Reynolds and Midway 45

    We must thus begin the chapter on the deceptive powers. Man is only a subject full of error, natural and ineffaceable, without grace. Nothing shows him the truth. Everything deceives him. - Blaise Pascal, Penseés.

Heigh Ho! let's go, hallooed the harried hare

that jumpd out on that road that we were on

all thinking angle, triangle, and square—

while listening to a devilish antiphon—

and diagrams, then something in the air

like lines along the blue dome caught my head

criss-crossing white like contrails or strung cloud

like butter dribbld over too much bread.

A dry loaf ? Reynolds whisperd, and a loud

array of stanzas we had often read

clamord | But let us think of Julian,

for we had spoke of Ocquonoctua,

now lost, sd Midway, in the merest span

of that Eternity whose wink brings awe

to us in Time who all were ancient whan

our Mother Christ had held us to His breast

before Mary had had the counsel of

that angel who had told in secretest

comforting words that she wld rise w love

and thicken with the Father's child. Unrest

had left her spirit then. Another angle,

sd Reynolds, as the creature made it safe

and hoppd over the curb, of our triangle.

Scoffingly? We cannot here vouchsafe

for one whose ear may hear another angel.

6.25.14

Nota 4

Christ came to put an end to the past.

 - Savatie 47° 0′ 0″ N, 28° 55′ 0″ E

Reynolds and Midway 44

                                         for Gavin Douglas in Heaven

The durris and the windois all war breddit

With massie gold, quhairof the fynes scheddit.

With birneist euir baith Palace and towris

War theikit weill, maist craftelie that cled it,

For sa the quhitlie blanschit bone ouirspred it,

Midlit with gold anamalit all colouris,

Importurait of birdis and sweit flouris,

Curious knottis, and mony hie deuise,

Quhilks to behald war perfite paradise.

sd Reynolds, quoting from his pate as we

went wambling headlong in our revery

and reverént revéls, as Ian croond it,

not to ape good Father Hopkins, he

of that sprung rhythm, wich was taught to me

in mony a buik whose leaves instilléd glee

when I o'erturnd them w indéx and thumb

whan we were yonge and narrow, quhite and dumb,

but inky as a monk in a scriptorium.

Now what became of William's telling query

minds that grok in yrs not distant very,

wich to invert beyond what we'd expect,

and far beyond the good and necessary,

is but to lovely mimick one whose merry

lines in Yoda-speak made readers wary

and eyeballs tried and true and likewise weary

if not plain angry at such craft suspéct,

wich Dickey thoght, we thoght in retrospect,

but not w/o respect. Now w respect

to Bawby, wich is hér pronunciation,

who came from nigh on Pittsburgh there in Penn's

sylvania , where they tunneld through the mts,

as you can see when driving thro' the nation,

leastways that region [insert rime: think fountains,

think counting, think of Emmet who'd say countins]

close by those famous chocolate factories

whose smells were wafted sweetly on each breeze

that cloyingly wended. Bawby's skin is pale,

his Boddie° slender as a girl's, his wristes

narrow, knuckld bigly, but his fistes

never bunch to strike. He wld not wail

Medieval style on maiden nor on mail,

nor can he think a thoght that pugilistes

think when in a ring w other fighters

throwing hands like mony dicky blighters

taking waspies in the welkin.  Stale

the air of Bawby's close and small apartment,

wich May did open up when she wld visit—

she that she who hails from Pennsylvania,

whom we've written on above [revisit

stanza iv.] and have renamed w love,

whose eyes were ever on the stars above

the jagged peaks of brown and stunted hills

in something of a sort of astromania

(that of the astrological department,

not astronomy), whose cherry lips

did light on his that starry starry knight

when he did ope his mouth and shyly askd her:

May I kiss you , and she said, you may ,

wich isn't why I turnd her into May,

tho' you may think it. Such allowance taskd her

hardly, given God's Will to obey,

and man's; but none wld her deep love eclipse

come hell, highwater, or Apocalypse.

°for you, John, & thx.

