THE DREAM, GONE NOW, IS THERE ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ by Klaus J. Gerken (1979) PART I I Poor old Yoric 21. what's he done. what's he done? thinking memories no fun. lying basking in the sun. it's not infinity he understands; tries to understand. let the woman take my hand. running naked through the sand. Poor old Yoric 21. even late life must be begun. II Yoric dreams, but doesn't dream. Yoric thinks but has it been something very inbetween? the sound it soft. he thinks it oft. and Yoric doesn't know the cost. Frost. on the winter landscape, frost, Yoric now is very lost. Yoric dreams but doesn't dream. Yoric never knows what could it mean. Yoric doesn't you want to scream? III Yoric there. at 22. married? no, not really true. sometimes, even skies, can't all be blue. the lady laughs. she knows it too. If a thing is true to you. Drunken moments have their due. paid the price and Yoric lost. from the sun into the frost. Yoric there at 22. Married well - pockets full of rue. IV He glanced. he glanced at New York - Yoric 13 - that did enough - he wanted to - he really did - I mean he wanted to fly. sky high - but the wind and the pollution kept the thought firmly on the ground. pray. Yoric didn't pray. the harbor looked a day away. the ground. sway. sway Yoric may have been impressed anyway. V Yoric at school. Latin. Art. Yoric was good at everything - at first. that's where it be- gan. the curse. It was all them poems. all them silences. T.O.L. and a trying hard to get him into Collage (Ontario) of Art. But Yoric was stubborn. as hell. Yoric knew as well as anyone. Yoric flunked his grades - upset at first - never caring - that was worse. VI Yoric 30 now. Dreams and a remembering. It's a new voice. a new reflection. Yoric in love. but knew it too. Yoric then a fell apart. Yoric's got to start. somewhere. 15 years now to begin - well at first it may have been a joke - even so and so's a Doctor now. Yoric's still a dream. finely tuned, the wine flask empty - all so mean... VII It's a long poem. of sorts. restless nights. T.V. magazines boring to a man, who thinks he's done it all. Yoric then, before the fall. Play that made no sense at all. Queen of spades her Apple Pie. Drunk conducting symphony. Offenbach across the sky. Yoric doesn't know the why. did he even try? yes and sure enough - the music whines a bloody cry. when Yoric writes. the dreams don't die. VIII The drunken clown and Yoric's world. absurd but harder to observe. Between the layers stare and hidden places - friends he never knew - magazines are rue - poems do come back to you. and Yoric might confess - but then to whom? to yourself - but Yoric's true to any kind of hidden thing - It's the mystery that counts - making love to her. kind. Yoric's always in a bind. Seek and ye shall find. IX Yoric settles back. settles back. for the ATTACK. - T.S. Eliot and dark dark rooms. Gaslight better'n what you despise. Paris Haunted. Cold as ice. Yoric even needs to cry. Through Durrell, Miller and Brassai - fleet the images through the cups. If you're down, do not look up. Yoric thus refuses to take a nap. should the poet or the world shut up? X Yoric. three a.m. if you cannot sleep. then stay awake. Yoric never knew that stage. blasting music. acid dreams. Yoric yonder once grew mean. Younger generations, what do they? understand of each our way? Yoric wanted, order, but no difference there. Studied Chinese - that was fair. Couldn't speak it on a dare. Couldn't see the sign - nearness wasn't clear. XI It all went to his head. Plaza drugs and violence. Denise and Wendy. Marion. Golden child of innocence. All he knew was in his head. Spaces. Octopus and severed veins. songs of freedom. lousy poetry. all that was ok the experience was LIFE through hazy screens. Colours where "intensified" - well. not quite. As I said. All his dreams were so uptight. XII Poetry. The art of poetry. Yoric knew he could. but whether then he would. he never knew. a long apprenticeship and even harder now that he will know what he should do. deeper set through life's own wheel. samsara - if that's true - the cause of things comes back to you. to grab an opportunity but never to accept any kind of offering from friends. Lately Yoric's at an end. XIII It's the fool and not the clown that always want's to "play it cool" and always nervous like ah that's so cruel. while trains that pass at midnight - no well just before. like a southern breeze that's soft but humid - hot as hell. and Yoric's naked on the bed. Don't remember that the net loss of any situation is - with no money in your pocket and nothing in your head. might as well be dead. XIV Yoric thought the play was good. very good. but there were many problems yet to overcome (shall we overcome?) and the director and the stage and even how the situation might have been developed. even the audience would fail. and Yoric on the bridge and in the rain. and later at Sherrie's empty and a cognac reading over what went wrong - meanings all too strong. XV Yoric all but ten and almost drowning in a lake while he couldn't swim but kept a stoic attitude and almost went back in without a soul to know and just a trying trying with no intent but in those arts that a boy shd be - great and honest paleontology - just a perfect reasoning - even model airplanes and a compass couldn't get you through that night. Sleep tight. XVI But then and even to discover Browning. my god the poet Didn't rhyme! and then in school I thought that Keats, when stood upon the ship and seeing last of Albion thought that he was old well and that's how she the teacher did describe the situation and of how when saw the sonnets of a Mr. Wordsworth oh my god he wrote so much! laughter now. XVII And Yoric writing his long his very long scrambled searching tortuous Lay trying to get to find a voice and Eshleman a screaming anger words and finding seeking searching hoping cutting skin the layers must be stripped away - there's got to be a soul and then there's what you have the sum of life that Yoric led - well done, my friend, well bled. XVIII Also then the trees grew smaller. each of all was older each of all the world still not young but younger early in the morning working working sometimes shirking all responsibility knowing that the land (although he paid) was never his the family committed to every ounce of truth they thought was always right later Yoric might just write "even truth must be a lie" how we try. XIX and the saints. meditating thru the void. floating body. buoyancy