A Night With Yoric by Klaus J. Gerken I_4 I ...it begins with a long SILENCE then a tongue divides the lightning and the thunder then the tongue speaks the one word no one can hear there is no one to hear the one word no one will ever hear because the tongue does not create poetry the mind does and the tongue is a blabber crash bang boom the lightning hits the soup and bubbles up a messy conundrum and out of this messy conundrum a finger rises the finger does not speak but points in a direction it therefore creates a direction EAST this is where the sun will rise the ATEN the ATEN is pure light the ATEN is the lightning the thunder is the wind and the lightning forms a ball and the wind circles the globe and the wind divides earth and firmament and the ball a glorious orange rises in the east and the sun warms the wind and the wind forms clouds and the clouds form moisture and for 40 million years it rains and the motion of the earth and winds forms tides and the tides churn up silt and the silt builds islands and the islands form a mass and on this mass when the rain stops and in the firmament there is great dust and sphere form from this dust and one sphere grazes the earth and tears a great chunk into space and that chunk becomes a moon and the moon pulls on the earth and the earth becomes alive and violent and forth from its centre spews lava creating an atmosphere and over time the atmosphere spawns moss and grass and ferns and pines upon a solid earth and the green oxidizes the poison air... and we all know this - the text books are explicit...and the "Holy" legends even more. We even swear on these though no longer accept their premises. we have become a society of visual illusions of useless artifacts of 30 year cycles of quarterly returns we step upon the moon but discontinue the quest we seek the mundane rather than the great strive forward we list the lowest common denominator as our greatest achievement accommodate everyone sanction nothing over the other celebrate diversity as long as diversity tows the line of conformity even our poetry has become bland our poet entertainers our entertainment subliminal violence we need to contain the more violent our entertainment the more passive our social order no...we drive it under ground... far below where the need to deal with it is not our own and when our law enforcement becomes crippled we complain... when we give the power to enslave us we free the criminal... all empires went this route and we like all empires at the end deem ourselves enlightened with barbarians at our doorstep and we bring scrolls and our finest silver to appease...barbarians want revenge... for what we ask...for our blind oppression! peaceful societies are nothing more than war machines...either sell or cause... the economy prevails... E.P. spent 16 years in St.Elizabeths for saying it. He never spoke another word. His contribution what looks good on paper usually causes chaos when legislated into action. the natural path has to form itself...it cannot be forced. Both religion and government regulate: control. religion by emotion government by law. they complement each other. in fact they do the same damage and profess the same good. from wild oats and huts shamans and kings the bread is broken and the wine spilled and a crumbling painting on a wall miraculously spared by bombs dropped randomly there is no chalice a dish a loaf of bread and the hand pointing to the sky a definitive gesture of definitive authority Michelangelo has God 's finger almost touching Adam's almost dark clouds billowing a conception in a storm not in peace Leonardo has a finger pointing to the sky to God? to the Universe? to something we can't comprehend? is there a key? a gate? a path to follow leads us where? some scrap of parchment? some sign chiseled in stone? what authority does this gesture represent? who's authority granted / claim? perhaps Quazimodo knows his madness past redemption condemned for claiming honour by daring to touch beauty through his ugliness the crowds like romans want a show appease their hunger for the bloodlust in them the guillotine a far far better thing than old women knitting keeping score this is society in stability always complain about the violence news as long as it's them not us it's a business else control the mob providing entertainment and sell stuff by the side make some cash fleece the poor the rich are never touched but when they are they lose nothing or do they? I doubt the rich get threatened of over a 38 dollar phone bill payment late...even though the company makes money on the late charges... there is them and there is us so it stands but maybe not the mountain may not crumble but sure a lot of avalanches keep the fleece at bay Right Apollo? Where are Hera, Zeuz and Artemis today? untouchable on their mountain or untouchable in our minds? "Narbal looked upon me with Aftonifhment, and thought he saw in my Face, something Fortunate, the Stamp of Heaven, and which is not common to the reft of Men. He was, by Nature, finsere and generous. He was moved with my Misfor- tunes, and converfed with me, with a Dearnefs and Iintimacy infpired by the Gods for my Prefervation in a mighty Danger. Telemachus, faid he, I neither do, nor can doubt the Truth of what you fay: The livery Images of Good-natured and Virtue drawn upon your Face, will not give me Leave to diftruft you. I even perceive, that the Gods, whom I have always ferved, love you, and will have me to love you, as if you were my Son. I will give you fafe and ufeful Ad- vice, and for my Recompence defire nothing of you, but to be fecret. Fear not, faid I, for I can, without Difficulty, keep anything fecret that you fhall be pleafed to entruft me with. Though i am young, yet I have grown up in the Habit of not difcovering my own Secret, and much more of not betraying, under any Pretext, the Secret of another. How have you been able, faid he, to accuftom yourself to keep Secrets in fuch tender Years? I fhall be glad to know by what Means you have acquired this admiral Quality, which is the Foundation of the wifeft Conduct, and without which all other Talents are ufelefs." (Book III The Adventures of Telemachus MDCCLXXVIII) from the corn-guards to the stone-guards to the priests and their attendants to the kings and their closest advisors Secrecy commands the wise and tramples fools to dust Secrecy builds empires and tears them down when mistrust builds upon mistrust Secrets with held from those whose trust was valued and betrayal of trust and those Secrets is not pardonable Pope Urban Crusades 200 years Order of Sion Still not allowed to dig where the templars dug Absolute power Pope Innocent 1307 Secrecy entombed where the wind abates and the cock crows and the heathen wall divides Teutonic forest black coal dust night listen for anything anything that should not be heard on the ready an emperor enraged one whole legion gone the forest did not reveal its secret these is a gorge where those men died and the sunlight streams through the trees to reveal it now to us it hangs together somewhere a poet in a coffee shop visible a poet leaning against a tree 30 years big write up obituary poet nowhere to be seen small shop london sometimes we forget posturing a solitude as much as writing is holland window prostitutes or pound needing money 3p articles paid the rent but kept him from poetry... sometimes like dead legions we are seen by emperors and written into history not by our accomplishments but by the consternation of what we haven't done and the other one? we fail on purpose. quarles is such a great example i admire him those who hold the age rarely hold the history and then there is the monk alone in his cell scribbling for nothing for no one scribbling for the walls