Bangkok city for your day tour in Thailand.
A chance to ride the paddle boat and do your shopping with unique souvenir.
Come to try with the real food in Asia at Thailand.


text:
For vegetarians, the southeast metro area hasn't provided nearly as many options as Federal Boulevard. But now there's a new noodle house in town: Pho Lee, a sibling restaurant to the insanely popular Pho 95 outposts. And the veggie pho at Pho Lee is just as good as it is at any Pho 95 location.
See also: - Veggie Girl: Pho 95 dishes up steaming hot noodle soup - Pho Duy warms up Federal with plant-based noodle soup - Pho 95 in the Streets at SouthGlenn blooms with veggie-based summer dishes
Pho Lee's options for plant-based eaters aren't extensive -- a rice-paper-wrap appetizer here, a noodle bowl there -- but we don't need many options when the pho pictured above is on the menu. The recipe is strikingly similar to that used at Pho 95, but it contains a few Pho Lee-specific flavorings. The broth is slightly spicier than what you'll find at Pho 95 (so give it a taste before pouring in the sriracha for extra heat), and it has everything you need in a good bowl of pho: perfectly cooked vermicelli-style rice noodles, crispy tofu, oodles of veggies (snap peas, carrots, broccoli and other traditional favorites). And it's served with a heaping platter of fixings: bean sprouts, dandelion shoots, Thai basil, jalapenos -- again, beware! -- and lime wedges.
If you live or work in the southern suburbs, this place is a must-stop. But get here early: The tiny eatery fills up fast with lunchers who crave exotic flavor in the middle of their day. And even if you don't live in the area, it's worth a trip -- if only to see how Pho Lee measures up to your favorite bowl of veggie pho in town. (We're willing to bet it will rank in your top three.)
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Subscribe to The Navy Diver e-newsletter to receive the latest SALE updates and discount codes on our full underwear and swimwear range. It's time to anchor your personal style with The Navy Diver. Like us on Facebook @ www.facebook.com/thenavydiver
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text:
Christmas is a wonderful time of the year, a time of letting yourself go in more ways than one, but come January you are bombarded with images of hot young things in lycra contorting into positions that at present you can only dream about. The inevitable diet conversation looms with everyone and anyone, and if not armed with a plan that works for you then January can feel a dark and lonely place.
As we age, faddy diets in January may do more harm than good. It's important to realise that a nutrient dense diet high in healthy protein, vitamins, minerals and essential fatty acids is important for longevity and to help stave off chronic conditions. Low calorific diets have been associated with a reduction in muscle mass which in turn may lead to a lower metabolism , resulting in weight gain. In essence, the more muscle we have, the faster our metabolism will be. After the age of 35 we naturally lose muscle, so weight bearing exercise and ensuring eating a diet rich in fish, game, organic meat, beans and pulses (healthy proteins) will help retain muscle and the building blocks for hormones and neurotransmitters.
Here's a few hints and tips to get you started.
- Start the day with a hot water and lemon. Helps to hydrate and alkalise the body.
- Eat three times a day and leave at least 4 hours between meals unless you have a diabetic condition.
- Portion Control – eat from a side plate or the size of a plate similar to the size of your upturned palms placed together.
- Breakfast should be hearty and must include protein e.g. – eggs, yoghurt, protein shake, nuts, nut butters, quinoa porridge.
- Lunch and dinner – whatever you eat, always place a green salad dressed with Flax oil and a squeeze of lemon as a sharing plate in the centre of the table . This increases satiety and is psychologically pleasing.If working, buy a kilner jar and stuff it full of greens with the dressing suggested above (flax oil and lemon) eat this alongside your regular lunch.
- Drink no more than one or two units of alcohol a day and have at least three alcohol free days a week.
- Drink at least 1.5 litres of water a day. This helps with detoxification processes in addition to acting as an appetite suppressant.
The above is a pragmatic easy to apply change that does not compromise health over aesthetic. It will get you back on track after the festive season without punishing your body at a time of year when it needs nourishing.
See below for an easy to follow guide of two weekdays and one weekend. Download and stick it on your fridge as an Aide Memoire. Something to get you going…..
If you're struggling remember Rome wasn't built in a day! Research has shown that to establish any change whether it be dietary or not can take up to three months before it is ingrained into habit. That gives you January through to March. By Spring you will have survived the winter and be ready to embrace the lighter months.
Jayne Wilson is a Nutrition Consultant specialising in coaching individuals and businesses on improved health and performance.


