Dec 26, 2013

Reynolds & Midway XXXIII.


Reading Olson, of Tartarós & Typhon
think: what do I know & what is knowledge:
How will I know that what I learn is new
knowledge, not information (data) forgotten?
Back to Ulysses, Bloom & Dedalus,
kitchen prowlings of a sudden become
cosmology, theology; going again
to vying titans in primordial soup
& down again, and yet again, again,
to microcosmospherical theoretical
Melvillian depth. Charles—like Baruch,
a choking smoker : Benedictus favord
a pipe of peace, legitimate piety;
surrenderd his inheritance to a
gaffing sister; waived a high & haughty
hoity-toity chair for quiddity,
solitude, text, joy, & Love of God—
lordly leapt. See Joyce a hunert nearly
yrs ago, prolix & cloacal, w/ his hat
& wee round spectacles, mts of books
in leaning & lopsided piles about him
notes, reference tomes, dictionary,
to build it up, & keep it going: therefor
let us continue, & keep it. Pound's
Cantos, Olson's salty Maximus Poems :
items of memory   history   Kulchur ,
external to electric head machines,
exterior & available to others:
Other, essential in beginnings, myths;
stories & tales of lore: the Field
& Knower of the Field = quantum physics;
witness alters outcomes, Watchers watch:
Enoch, Daniel, elsewhere? in Scripture,
epic struggles, forces in collision
Keats sang in his Hyperion, vast
unconscionable & mysterious incest,
Kronos, Gaia ? Erde-Mutter, Mahler's
ich bin von Gott und will wieder zu Gott :
second symphony, Ressurection, eternal
consciousness: its beauty had us in tears
at first blush, early twenties, even then
in chune someway, somehow, a wannabe
Jew, this pale & christend merican Catholic,
unchurcht & unconfirmed, who feard the wafer
wd stick in his throat; who feared the water
atop his head; who feard to sign the cross
to Father, Son, & Holy Ghost, what ? Ghost ?
A ghost! Who feard the gentle cow, the silly
chicken; who feard the ants he dreamd
when father sd: Billy, they're in yr head,
& panic-stricken believed & wishd the ants
wld go out of his head, that never did,
but hisssd & hisssd, like swarms when sleep
was coming ¶ What is coming? geometric
notation    Regular 5-cell   regular convex
polychora  Schläfli symbol   {3,3,3} ; &.

- 12.26.13

Dec 23, 2013

Reynolds & Midway XXXII.

December 14 1996

85 pounds the lot of her, soaking wet,
they told her, put rocks in your pockets lest
the wind steal you away, I scoopd her up
& o'er the thing we went, was that the limen?
No, threshold it was, but there it didn't fit.
& so began a battle: my querulous throat
dealt deathblows to whatever wifely feeling
she workd to fashion for the likes of me.
This is the truth of it: God had sent
a wife straight to my door, a pearl befor swine,
a creature of such soft, dark comeliness
that never should these hands have touchd her skin,
never a hair upon her sacred head—
unless the grace of God had made it so.
 
 
12.22.13

Dec 19, 2013

Reynolds & Midway XXXI.