reading all the books all of them and reading Lilly too Dolphins always knew the truth the matter of our innocence thought that keats was better'n milton teacher read the passage that is better can't compare best is best and worse is worse. whales and dolphin symphony Mahler's Ninth in ecstasy. XX Heraclitus, Wittgenstein deeper yet and Kant in treachery such precision like a very well and oiled machine wd very well've agreed with anything but didn't philosophy was like the sun and rain like all the elements combined the chinese knew and would have never made a fuss if they didn't "westernize" that is learned to criticize how perfect then I ask: can any culture be a mask? XXI Did Yoric know about the crucifix and did he know the rosary and did he know religion there at all unbounded in a perfect imbecility to give it all away a moment all it is a moment each might think eternity Poor old Yoric he is never free thinks he is but still knows how all history can never change beginning or the end. the shade is not the bend... XXII True he painted some amazing things and some that were not so great and others pure e- motion didn't drink a drop *that year* went so fast was hardly there Yoric always in good cheer dealers didn't care soft a few but always knew his best was still to come perhaps in pain, but not in paint perhaps in poetry perhaps in life is living yet. XXIII Yoric in the swimming pool. splashing like a crazed fool. a trying not to drink too much... a trying not to be so fat. a trying just to write what's right? so editors would say to him this poem here you see what's wrong? it works as prose but not as poem well and then again Yoric goes his way he knows the truth that's in his soul that's all that he can say Even Van Goth had his bad days. XXIV The food is always good. and Yoric here on UIC drinking fine and polished Montrachet. Decadence's what Brian said. ah yes but poets must not care too much through the drunken brawls and such poets never must too much care too much anyway it helped through a period it's difficult it's hard to say it should have been easy a good time had by all but never as expected poets always fall. XXV The pine cones and the sun diffuse at eventide and all the chirping birds and feeding squirrels and the time and weather mildly fine and gathering the swallows in the air. Autumns coming to be fair. Yoric's got that kind of flair... no she said the summer's better even in hot humid weather Yoric likes to have control spoke english well, too well, the fool. XXVI Your horoscope makes you a very enigmatic man J said you are either this or that nothing inbetween and C she "freaked" at hearing of the date the year the birth anything she said I looked like her former husband and was born get this born the same day same year and C she was a Sagittarius and R was a Saggi- tarius and all the women I have known... Yoric groans. XXVII It's not the mirror image but yourself Yoric wonders is the meaning always shadowed by a certain glow? and what is love? of course the question settles down and Kierkeggard full well knew having poisoned all his hopes (wild canaries singing in the trees) but never Yoric Yoric rides it out the storm Yoric sailor on a deep respectful sea very safe safely. XXVIII Yoric stoned and so alone! Yoric in the grips of solitude Yoric running laughter spike Through the air that wretched night we're off to Hull you'll come along? No, here it's better melting forms so familiar Dali speaks even Artaud makes more sense violence orange yellow fading red see yourself, a severed head what you done? had some fun? good ol' Yoric fled. XXIX And then of course the letters prerequisitional but hardly read even on the writing side open up your eyes! let the image tumble fall fled. thus the answers never were how you are and I'm of course fine here even thirty pages of philosophy never turned a phrase I'm now into this and into that wd if you wd want to write, please type Correspondence must be very light tight. XXX Please... and all the parties partial there and everywhere splattered brains upon the counter cups of beer and up to here what's the record? shit who cares I'm so sick the air's so thick who cant's more? the little chick don't give her booze the cop's right there and Yoric wasted Don't be daft here's a dollar Get a draft you buy her one I'll go with you Yoric doesn't mind in the bushes move your hide. XXXI the glass of wine the single most enameled moment in the history of man the golden chalice and the blood of christ and total sum of all that is: the grape the vine pruned back for further yield and Yoric lays his head back low and ruminates and celebrates upon the voices that indulge agon in his head well fed. XXXII It's not an easy breeze he wants or even any kind of weather whether thus or thus or even perfect in such a such a situation but play on words and meanings hid and poetry that congress IT and thus the truth revealed through what he does or doesn't do he's perfect now this Yoric is complete in every situation in a stupor at his station. XXXIII So good it was and a very good one thus she was ands she from iceland that she said and swinging hips so luscious so like the cream and milk and strawberries and Yoric licks his tongue and Yoric offers wine and all are feeling fine except the darkness of the mind seeking explanation thus for everything and Yoric always in a bind knows his wants and needs and fears and hopes and every V.D. blues... XXXIV If it were my guitar I wouldn't keep it in the shape it is but dust is better for the varnish scratched wounds are memories besides the sound is better life's not perfect music's life and what I do it not your strife he paid the bill and rambled out met a friend with wife no less and both at university what you dong now? Yoric had to answer some- how publish feelings what a lie. XXXV So Yoric bitten by a dog and Wendy with the wrong address and each and every subsequent neurosis treating R so bad my god's not her fault but still the same I had to scream at somebody apologized later on she said alright quietly and then hung up felt more mad than bad It all washed out though not the same went back to work and was insane Yoric was insane! XXXVI Yoric on the porch and Wittgenstein correcting notes upon the book finest day he ever spent alone none to bother there with anything pure thought warm sun shade some wine and silence all the time that any man could want He remembers that fondly speaking to Anne, years later and showing the still autograph manuscript of course