pyramid texts who wd see them? scribbling for the gods. x sometimes scribbling for my cats... (in secrecy) there is a moment just before a poet slips out of the womb all slimy and warm and yelling gulping for breath a cry of celebration i have arrived a poet knows he is a poet she is a poet not after arriving after arriving is a focus of the world outside years to comprehend to swallow to digest to spit out and dance upon ey ey ey ey ey! a poet needs no posturing. thunder wrings moisture in the distance. it is a love poem of dancing molecules. black holes on the sun. mini doughnuts at tim hortons. earthwaves shaping san francisco gertrud stein and company ez breaking a chair too small for him hemingway uncomfortable better with the bulls picasso always was a showman but had something to show dali was just dali and a snow ball thrown collects a consciousness of childhood memories beginnings new century theirs a treasury of steel and iron new dimensions ours a nine eleven new crusade "I hear you" the great battle cry unchallenged... not since Jean D'Arc burned at the stake and won a victory. cold. shivering. clap your hands. the wilderness staves sanity. claims whatever skin and bones are left. hyenas in the undergrowth wait to pounce at the wounded animal with fractured hip. the weakest left behind now the walking wounded fixed to walk or run another day. is this extending life or just salvaging scrap reusable another day for what? perhaps a poem written better left alone unstated unrealized unconceived the wounded rage before the wild dogs come. tired. so very tired. tonight. no reason to ponder the past nor even the future. and as i keep reminding myself the present does not exist. so where does that leave anything? where does that leave us Mayakowski? Or where Mrkitch (1971) writes: "When a day dawn and finds me no nearer the goal, I turn toward the sea and watch the changing waves, Or look at the clouds sail over clouds, And wonder how you give all, and take all away." Rumms! Over the edge where cerberus waits! or did Faustus really think that he could win? or was that know really Mozart's father not Mestopheles? the minds a wonder playing tricks not just when it goes clinically astray but when it goes metaphorically astray as in poetry as in art as in music what's the key? where's the lock? where's the window when the world walks by? dark. so dark. purple clouds thickening. rolling. rumbling like a train. thunder without lightning. dry thunder. low thunder underfoot. and after rain glass pavement insane kaleidoscope fancy frills plastic landscape. eyes half shut. senses numb. long dark corridor ad if a light diffused fragmented through dense fog we are suspended in on a morning sea Ulysses manned the oars... Bloom walked an empty foot fall echoing street... and Holan on his island 10 years' with Hamlet midnight dialogues and not far away "alas poor Yoric what crown you could have worn?" cold dark damp news there is a hollowness descending Un homme, homme perdu au millieu des arbres. Il dit: "Je suis perdu! je suis un gnome!" C'est le premier tombereau du matin. Les murs s'observent avec la lassitude de vieux partenaires, et comme les vis-a-vis d'un bal pauvre... the river rises the room is in chaos watercolour paintings dissolve in a sunless sea wine dark sea kirke's lair dream fields lotus warm know we swine? swine we know! and of course a rose is a rose is a rose we fall pray to a sense of time that allows us to float erratically down "phlegmatic Rivers" crashing into this or that along the shore old abandoned wharfs rotting half drowned boats once the carried refugees to freedom no longer the river flows too fast is too polluted with blood and corpses washed out to sea slowly cleanses slime time ticks with tremendous ease past our sensibilities. we are shadows in the wood. once here then there. never quite know where we are. we are tar spread upon a mighty road. Far to travel on. Leading where? There! here. leading here. everywhere. herethereeverywhere. to wherever who built the road wants us to go. tickle me pink i will not think carry me down to the underground i will reappear with the wind in my ear and a new port of call in the rustle of Fall before the winter shakes dust from the sky as it must to settle where I walk and spread rust on a blanket of snow ...hindsight, i know. * arrogant bastards who came to destroy... it was a new world unknown who came for gold... not for trade or discovery... but that was 1492. what of before? who was the first to cross the Baring Land Straight at the glacial age when the Mackenzie river valley was still clear of ice? why did he come instead of following a southern path to China? or was he and his tribe trapped by the wild sheets of ice and he had no recourse but to follow the hunt across the straight to what is now North America? we have evidence of the hunt in caves piled bones how long did they stay or where successive camps over many thousand years? or as some suggest did they come by sea? by sea? by sea. there are settlements in chile that seem to pre date those in alaska. how did those appear? when? how? 50,000 years ago. did costal tribes develop boats and follow the shore line to the new world? (why am i writing this here? i am writing this here because in '61 i read a book they all discovered america and it lodged in a boy's mind... to this day the books gathers no dust on my bookshelf but is cherished and read often even though new research has made it all but obsolete... but in a boy's imagination it will never be obsolete fresh as a breath of spring in a valley of lilac... through this journey this will be my guide) but they came... probably both routes... never knew of each other. hunted woolly mammoth, wild boar, saber tooth? what fish? strange to us? or salmon, lush pacific coast. by encampments we know. hearths. flints. discarded bones. slowly went south. or settled the north first. or later when the ice retreated. from the evidence: the great civilizations bore south to north. Caral Supe (3000BC - 2500BC) Olmec (1200BC - 400BC) Maya (500BC - 800AD) Zapotec (500BC - 750AD) Nasca (1 - 700AD) Tiwanaku Empire (550 - 950) Wari (750 - 1000) Inca (1250 - 1532) Mississippian (1000 - 1500) Aztec (1430 - 1521) and then the spaniards came. and the window was closed. but what before? where there others? we know of others who came to explore. not to conquer or for gold. who did not bring disease. who did not kill. who either perished or were driven out. or stayed. from old parchment. faded. in old books, or legends only written down much later. we know lanse aux meadows we know lief erickson what of others what before? a child's imagination takes hold. imagines. sees. did the phoenicians come? at the height of the roman republic. to new hampshire? but pattee's caves have been tampered with and the rune stones could have come from somewhere else. it is known fact the phoenecians were far voyaged engeland iceland maybe greenland and beyond in iceland they would have heard stories of lands beyond the wild sea but they were traders if they went they went for profit and someone must have been there to guide them...otherwise there would be no reason for it... this a thousand years before leaf erickson and the viking settlements...a dangerous trek...and if they made it, what did they find there...rich meadow land...good crops... dark soil... Aristotle wrote: "In the Ocean outside the Pillars of Hercules, they say that a desert island was found by the Carthaginians having woods of all kinds, and navigable rivers, remarkable for all kinds of fruit, and many days' journey away. As the Carthaginians frequented it often, owing to its prosperity, and some even lived there, the chief of the chief of the Carthaginians announced