Radials grip & crunch on powdery snow
outside, and the nite deepens in St. John,
the clink of tulip glasses, acrid scents
of Gaulois Bleus, a fresh pack, muffled titters
of Nova Scotian fangirls out of the know,
and him, whose lanky fingers flutter pages
& scrawl the coveted autograph to names
rememberd for a minute. New Year's Eve.
Carols & Christmas songs & hymns mumble
in faraway chorus faint thru frosted windows:
Silent, Holy Night, & Rudolph's nose:
Bob May's grieving creation put to song
by Johnny Marks, also a Jew, and May's
brother-in-law, no less: remarkable story
of Jewish suffering & Jewish resilience,
in celebration of the toughest Jew
& mildest Rabbi in the world of men.
Thus Midway's eyes reflected, Yule-log flame
flickering inside the umber iris,
dilated pupil, moist, the eggwhite stitcht
with deltaed red; the tear rolld, pendulous,
breast-shapen. Was it sd that Helen's breast
was used to make a chalice? Marie Antoinette's
perfect pair a set of 4 porcelain cups?
I have no doubt, sd Reynolds, & held his hand
as if to cradle gently in his palm
the tear-shaped bowl of fat. Then Midway cried
O Monika's kleine bechern; my beloved's
¡delicados pequeños cálices!
but those he had not known, yet did Cassandra's
cuppas: white as almond blossoms, tippt
with areolæ pink as bloomd pink roses|
Midway blinkd, and Robert rose, Pierre
Cardin white chinos catching at a shoelace,
& glided thru the 'smoky music': Duncan's
capture| [A name] I love you. I want to kiss you
on the mouth & on the neck. I want to hold
you in my arms & feel your breasts against me ;
I want to make love to you ; to know your body
as I know my own body ; to smell you, taste you,
touch you, forever. I love you, I love you, forever.
These words came forth from my lips, we spoke
in whispers in the darkness, to them that we love,
in true love & in covetousness, in the Ear of God
our words were true & dangerous, & spoken in sin.
Later we slept, & our dreams passd w/o memory.
Laid on our side, we ran our hands on our body,
naked in the dark, in the Light of Christ, w/o shame,
and in the name of Love, we whisperd| ¶ Eyes
followd þhe man, þhe eyes of wickéd women,
& wickéd men, who lookd wiþ envious lust
& lecheróus desire ; & he knew
the pressure of þeir eyes, þe clingy, webby
tendrils of interest dragging, only to break
at last when time & distance broke þe þreads
of þeir attention. Out into þe chilly
wind of St. John, þhe penny loafers trod,
&, in a black sedan, he went.


- 12.17-19.13

Dec 18, 2013

Reynolds & Midway XXX.

Matthew 26:15
Matthew 27:3
Exodus 21:32
Zechariah 11:12


He in penny-loafers, one leg crosst
over the other, reclining in the chair,
clipboard, pen, and Dunhill swirling white
to hearken to a something, not the smoke
in Rome, but of a substance we ought not
express, to put a finer point, to say
it straight, if harder matter wld be pearls.
you sd express, & Reynolds adolescently
chortled: is that the word we want, it sounds
like Charlie's twin brother, younger Chortle,
Chuck & Chortle, talking heads? No, turtles.
That's rime-driven, we agreed, & broke the
sing-song, only to go back, soon, but for now
let us enjoy the laxity, we acquiesced &
Reynolds: there's Chortle & Chucky,
& Prudence, dear Prudence, Charity,
Chastity & Hope, Bob Hope, who playd
to men in uniform & sd he'd play
if but one man was serving, he wld play,
a good man: 1 in a million we wld guess,
then Midway: he wld stretch his legs & say
a line from Langland, Chaucer, Spenser, Douglas,
Blake, Berryman, Duncan; then Ginsberg
bringing up the rear, incanting aums ,
clapping, yawping mantras, chanting hymns,
but lest we go too far & lose the premise
which was to tell of him, the lengthy calves
w/o an hair, a smoooth man, whereas Esau
was an hairy man, to mind us of
Albion's harlequins, tall & leggy men,
let us continue, it is of this man
that phantasies unsightly & ungodly
come: images that stir the blood & frighten
the mind, like those that Iudas saw:
the rotted beast aswarm w/ flies, the demon
in sudden terror, & in innocent faces
of sneering children, in Gibson's vision,
for 30 pieces of silver, thirty shekels?
He hung himself, or hangd, we say hangd
not hung, which is for objects, not for men,
but better we avoid this, ' bury me not Bunko
damn Catholic I pray you in Egypt. ' : Galway,
whose boychild crieth: Fergus, who went w/ wand'ring
& dishevelld stars, we'll get to him, his longpoem
Rodman snipt in his anthology
[Selden dead, 2002, age 93],
The Avenue Bearing the Initial of Christ
Into the New World , we have quoted there,
& pray we avoid this, let me echoe heere
this Greco-Roman love, for shame, it blushd
its purple head & then became an olive,
O oil of the fruit     of the tree   in the garden
I sang befor, in ballad sing-song, saying
my mouth is open, & I am waiting, like
that waif La Belle Dam sans Merci
who mindeth me of Opeth & a bridge,
dark water: ways & wells, & fluting fountains,
arches, under wich go folk forlorn
in misty loss, as in Lothlorien
where Beren went & barefoot Luthien,
in mirky woodes by melancholy meres—
who tarryeth long & no birds sing.


