PAGE BY PAGE THE READING OF...

A Poem

By

Klaus J. Gerken

(1975)


A Poem
anything   a statement
that conflicts with the sunshine
that conflicts with the iron will
               of this page
that mirrors all the mind
the recesses of the darkest rooms
that have never seen the light
as the curtains never have been
pushed aside
except near the midnight hour
to let the windows become mirrors
mirroring the skin the soul
that becomes then the ghost
offering the certainty of age
and mortal immortality
in the minds of beggars
who are god and who sustain
their wisdom in the silence
that they offered in the mirror
of their solitude

A poem then
this poem that explores
what philosophers only dream
about and try to calculate
with a mathematical politeness
of scientific gloom
It's all absurd
and this absurdity is the
vision that prepares all of our
expeditions for the danger
that lurks just beyond
the foliage that hides
the sin of gluttony
and the iniquity
and all the ?unrefineries?
that society has discarded
from its perfect state
of notoriety -
It is this
that the poem speaks about
The poem is a wheelbarrow
that mankind pushes around
of the rock he is forced
to carry on his back for
retribution of his ignorance
The poem is also a dagger
that prepares the final thrust
of highest emotion
expandable by human
energy - We admire that
dagger but we haven't
learned to throw it yet
Who knows the target
we all don't want to see
The target is monotony
And the poem continues
What words to chose
What meanings to put foreword
in the images that slaughter
the establishment and push
the conflict of our separate lives
to the brink of their own
nemesis - We don't know
anything - And anything that
we do know we've gained 
by accident - But then
that which we do know
we don't understand so
so how can we truly
become the wise men that
we all profess to be

The poet sees
The poem tells
but its telling is itself
obscured by the stupidity
of this obscurity in which
there is no escape
We're not observers
as we think we are
We're not - We stand here
and wait for the world to go
round all the while that
it is we who make it go
Now listen to me
my mind is scrambled
and in shards because of all
this useless information
it's been fed
A thousand books one reads
because one thinks they are important
works we overlook
because one's mind is jealous
of the fact that others
have done better things
But it's all part of
progress - It must go on
and we must learn from it
everything - We must learn
from every step we take
else it would be useless
for the smallest fraction of
a second - which in reality
this life is - a very small
fraction of a second that is
more or less than our eternity
And eternity IS everything
It is all that we will
ever be - It is all we 
ever are - Eternity is the space
between this moment and the next
And eternity is the space between
this pen and the paper it now touches
Or appears to touch
All of this is very hard to get
It's hard to put on paper
Even harder to try and understand
Whatever makes sense does so
Not by any pattern of thought
but by a pattern of truth
which manifests itself at times
and in forms that are least
expected - And when it comes
we miss it - cast it aside
as unimportant because the form
it presents itself in is designated
by us as mediocre - a word
we've created through our own
ignorance - Nothing in this life
is mediocre - everything is
a part of everything else and
matters as much as any other
cog in the great machine
that continues running even though
we've done everything in our power
to stop it - It runs contrary
to our own stupidity
It is light while we are blind
Perhaps we'll see the light
before it's too late
It would be such a marvelous
thing to see the people of the world
at peace with the nature 
that created them
But even if it is written
in the pages of the future
it's a long way off - and there
will be many conflicts
and explorations through the never
ending ignorance of our society
before anything near to this
"Utopia" (as we have labeled it)
can come about - and as I
said before - as long as we
will search for it there is
no way it can ever come
about - mankind is just not
capable of living with the thought
of truth - Truth is based on
an absence of fear and
mankind has feared enough
for a million years of 
treachery and self imprisonment.

It is good to speak of things
such as these on days like this
Warm days with the sun
gently beating down on us
and blanketing us in warmth 
and security - Would all days
be like this and we could
enjoy them it would be heaven
But our freedom depends on
work that also is our slavery
It is a cycle  we can really not
escape - except of course
those very rich who by their
opulence appear to be the
free society for which we 
strive - It's not so - that which 
appears to be the summit of
achievement and utopia is
the pit of hell itself
in the boredom it creates
And we at the other end
slaves because of want and
greed and they slaves
because they have and cannot
cope with having everything
A vicious circle like the story goes
and a circle is a cycle
which repeats itself
for the remainder of eternity

And this is what transpires
in the poet's mind
this is what the mind is fed
through eager eyes
that stoops to see the surface
of the things and as they are
The poet cannot help but see
Whether what he sees
will be accepted or not
is not his concern
His concern is only the writing
of the truth that ventures
near enough to be recorded

Who will do the rest?

23 August 1975