text:
Residential Radon Mitigation
So your selling your home and you have high radon? We can help! Here at Certified radon mitigation we understand your frustration. Most people have never heard of radon before but like smoking… it does pose a risk! Radon is proven as the 2nd leading cause of lung cancer. Here at Certified we want to make this process as painless as possible. We work with real estate agents and home owners daily. We understand the time sensitive nature of the transaction and can give a proposal the same day requested and schedule the job within a day or two. The process of the radon system installation takes about 4 – 6 hours to complete. Every radon system comes with a guarantee to work with a 5 year warranty that goes in the home buyers name. We also accept payment at loan closing where the title company cuts a check for our services from the loan proceeds. We are locally owned and operated here in Richmond, In. Contact Certified Radon Mitigation today for a free quote.
Commercial Radon Mitigation
Commercial radon mitigation is very similar to residential. You have to understand the make up of the foundation. Most apartment buildings although with attached walls have their own foundation system and are treated separately. The most common radon mitigation systems are active soil depressurization (ASD) which uses a radon mitigation suction fan to pull the gas out from the foundation of the building. This method is very effective and we have a guaranteed success rate at lowering the radon to safe levels. Certified warranties the radon system materials and radon levels to stay at or below 3.9 pCi/L 5 years from installation. When you choose Certified for your mitigation needs you get the personal touch of a family owned company that will be here when you need us.
Air Quality
Often there are times we hear of better air quality in the home or business after the radon mitigation system. Not only does the system draw out radon laden soil gas but also moisture. This can help with high humidity and sometimes musty basements. This is an added benefit with allergy sufferers.


text:
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Volkswagen sounds out buyers for MAN Energy Solutions - sources
[FRANKFURT] Volkswagen has approached several companies to gauge their appetite for buying MAN Energy Solutions, which makes large diesel engines for ships and power generators, people close to the matter said.
The informal sales pitch is part of Volkswagen Chief Executive Herbert Diess's efforts to slim down and simplify the group which has 12 brands, trucks, buses, motorbikes, cars and electric bicycles as part of its business.
Volkswagen has not yet started a formal sales process or appointed an adviser for the sale of the company but has contacted rivals in the engine manufacturing business such as Cummins, Wartsila and private-equity owned Jenbacher, these sources said.
Volkswagen declined to comment.
"Volkswagen wants to see what would be possible," one of the people said, adding that depending on the feedback it gets the carmaker could launch a formal sales process later this year.
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Tell us what you think. Email us at email@example.com
People familiar with the matter said that they expected MAN Energy Solutions to achieve a valuation of about 3 billion euros (S$4.57 billion) in a potential sale.
The business, formerly known as MAN Diesel & Turbo, also makes turbochargers used in the oil & gas industry and in 2018 reported operating earnings of 133 million euros on sales of 3.1 billion euros.
The sources said it could also attract interest from Mitsubishi Heavy, Alfa Laval as well as from private equity groups such EQT, Bain and Cinven if it is formerly put up for sale, the sources said.
The potential sales process follows Volkswagen's decision earlier this year to scrap plans for an initial public offering of its Traton trucks unit, which features the MAN, Scania and Volkswagen Caminhoes e Onibus brands.
Volkswagen has struggled to slim down in the past after the company's works council, which has veto power over major restructuring moves, blocked efforts to sell motorbike brand Ducati and transmissions maker Renk.
MAN Energy Solutions was originally a part of VW's trucks brand MAN, but some of MAN's assets were transferred to Volkswagen last year as part of efforts to streamline Traton ahead of the planned listing.
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text:
Protection from Black Magic
I need guidance /advice to protect from human black magic and evil /jinn. I have faced some problems since long. How I can get advice/guidance and from whom and where, Please advice.
Answer: In the name of Allah, Most Compassionate, Most Merciful,
Black magic (sihr) is something that definitely exists and causes harm to people. The Messenger of Allah (Allah bless him & give him peace) was also afflicted with black magic.