there's no one who will print it the day's, feeling's so much more important than the work! XXXVII Nothing Yoric does has an aura of tragedy he accepts it all too readily fina- lizing every argument every situation part of nature part of fate the grand de- sign part of all that is so all complete Yoric calls it deed Even wishbones do not go a-pop perfect every time notice now Yoric takes it with a poem and a grain of pure sea salt. XXXVIII ... Is at odds with everything himself, the world, the universe, even Alfred Jarry knew THAT curse the better off he was the worse it's all a very simple thing a SITUATION not a ring never noticed anything like the rolling tidal sea storms and calm and mystery all is said and all is done when we stop we just go on the more we do the slower that we run. XXXIX I wished that I could meet her sleep with her and even better yet but god she was so young! so Yoric drank and drank his fill and even more as that was all that he could do the better worst of any- thing that Yoric knew that dreams are never what reality should be, could be, would ever be she went with someone else and Yoric stood alone without another opportunity. XL All his friends yes all advise his friends gave him he never once took hold he always knew that fate would take him by the throat and cast him like a cork upon the waves he cared no more for planning anything a course of action or a fling his works were scattered by the wind that is, were hidden somewhere in a darkest corner than his mind. XLI Whatever the point is: it is! that is Yoric's statement I was meant to say his final, statement but final is never *that* secure Yoric talks a lot of silence he is voiceless clear precise and definitely a liar he keeps his stories straight though others might be fooled but Yoric knows it's all the way Marpa said to Milerepa all these stones are just a lie that is the truth. XLII Jessy Winchester sings: "Dangerous Fun" Yoric sings along he weakens falters dies is re- born lives! breathes he tumbles from the womb of every virgin that he's touched he secretes the divine truth into every cunt like great Artaud he give birth to himself great Yoric knows Hamlet mystifies him he knows that Hamlet was a greater fool than he can ever be. XLIII Cathy we're in the laundry room said the message on the door that's what Wendy wrote that was before Yoric got stuck all night ALL NIGHT in the elevator after a party and Wendy went back up to her apartment Yoric didn't have a key he rode the elevator in a stupor all night long 3 a.m. Met Randy going home "What the hell is going on?" XLIV Yoric with his second bottle of wine Yoric with his second per- fect lie Yoric who dreams of a French chateau Yoric who's the greatest poet ever lived Yo- ric who got in a fight with an editor and every other editor and poet that he ever met Yoric who's the true reflection of the moment that he's known Yoric who's the lost continent Atlantis a rotting mass of stones. XLV ... A monument of splintered bones each of us envelopes each of all there's else otherwise how could we live the neighbours do not talk al all except they think of money everybody's everybody thinks of that and Yoric thought also Ezra poor old Ezra he was right usury is all concerns us now each word we write each thing we do how much money is it worth how much money is a gravestone worth? XLVI In a bar 1972 Yoric and he picked up us and a Jamaican took us home he said (and there were) three women there (couldn't blame him) I mean they wouldn't fuck him (he complained) so we went to Hull I mean this guy had three hundred dollars on him so we drank the whole place dry and ate too much to eat and Yoric was almost beaten to a pulp ah yes but her legs were mighty fine! XLVII ... To touch this waitress' legs almost got him decapitated while going to the can but 3 or 4 bottles of wine later hiked a ride back to some restaurant ate two helping of fish and chips and that was good this idiot screaming at some guy with two black chicks "fuck them fuck them now - or are you queer?" he didn't answer don't blame him finally the idiot ran out screaming down the street bad acid yoric took home a taxi and a whore felt good severed ears are still good food. XLVIII The guy paid for everything food wine as well he'd pay for the ladies of the night (Yoric offered one a tube of hot sauce she thought it funny but didn't take the offer might as well do better not V.D. blues and all of that I mean no one cares but was too drunk pilot's got to be sober half the world was still alive politics is amazing. XLVIX Yoric having over friend ain't no sweat the sweat comes la- ter when there's time to think when the mind establishes the wrong I mean the thing the whole thing the conversation the not really thinking the emptiness and the discussions of what those others are and then there's the drinking and the smoke and many other things Yoric wants to be alone anywhere but most of all at home. L It' not that Yoric always stutters when he's nervous he doesn't but then he doesn't It's more like then his accent that which overhung from an ancient Saxon heritage proud of that yet he knows he wants to know yet doesn't really want that is Yoric's uncomfortable unless at first he understand the other's mind that is he wants to hold the advantage he pays each back in kind. LI Morning of the next and other day Yoric is awake stomach churning eyes a-blurring something's still the matter with the head my god he said my god my god not that again! why drink so much I do not want to drink so much. I want to waken just one morning whole a- gain in one piece not like scrambled eggs or anything like that. LII Yoric knows a-plenty every- thing he understands this vio- lence a play that has no plot no actors and no stage good ol' Shakespeare dueling nevermore with what's his name ah Mr Shaw and sometimes even all of this has gone too far Yo- ric wants to play piano played instead guitar very badly but his songs are not half bad Yoric blames it on his head. LIII Yoric at the Arts Centre John and Debbie many other "friends" Frank in love and out of love with suicide so near at hand. Wendy minxed and slight- ly drunk and crazed and some- one pops a pill until... let the colours come lie still her tongue's so good the bushes scream indiscreet and all a-dream floating in a mass of cream scream. LIV And then was sober did a lot of painting tried to give up writing but instead wrote some fine things trans- lated Dante's Hell well at least the primo canto not the content but the