that the would punish with death any who proposed to sail there, and that they mas- secred all the inhabitants, that they might not tell the story, and that a crowed might not resort to the island and get possession of it and take away the prosperity of the Carthaginians." Aristotle, Marvel 84 "I don't think Aristotle was referring to England." Boland, 32, Tada 1961 so if they came, the stories spread... but what remains? The Sacred Stone at Patee's Caves? "run-off grooves for human sacrifice"? or the "Phoenician ship" carving when low tide at Lake Assawompsett reveals it? Lenkin 2002 disagrees: too young chiseled not weather worn; Simons 86: 1684 cites natives considered European ships to be floating islands, and as such Lenkin agrees they might be... while the debate continues a childs eyes sees otherwise a great adventure what was seen when did they come? of course he read "Lost in Space" at the same time or "Stranger in a Strange Land" nurturing the mumps... Doctor said "too many sheets" let the child cool down... the character stones we can dismiss outright since the Phoenecians had a language and made no gibberish on stones to leave a message... So... that bronze cup in Virginia... we move forward... Rome, Nero, was someone fleeing? how here? a map...the romans knew the azores...traded with scandinavia and beyond... what trade routes existed then? bronze not being indigenous to Brunswick county one wd suppose... there were other finds 1940's nails bolts hooks? so we surmise an adventure... persecuted Rome burned christians martyred maximus circus where the vatican now stands... we have to get our history right. the cup. "chisels, swords, and other weapons." found "barren acre" where "nothing would grow" near the "now flooded town or springfield" and at the smithsonian the cup put away labeled "Origin uncertain." not from here. there. but where is there? long way to europe. longer way to rome. not impossible. highly likely. the pillars of Hercules were breached way before even Homer recited his hodge podge of rhythms... made long into stone... we like stone... parchment decays... we like stone... stone is torn down built into something else... and sometimes what is carved can be put together again. forty five feet of water covers these discoveries and view the cup "uncertain" at the smith's museum. that is not, feverish, i thought of it... but any vision brought comfort books on Rome, Greece, Egypt, and the ancients 'henge, normandy, the "place" we cannot walk to cuxhaven, germany... and when the Romans came did they come here... Tutenwald or the Elbe? the chauci were the last stand... wagner had a fallacy of knowledge... a childs gold to reap amazing possibilities... baba jaga rita stilli now the well in pistoia the well in Mid somers night? love the bicycle... rustic charm ... rossetti burnes... victorian ideal...jack the ripper not permitting... * "The Dark Ages descended on Europe. People lived in fear." Rome in tatters Visigoths Ostragoths Barbarans Vandals Franks Burgundians Lombards Anglo-Saxons divided what was left In the east with the Huns at the Border however... as Buddhism was introduced China flourished and in 499, Hoei-Shin, a buddhist monk, suddenly appeared after a long journey across a long ocean to the west land where many Fusang trees grew fully believable since long known "Tahan" and much speculation about "The Land of the Marked Bodies" in the Aleutian Islands...known for many years... he said: houses built of wooden beams no walled or fortified cities written characters bark "paper" no weapons no wars north and southern kingdoms minor offenders banished south other north there was grace from north to south when penitence embraced... women there for life were allowed to marry children sold as slaves boys at 8 years old girls given grace to 9... when guilty an offender got an assembly excavated place strewed as he over him and bade him farewell... lower classes, one was punished, upper classes, children and grand children dead, highest classes 7 generations... king name Ishi, nobles tuilu, ten year cycle blue, next 2 red following, yellow, red, black large horned oxen, carry 10 bushels, horses oxen stags harnessed to wagons red pears apples and reeds mats copper gold silver not prized -no iron and marriage suitor builds hut cleans before her door a year passes she decline he departs done. when parents die fast 7 days other relatives less. five beggar monks from the land of kipin went to this land changed their manners to the ways of the buddha. * so the story: central america? some facts match aloe / fusang? gold unvalued ichi / itza? writing... we surmise and we plod on. the best shot yet... and the toys and the "laughing head" "centuries before Columbus" so chinese not central american... where ... come from? * push we forward 551 Brendan the Bold Fortunate Isles Bloom's razor The door opens to infinity before "possibility" a 16 year wants to sail single handed around the world but fiberglass ketch... law stops her law relents she falters has to be rescued... Brendan had none of that reed boat go the tide... no oar fits... kinda stupid to attempt unless the azores or madeira but beyond well Jamaica, undiscovered and against the gulf stream... what's the evidence parchment... tall tale... maybe maybe not what's it say? The whale story, maps of Olus Magnus, 1557, and Gastaldi, 1564, "actually" chart the whale's position... Brendan and his 14 monks "drifted" to the Island of Noss, Shetlands. Landed, 8 days, until feast of Pentecost. This was the "Island of the Birds". "The feathered ones, it would seem, entertained the monks by singing canons to them, and the monks, in turn, sang canons to which the winged choir listened, rapt." (Boland 112) Leaving, the monks sailed for three months. On Mainland Isle aged monk , Albiu, prepared feast for them. Leaving that they drifted "aimlessly" in the North Atlantic. Came to island where all fell ill... long time recuperating. Sailed back to Shetlands. Then to Iceland where some perished in a flow of lava. Left that place sailed south found a "skerry" where lived Judas Iscariot. Interceded with the devils in Hell on his behalf... gaining additional time in Hades for him. All they cd do. Sailed south where Hermit Paul resided 60 years. Paul convinced Brendan "Return to Ireland" and the first journey of 7 year was concluded. Ita advised Brendan "Go again to sea" but "don't use a curragh" too fragile "skin" - animal hide cannot enter The Promised Land of the Saints... User a "rutter" wood... Three trained ravens we boarded... no compass... needed to find land... Noah used a dove... Thus a second voyage... to the "Fortunate Isles" 60 followers 40 days' sailing region of "gloom and fog" then icebergs 3 day fascination... "silver, harder than marble, clearer than crystal" Aran Mor, March 22, 551... Newfoundland? found beasts "catlike heads eyes bronze, fuzzy pelts, boars' tusks, spotted bellies" but still ventured south... king's jester Crosan entertained...who's king... from where? yoric loves a jest... yoric there? breathed his last thrown into the sea "in some sequestered bay"... (point the way)... ...it says they set their sails for the bahamas... how? how did they know where to sail to what? or bermuda? west. land. anchored... naked pigmies massed... they had reason to leave old anchor damaged replaced... on to what now is Hamilton harbour "startled" found an old monk there an old monk... 12 others originally with him fell ill and died... alone remained... anxious told Brendon to leave... but "monsters from the deep" prevented them... (Hammer movies..here we go again)... so for 8 days they sailed the "summer seas" (sargasso?) but everything is repetitious a wide river made settlement young man... profound influence.. brendan returned to Ireland... such the story goes... to continue is to copy... there is fact and there is fiction... (a good novel Joyce? has it's diction) was brendon there? may have been... if so was went... departed... next the Eddas.. well documented I will leave alone... the Internet has that information ready... this I needed... 