- 6.18.14

Emmett Reckins The Road to Reality

When I was yonge some things were different than.

Wich is to say that I'm a different man

than who—or is it whom, or either or?—

I was befor. I herd that heretofore,

that God had up and made us out of stuff.

What stuff that is, I guest He had enough

to make a ball, and loads of other balls

Wich all strung up made His celestial halls

as bright as any diety could wish.

Let there be light, He said, and then some fish,

plus other varmints, sprang upon the earth,

wich was of vastitude and mighty girth

that some called Mother then, and do today,

but by some fancy name thats spelt this way:

Gaia. I learnt that spelling off of Bing,

wich is a kind of dictionary thing

like Yahoo, wich was long befor the age

of Goooooogle [note I splat there on the page,

like on my monitor, to many o's?

Looks kind of like a bowl of cheerios!]

See how I wandered off? My Pa once tolt me,

Emmett, pay attention!  Sure, he'd scolt me,

but I've a neck and shoulder stiff as any,

and I kin take a licking. I've had many

a boxing on the ear, plus a good whack

upon the nether part of this hear back,

as well as many a lashing by the tonge,

wich sometimes more than wallops often stung.

What I am on about is only that

the child is father of the man. Now what

that means is really simple. Just ask Wordsworth,

A poet who could tell you what a word's worth—

I know, I know! I stolt that rhyme, leastways

I think I might of. Might have?  Anyways,

the thing is, when your older, than you see

another version of Reality,

wich Roger Penrose wrote a book upon,

wich I in turn reviewed on Amazon.

I bougt it at St. Vinny's hear in town.

I mean that book of Roger's, who's no clown,

but is a mathematician and a physicist...

Hot dang!    The End.   [No rhymes for physicist.]

6.12.14

Reynolds and Midway 43

                 ...when loth at landfall soft I leave.

                        - John Berryman, Dream Song 12 

Now let us tell of Bawby, most hushhush

and bring the whole tale out. Let William Tell

the truth, and nodding but,

but sideways slantwise lest the prickéd ears

and opend eyes of lil ones lying abed

take fright and swing their bedfellows to bear

adown the necks of them that tuck them in !

We heard that minstrel in the gallery

who sang of sperm in gutters by the Thames,

who whistled on the 7^th day and piped

in woodes and in the valleys, who purchásed

6 bay mares and 6 golden apples, who

astride his horse of air did gallop by

Scotch Corner at one hundred 20 M

PH and paid the Piper w/ a tenner;

who [summoned am to tourney] came w/ hair

of Adam, Abraham, and Allen, who

was Kral Majales, King of May, and crownd

and carried beaming proud like Quasimodo,

whose 1 good eye was teary and whose ears

were stufft with bronze from bells too deftly swung

like birches, which now swings us back to Robert,

not that Robert, Duncan neither, nor

that Celtic Plant who pushd love to his baaaaaabe

(whom Midway hereabouts sang heretofore)

in wanton song and denim, for this Bob

is mine alone, and he is quite a dry-Bob,

neither Sordello's, nor that Zimmerman

who fancied southern Timrod° in Deluth—

Henry,° like him whom John Allyn Smith

fashiond in Dream Songs, like those Henrys

Stephen made, whom Willa Cather sd

was not a poet, though War Is Not Kind

but red and of whom Junior wrote a book,

before he went one day and, Brodie-like,

leapt to the Mississippi far below

to rid himself of 45 sad yrs

of anger and forgiveness— How I wish

his beard would billow and his fall estÓp

or he be caught midfall by Jesus Christ

… Amen at 44°59'N 93°16'W …

and taken to the Father's loving breast

and laid more gently down to rest.

6.10.14

Reynolds and Midway 42

          First part: Misery of man without God. 
          Second part: Happiness of man with God. 
          Or, First part: That nature is corrupt. Proved by nature itself. 
          Second part: That there is a Redeemer. Proved by Scripture. 
                              