- 12.17-18.13

Dec 15, 2013

Reynolds & Midway XXIX.


But everybody wants to be that guy,
you know, w/ snappy comebacks, pithy quips.
His 'glasses don't go flying across the floor',
when slapt by starlets. Reynolds & me, we
shuffld out of the theatre, he with a half-
tossd bottle of NyQuil, for a dex-enrichd
attention span, twenty-nine yrs ago,
upstate New York. One day we went spelunking|
Come, say it straight: we spiderd thru some cavey
tunnels in Minnewaska, climbd the lemon-
squeeze, he calld it. On a skinny ladder
I held white knuckld; above, the light pourd
trickling, hence the appellation. Once
topside again, & out of the Blyan darkness ,
Midway became a hero: Elbows outward,
dry hands spannd astride his flaccid beltloops,
he, confident again on Terra Firma ,
waxd poetic: Mts come out of the sky
[hand extended like a Grecian statue's]
about us & we stand there , range across—
80s campfire girls in soggy swimwear
toggle the switch from apogee to nadir,
raise the temperature a fair °,
& alter orator to /chatterbox,
whilst Reynolds, who cld pass for Frampton's
sexier younger brother: loosely springy-
bronzy curls in radiant array,
his teeth rectangled as piano keys
for soft hamfisted bungled melodies
I sketchd one morning. In the afternoon
we journeyd 'round the edge of Newburgh, bent
on misadventure. I was homeward bound
and he my city guide, now Northplank Tavern
occurs to me: another early evening—
Reynolds morphs from Thomas into James,
a Scot or Irishman to Englishman,
and in that fuddlehole, the polishd bar
of heavy wood, we bowd our monkish heads
and askd the tapster, he in natty togs,
despite the absence of the nodding off
& frequent gents & warmers of the barstools'
chinny wives or one-night flirting skirts,
if he wld tell us tales behind the labels:
monastic men brewd this one, sediment
settled at the bottom, potent as wine.
My eyes took in the mirrors, oaken beams
across the high, archd ceiling; then the floor,
buffd smooth enough to cast reflections, stood
straight up & struck me, & I slept. True heroes
never went down like that, the rough & tumble
sluggers in Key Largo, Casablanca,
hard-assd on celluloid; those black & white
packers of small revolvers stood upright
& stood for something, somewhere. Play it again,
                                                                                 Sam.


- 12.14-15.13

Dec 12, 2013

Reynolds & Midway XXVIII.