2 years old PT09 and what he needed then or were fed... Kennedy assassinated on a stupid street not on his route Oswald shot in a safe passage way Dallas..1963 over the intercom Vincent Massey School "President Kennedy has been shot." A stupid kid said to another kid "If he wants to get himself shot so what?" later regretted it... Lennon 1980, startled, why do we make such stupid comments? Human nature is a curse... Gentle like a whimper we must blow across the cosmic universe... "I am not allowed to communicate with you..." "I am not allowed to experiment..." set aside...do not adjust this frequency.. * now i lay me down to sleep the wonder in my eyes to keep radiant borealis in my head nothing like it when we're dead what poisons us is not our soul nor the devil, poor fob, in control but our surety of filth poisons what would be pure milk from one ocean to the next we can now sex-text whether that has some converted social meaning...blurted by the devil in a hollow grave "know me once - i might be brave..." * one does not wander far from home on this ball of water, stone... one just cautions - lie this low before the bullet hits you, and you know * and did they settle there integrate or leave again... Maine, New Hampshire, Massachusetts... New England, Great Ireland? we speculate... "these things were found in East Papey and Papyli." and then the Vikings came... Ari Marson, castaway, taken prisoner in new ireland forcibly and baptized. and Bjarni Herjulfsson keeps the secret for 16 years... Leif Ericsson sails to vinland and his brother Thorvald, 2nd visit to vinland leif's half sister , Freydis, brings chaos to Plymouth then ThOrfinn Karlsefni New York, son Snrri born there expelled by natives... and Eric, Bishop of Greenland sent to vinland never heard from again is the tower his? all found in the sagas. Others: Quetzalcoatl Then Prince Madoc of Wales Paul Knutson Prince Herny Sinclair Brothers Zeno and Joao Vaz Cortereal Portuguese Did Columbus know? Or as lately found, the Egyptians cocaine found in some mummies only available in Peru until the 17th century... we don't know. we surmise... all quite possible. Civilization is dynamic... to suppose the Americas stayed isolated until columbus is ridiculous. * Much has been kept hidden to preserve the "status quo" much has been discovered will be discovered by us when the future wills... * a great adventure to a young boy in 1961... stayed with him forever... much like science fiction speculates the future into the present so we drag and speculate the past into the future... it is in our nature to explore... to find out what's there... out there... in here in the mind individually or collectively contained forever in the vast collective consciousness of the Universe. * to the likes of what is grown and gathered in sunshine or dark weather where the hills abide with golden vines and the harvest is forever a thanksgiving it allows the pyramids to be built in the old world and the new it allows a winter free of famine and a population of prosperity great civilizations to be built and flourish or wars of conquest for a fertile land a "promised land" a reason for one god or another one savior blessed be hung upon a cross or tree no longer for sustenance but greed and burnt offering sold at the temple door by rich men to the poor this we forget even when it rains and fields are wet with nurturing farmers remembers and give thanks those in cities for the most part lose that interaction nature holds no soil or harvest but concrete asphalt and construction upon the soul of fertile valleys it is raining streaks of rain this morning glisten on my window pane 1st day of Autumn Harvest apples in the stores new vintage close to being picked migrant workers wait the call to action the vintner checks the weather... +0-------------------------------------------------------------------- q1 and the autumn pruned stalks smoking on the horizon from Fixin to Santaney the greatest vineyards inbetween... how the monks kept and not destroyed them as Napoleon preserved them when allocating lots... but Napoleon kept Egypt and where we are today speakin' historically was his creation... life is a gently curve forward sometimes an isosceles triangle jerks us forward out of kilter like the paw of a cat on a laptop keyboard... as a bump on the earth leads to the Sargasso sea and not Bermuda... so "God said to Abraham Kill me a son" Moses/Osiris in the reeds Ankhnaten praying in the desert sun Jesus and the Devil Pilot washed his hands Herod saved his throne And the Temple wall still divides... And the season go on and on and the vintner's blade is sharp and they still dance upon the threshing floor like they crush grapes what is ancient remains what is new is an illusion 30 year economics what is not consumed perishes what lasts is not profitable Volnay is my wine tonight Les Fremiets 2006 Vieilles Vignes 2007 No great food to speak of That is regrettable The wines a perfect for breaded veal Lamb Sacrificial lamb sold at the temple door slaughtered on the alter or GOD any GOD.. doesn't matter which GOD blood is blood... a thirsty god is not so easily appeased the wine appeases me my wine is not blood... bodies rolled down the temple of the sun priests held up still beating hearts to appease the corn gods my wine is not blood who slaughters holds life in disdain who projects suffering on another Circus Maximus Nero Paul's cross cleanses himself of that suffering and excuses responsibility "they just sat there with their prayer beads" "we mowed them all down" "and then a long line of others" "we killed the all" "what's wrong with these people why won't they fight?" the bottle may be emptied but the vineyard, the vineyard continues. and sometimes the most satisfying bottle is the most humble... * March On! what is happening here we don't understand like watching a movie you don't really have a hand in what you see history's that way we don't know what happens next and the past unravels in its way what we don't understand then we make up we're clever that way after all we invented zen one hand clapping...yup we're clever that way! 22 Sep 201 * poised fine close windows cold is not an inside argu ment several scenes act 1 wreck the world (s) act 2 GOD ribs out from "A" dam's rib (was it broken?) eve named woMAN after MAN glorified arranged packed up in some church with oven black soot madonna/house wife we speak largely now person woman is a person defined in canada empire after VICTORIA slept away bloomers so big the world trade centre could sink in them a bottomless hole zen flies himmler meathooks why do we deny history as HIStory not HERstory like a sink hole giving birth canal to kingston Vicky said make it so and it was so malaria aside nice spring festival now so ring around the may pole hitler's maiden fancy while a woman dies on the street of warsaw leather boots in her womb she screams guernica her unborn baby in her throat moat of ghensis kahn human shields and human bridge to victory men do not shoot women they shot women and surrendered were slaughtered anyway we sometimes pretend to be "human" but call it "animal" to relieve out pain at what we are but we have wine and sacrificial blood... sang real protect at all cost... what's a royal family to do except nothing figure heads slow decay no rich without the poor the lambs bleat drain blood slowly like a menstrual cycle repeats and is