                                - Blaise Pascal, Pensées, Section II, 60



Hcav*ns, what a ftrange difeafe is this!—That lov^

Should fo change men, that one can hardly fwear

They are the fame!—No mortal liv'd

Lcls weak, more grave» more temperate than he,

—But who comes yonder ?—Gnatho, as I live ^

The Captain's paraiite! and brings along

The Virgin for a prefent: oh rare wench !

f How beautiful! I (hall come off, I doubt^

But fcurvily with my decrepid Eunuch.

This girl furpaflcs ev'n Thais herfelf —

George Colman's plays of Terence were renderd thus ^

whan Kindld from the archive whither Midway

hied. A lass! He cried, but did not, did he? Not.

But in the inside of his noodle thought:

we ought not build unto th' already skying

Tower of Babel not a single brick

since tongues are crissd and crosst enow as is,

ne ought we trowel and mortar walls anew

ne add more height and reaching unto God

lest some should shimmy up and at the top

be there confounded furthermore and drop ¬

so off we went and Midway said, 2 bills

of greeny money is the all we've got

and is the sum and total of our wad,

and thinking, Reynolds sd we ought to read

O'Brian, sallied gladdend thro' St. Vinny's,

whan Lo! behold to our right shoulder, propt

primly, there it was, hardcoverd, stood

right on its ends up: H.M.S. Surprise !

Now who dove guest at ? Naturally, we went

the few mean steps it took to gang anear

that high white shelf and gently claspt the buik,

than opend it to check the pencilld cost—

you guessd aright, a twain of bucks| Now Midway

ell-o-elld whenas his windows lighted

on that number, and he thankd his Lord

and put his tender index to the Cross

and to the Son that sufferd there and Christ

His arms spread wide in terrible restraint,

His slender body bleeding, hands and feet

transfixt, that we might here with joy endite :
His yoke is easy, and His burden, light.

6.8.14

An important note part 3

28 And it shall come to pass afterward, that I will pour out my spirit upon all flesh; and your sons and your daughters shall prophesy, your old men shall dream dreams, your young men shall see visions: 29 And also upon the servants and upon the handmaids in those days will I pour out my spirit.

 - Joel 2:28-29 

2 for Abraham Cowley

I.

There once was a poet named Cowley
 whose metre was just as unruly
     as Donne's was, a famous
     scribbler, like Seamus
 who rimes consonántly, not vuwelly.


II.

 There once was a poet named Cowley—
 Hey, that rhymes with Aleister Crowley!
     Leastways that's what
     I heard, and not
 a fact I can vouch for personally.



5.2014

Quis Custodiet Ipsos Custodes

At Shea Stadium our seats were way too high

to see the players, let alone the ball.

When someone cracked a homer, my boyish eye

flashed, but failed to track its trail at all.

I stood and gave a tipsy clap, the beer

secured between my tattered keds—non-Met

fans raised en masse a flatulent Bronx Cheer.

Down in front, a black and white TV set,

rabbit-eared and tinfoiled, showed the game.

I thought of Mickey Mantle, Joltin' Joe,

and Mrs. Robinson. Though it's a shame,

I can't remember now who won. I go

along with friends today as I went then:

equally loving games, and mice, and men.

- 6.1.14

An important note, part 2

And furthermore I saw that the Second Person, which is our Mother as anent the Substance, that same dearworthy Person is become our Mother as anent the Sense-soul. For we are double by God's making: that is to say, Substantial and Sensual. Our Substance is the higher part, which we have in our Father, God Almighty; and the Second Person of the Trinity is our Mother in Nature, in making of our Substance: in whom we are grounded and rooted. And He is our Mother in Mercy, in taking of our Sense-part. And thus our Mother is to us in diverse manners working: in whom our parts are kept undisparted. For in our Mother Christ we profit and increase, and in Mercy He reformeth us and restoreth, and, by the virtue of His Passion and His Death and Uprising, oneth us to our Substance. Thus worketh our Mother in Mercy to all His children which are to Him yielding and obedient.

 - Julian of Norwich, Revelations of Divine Love