voice a poet's right to make that choice anyway, the year went fast all too fast but then in retrospect perhaps the finest year that I ever had. LV I didn't want a party all I did was want some friends with easy conversation nothing wild or strange or violent was there anything wrong with that? but still I shake and wonder if it's all worth while I mean it hardly matters but life's so useless ain't it not? sure it is and all the pain and torment, empty situations life is just an empty parking lot. LVI Yoric loved potato ships fattening Yoric loves good food good wine fattening (besides it costs so much) Yoric loves life that's misery and Yoric loves Women but still he's afraid of them so Yoric stands alone shotgun to his head (he really doesn't want to end up dead) cuts a cross into his chest instead (suffering for art). LVII He's not that drunk he knows that score oh christ so many times been chained to that old floor Yoric vomits every word Would the world want poets such as these? sure the world's no better than the rest what rest? Sleep gentle dreadful sleep wish I could... forget everything that's at stake (Yoric give yourself a break) alright but still I think it's much too late. LVIII Good luck Yoric those are your endeavors to be a good poet a good person to never fail at anything to try to be yourself with only the occasional mask (that is all I ever ask) deep in thought: how would it be if everything were changed today? a letter, something unexpected brought that fame? oh Yoric You've only yourself to blame! LIX Yoric in love with a married woman plays the fool e- ven Leopardi could have better done today Van Goth's ear would have been sown back on what he thinks will free the poet never does but then Yoric with a stoic face "She said perhaps another time she was fumbling with her ring and I was very drunk on wine" Yoric you couldn't feel a thing. LX Yoric unemployed it's better this way you're no good at anything even poetry a total violation of what should have been warps his sanity don't explain it's just a feeling that we have it's there but still beyond repair Yoric in despair wakes up early combs his hair knows the crowds will only stare stays inside "away from there". LXI Crowds don't please him very much always feels so out of touch Yoric loves and hates his solitude says it's life must be attackt that is what poor Yoric lackt not a knowledge of the world but politics in general hurt smack dead down a barrel, gun, even sunrise vanishes too fast never notice till it's past. vast. LXII Aghast aghast out of breath aghast and then again the perfect ending to a perfect vivisection I don't know and don't ask me and everything else you might ex- press like perhaps Drusilla, Nero any other thing anything and Eliot to tea a madman's dream awarding him the Nobel prize awakening a mindless imbecility universe curse Yoric couldn't be off worse. LXIII Holan spent fifteen years with Hamlet and Yoric 15 days with Holan and "Shakespeare's in the alley" no less with all that he could muster e- ven fresh girls aren't THAT innocent country matters and the like fun of innocence and confidence and if you dare but do you dare and not too hard and o we all must play our parts make a start that's art. LXIV Ah yes work it over more complete work the song and then repeat break your fingers damn the keys! tear up page tear out your hair so inconvenient this damned despair why's the poem never work? was better first before it take apart Yoric's got a broken heart here's the slip now do your bit. LXV Best hangover remedy yet in- vented that is Newcastle Brown ale soothing your stomach like a cradle rocks to sleep a baby after reading want-ads in the paper three days old and finding nothing day's so hot the room in shambles why go on with it? "pass it over in silence" the Cabinet of Dr. Balabri's better suited to the voices Yoric hears when always deaf. LXVI Yoric's perfect in his way everything together comes just to write the works his way Separated from the world Ideal logic stalks his day When he's done it's hard to say Yoric's cold the world's away this how Yoric does prepare cd have done it anywhere Damned distraction do you care? Now we don't it's not fair. LXVII It's so damned silly phone a friend not over caring not anything nurturing a hangover with the remnants of a feeling good and well three or four New- castle ales and now perhaps a little T.V. that is to relax to get stupidity out the system... alone again good writing each and all of this that is very good the soul is only part of it all is else and everything. LXVIII Late night watching television sound off very quiet hum of the T.V. set (Broken tuner put together back with glue) mind empty empty very emp- ty what's the image? people moving moving always moving there amongst the shades there where no one seems to care the railroad bridge at night Hotel du Nord something very ominous fright that is no fright but is a loss. LXIX Look around this room these walls these paintings books these scrambled thoughts stai- ning pages on the floor god this place's a mess must needs be cleaned a bit the cupboard and the closet propped up to the hilt how's it ever possible to find what you are looking for? easy scrambled room for scrambled mind through being lost dear Yoric finds... LXX So much there to write to tell to sanctify to understand so much to explain to ex- plain but not to them but to oneself YOURSELF who cares it could be any self to write to be Yoric rambles on and on giving mind no rest the few things worth the while and if done wrong then don't in style each and every ounce of blood suffer Yoric if you must. LXXI It's like going to the moon one needs to think as a machine the purpose now is getting there not to heave a lot of mystical tears or lights of fancy to explain the news- worthiness of any situation such as that given time to think is sometimes wrong getting there and not arriving (like Cavafy said) is all that matters most never to make more of that which s never to force the dream to not see clear. LXXII Yoric like Balzac eh? what's that? never the form of work is never so precise as just to separate ideals Yoric doesn't write he vomits up a flood of images emotions all in sequence of a purposeful in- violate fraternity those who join should always be the equal that he never was no feelings for the one's below use them use them that is all eso- terics usury, appall. LXXIII Yoric loves to taunt a suicide His own perhaps his dreams his pride the songs he sings or feels inside "Lather" and "White Rabbit" from the 60's acid rock 15 years it took that long to learn to hold a gun (imaginary, no less real) violence is always only how you feel (that is real) but then no need yet to be shocked "only there for those who fought." LXXIV Eyes so very tired now printed page is split in two ink will run (a deed is done) inside out and Yoric floats upon the world upon a cloud 30 years and what a draught little would it mattered hadn't so proliferate the lie... Yoric kept his stories straight (is lying then a poet's fate?) Van Goth's ear Picasso's fear all for art then shed no tear. PART II LXXV Yoric never satisfied not intense but sometimes sometimes doesn't think that life is real got the rotten end of any deal Ottawa's fake it's Art that's here at stake reads his work no power there might be life as lived no true dra- matics anywhere want dra- matics no not really Yoric lacks an explanation that's the problem that's his station true equation. LXXVI He's falsified his own strong situation... Yoric wants to find like Rimbaud transmutation of (not of metals but of) life not an end but the beginning of it all wants to see not how to change but what the possibilities ought to be where it all went wrong perhaps it's god he want's to play but is too smart for that recall Caligula he never could react to that. LXXVII He wants to get back to a perfect night not a dream but shadow that equates reality he wants to worship from afar a lady like a guiding star perhaps a Beatrice or Fanny Brawne if Keats or Dante did it why can't I? Indeed it's not perfection that he wants it's something more to focus on but then can any woman take such adoration? LXXVIII Getting back to Van Goth's ear no one understood all clear was it love or hate or was it fear? whores will always call you dear "Dame religion" might you say let's you worship her *that* way the physical must always pray ah yes but memories from "Time Retrieved" to "House of Sleeping Virgins" everything relies on these emotions. LXXIX Yoric learned how hard he learned a deeper fall no man has earned the search for self is never strong in those who think there's nothing wrong Not Neurosis but a flood of feeling what has been and what could be Yoric always wants to see very clearly everything so the mirror's violent to really learn let no one guide your hand. LXXX I kinda like him Yoric all his fears his hopes his dreams even when he couldn't give a damn even when he suffered so and never felt he need to show it even when he lied still he was a happy man I wonder how he's coping now deep so deep within himself those he sees are memories or just a function of his brain. LXXXI Electronic impulses not much different than a Lanpar Scope he sometimes wonders are we so controlled? perhaps we are if that's the case is not all life in vain? who knows perhaps we're here to gather some experience for beings who cre- ated us beings who are part of us a way an only way that they can really feel. LXXXII Strange if we should be that way to feel reality only through the physical and not a mental state not to feel through thought? to only think that love is sex or nourishment is food or pain is shedding blood or broken bones Yoric feels so different now locked inside his world the physical so rarely touched the mental so sublime. LXXXIII Yoric doesn't like his person well sometimes tries to figure himself out others seem so different yoric wants to cry He sees the image of a balcony always there again standing high above the ground the view is always lovely there won't go there again Yoric looked so calmly down stared into infinity Yoric so wants to be free. LXXXIV There's something about churches that Yoric likes they're so old I guess he hates the modern world wd take time back as far as possible perhaps even so before the humanoid emerged upon this world how was it then the moment of the birth that primal mo- ment of the earth the first all in a hostile sea How could it have been all begun so secretly? LXXXV Don't compare me thus to anyone I'm me myself the best I can I steal the best and make it mine a poet must reflect the world the way it inter- acts with him a line another poet writes if that I use I'll make it mine its usage in the way i will like an artist uses paints no credits given to discoverers. LXXXVI For days Yoric mopes around doesn't do a thing hates the world and hates himself you've got to get a job but I don't want to work but You've got to make a living! I don't want to live! the situation's getting worse Yoric nurtures what he think's the cause all the pressures everything he sports a mustache shaves it off Yoric can't make up his mind that tough. LXXXVII Couldn't care less wakes up early just to think too much the world is out to lunch Yoric missed the train reason too insane perhaps the work inane but it really doesn't mater much is there anything that Yoric cares about? yes there is but he can't get it out it's locked inside his brain all that needs be pain without that there can't be gain. LXXXVIII The man who never hates hates incredibly more than anyone always on the run from himself from others too hide the fact you do it too what? to feel emotions that are very real (rotten deal) play- ing solitaire hours on end and every game is lost in a personal frost (Yoric coughs) all it ever is a great big laugh. LXXXIX To know what's right and not to do (Confucius always knew it too) said so Yoric studies hard the path was right but neither heart nor soul could play that part the world of politics were never it Yo- ric couldn't calculate he saw the world for what it was what once was perfect never is again those who follow rightful path first must know the other way. Yoric knew it everyday. XC Enough to throw a fit silence that is it what's the use of thunder torture silence better when we think so it trounces on us unawares hold us up (like love) then lets us drop either situation's THE event still don't know what Yoric meant? don't be daft married forty years and still stomping like a herd of buffaloes from each other won't they ever learn? XCI Yoric the surrealist Dali gets away with it Yoric is the only fake always on I guess the make not the quest for love at all that only leads him to the fall but the quest for what's it called yes, individuality originality Yoric already is that kind but only sees the surface there of things makes one wonder if he's serious. XCII It was so easy to take your head off climb the walls see the world revolve around your eyes stimulate your mind oh but don't create don't even think (that's fine) as long as there's no interference from another source and "ever try to read Finnigan's Wake on acid?" Yoric was impossible o lost Yoric make the most of nothing. XCIII Yoric's so afraid of everything but most of all afraid of change the very thought devastates his every ounce of strength confrontation frightens him he wants to be alone he wants to lock the door cork up his room he wants to only write write write he wants to live inside his head it's the only thing that matters that the world is too complex. XCIV Yoric worked as a Barber once (a dull man's job) so long ago it seems like yesterday it frightens him to think of it what poet was a Barber once? it gave him time to write mostly under pressure very bad but still it was security (ex- tension of his home) He there could hide so well away refuse to think and dream the time away no more time to get off the floor. 