Began the evening badly, out of line,
& off the path the Lord has set us on,
deliberately, without excuse, the blood
hot in the veins, coursing with speed, corrupt,
avoiding the prophet, having switchd to 1st
Samuel, then back to Isaiah, having read
Daniel, Ezekiel, & Jeremiah,
these iterations: poems ? following whither
the Lord shd take us, or that slithy serpent
Christ trod, killing in Gethsemane,
His gallant heel on the sibilant beast, His face
resolved, in Gibson's flame-blue Passion: Jim's
masculine muscle & incisive eyes,
profoundly penetrative, beautiful—
Does that go in accord? We do not know.
The Shroud of Turin: Yeshua's face razor-
edged, thinly signatured, imprinted.
Dark complected ? He the Lion of Judah,
more wise than Solomon, Scion of David,
more rich in splendor—tho' that king amassd
his brazen wealth & gatherd hordes of wives,
dime paramours—kinglier than all kings
& emperors of the earth, Who rode an ass
into Jerusalem | Now to return
to our confession: Certes, we've begun
tonite in lust & lechery, Midway
& I, whose digits poke these symbols out,
that other : One behind whose mask "I hide
my self inside the shadows of shahame",
in megalomania: Walter Mitty's
dreamy abandon, a tale I have not read
but lived, my idiot cranium plumbly stuck
in soil & cloud. Let us remember a day
In 'sixty-nine, & me a welterweight,
a sprout as high as Pop's benevolent belt.
We watchd a box wherein were black & white
talking heads, & on that day the Jets
united (contra Unitas). Separate bands
of men, two leagues: alpha entrencht,
& beta brash, a fresh confederation
of little Davies, Namath at the conn,
who wore his locks as one Eyeless in Gaza,
gayly effeminate, the number twelve
emblazond on the jersey, front & back,
prophetic numerals: the cardinals
one & two, the sum of which is three:
The whole is greater than—you know the rest,
James Haig explaind, but few rememberd: Mind,
Matter, & Language; Time, Space, & Number.
With that we're off & running, like those cleated
bunches of eleven who huddle, hut ,
& hike on numberd grass, helmeted men
shoulder to shoulder, nose to nose, who "gallop
terribly against each other's bodies." :
Another James: "I croon my tears at fifty
cents a line." And on that day Joe Willie's
guarantee was granted, shut the traps
of mockers everywhere & put in motion
a new convergence of the twain, a first
& latter joind in one far greater whole.
His index aimd to God, his word kept,
Namath quit the field. But Reynolds scoffd,
the game is cockamamie, greening galoots
colliding, tussling like a pack of brutes,
& what eccentric counting? Six strokes
instead of one, a single, booted extra,
or two w/o the shoe? The world plays futbol
and we this, this—but Midway interjected:
7 + 7 to save the world, the fourteen
Stations of the Cross, Veronica, Simon,
the Via Dolorosa—Reynolds stalked
off, & hissd, across the limen.
12.11-13.13

Dec 11, 2013

Reynolds & Midway XXVII.


Yahafta I tellya yahafta I need I need
& so it began againe of a starry midnight,
but Midway, he had ither things in mind:
for instance: in the mirror, the what he calld
'palimpsest' in a sonete, the finest booty.
In Murphy & Sullivan's Beowulf
the word was monstrous, and it made us
giggle like a gurl, for our legs were bald
as the smooth pates of monks in Tibet, our T
at low ebb, wich is fine with us @ time t
for in sleep we wake &, on our sides, like Ezekiel,
pass our hands over the coconut-milk
quhite cloves, & wonder how and wherefore this
sea-change, now, as unto our Jubilee
we nigh | but yesternight I heard the Great
Ninth of Schubert, at wich commencement
there is no sadder, more magnificent music:
I mean the sweeping strings a moment in,
how many bars, who knows, I don't. & this
thocht us of Ludwig & of Antonin,
& that mysterious cardinal: that 9
that cannot be surpassd, or cld not by
a few elect, which brings us to our Lord,
Yeshua's Father, Abba, that reigneth in Heaven,
Who holdeth us, the greatest marionette
& timeless puppeteer, the Lord G-d;
Jehovah, Yahweh, Allah, Primum Mobile;
that Unmoved Mover, Makar
& Shaker of erde & water, H²0,
ритуал. символ. образ
Ritual. Symbol. Image
stampt in the mind of man, made in His Image,
Who came to me this morning in a dream
where I saw verses in the Guid Buik
& His eternal guidance, guiding me
to make a poweem, adding up the number,
& further things of which I did not ken,
of compound parts. Dos Passos made compounds,
his favorite, 'redfaced' : The 42nd Parallel ,
U.S.A. : too many redfaced personæ,
but who am I to fault him? No-man, which
sd Odysseus to that oneeyed Cyclops
who like Colossus trampt & ate manflesh,
to which those Orcs were snuffling in the wind
for Saruman, Maiar, that lost the Way
& tore the earth assunder w great engines
of sore destruction, &, like Aulë, wrought
him creatures of his own rude make, cruel
abominations, hideous mercenaries,
guttural slayers, fetid filth of breath
not breathd by God, inspirited to ruin
& ruination, rampant beastiall death,
destroyers of instruction, virtue, vice's
vicious & rotten, meaty fournisseurs
of  venery & violatión
Which is not thus to speak of that Mahal's
Seven Fathers, who did finer work
& wrought in mts hallowd & wide halls,
whose smithy blades did strike in Middle-Earth.
& now that we've forgotten Midway's back
let us forfend such mention, & again
heed God, whose prophet Yeshayahu speaks:
12.11.13

Dec 9, 2013

Reynolds & Midway XXVI.