concealed not women but society does this men do not like blood they can't control * rage there is a rage on the stage passive audience arena radio television video games an interactive passive interaction we don't really do the killing we play a game that's all it's not real i tell you it's not real i tell you it's not real "Oh moon of Alabama we now must say good-bye we've lost our big old mamma and we must have killing and you know why!" boom boom boom boom... ah... brakkabrakkabrak can lead a horse? to water? can't make him(?) drink... we in our cities slurp up where the thirsty are parched and we get pictures pitch men give this give that only a dollar a day drive limousines... spend millions on advertisement... jesus only walked on water... shit, that's common now.. speaking if shit roman public toilets were a chamber onto the god's nether world serpents eat your feces like serpents eschew the fruit or regeration in a great river to the great ocean dissolved... * and the womb draws from matter outside itself for creation sustenance is the body soul is the universe * there is fat fat upon the universe there is fat we cannot salvage cannot see dark matter they call it invisible to us... to us... why is "dark matter" invisible to us? what is available out there much/most is invisible to us... the multi-verse the beyond-beyond where creation grabs what did creation grab from? * there is a black virgin a white virgin both are worship does the child live on? * Soldier i don't mind walking with a cane but I do mind walking with the enemy yet if i meet the enemy on the road walking with a cane i will ask how did you get that wound? and if the enemy answered, just like you i will imbue him with the same courage i supposed i had wounded in a hate i will stop and say comrade we have been thought much let us cut the umbilical cord of hate and till what arid soil we have i will not hold your bullet to blame if you will not hold mine...give me your cane and i will give you mine in retribution. * i will not hurt those who have hurt themselves... * and yes there is more truth in what we do not know than what we do * circular vortex what forms gathers into what we observe think observe out there like a rose petal falling off it's stem play not with the schmuttelkindern it's not one of them. * to sm s o n n e t h a i k u b o w * to rm window merges sometimes poet merges too * i am just a simple master of forever somehow caught in what is now do you have a dollar for the meter? otherwise i'll park somewhere else... * you know sometimes we rest full pause no semi colon no colon we rest shut eyes stretch legs and rest * Herodotus not withstanding zalmoxis came home what wealth did he distribute? immortality of the soul. mashed potatoes wd hv bn bttr... * there is a truth when we get drunk or is it a drunk when we get truth? further the wagon push the horse love the label not the trunk indigo sky REM in Berlin summer knight roasting in his amore... * life is the burden of it's history * we come back to it time and time again and time again like it possesses us drives to a madhouse with a giant rabbit more sense than any doctor had ever (good word "ever" - a river flows for- ever does the universe go on for- ever i dunno the rabbit does i'm sure.) had. * and his mind skips over small surfaces like an ant skips over large dominos and a child whispers in the night "we know" "we know" "we know"... * ich (meine mich) bin ich substitution notwithstanding there is a flowing just a flowing ich (meine ich) I Me Mine something somewhere somewhere something (follow the poem) ripe and understanding thundernoise mahler beat the hoven flat the major o how satie hurts!!! jarry in ablution a bicycle and a picasso's loaded pistol did he paint the mona lisa now in the louvre? don't get too near you might be surprised! ich bin meine du bist dien... e soft sand shifting what erodes builds up somewhere else... * i have always wondered in hg well's time machine not what three books were missing but why he didn't send his model, demonstrating time travel, ten minutes ahead, rather than make it disappear into the future. when skeptics require proof, you give them proof, not a mystery. * GOD provides a mystery. * I have always believed we are channels of perception to some greater entity. So if there is a GOD or gods, then she (and the Hebrew GOD is feminine) learns from us, not the other way around. Otherwise what would be the purpose of other living entities? * we explore, i think, because the gods are blind, and they rely on us to guide them. * glisten o glisten one thought glisten in the light that shines upon us! 27 Sep 2010 10:32pm * feet feet that walk the desert sands feet that fit into small shoes feet that dance feet that step into an ocean feet that cool on a sandy beach feet that stomp in aggravation feet that march in unison feet that hurt feet that walk forever feet that run feet that walk on water feet that feet that fly * Klaus J. Gerken is walking barefoot in the Universe, dark matter beneath his feet, slowly enveloping his body and his mind. 29 Sep 2010 * ?4am. resurrecting a 1973 draft for a poem. if i had today's sensibility and my 1973 imagination... but only one survives... * There is a very old saying that goes something like this: "If you wish for death, life will take you." * II D7 (a draft for a draft of a draft) by Klaus J. Gerken 1973 D/7 (Novel) We have not understood, or are we likely to understand. As if we are plasticated, bursting with immaterial thoughts, we are form, bent and kneaded into shape - we are stone or ash - earth, birch bark and wine - we are nothing - we are the universe, or a part of - as it is all within ourselves - the measuring rod of our divinity. I with light - seated before the throw thrust anger of the Spartan Gods, devoutly servile to the fattening of lotus blossoms and masquerades - It is a song that comes from the past - timeless through the reeds and uxorious. "Yes it cd be - " but it hasn't begun. with the farthest mirror shattered and the dagger knowledgeable to all art. The radical difference is this - that without the root there is no purpose - there is nothing to be achieved and it is a vegetating combine What we become - rusted, dull, - with room for a maggot. Listen - softly thread - and camouflage the situations - sphere. "We are here - we are ... here". And we sing homage without praise. This Novel I shd be wringing forth, (conquest appear!) I am not - to be ready. Not to be deserted - forth! Built upon impediments there is truth. The divine insignificance of it. Truth is flayed by atoms and Atoms flayed by the masters of society. Fusion = con Now we must revisit the story. The marzipan of cold endeavors. From timelessness to time there stands a bridge of uncouth dimensions - Jarry gave us it. But without it gave us "nothing". Job had tears; but ruled the world; And neither "I" can have it all. Some such time ago : how we begin (It matters less than how we end) is of no importance - the face of it vanishes and becomes the "Black hole" of the inverse light - (The shadows are made invisible - who cd think of things as these?) and the realm inviolate. - Sometimes we with faith - with love - Hot tears that drown perfection stemming on the perverse. [An abstract form of words...] III Servile, of the truth frozen thru confetti - DADA say: motion to the fool and ask to join His World SEINE WELT!!! frozen thru: mastering the point to touch re - re -re a lit - lit litany So, to spake: "We have reason to believe." So to say zu gagen: Wier tuhnen nixt wie dass neue mertzbau verschizen sie bitte dass alte werk - and the Lu Fu curls up under you with bamboo obanbo (au) stalks to line up and make sense to to to toto Line up - line up. to 330 macken - macken build and then destroy - ignobly tear asunder - tear tear - weep for Adonis he was slaughtered by himself for being so young - glow slow and the verbal definition that presages truth - zu sagen halt - we helter skelter we find permanent nine 9 nein 1. to be lieve ? 