95 Yoric shaved his mustache off didn't like the change - Yoric thinks it's better now - to realize the world for what it is (there's nothing wrong with this) from Barryman to Van Goth's ear - suicide is never fear neither will it be despair More or less it's just a dare - a game that no one wants to play - even photo- graphs will fade away. 96 Yoric applies for a job this "old" (he said) professor (PHD et al) researching a book Biography to be precise says needs a helper an "assistant" speaks for quarter hour tells all about the book Yoric sure can do the job but no Professor wants someone with a more "Academic" background O.K. Yoric said at least I tried The hung up Damn could have done that job. He lied. 97 It is always waiting waiting for the opportunity that seems to never come a monotony of hope like as if the vision too clear greener grass and so much we want but never get because we don't g after it Yoric has no one to blame but himself but Yoric isn't lazy just too busy with whatever life will offer him he's got little time for anything. 98 Yoric knows no matter how it hurts he's got to tell the truth not just tell but face the truth he's got to tear himself apart come to grips with every situation and he's got to learn that THIS IS IT nothing else the moment is the basic pre- mise the reaction to an interaction the way he's built not of bolts but flesh. 99 Yoric never smiles the weight of centuries upon his back all of it the weight of anything amassed - his heritage he's reading learning his experience everything that touched him even more Yoric has a good good memory even when a-weary drunk can't forget a thing wishes though he could at least for once at least to be like every- body else. 100 Yoric's grown too fat Yoric looks like Balzac now Sports a mustache in his mind writes upon the table top of a very grand design knows it's there but can't explain (Yoric's in a lot of pain thoughts keep hammering his brain) Even writes when he's a-dream wrote a novel that way once thinks that it is very grand hasn't shown to anyone. 101 Cold and calculated thus the situation is that said the passage is of time so difficult to understand ex- cept in certain book of His- tory Yoric doesn't mind the age there's no passing of his youth Yoric looks five years younger than he is overweight a bit perhaps but he thinks (at times) he's Balzac anyway But he doesn't wish he were totally. 102 Himself is best no other thing would be experience that's his job his "destiny" to thus ex- perience another thing certain things to create from that to show the world another way another path (to righteousness?) no that's not the way he'll just point the way put up sign a milestone he knows what's best in his own world. 103 Yoric on the dance floor feels like a bloody fool this is fun? this enjoyment? couldn't wait to get back to table and get drunk she just cornered him I'm bored that's just what she said Didn't like her much at all Corners of her mouth were black opium didn't like the stuff Yoric mad alrea- dy what's for lunch? 104 Yoric born in Germany thirty years ago when was Yoric really born? fifteen years ago? then he knew his trade. saw the light? no opened just his mind and flooded out school project write a couplet took a week that was that never stopped filled up notebook after book flunked his grades Yoric always knew the way. 105 Only one teacher T.O. LeGrave only one person understood got good grades in Art that is for writing poetry! true enough one of these days you'll have to do some work but still the grade is made Yoric knew not how he knew not anything his trade begun his calling made what was there to stop him then? who is there to guide him now? 106 But that was long ago even now remembering is hardly worth it all Yoric always wanted to be a painter had his chance but used the chance to his advantage no only what was needed some- thing to describe his inner feeling that was all he wan- ted out of what therapy? no a new way to explain a certain need that was Yoric's deed. 107 All the books he ever read each locked in his head mired books that told the truth even though it was a lie had stamina hand tossed in the flame so that utterly defiant Yoric always knew those books had burned the soul you could stale- mate such a question why? twisting dagger through the guts only perfect later on. 108 Yoric a barber ten long years if it hadn't been for writing for these "counter" movements of reality he's have done it long ago like a prison every day a job he hated and what better reason for to cut one's off from all the world living only for sex and wine and to forget the late late nite T.V. and a hopelessness divine. 109 He kept on writing Yoric did that was all he had so like a drug to him he'd give you eve- rything but wasn't a Gau- gan there were (there are) too many ties already Yo- ric knows he'll ill escape His life's his art no social part that's all he's got He's happy there so let him be that's his eternity. 110 Everything he does he has to know about he hates uncertain situations he needs a point of reference but sometimes lately many milestones vanish he's standing in a desert tossed upon the ocean Sargasso weed (with reference to Crowhurst) not quite lost but it's the fake the fear of a mistake how much more can Yoric take? 111 Yoric how to come to grips with yourself try to analyze each and every one of all these poems that you wrote? those novels wherein you lied or fanaticized? but was it all a fantasy? could it have been a disguised truth? all of the emotions that you felt each of them were real does love have to be consummated to be really love? 112 Not so much foolhardy as it is another view of the world - whether crows or cubes or abstract forms the painter segregates himself he *needs* the other view Yoric rumbles "out of self" Doesn't know anything at all the way he feels might just as well walk through a wall he doesn't seem to think at all perhaps it's Art that life's about perhaps the other way around... 