Dazed, & maybe a jot confused,
we woke from our dreamless sleep of an hour's
duration, having been undisturbd by wasp,
or locust. Push it , the androgynous Plant
waild, against the fly the guessd-at rod
of alpha male not spared for twenty-five ,
he croond, where in New York
those horsed policemen cruisd for long-haird youth,
around the Garden on the East when Bron-yr-Aur  went
belling, like golden water in a flute,
pads squeaking up the fretted wood, the four
faces mild w drink & wonder: having
the world a relish on a half shell. We
abandond hate & loosd our tongues againe
to tempt the wrath of Yahweh that raind down
havoc of rain & fire, & burnd with fire—
But what of Robert, queried Reynolds. Midway's
eyes went glazèd o'er, & thocht of Robert
whose Celtic chest, nor not that Robert neither,
he sd, & put his palm out like those kings
of Gondor, he of whom we lately spoke.
Tell us the story, the other elbowd, winkd,
& shut his hole, whereat the poet lourd
& hesitated, ruminating ruins
& pomegranates, pillars, caterpillers,
chapiters: the wrath of the Lord of Hosts,
& Zedekiah blinded, bound in chains
for whom we wept but yesternight, & Paul
who wreckd but left no handsome corpse,
the need 4 speed too hot in him. We wept
& wet the pillow for the dead, the millions
dying in pain, slaughterd in war, pusht
in shallow graves alive in Nanking, frozen
to death, butcherd in Auschwitz: tears
that Mengele shd live, children gassd,
the old stript naked, bulldozed into piles.
We wept, but questiond not the ways of God,
nor do we question here. In shuddering love
we wept, & swallowd Reason, taking hold
of SØren's despair in blinded faith,
for having made the leap & past all doubt,
nor wanting courage in our hearts to wake
from viewless slumber, barren of image,
& live another day without question,
without rebellion, Lord. O gaunt Christ,
my Lord, Thy narrow body, by whose wounds
I am refresht, awakend, by whose stripes
I am reminded of my deep corruption,
my turning away, my scarlet shame. O Lord,
Who will not come down from the Tree
to walk again on Galilee
for all my mental fight, but nine-inch-naild
remaineth, scourgd & bloody. When You thirst
I lift the sponge, & when You die I thrust
the blade into Your side, again, again,
& stand upon Your shoulders, & I laugh
& roll the dice, & gambol lyke a lambe
on greene hills in a swelling empire, easy-
peasy, Lord, in surety & safety,
leastways for now, remindeth Emmet, whom
I tolt of in a story; but the time
cometh: The words of Jeremiah blast & blare
worldwide & wheresoever eyes are open
& ears shall hear. Mine eyes are open, Lord,
mine ears shall hear.
 
 
12.9.13

Dec 8, 2013

Reynolds & Midway XXV.