2. to see ? 3. to perfect 4. to and 5. destroy 6. what 7. that 8. negative positive 9. nine 9 nein 4 wooden as a block that shops the chop revolt and be yourself we have made the truth concerned. anything . 5 , / - ! ''' --- --- , - , / , ! ' / ,,, perf. , / - ! , / - , , / ' ! , / - , 6 Zeit punct. the quantative - as with = alone 1 = 2 before and after the revolt : the shards. and after the shards : the the . we have seen to not perceive and to perceive we have given Dante Hell Heaven does not Convelescent blaze. Razor. 7 "Blossoms forth spring - If I have made confusion I have meant to be In vain have I striven and broken stride In vain to blossom a centre terriste." out of Pound c 1968 Who could venture a guess. 8. (2010) We meld. * origins mrrrrow? my cat asks. asks. mrrrrow? if a cat can ask what was the first word? meow introduces the cat. me. i'm here. attend me. and meow with an inflection: where's my food. but by itself mrrrow? a cat asks. a word. what? a queston. a curiosity. if a cat can ask. mrrrrow? what was the first word man spoke? me. you. here. what? food. shelter. sun. moon. wind. hot. cold. what? woman. fuck. me. mine. what? hunt. kill. clan. what? eat. shit. blood. death. what? touch. feel. sweat. love. what? mrrrow? my cat also ruminates. brrrrmr. hmmm. but that is another situation altogether. mrrrow? * A HISTORY OF SURREALISM (1976) An artist must regulate his life The day will come when we realize that One is deeply tired of that world of antiquity Not merely in order Of the wind the door the bird and the valise But a kind of primitive Ready made Each factor separately enjoyed (Even people can be wed) As a metaphysical bias Between shots A rhythm Unseen unheard All in one's head Like the great central ball That's why they don't exist In a mystic reality Merde You must give verdict for that A violent reaction to something unknown A sense of the theatrical Black humor As it's centre of gravity Sixteen years........ A wedding on the Eiffel tower Becomes a weapon Almost pragmatic They invite us to dinner Little men with canes Not knowing that the dynamos Are still disconnected The echo of the noble mind Cray beautiful and funny In the time we've fabricated Mystery of the familiar world In which we live Completed by the spectator On stage With the actors as an audience With a blindfold Over their eyes. * THE CONCEPTION OF MODERN POETRY (2010) To pick at the turning... There is a negation, & there is a Contrary Down, old daemon! Splendid old man, Thus I heard a song being sung, Something startles Behold this compost! of beauty and of animalism. My life had stood - a Loaded Gun - Sookatjema, soosuoma, nikam, nissam, scholda. Enought! be but a scream, I! In Tsegihi page, line verse - I choose for this Note not to be read NEVER Because the barbarians are coming today Tenn zuh ho Gida, nitt!! breaking horses and murdering tigers. The fat on our limbs permits There are fourteen curves to the very tough Golgotha course. A white hunter is nearly crazy. In their long hair they lie Her white arms became my whole horizon. The prelates, however, looked serene With wretches you have a cheap cup of coffee At one o'clock, There he sits for days and years. We might have given birth to a butterfly Melodiously loved with the pirate blood of her dreams! Spring... out of nowhere, Wood knot clothes and the racquet-press. in autumn The empty bell We are in the age of nerves. WAR --damn! Ouch! A minute of silence. -- A gunshot. TATATATATA TROK --- PLOK EVERYTHING OF ANY VALUE IS THEARETICAL. FINGER NAILS (I saw him) the circle of objects. Laws of Time -- doesn't have an end AH SOPHI The past is too tight. Glitter-letter wing-winker, a e e E no point they feed us The Yellow Sound The cloud rises. In his ashen eyes. Child's gaze And sap prepares to flow. A rotting generation dwells DADA wood, woman and Co., I can't stop myself: the boss tells the boss: boss and he stood there stripped to his nuts "How dare you!" uru body The domestics are already arriving my honey, give your son a bang. It was a feat of strength To good? ah--! hurry--speed up--run amuck--jump-- The goal, the goal. The light! The light! The pointer pigeons The Second Coming! Hardly Pivoines smell like magnolias all creatures see the open A. A violent order is disorder; and A husky fifenote blew, again Sex, which breaks us into voice, really crazy, and George 3d was in a straight waistcoat, it is true, "in politics, in trade, law, sport, religion, china-collecting, tennis, and church going" --if problematic--"escape from personality" with the girls' drawers hanging at the windows. '...Bride to my guidance and change!' the earth honks with metaphor, it is power that moves in the folds of my dress, Spirited loins wheeze hard Maybe you'll find a sun that can't set I took wild honey from the plants. When it rains I dance alone only, ear and echo is it: there soft near calm flowers, lips, eyes, and graves. The canary scratches his feathers the brief iris, twin last sob of a violin missus Miss when yellow bird was painted They seem to be F sharp FREE UNION Her voice roosts in my memory. So I am speaking to the past Go ahead and laugh our traveler will feel consoled It was all like a childhood picture. I lived in those times. I speak of him who speaks who speaks I am alone The woman rises. It implies the kiss, the embrace, the problem, in the clear alabaster of his neck. His smile will be of a sober elegance. then all this will be accepted, and I shall have no further need to speak. an aerie of personating--The desire for an inclusive object. The vortex is the point of maximum energy. Anyhow the change of Baroja interested me 215 And faded grass that's slowly swaying. One moves between reading and re-reading, against the launch the bird pirriko pirriko prrrk ia ia I set out at once. As for artistic creation, we have no lessons to receive from anyone. sometimes i even sneak a swim on the back of a dolphin word It was a case of total alienation. The Elephant is Strength, the Spider is Prudence; Horns are the moon and the Moon is Fecundity. eat the bones carefully and neatly Shipwreck your hellish debris! I accept! He was a good nigger, indeed. scolopendra scolopendra Before this grief, mountains must bow down Into our hidden God. Uncrushed by the' echoes o' the thunderin' boot, The artist is at bottom, and always, an inveterate believer in "transubstantiations" of some sort. flash of a crow flapping Oh, show us the way to the next pretty girl Oh, don't ask why, oh, don't ask why Peacocking herself, she turned like a ballerina, Even if it is true, it is false. fringed with a blackish lace along the edges. It is all so ordinary, as if the earth had been derailed & sinking down there were things apart put elsewhere and the steps of whitewash Cannot cease because, after all, nevertheless, blah-blah-blah and twiddle-dee-dee. for his desperate loneliness Listen to it closely: He could walk through walls, but he uses doors. Frail limbs are proportionately low all dat English, now can't even say: Yes. I don't know, I perceive little, I hardly see, the kid 's torn, shot And the shield hung from the lintel then. equisetum flute fluted all around. "It was so dark that I could barely see the stars." Imagination, my child. To begin with: God alone, then: God and the Absense-of-God. The elephant beats against the wall of your forehead. "not even skin should defend you--" I barely covered myself! wait for defense, solid across the world. To see, to touch each