113 It works all strange the music's loud you cannot hear the light so overpowering you'll be blinded when it comes Can we recognize ourselves? mirror's black so might be moons the castaway adrift at last! a contradiction like an atom's blast Yoric understands at last head's too high above the clouds down to earth it's all about. 114 It's not so silly as one thinks a lifetime passes in the eye of a blink a deep a dream a private realm (a shady elm for making love be- neath as Yoric once a-did) and really no pretence is here Let only those who know beware perfection's best when no one's there I've heard it all before somewhere Yoric always wants a share. 115 It's Yoric's right to do what - ever Yoric has to do but Yoric never thinks of it that way Yoric always failed he's always been the jester without jokes the lover without women and the monk without a robe Yoric's been a kind of joke least of all himself to blame when Yoric paints a picture to immortalize the frame. 116 Watching' those movies aint no fun what's the use of other *such* realities? If it's truth boy that you want take a look at all those walls all of this monotony that's what free- dom really means al- though the sport's built on a team one remembers what one means that is a personal ideal never what it seems. 117 Yoric knows that everything went wrong I mean that he went into town (that is) to work at ten and typed these envelopes till three got paid a-dollars ten (she wasn't there) so went and bought some wine a litre of the "better" stuff that he could find then home (two girls at the bus stop giggling) a way to pass the time. 118 My work consumes my every need all my life is how I write what I write and what I do (and you my friend can do it too) it's all so easily all so perfect all complete nothing there beyond the need Yoric laughs a silent mournful laugh that's the only way he finds release eternal peace poetry's his own disease. 119 Yoric stayed awake all night bad dreams? no just fright fright of everything that his reality would conjure up even more as if of dreaming this that's the highest form of fear there is fear of life as you might want to live it fear of how you should be living it fear of everything fear of waking up again. 120 Yoric wants to cultivate a madness a perfect re- flection of a perfect situ- ation that is how to fake the world and all its appre- tures like screaming light and all too many books and absinthe mind and voices that refuse to answer when they're spoken to that's to yourself and others too Morphene in his mind* each and every character is YOU! *Note: Morpheme, see the novel RITES. 121 Blast a way thru with a serpent's jaw she so devours you that there's little time to think but thinking would only ruin it too much thought the worse for wear tearing at each single file arrangement in this all but static universe what's worse is never so secure blast wind sucks eternity jutting forth from out necessity not a hoe in hell, the way it used to be. 122 Only a ruler bites through a time of abundance usually short lived but not to be sad as all must pass... as all remains in one way or another not to fail not to lose sight of one's object but still to float freely... as to let the wind take sail follow the wind do not be as stubborn as to try and fracture that wind know not blindly. 123 ALL OF IT that's the game an artist's always got to renegotiate his stand he's never free but must bite thru sometimes that leads to an extreme naivety and almost trance where everything declines into a secondary stance before that inevitable conquest perfect conquest of one's self all of it. 124 Yoric writes the worst poems in fact Yoric doesn't write at all he's a scientist exploring the inner recesses of himself his body and his mind whether dream or in reality to Yoric there's hardly any difference whether TV screens or books or even on the street everything is a reflection he can use that has he's like. 125 As everything he's like that that is a part of what his life his drive the only way he knows that he's a- live alive living breat- hing loving all's to him a feeling to explore nothing less and nothing more and violence in every situation as: clawing out my eyes and is it love despised? the truth to Yoric's just a pack of lies. 126 It's an inverted cone a dunce cap a spiraled universe touching touching on an insignificance that's it that is always it the perfect moment the perfect movement all of it it never exist- ed an impish smile (Voltaire's perhaps?) gives it all away head above the clouds but on a clear day keeping tabs on everything that for Yoric waits. 127 If ever he will find it has found it he will never know or will he ever want to know isn't it the search that's all im- portant? the anticipation finally which writes the work fills the page? it's all a type of rage grinding teeth always the restriction which is still ones self (whiskey's on the shelf). 128 A person's room is like his mind a reflection of that internal agon exploring every possibility a fixation with the self each piece of furniture each book each painting the whole atmosphere that which tears or shapes the soul a re- flection of an individual how a person shapes his life Yoric likes an empty room but always it gets cluttered fast. 129 It's not how the image is but how the image is perceived Yoric makes no bones about it his life (coined now apprentice- ship) a bloody mess he suffers for a need (he thinks) but suffers very needlessly He wonders sometimes how it would have been had he stayed in Germany would his life be different then? sure enough he's be not here. 130 His dream world how would that be changed? or would his dreams be his reality? no way to know Yoric knows all this he doesn't even care to speculate he's happy in his happiness and even so is happy in his suffering all's a part of life his dreams once shattered lies high that's how Yoric builds his Try... 131 A crisis always in a crisis lost among the crowd panic as a woman's body soothes him the leading up to frightened Yoric the divine jester cap and bells rotten jokes nervous everything is nerves even sleep how he dreams how he writes how he no- tices the world Yoric only 'knows one perfect situation void. 132 Yoric freezes Yoric's hot Yoric grabs his own erection Yoric's mind is imbecilic Yoric's life is so idyllic Deep in thought (out of it) above the universe sexual power channeled thru the mind all powerful Deeper thru the twisting screw deeper fathoming every meaning every absurd meaning meaning simply nothing nothing at all. 133 Yoric feels depressed op- pressed Yoric can't accept the rotting of the Roman Empire he can't reconcile himself to so few poets that survived what happened to all the others? Yoric thinks that history is just a series of mistakes nothing he says is THAT important to not starve to procreate to survive the elements that is all important. 