Walking side by side w death, the d'evil
does he? It has been sd, to speak of the d'evil
brings him, & may be true, as of an evening
I lay & made a breathèd challenge, cocky
& sure in the armor of Christ, when on the cusp—
I saw a face of horror: the wrappt phizzog
that seemd a mummy in a dapper suit,
a hotel lobby, at the desk, casual,
but for a flash: on the top of Lovecraft's
wispy stairs where madness rides the starwind,
close to the sound of consciousness abeyant,
the hisss, or buzz—of sleep. I mutterd, mocking,
then cried aloud, torn to the waking world.
My heart triphammerd: it was only Penny,
who leapt up on the bed, her black body
poisd in cat-alarm, her yellow eyes
big, her gray-streakt fur up, all á prickle.
Don't ask for trouble, keep yr head down, sidle
as one intent on giving no offense;
keep yr elbows in, & mind yr manners;
bid g'day & be polite to sheilas:
tip yr hat & never scry the tower
whereon the 2nd hand makes monstrous° tocks
as riot cometh on its terrible feet
wich jangle at the ankles, jewelld bellies
sinuous & swiveling, O dark,
O lovely Salome, come dance for me,
for us, come naked-middenlye & hair
long, black & flying, you of the forkt & sibilant
tongue that markest lust, duplicity,
the ancient clam'ring & reptilian voice
against the small and still; come shake,
come sway & shimmy, move thy money-maker,
bringer of joy & death, thou pigeon-toed
& nimble footed user of thighs that make
a perfect ass of themselves, that valentine heart
inverted, stinky harbinger of fun
and desolation, odoriferous moone
that fawning poets ode & on which hinges
life & death: birth y basura organs
placed nigh, a pair, to make a mess of things
for all most fain to look: the leering
onanist, the caught red-handed apes,
like Midway, who was of a sudden quiet
when Reynolds up & spoke, his small cigar
waning between his fingers: let us heap
our loud collective guilt upon these faire
& slinky lovelies; let us rain our hate
in public & in private, lest our young
be also dismayd, also connivd, trickt
of their senses & their money. Let us give
no quarter, never, once & for Chrissake
all: the little quivery moppets let us
hate with perfect hate unspoilt by Reason,
w chiseld hate, and salted with contempt
bound up w hate, like pharoahs dried in Egypt.
«Then shall we dig them up, unbury them,
unwrap them, and take careful note
of our undoing? For we're desecrators
at heart, & to a man: of graves & churches,
idols & icons, ruins & remains
of all our botherd and unresting dead
who make fit bullseyes 4 the slings & arrows
of man's complete corruption: For their lips
are seald, they cannot speak; their tongues
are lockd away, & they cannot defend.
Thus Midway, w his dull & heavy manhole
of a flapper, answerd himself.
And so the story goes: brother kills brother,
or at the least is at his neck
& on his back forever, in condign
concordia et chaos, ad infinitum;
in internecine strife & bloody battle
'neath hoode & robe, w cloak & ‡s'
pearly handles slipt in harborcoats;
w Janus-faces in the looking glass;
Narcissi | stuff it, now.
Lord, make me silent.


12.7.13


° I was not aware when I wrote this of the existence of a thing called a 'monstrance clock'. I was actually envisioning a Star Trek episode where the people on an earthlike planet go haywire, festival and medieval style, when the big public clock strikes a certain hour. The band Ghost has a cool song called "Monstrance Clock", but I'm askeert to listen to that amazingly talented band, since they are admittedly satanic, albeit I think they mean that term loosely, to refer to all things dark, rebellious, etc. Nonetheless, it is tricksy and quite risky business, in my opinion, praising that pussy satan and his creepy minions to millions of impressionable fans throughout the world. - William A Baurle 6.19.14



Dec 5, 2013

Reynolds & Midway XXIV.

    Nycthemeron: the period of 24 hours.


