American Lullaby: Edición Bilingüe Con Nuevos Poemas

Slender version of selected work taken from my first book of poems, AMERICAN LULLABY with three new, previously unpublished poems.

Translated by Tullulah Flores Prieto; published by Isla Negra Editores, San Juan • Santo Domingo in May 2019.

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American Lullaby


There is no such thing as barrels of oil. No heavy crude
Drowning the world, no saccharin lighter grades so sweet
They drive mild men wild.
Go to bed my darling, there is no such thing as barrels of oil.
There are only cars made of chrome and polish, flash and speed.
One for every man, woman and child
Who dreams of the open road.


There is no such thing as global warming.
Or for that matter old growth forests
Whose canopies could shelter a hundred, a thousand Statues of Liberty.
There is no such thing as habitat loss or endangered species
The world is good and unchanging, my child.
In our forests and lakes and mountains and deserts
Is life beyond counting and reason.


There is no such thing as war
No ancient hatreds or blood at the boiling point.
We’re one world, whole and indivisible.

So sleep tight in your own soft bed.
And every morning awake in your own bright room.
There has always been enough for everyone
And you will never be asked to do without.

Canción de cuna americana (Elegía)


No hay tal cosa como barriles de petróleo. Ningún crudo pesado
Ahogando al mundo, ni sacarina tan ligera y tan dulce
Como para convertir a los hombres afables en salvajes.
Ve a la cama querida mía, no hay tales barriles de petróleo.
Sólo hay automóviles cromados, fogonazos y velocidad.
Uno para cada hombre, mujer y niño
Soñando con la gran carretera.


No hay tal cosa como calentamiento global.
O lo que es lo mismo, antiguos bosques
Cuyas copas podrían albergar a cien, a mil Estatuas de la Libertad.
No hay tal cosa como pérdida de hábitat o especies amenazadas.
El mundo es bueno e inmutable, hija mía.
En nuestros bosques y lagos y montañas y desiertos
La vida está por encima de la cuantificación y la razón.


No hay tal cosa como la guerra
Ni odios ancestrales ni sangre a punto de ebullición.
Somos un solo mundo, entero e indivisible.
Así que arrellánate en tu cama blanda.

American Lullaby: Edición Bilingüe Con Nuevos Poemas

Time Is Not On Our Side

Atlas3 (Atlas Ventures. Capability brochure.)

We do not work in stone although we may use stones to make a point. No, we work with ideas, and ideas, even the best ideas, even brilliant ideas, have a shelf life. The shelf life may be as brief as that of a baguette or as enduring as a loaf of Wonder Bread, but a shelf life all the same.

Early in my career, ideas, and the media we used to express them, may have been employed for as long as two years. Taglines and positionings might last a decade. Today, ideas may blossom only once like the flower Queen of the Night. And words, our precious words, read under the unforgiving and quick-to-punish light of new prohibitions and readings, have all the weight of a fledgling. Continue reading “Time Is Not On Our Side”


From “The Names” 2

RRunner  RRunner2 (A postcard sent to me from one of two German Women I met in Ireland 1976, I received it after I returned to U.C.S.C. I foolishly never followed up.)

1982. Haphazard but not indiscriminate.

Drop off copy and invoice at Frankfurt.

Pryor Dodge, a Malvolio manqué. He had played the Flute in Paris, acted with the Comedia del’arte, studied mural painting and was so enamoured by Tango he bought a place in Buenos Aires. A collector and expert on vintage bicycles.

5:00 meeting/cocktails with Mini Hickman.

Dinner Party at Robin’s, no, no other name or identifying feature.

Call M.Gill, D. Cicero, K. Johnson.

Kate Augenblick’s opening.

A M.Marks at Madelyn’s

Walter Benke.

Tuesday the 12th: Jeff Brosk at 12. At 2:30 Edwardo. At 5:15, my father at Hemsley Palace.

Michael Marks, Jane Hartford, Susan Halpern, I would not recognize one of them
If he or she was sitting opposite me on the 1 train.

Call Dan Chamber.

Who is Mr. Lioacono? An address on Lexington Avenue.

A reminder to call Dan Chambers. Who is Dan Chambers?

My father’s cousin Eddy and his wife Carol.
My father’s cousin Stuart and his wife Phyllis.

Debra, no last name or distinguishing mark.

9:00 with Dan Chambers. Bruce’s b’day. Lunch with Tom Murphy.

John Bloomingthal of Benton Bowles, later that same day, John Washington.

Dinner Debra et al.

Breakfast with Jason. Dinner with Bruce. To the Lear party with Karl Johnson.

A Sunday appointment with Robin and Co.

Jay Chiat said, “Call me when you’re serious about advertising”.
I replied. “Jay, I’ll never be that serious.”  Continue reading “From “The Names” 2″

From “The Names” 2

From “The Names.”

EndNotes(From Yellow Book, 20 Years Hard Labor, a half life in Advertising.)


There is Pamela Burlingham, who came with me from the West.

Robert McDowell, c/o The Reaper.

Ina Kahn, a woman of whom I have no recollection.

Steve Cardin, a man I knew over drinks.

Judy Wold, a headhunter,

I would not know her now if she were handing me a bowl of soup.

Ben Bova, a sci-fi writer and Editor of Omni.

Lyle Greenfield, a copy chief at Compton who would become a vintner.

Sally Patterson, Telly Talley, Kathryn Murphy.

Hildy Smith. Continue reading “From “The Names.””

From “The Names.”

Ideas First. Words Follow.

Whisper  As I wrote in Kiss & Sell: Writing for Advertising (Revised & Rekissed) AVA. 2006.—”Ideas first. Words follow.”

Ideas possess a peculiar magic. That said, how does the magic work? The best explanation I know comes from Jean Baudrillard, and can be found in his book “Seduction” (p. 107):

This obliquity of seduction is not duplicity. Where a linear movement knocks against the wall of consciousness and acquires only meager gains, seduction has the obliquity of a dream element or stroke of wit, and as such traverses the psychic universe and its different levels in a single diagonal, in order to touch, at the far end, the unknown blind spot, the secret that lies sealed, the enigma that constitutes the girl [or boy], even to herself. Continue reading “Ideas First. Words Follow.”

Ideas First. Words Follow.

The Infinite Pain Caused by an Infinitesimal Distance

Tear sheets were delicate, and paper ads, torn from magazines or cut from newspapers, were prey to sharp points, ink stains, unwashed hands, and coffee rings. At first, we slipped the work into plastic sheets enclosed in folders of various quality. It was less than ideal—the sheets yellowed, grew brittle. They couldn’t accommodate different-sized ads.

What’s more, even hands with the best intentions removed the ads, and many of those same hands lacked the dexterity to slip the work back without creasing or tearing the paper. The worst of it? Creative Directors plowed through dozens of books at once; habitually flipping through them. He or she stopped only when an image caught his or her eye, or when a headline made them smile. Continue reading “The Infinite Pain Caused by an Infinitesimal Distance”

The Infinite Pain Caused by an Infinitesimal Distance