134 What's today important? paper work? red tape? boredom? what's the real world like? one without this artificial fla- vour this poisoning with out technology? is there reason to survive talking to a computer? who makes less mistakes than you? what's the use of living in a world like that? wrists are cut for less than that. 135 No matter how wild it gets no matter how much we drank no matter how insane how ridiculous the situation it's all still the same no different we always knew we didn't care the forces spring to life Yoric walks through walls others talk to paintings one's no different than a- nother this the same as all that was. 136 Yoric violates his own sanity the music is his head's always too loud his hand is guided by another force the voices always penetrate a feeling of each helplessness always form that versus content a vortex throws off sparks while blinding everything a vortex like the universe expanding contracting all and everything is powerful. 137 Yoric doesn't see to want to do anything right he's afraid of failure that is failure brought about by the wanting of success otherwise it doesn't matter a hell whether things go wrong or right Yoric's only Plus is fright (rains alright) he thrives on what he thinks is suffering mental anguish if confession were good for the soul Yoric wouldn't. 138 Once is enough but Yoric makes the same mistake twice just to be sure of himself now that's a joke but the mask he wears is better than a Montague's it's better than a frightened doe stalked by a wolf but Yoric doesn't eat his prey Yoric tortures it uses it to his own "artistic" advantage Yoric can't be true That false mask... that is really you. 139 bored again? always bored that's the only way to be for an artist anyway that's how dreams beset others might read romantic or detective novels I create these situations in my mind I live them thus It's the only way the only way an artist only knows is through himself what others might incline to call insane Yoric only feels his pain. 140 Yoric admires his own stami- na which of course is never there he digs a hole he drinks some wine the more that he gets drunk the more he sees the light the more the useless imbecility collides with what purports to be a proposition of a high intent Yoric really didn't know what, ah, he meant, all the same, just leave it be, Yoric knows he is a fallen tree. 141 Yoric has a right to do this that is write but no one else no one seems to this that work is feeling work work is just mono- tony it's not the work that Yoric does is really suffering he doesn't but he does, just wants the world to know the world just doesn't carte Yoric's drunk could be at the fair Yoric says he's got the flair flair for what? what's there? 142 The inexhaustible well to- wards that even though there now is mud and the well needs repairs and to be dredged what seems so stagnant now will one day clear that's the image so that others therefore might enjoy a drink quench their thirst thereby be satisfied Yoric says to friends you yourself the poet heaves these stones upon his back so that that light might one day be seen clearly. 143 This is forcing one to believe it's no different to deceive guess what's happening win a prize no different all except a pack of lies listen to the radio watch a lot of stale TV write a book you want write if it has already been then do it right work a bit monotonize suffering then despise aye. 144 Fanatically Yoric tries to understand himself he already does but doesn't want to believe himself others are just simply too puzzled to comprehend everything and Yo- ric is quite a puzzle he lives by himself in a world of broken images (sutured hopes?) Yoric quickly shakes his head (he dead?) Yoric's always been well read. 145 Yoric loves to see his friends perplexed he loves to ply a joke that's very subtle of course they all will think he's crazy well, perhaps he is (something's got to give) lose his friends or lose his sanity Yoric's very hard to please lives his life the way he wants "suffering for ART" Damn it all, you're enjoying it how in any way can that be "suffering?" 146 Yoric is a haunted (king of the woof, hunted?) man alone quite alone iso- lated from the world not because he wanted so but because he sees the truth he notices what the world is and what it will be- come but Yoric strikes out on his own he's not easily understood but that's good makes them wonder how. 147 What is certain? if any- thing, what is? even without image, without thoughts, what is? and if Yoric isn't, who is? Str- ange to say the least bet- ter to wait to get the key than to barge in (where should one begin?) it's as Hang Gliding doesn't master all the wind thinking doesn't master all the mind what a find! 148 Yoric thrives on rain it's the knowledge of the certainty of something happe- ning it's the somber mood a sharing of all history of a moment such as this a day that deep reflects upon the image of a total truth everything's intensified o joy of those emotions Yoric likes to think whether of romance Yoric takes that chance. 149 I believe Yoric when he says that he can do everything from a Chateau in France to a Basement studio in Ottawa He can write the finest novels and paint the most astounding pictures He creates, like Balzac his youth like Rimbaud he's a volcano Mount Vesuvius devouring Pompaii he just laughs at that the divine joke is always about one's self. 150 It is not to find anything not the sword Excalibur not the Bible nor I Ching It is sometime much more personal (whatever moods the rain might bring) something Yoric cultivates half or nothing that might separate... Yoric don't you think it's getting late? punching holes in the debate what's there? or just a twist of fate? Copyright (c) 1979 Klaus J. Gerken Published by Ygdrasil Press 1998