day's lovely forms. mysteries The celestial destiny MAKE IT NEW When the words we want to use shoot up by themselves--we get a new song. A kind of logos universe of life-forces. there can be no metaphor. I go, crawling to I know not where. the desire for something else, humph! Da kata kai A man and a woman looking for lilies. Blood flowing like water... the fertile girls (O carver, incise reality!) like the scorpion's beautiful question mark My paw is holy sure thing YOHOHEY finding him shivering in the cold tocotico tocoti I am the river woman Some 're lovely N nawu nnnn but some 're & are my hawuz nawu wnn N wnn baheegwing The woman holds the basket, but there are no fruits in it. AUM MANI PADME HUM Behind hill the monk's bell and with rock he slept is his mighty penis fifty times a fly's wing? what pleasure! For I am the first and the last. Who will describe the triumph streaming go down Old Hannah Ohhhhhhhhh, my lord I've got the Black Mountain Blues & going 'round transforming The book multiplies the book. III VLADIMIR HOLAN THE WALL Why is you flight so heavy, Why so stalled? - While I have passed these fifteen years, Talking to a wall, And from the depths of hell carry it's remains, that when before my threshold it can tell me of its pain... 21. 6. 1963 THE END? At this moment, she allows herself everything, She is bold and always threatens us as if The final heathen god had died... And what an eternity: so filled with hope, and worshipped like the final hour before the coming of the christ. But she still does not do what she wants... FIXED Not, that living wasn't what I wanted, yet life, already so apocryphal, gave me the right to search for it, in the great enigma death... But in doing that... HOW? How to live? How to be simple and literal? I was always searching for that word, spoken only once, but must confess, to having never found it yet. I should have searched for simple words... Even unconsecrated wine cannot be mixed with something else. ON THE ADVANCE Nothing frees the poet, - no, not even death. There's always some extension to his soul - his being that's not locked away - that's touched by all his other lives; none of which is perfect as if they were in paradise - in truth, they are in hell... THE PINE How beautiful the old pine is There upon the hill of your childhood memories which you visited again today... beneath it's murmur you reflect upon the dead, and wonder if you might be the next. Beneath its murmur, it's as if you have finished your last book and in silence must begin to weep a silent tear...so that these words of yours can grow... And what about your life? You sacrificed the familiar for the unfamiliar... And fate? Well, only once it laughed with you, and that was when your back was turned... OCTOBER The air's so crystal clear There's nothing like it here... And even doubles must refuse to speak: alive's the muse... and what cannot be seen has such an ugly spleen we simply close our eyes... good wine, good art, we prize. ONLY ONE... A small path in the mountains where all the clouds become fountains of divine inspiration - and shed their light upon it but only for a while - You feel at first, from here a sentimental smile chooses to address this bitter loneliness. Stay! ... be quite now, and think about it afterwards, that you have hardly more than this worn path: for life a stone, for death, a fortress. SMILING There are so many ways of smiling. But I'm thinking of the hardest, the simplest way to smile. It's a smile that is tormented, cut by the vigor's blade of time, A smile that wants for one more wrinkle, to solve the riddle, and be ready for God's great name. Such a smile is fixed upon the face - It stays much longer than from what they say it sprung - anticipating and presaging it, to see itself completely in the present abandoning the face... A YOUNG GIRL A young girl asks you: what is poetry? You wanted to say: Also that which you are, now you're here, that someone like you could even exist; and that I frightened and astonished, am jealous of the proof of this clear miracle, and of the fullness and the beauty of your body; and that I cannot even kiss you, nor sleep with you; and that I have nothing, save that he who's got nothing has nothing else but song... But you did not say it; you kept silent, And she for whom the song was meant couldn't hear... IT IS NOT It is not unimportant, where we are... Some stars come dangerously close to one another... Yet down here it's the violent separation of lovers only because time accelerates at the beat of it's own heart... Only simple folk do not believe in luck... OUT OF THE DARKNESS The maiden's hand lay resting on her modesty, a light uncertainty as if astonished secretly he was remembering that earth created earth. It's only that there are so many dead already, that perhaps the earth is still nothing else than earth, But earth that is a different earth... WHEN LOVE WITHDRAWS... When love withdraws itself from me It's never really gone! For instance, like the waterfall from which the same amount of water flows forever, always stays the same... FOR A LONG TIME... For a long time god locked away the laughter and the songs beyond our reach throughout eternity - We only touch upon those times, a disappearing spark that sets a flame inside us that never seems to grow. It's almost more than any person can endure For such time...the remnants...in his heart... CONSIDER Consider this fine old furniture, So soothing, smooth and pure, That somehow when compared to the iron bed all folded in the corner - it's somehow safe from tampering! A hundred years ago it was finished, and now it wobbles, rusted, insecure, but with tales of untold love... In desperation it wants to review eternity which somehow doesn't want a part of what has been the past. IN THE LAST TRAINS Oh my tears, where do you store your heaviness when you no more are falling from my eyes? Where do you fall when no one cares? Are you one of those who cry without a person to know why? You who must restore life to what it was before? HOUSES Houses with the footsteps of murdered have the most steps upon the stairs. Houses with lame arms have no banisters. Houses of the blind have the most light. Houses filled with broken hearts are built out of cement. Houses of death have a bar in the basement. A NIGHT WITH HAMLET By passing from nature into being walls are not always sensitive, walls, soaked by talents, spit at by castrati rebelling against the spirit, walls still not smaller, should they be still unborn, and also walls, that have already surrounded the fruit... The subtle maturity of Shakespeare Invites one to make a choice. It's meanings, Which should be like Surprised holiness, would by the end of time (by the probable meaning of their absences), Be the burden of all houses, Shown by the boldness of a stage-manager. Deceit is the only uncertainty here. And the audience, Creeping prematurely out like the dragon of St. George, Warms itself beneath the gall-bladder of the critics... And those, who presumed, that daring also to gather longings, Is easy, even though they are also As fleeing witnesses continual beasts... But nature is always a sign, That, if it refuses to remain concealed, Denies itself. Then also the witness, This doorman, feels because of that only silence, While now the ghost comes to the fore, And while everything was locked up after him... Such a one he also was ... Hamlet! He had a torn off arm, and the evening rolled Through the empty sleeve of his coat Like the sex of a blind man, were it bitten off by music... Nature unified the contempt we had for the town With rock urine-uplifted mosses With the full golden summit of ability And waited, until the caterpillar upon the vine changed itself into a butterfly, Yet