Robert I met, or listend to, he said,
at a reading, we have decided to speak
of this, later, a wateringhole-cum -grill,
and he w penny loafers—so I tappt
at first in a prose telling, long sent
to the quasi-oblivion of over-written
cyber flotsam, but not vanisht:I type,
reiterating Duncan, who, by the by,
is not the Bob of whom I speak. That
is sheer co-inky-dink, Popeye wd say,
also:I yam what I yam; O Olive Oyl:
[Sofia] Sophia, the love of wisdom,
which is not knowledge: the skinny
one on the train, for God's alive inside
a movie, and prophets live, are subtle,
not bold, not naked, like Isaiah,
who walkt fur three years in Jerusalem,
nor Jeremiah, who walkd w arms confind
and lived to tell it to Baruch. Baruch !
and long, lean legs in spruce gray slacks
& black socks, checkerd, hmm, no hint
of ankle, which reminds us of Keats's
Calidore, was it. I refuse to check.
An Induction to a sumpinrudder,
as Estlin peckt, of rich & sensuous lines
that prophesied the coming genius
of one who knew his place in the hallowd
heirarchy of English bards & Scotch
reviewers, to hearken to another genius,
alpha more than beta ? Whither was I ?
You were getting to it. Like a herd of turtles,
sweet Nance was fond of saying. Get on
with it! & his legs of slender, soft stretch,
his backside milkily, restfully squasht,
whilst pen in hand and sevenny $ words
come fluent from his lips that roseate
& plump, like Ginsberg's maybe, Jewish ?
Maybe. Sans the vast Dovidic beard,
suave of chin & cheek, & mild of jowl,
past fifty, certainly, perhaps. I couldn't
tell you, nor is it any of my business—
I mean, your   business. A gin & lemon
some servantly, obsequious hand prepared
I would were mine: gentleman's gentleman.
Loudmouth soup in the wrong bear-hand,
but cheering heart in his, the olive plump,
& smooth and round, of a certain tang:
Mediterranean: O thick with oil,
thou passion fruit, thou heavy greene
& lovely morsel, wich hast struck my fancy
at this so late a… nevermind. A fillip
of a finger, a flick, will send that d'evil out,
Out, damned spot! But speak. Be silent. Speak.
Give me one day, my Lord, a single day
in my yong selfe, one brief & certain space
of waking thocht or dreame, w/o that  now
that stirs my heart. Nycthemeron. O Lord.
I learnt a word before. I kneel befor Thee.



12.5.13

Reynolds & Midway XXIII.


I heard it said that Jeremiah from ere
his yanking forth into the stunning sun
was smote with God & never recoverd.
It occurred to me, who had crept on 50 yrs
I was also stuck with an intransigent trust,
if not refined to a rapt Franciscan swoon,
in God, with whom it was also said Spinoza
was saturated, Deleuze and Hegel saying
something else about the blessèd Jew
whom Santayana postulated had thought,
to paraphrase:the finest thought on God
ever conceived, or was that someone else ?
is that a botched rendition of his words ?
I ask because I will not look it up.
Won't. I prefer my mirky recollection;
but you can look it up ,if so compelld.
I don't care to. There's too much at one's touch,
too many pages, too much information.
And information? How are we informd?
There's data, and there is information;
there's noise, and there in the noise is something,
or one would hope, to know, or to believe,
if that's the best we can do;but mostly chaff
and not much wheat. And there are liars,
sniggering jongleurs: lemon screws
in the soft machine, piranas in a net
clotted with krill & killifish, to mix
one's metaphorical laying of blame. & blame
He sd, he does, but let's be clear. I do not speak
of the good or bad, but of the ugly
wi said. The ugly on the left & on the right.
The left, the sinister, unorthodox
fighter's stance: right knuckle sandwhich first
& fore. Tunney could lick them, & he licked
a lot, the intellectual pugilist,
which is to steer now from the point
which is: the uncomeliness of the handwave,
the scoffing p'shaw, the viperous hiss.
When Reynolds & Midway first crossd ways
he was blueeyed, tall, & hunched his shoulders,
mild, with welder's torch and mask, a chunk
of motor Midway could not fathom, turnd
in his gentle hands, like Rubik's cube, heavy,
a test of intellect, he sd, which meant that I
had none. Later we walked in woodes, among
stands of birch, white, in the silent woodes
in the vale of the Lordly Hudson, Goodman
declaimd, across wide fields. Now let us open
the field, for we be makars allace, you & me,
& it's lang syne wi hadde gangd aglee.
I see your bonny lad, his eyen twei
as blue as thine & cheek to cheek & blonde:
the father as the son. Father & Son
an ither Stevens sang, another Cat
who kneels to Allah in that sunless Albion
where Johnny tanned in English rain, a chune
that brings la sal unto this padre's ojos,
O skying sons, my bravely battling boys:
noses to grindstones, shoulders to the wheel ,
come gimme a squeeze & get the led out, shake
it, shake it, shake. When all   the levies break
we must be quick, skeddadle, & skidoo.



- 12.5.13