Woe? No. wow whoopee.
no narcissist child named:`
'Mimi'...
at orientation no smacks,
no punch the professors,
at commercial breaks Be.
`
and you are so gracious,
and maybe read twice,
and sigh:`take notes.
`
If this was a card deck,
no dare bluff, my dear,
You ought to:` hold 'em.
`
I may ask to edit:`comment?
You are a friendly person who
never puts earwax in the soup.
`
You never make readers skin crawl.
You are friendly to Rasputin. Share.
You need a flannel shirt? I'll e- mail.
tease.

ACH, I HAVE BEEN STOLEN OF THE
CHANCE TO MAKE INITIAL COMMENT BY
OLD FRIEND NATUREBOY...

i shall return in due time
to german(e)ly analyze,
tho methinks poetess
aint so in need of my
interpretations anymore...
she now a more conscious poet
like Blake, whose definitoin of poetry was: "allegory addressed to the intellectual powers,
not 'gettable' by the corporeal understanding"
(sorry, wm. re mybutchery of thy highfallutiness)

one thing that popped to mind:
dylan: hiway 61:

"mac the finger said to Louie the king
i got 40 red white & blue shoestrings
anda thousand telephones that dont wring
do you know where i could get rid of these these things....
ye i think i know where it could be easily done..."

off to get coffee...gotta walk about a mile, oh well
(irrelevant timespace detail)
james

Reading your poetry, I wish I were your Sisyphus King to be cornered.

well done.

blake, "the french revolution"

BOOK THE FIRST:
"and the den named Horror
held a man
chained hand and foot, round his neck an iron band,
bound to the impregnable wall....
and the man was confined for a writing prophetic...


in the tower named Darkness, was a man
...a mask of iron on his face
hid the lineaments
of ancient kings.., and the frown the eternal lion was hid from
the oppressed earth"..

poor fucker.


so we are in post revolution France. ach & a half...

so the game of royatlt...the game that has occupied so many intelligent souls
throught the eternal night of history
chess...has laid its black& white (ach...no color,alas)
grid on the streets of Old Paris...the King is in a bit of a tight spot, for he is constrained by the rules of movemnt..
do this do that do i t this way do it that way..
he is constrained by the rules of the world he Himself has wrought,

in his flight from eros, to the sleep of Ulro...
the Ulro now gives up its dead, generation trembles & bitche & moans...Paris' streets are mobinfested,
the party is on and it is the biggest jam ever..

they have come to see the King's response to the indignities suffered daily
commited daily in a most discourteous world...



the violence of silence, the quiet command of indecently decorated
decorum....

the King smiles. he hears the rumble afar, for Engalnd and Germania an Italia rouse...

its a fuckin cliffhanger!



when did cliffhangers come in?

ach in serials in the 30s

as the cinema industry got up & running....

theScreen ...

James Emmerling

to be continued!

A, One could analyze this poem on a psychological level. Indeed one could analyze it with any lens. Go in yr bag of lenses & grab one out.

From a psychological perspective, the "royalty" metaphor has been used for centuries
to describe male/female relations. Since the age
of chivalry! As you know, that's when romance came to
our civilization. Before that? ach,
guy rides into town on his horse, seduces or rapes, leaves.
Provencal. Ja, but then: the Albigensian Heresy.
The catholic church didnt like the...drift of things..so they smashed it.


As they smash all revolutions. Here: the sexual revolution, let us say. The sexual revolution has left queens yappin ;& bitchin & having a grand bitchfest,
much to the discomfort of goodmens' stomachs, ach...

So here we have the post-feminist-revolution state of the
"man-woman thing"
or: the split between man & woman in each & every soul
in God's creation? either? both?

what is the difference? we project onto our partners anyway.....

so: queen watches as checkmated king..
for relationship=chess, just another goddamn competition
a very hoity toity one,
with grand strategy
and geniuses & savants playing, etc....but still...

another competion. who gives a shit, i say. i never cared to learn it, ach.

but others take it way way serious! "love is like chess" saieth the wise, and bow

as they are looked at with appreciation & boredom &...competition!
who can top such a grand pronouncement??????

(the pope. he's german)

no, not the pope. good catholic girls dont listen to the pope anymore...

so she has killed her King.
so she wins.
(what,exactly?)
So she dies with him.

France, ...ach

James E, half German, quarter Scottish (aberdeen)
and quarter english (ancestor of roger conant,
who founded Salem, Mass...ha!)

um..self promotion? so what..

Hi Angie, what a comeback. There's such a definiteness about this poem which is uncanny. I haven't analyzed any of the phrases, just the initial feel, as if a great awakening has taken place. May be wrong, but I tend to rather go with what I feel. Now that I'm looking at your keywords I don't know any more. Is a new world order in the coming?