thy waited in vain, Since that day he scorned wine, And because of thirst had to open a horse's vein, To be able to drink blood... S it came about, that he permitted gin And locked out any open secrets that appeared, And existed between him and himself, Stepping deeper into the abyss. He only then spoke through him, Even though he also spoke through s designated holy man, Who possessed no more than pain And the memories of long lost lovers, Still such minute sorrow, that it concealed him lightly In a hollow tooth... It's unimportant, If spittle squeezes us there between, Which runs out of the mouth of sleeping crickets, Master builders of midnight bridges, Creators who create, who build themselves two tombs, Phantoms, who take wages for their wisdom. Only Art that is without excuse... And also the pressures of life, Pulls us towards the dangerous, that we survive, Even though we may still want to die... There was no rest... Nowhere, neither in the unconscious... But he was there, Hamlet, who like a Mozart-drinker Topples the Alps, to shakily to put the bottle On the creaking steps of fear before death, He, so near to himself, that all eternity Found a place to be there between him... And truly: in his presence The dagger above the lamb Could not cut, And melted pewter of old baptismal fonts Transforms itself back into its own essence. Still anxiety endures. He was wounded by eternity And had to heal it. He was in the grave of the father And should be the children's' son... He was By the holy ghost the music And had to live for a whore's wage Or for the price of a dog... Oh, and not that he knows everything, but he realized, That egoism had overate itself, Not to vomit, but to digest and then begin again - Not that he has wise, as when a wooden pillar Stands beneath a stand post - Not that he before the antique floor, painted With the menstrual blood of women, disgustedly hisses about Not that had thought the last about greed And thus had lived in the tomb of Atreus, Where the treasury led into the charnel house, Not that it mattered to him, If the crocket throat of Alexander the Great Was bent a bit straight in the story - No, no, still I see his constant grimace Above the populace, who all, that is mystery to them, Also emptiness, into which they Hurl their castrated anger... Even he, who gives, is miserly... But still we do not believe, and constantly wait for something, And perhaps, that is why the people constantly Wait for something, while they refuse to believe...that they are enlightened, But do not glow... they are anemic, Still nothing exists without bloodletting, They are also already infringed upon, though not yet burned, They are full of curiosity, but still have not found that mirror, In which Helen - Helen From below - looking at herself from below, Yes, they are that deaf, that they Would gladly hear the voice of Christ on a phonograph record... And also because of that is everything, everything here Only once a miracle, Only once Abel's blood, That should have destroyed all wars, Only once the childhood which cannot be recovered and is unconscious, Only once youth and only once song, Only once love which at the same time must be lost, Only once everything against heredity and custom, Only once the loss of reconciled times and also freedom And only once too the way of art, Only once everything against prisons, Let it be, that God himself may wish, to build himself A house upon this earth... Greenery bent itself over the wall And threw the white horn of this curiosity on to the road. The window opened the wind, which brought a draft: Yes, your deeds are many but also modest, Yet to do so and to be: a wonder 't is to envy! The night smoked history, ate fried wings, Cut off from the ankles of Mercury, And drank with that The sweat of the organist by the holy tragedy... "Only when you make your peace with death" said Hamlet, "will you understand, that everything beneath the sun in truly new... Our body is no linen hanger, Of linen that is spotted... Yet our subconscious played smartly...Also when we perhaps selfishly give out alms, we use ourselves! Thus also sexual intercourse made though error... But no! The groping sex of relationships is not possible by the people, As they have to be without them... Only so That the liver or loving lies in sin. So you remind yourself that the tensing Of the body in degeneration is also the punishment of the spirit... No we do not know, where they will stop, When we remain stuck... Consider how a cat suddenly becomes heavy, When she is dead, while someone Can stand to shoot sparrows the whole day long!... Ah yes, there is the man's shame and the woman's shame. The man can never breath to eve look at cotton. And the woman? Hardly born into the dryness, When she already fattens the sudden rainfall..." After a while Hamlet said: "The children are never satisfied with an answer.... For example they play with a cupboard of secrets And carry its key there within themselves. Or they are ill and open letters secretly Of an incarcerated poet, who can with that only Pay for a small private room in a prison, So that even they open the letters... Or they are ill and see a column of fire in their dreams, And scream: that is a bough, a vein of God! Or they are ill, and that handy work, that is the eternity of women, They can hardly get out of their minds, As if they wished, to even warm them, To trap men or to obstruct themselves... Or they are healthy! Seldom a movement, When it shines upon all the sliced bread that belongs to no one... They are then coming towards me out of the barn And trample unintentionally on the last corn from the previous harvest, Still to somehow try to be like that, To put the fire of the golden wig upon the stack... They are as full of life as a horse, That does not feel the riders as strangers, But rather as its own thought...They rejoice, shout, They are already one year together and don't regret it, With a strong remedy to put up against anything, that is no miracle - All stains are only mud On a new dress, and it can soon be washed out... Children! They already found the right names, the only thing left now is for them to be spoken!" I interrupted him and said, he looked Like a quarry for the mill-stone. Drink, Hamlet, I said! Do you want it together With the oven, the soul of the farm, Or with the passion of the bloods' heavenly direction? Yet he didn't take it wrong and said: "Po - Pa!" What? I asked, and he answered: "That is how Tibetans talk to one another!" And went on : "Virgins, ah yes, They know when the tree is ill!...But I have learned to know convicts. For some of them it's enough, To imagine for themselves the colossal backsides, so huge only because of that, While the constantly pressuring memories forces then because Of that crime to squat legless, That is, unless they were swollen from frequent whippings, Since they smell of tar... 'The streetcar did not come!' said the woman. And the man Answered: 'It is even worse, that the ship is late, Namely you, that you like a ship Draws a continuous line under yourself...'Yes... Virgins on the other hand, yes, They know when the tree is ill... And the binding of manly grafting Is constantly done with the linen of their innocence, Even if they go out with their stockings that are made of the hairs of whores... You know, freedom is constantly nationalistic With voluntary poverty... Night overlapped night... bowing to earth Or becoming a grave for everything, That the living and the dead are doing... The living felt themselves shy perhaps and became over bold... And the dead were not deliberately, but with heredity Or with vengeful jealousy... (Translated by Klaus J. Gerken) - unknown date FINIS A NIGHT WITH YORIC PART I 2 Oct 2010 4:28pm