A Jew by the name of Labid ibn Asim who outwardly posed to be a believer (munafiq) carried out black magic on the Messenger of Allah (Allah bless him & give him peace). He took the hair of the Messenger of Allah (Allah bless him & give him peace) and made eleven knots and placed it under a rock in a well called Zarwan. The effect of this was that it created uncertainty in the mind of the Messenger of Allah (Allah bless him & give him peace) as to whether he had done or not done certain things (although this had no effect on his religious and prophetic obligations). At times the Messenger of Allah (Allah bless him & give him peace) felt he had accomplished something yet he had not done so and vice versa. The angel Jibra�il informed the Messenger of Allah (Allah bless him & give him peace) as to what had occurred and came down with the two Surahs, namely Surah al-Falaq and Surah an-Nas. The Messenger of Allah (Allah bless him & give him peace) together with the Companions (Allah be pleased with them all) went to the well and removed the knotted hair. As each verse was recited, the knots untied miraculously. At the eleventh knot, the Messenger of Allah (Allah bless him & give him peace) was relieved from the effects of this black magic. (See: Tafisir Ibn Kathir & Ma�arif al-Qur�an)
Thus, scholars mention that the recitation of the Mu�awwazatayn (the two Quls: al-Falaq and al-Nas) is very beneficial in the removing of and protection from black magic. One should make a habit of reciting these especially when retiring to bed and after the Fardh prayers. There are many virtues of these two Surahs mentioned in the Ahadith.
Sayyida A�isha (Allah be pleased with her) narrates that whenever the Messenger of Allah (Allah bless him & give him peace) would become ill, he would recite the Mu�awwizat (Surah al-Falaq & Surah an-Nas) and blow over himself. When his illness was aggravated, I used to recite these two Surahs (and blow my breath) over him and make him rub his body with his own hand, for its blessings.� (Sahih al-Bukhari, no. 4728)
Apart from these two Surahs, the recitation of Surah al-Fatiha, Ayat al-Kursi, and last two verses of Surah al-Baqarah is also very beneficial.
Moreover, the famous Tibi�i Ka�b al-Ahbar (Allah be pleased with him) states: �Had it not been for the phrases that I recite regularly, the Jews would have turned me into a donkey (m: out of black magic). It was said to him: �What are these phrases?� He replied:
(Transliteration): �A�uzu bi wajhillah al-Adhim alladhi laysa shay�un a�dhamu minhu wa bi kalimatillah at-tammati allati la yujawizuhunna barrun wa la fajir wa bi asmaillah al-husna kulliha ma alimtu minha wa ma lam a�lam min sharri ma khalaqa wa bara�a wa zara�a.�
Translation: �I seek the protection of Allah the Great; He, than whom there is nothing greater. And I seek the protection of the perfect words of Allah which no man, virtuous or evil, can even transcend; and I seek the protection of all the beautiful names of Allah, those of them which I know and those which I do not know, from the evil of everything He (Allah) created, to which He has given existence, and which He has spread (over the earth or universe).�
(Recorded by Imam Malik in his al-Muwatta, 2/541, no. 2737)
Thus, the above supplication can be very beneficial in the removing of the effect of black magic.
Also, the consuming of Ajwa dates has been prescribed by the Messenger of Allah (Allah bless him & give him peace) as a remedy for black magic.
Amir ibn Sa�d narrates from his father that the Messenger of Allah (Allah bless him & give him peace) said: �He who eats seven Ajwa dates every morning, will not be affected by poison or magic on the day he eats them.� (Sahih al-Bukhari, no. 5130)
The above are just some of the methods in removing the effect of black magic that have been prescribed in the Sunnah, thus one may resort to any of them. There are also other remedies besides the above, but time does not allow me to mention them all.
Finally Before parting, I would like to state that undoubtedly black magic is something that exits but it is observed that many people experience some type of downfall or illness and quickly jump to the conclusion that somebody has carried out black magic and start pointing fingers at others. If a child refuses to marry someone whom the parents want him/her to marry, then the parents begin to regard it to be the cause of black magic. Similarly, if the relations of the husband and wife turn sour, the first assumption is that it must be black magic that was carried out by such and such person. Black magic is regarded to be the cause behind every minor and major illness.
This type of understanding is incorrect. One should not be too hasty in concluding that the cause of a problem is black magic, because more often than not, black magic has nothing to do with the problem.
Secondly, due to this, many people have made it a business, in that they deceive people in making them believe that they have some sort of black magic done upon them, thus they are charged with a massive sum for the treatment. People have made thousands in this business.
Thus, one should be very careful in these matters, for in it rests the benefit of this world and the hereafter. Do not be too hasty in determining that the cause behind the problem is black magic. However, if there is substantial evidence such as the sudden break of illness, etc, then one may determine whether it is the cause of black magic or otherwise. And in the case of being afflicted with it, one must primarily turn to Allah Most High and resort to the remedies mentioned in the Qur�an and Sunnah. Also, if the help of others is sought, then one should only turn to those who are god-fearing and pious.
May Allah Most High guide us all towards the right direction, Ameen.
And Allah knows best
Muhammad ibn Adam al-Kawthari
Darul Iftaa, Leicester, UK