Delighted to see you back, Angie! And in full force, too, with this savagely intelligent poem. The double-edged (no pun intended) meaning of “execution” in the first line, the circular journey from “release” to “surrender,” moving from the strategy of “a well-thought out plan” to its literal execution through the “crush of blue steel / and porcelain, wood, earth, / and stone.” And how this last stanza sweeps backwards through the millennia, from the most to the least sophisticated building blocks of civilization: from metallurgy to porcelain to earth and finally, the Stone Age. As T.S. Eliot says in the opening line of “East Coker,” “In my beginning is my end,” and in the closing line of that quartet, “In my end is my beginning.” (Amazing that I never realized these were literally the opening and closing lines of that piece—I know them as lines, but hadn’t yet seen the pattern until writing this comment.) And yes, you’re right about the Sisyphean passion and scornful outrage at injustice and violence it takes to continue creating in the face of “all this unmaking.”

Which makes me think of D-E-V-O! and Mother Teresa’s “TEAR IT DOWN!” De-evolution/violence/entropy—but also the constructive sort of destruction required to start afresh. I suppose that’s where the revolution part comes in. But then the Reign of Terror folks start sucking at Power’s teat and the cycle of visciousness loops all over again. We need more Mother Teresas and fewer Robespierres.

On “the synchronicity of giraFFes” comment in your last post, it occurred to me that Michael and I had mentioned giraffes in a June 6 post, but I think that predates the Newtonian synchronicity by a week or two—perhaps foreshadowing our spiritual meeting of the minds?

I wonder if you’re familiar with Eavan Boland’s collection, In a Time of Violence? More to add to your reading list, if not. As to your confession to “being hopelessly unread,” what a blessing it is getting to read all this great stuff for the first time!

Speaking of Sisyphus, we have a post calling to be finished, so I must surrender, at last . . .

—Melissa

Ms, S.,
It probably wont surprise youto learn that I have been ponering this latest poem probingly...
It seems to me that the king's predicament is a self-made one,
hopefully part of some grnd overall meaningful strategy...this is assuming, of course, that he is a good king...


which is just MY assumption, and probably might not be everyone's...or hardly anyone's...
we detest royalty...except we dont, we love it, in...vulgarized form (celebrity) .Anyway...

The reason the king's motion's are limited is that , well, he's a piece in a chess game, obviously.
Metaphorically. In some sense. He no doubt awaaits the blade's fall
with relief and a modicum of hope. Not that he will be rescued, as i imagined in my first (cliffhanger) effort of interpretative genuis,
but that his boxed-in-edness (just invented that world,oops word)
will finally be putr to a merciful end.

"if i dont make it/you know my baby will..." dylan's "from a buick 9" is playing, (no longer surprisingly) synchronistically in my ear (did we cultists come to a conclusion what it is, egg-zactly?)
the king may sing this, but hsi queen seems strangely....
split...into a multitude of furiously intentful but
multitudinous pieces...colorful triggerfish, a whole "school" (ha!)
of them, not one identity....

and on a big picture metaphorical level, with the King being the Male Universal, and the
queen being the Female Universal....talkin our favorite subject here, collective archetypes....
this is true...post - sexual Revolution, Man= "patriarchal" bastard sob he is, is being slliced and diced daily...in media, in privte life..my

mother had a saying, "after the revolution"...meaning when she took over the marriage, took back her independence, from george the hapless german principal, who retreated into dementia (a form of being guillotinesd, i guess)..


but the Queen is split among her many "identities"...her millions of embodiments, real flesh & blood women.

They say , and i believe them, that we are all One Body in...oh, call it Christ. But...what is the sexual differrentiation therein? eh? what say you?

We speak of Mother & Father God, but..heh...what's their "marriage " like?

Like a chess game?

And by the way, what is the Queen's "purpose" anyway,
in all her many many bodies?

James Emmerling

"We live in violence,
taken by surprise as we sleep-walk
between shades of dark and light.
To create again and again
in the face of all this unmaking
requires the scorn and passion of Sisyphus."

Brava - to create again and again and again - "requires the scorn and passion of Sisyphus" We push this boulder to the edge and to the precipice time and time again. Why? To create, (as this poem suggests and creates.) the spaces on the chessboard. For if we did not delineate the spaces (voids), then who would?

Perhaps other poets/poetess’, we do not know for sure. Suffice it that we know we create at all; but only by the sound of the screams thrown at us, though they be in appreciation or scorn.

peece,
dj

I ponder the King. Checkmate frees the Queen! rAted
( I do hope all is well.) * to my favorite poet. ((((A )))))

DEAR ALL: Isent a PM to some of you - Went from Oahu into the hospital (Emergency - had to stay a couple days) - Out now and resting - Have much to say in reply to each of your comments on this poem, which again, were most revealing to me, the one who wrote it, and will do so once I can be up and about a bit more (some of this I can do laying down with my cell phone, but not all, so, like the King of this poem, for now, my movements are a bit limited) Thank you each again for the time and attention you give these works - I will do my best to read your posts off my cell phone but it has its challenges (and commenting not possible on the cell phone route either!) - Angie