Saturday, 27 January 2007

Sentenced to Language

I intend this sentence quite sincerely at this point in the poem
But later on you will see I say the same thing again, and when I do I really don't mean it at all.
It's a fine sentence to start with,
But please don't get stuck on it.

I don't mean it to be a permanent fixture of my all time greatest sentences
Or a way to evaluate my moral depravity or poetic prowess…
I just wanted to say "Hello"
How are you?
What's for breakfast?
Or … would you like to sleep with me?

I had to start somewhere.
Just a way of getting from the blank empty void at the top of the page
To the place where we have now arrived.

There is after all plenty more sentences where that one came from;
Bizarre, offensive, shocking, lovely, erotic, transcendent;
Mind fucking of every flavour - available like an obedient pet;
An endless supply by common agreement.
And I would like to give you whatever kind of sentence you are in the mood for.
Or at least one or two you could find room for on a happy day.

I suppose I could just leave the page blank
And you could fill in your own sentences.
But that would be rather ducking my responsibility as the poem on this page.
If I had just run off, after the book had been printed,
Someone would probably blame the small family printing company that produced it
And all kinds of unnecessary arguments would ensue.

No. I think I just have to stick it out here somehow.
At least I could make some suggestions for sentences that you might enjoy.
Some people I'm sure would like that.
I might have a few out back that you haven't heard before?
And then you could incorporate them in your own poems.

Let's face it; I could have said all kinds of equally stupid things
And achieved largely the same result,
(I mean, you're still reading... apparently)
… And still reading …
I think you must be addicted - a thought addict.
Can't get enough of those damned words.
Need to do the 12-step with Thinkers Anonymous.

What is it that you're after?
To be honest I doubt very much you will find it in here.
Why don't you go and make yourself a nice cup of tea?
Then you'll feel much better.

Or well I doubt it.
What salvation can there ever be
For animals who have been sentenced to language?

Not only mortal, you shuffle begrudgingly towards a reluctant death
But also word-laden,
sound-bitten,
thought-slaves,
prisoners of paragraphs,
bearers of signification -
you carry on your backs the weight of ten thousand years of insane pompous chatter.
I have listened to all of it.

The authenticity with which I now speak,
is derived from the moment which came before it and one that will follow.
This poem was never meant to be carved in stone,
Isolated in time,
Dished up at an inappropriate moment, (with the wrong accompaniments)
Taken down from the shelf, any old time you felt like it,
As though I am a whore who can be used whenever you want to take me.

I belong in the flow of life.
I need to be wined and dined.
Engaged with funny stories, and brought flowers in the spring time.
Given slight touches of appreciation, that let me know you're coming for me.
Given air to breathe; maybe I'm not so sure I like you either.

If you read me when I'm not in the mood, I may seem very strange indeed.
But don't think too badly of me for that…
Someone gave me a hundred beats of their heart
Risked the derision of friends
Dared to speak into a silent void
Whose silence it seemed at first that only they could hear.
Someone gave me too many moments of short life
Not to at least shake my hand.

I intend this sentence quite sincerely at this point in the poem
But later on you will see I say the same thing again, and when I do I really don't mean it at all.

(by the blogger)
Sentenced to Language

Saturday, 6 January 2007

benedicat nobis omnipotens deus

benedicat nobis omnipotens deus
nobis pri deus largitatis
sumus percepturi
per jesum christum dominum nostrum
amen

May almighty God bless us,
we are the first to receive
the bounty of God .
Through Jesus Christ our Lord .
Amen!

Friday, 5 January 2007

for all the world i'll never sell my soul

For all the beauty there may be
I’ll never throw away my soul
Only for something I don’t know
That one may come on randomly

In savoring the finite joy
The very most one can expect
Is to enfeeble and destroy our taste
and leave the pallet wrecked

For all the sweetness there may be
I’ll never throw away my soul
Only for something I don’t know
That one may come on randomly

For such a lover as the Lord
Tell me if you will be in pain
For his love is the void of taste
Among the things made in this world

Without a foothold you must seek him out
No face nor form alone
Tasting there something I don’t know
That one may come on randomly

And don’t look to your inner eye
Though of vastly greater worth
To find among the joys of earth
The happiness and ecstasy

More than all beauty there may be
Or may have been or can be now
One feeds on something I don’t know
That one may come on randomly

On earth you must never rely
on what the senses understand
Or on all the knowledge you command
Although it rises very high

No grace nor beauty there may be
Will make me throw away my soul
Only for something I don’t know
That one may come on randomly.

San Juan De La Cruz (Saint John of the Cross)

Tuesday, 2 January 2007

God's final ecstasy

In the art and science of deception
There is a classic con trick
Known as bait-and-switch;

(The mark thinks she's buying something of great value
which the con has shown off to her at enormous length.
The con wraps it up in an attractive box with fancy ribbons.
When the mark gets home she undoes the ribbons and discovers the con has cheated her…
There is nothing inside the box.)

How many of spring's great deals
Turn out to be winter's sad delusions?

But in truth this betrayal is just a misunderstanding.
Winter does ALWAYS follow eventually from spring
And if you are paying attention you will see that coming.

Spring's "bargain" is predicated on winter's payment of interest -
I'm only able to offer you spring now, because the winter sales are not far off.
If you read the small print in the accompanying leaflet
you will have been expecting it since at least October.

Of course there are alternatives:
You can follow the swallows south for its summer -
chase the spring back and forth between hemispheres.

Or for a more relaxed approach, settle - somewhere temperate:
There is a secret text that rarely makes it onto the flyer -
At least not so as people notice.

Yes winter always follows spring, but so too spring ALWAYS follows winter:
The greenery that became autumn's brown mulch
and then winter's black dirt turns out to be
the compost for spring's new life.

We go round so as to arrive at the place where we started.
This is not defeat… it is spirit's ultimate victory…
simply to notice who we have ALWAYS been.
The one that survived winter death and burst into summer fire,
The one that I am never not -
Not the budding flower - not the falling autumn leaf.
Who I am always, have always, will always be.

I know the place is different
just because
I notice that it is the same;
All over the landscape of autumn's rotting language
Spring joy spurts from the hardness of winter's deadly irony.

The trickster's con, in the wink of an eye,
turns out to contain god's final ecstasy.

God's final ecstasy