Wednesday, June 22, 2005

Off to Luncheon

Yes, the science fiction writer Theodore Sturgeon said that 90% of anything is crap. I make it 99% but, really, all of that not very interesting. Who decides is the question. Is it the very young? The very sincere? The seekers near lakes? The fellows in the woods in shorts being sincere?

Off to luncheon with the old Shakesperean.

Monday, June 20, 2005

My Cat Died on the Titanic

My Cat Died on the Titanic

Yes -- my cat also died on the Titanic. I became suspicious when I noticed that she would wake me at midnight meowing "Nearer MyGod to Thee." My wife scoffed, of course, and insisted that the tune was, in fact, "Paddlin Madeline Home" but I knew better. She (my cat) was regressed by the same fellow in Milwaukee who has regressed the better class of Dolphin. It was expensive but worth it. It turns out that Chloe had been Jack Johnson's cat -- the black fighter who was refused passage because of... oh, you all know the song: "Jack Johnson want to get on board. The Captain said: "We don't haul no coal. Fare thee Titanic. Fare thee well."Chloe (whose name was Lighting then) had already boarded the ship and was nibbling caviar in the Greater Stateroom and waiting for Jack whenthe doomed vessel left port and confesses that she was rather pleased when she discovered that Jack wouldn't be coming. She could meet him inNew York and she had quite a nice cabin all to herself and there were masked balls to attend and no-one to stop her from renting the Pierrot costume that she knew would devastate the rather snooty millionaire cats who promenaded in First Class.

Jack had always made her dress as one of the chorus of dancing girls in Aida and she felt that costume much too revealing. She was, in fact, dressed as Pierrot when the unsinkable ship went down. Of course, I didn't believe any of this. I t seemed too fantastic.I had never seen a cat dressed as a Pierrot. As Rhett Butler... yes...as Sinbad the Sailor... certainly... so you can imagine my amazement when I saw the film...there it was: a pitiful little cat skeleton and on the skull a Pierrot hat with a lavender pom pom and the oozy weeds twisting about -- as Lightning in the collied night/ So quick bright things come to confusion.

I Think Ofttimes of Doctor Seuss

I Think Ofttimes of Doctor Seuss

I think ofttimes of Doctor Seuss
Ah, to read a fine verse as he used
To write: sans "Higher Meaning."
Sans epiphany. Sans poxy preening.
Sans anything like the usual geste.
Which, dear God, won't you put to rest?
He could write of Castles in the Sand
Near Whoville or some other land.
And, though, it's a dead metaphor
Done 10 million times before
From Terra to Tramfalmadore
He could stand upon that Fatal Shore
And not think of the Lost Lenore
And all the rest -- the usual bore
And be, so fine, without pretension
Which is damn hard I thought I'd mention.
No mermaids singing each to each.
No little girl upon that beach
Doing what's been done before
Undone by a dead metaphor.
He'd have a Castle in the Sand
And trampling it at his command
Perhaps a sullen Who or two
Quite indifferent to you.
Of "Higher Meaning" -- not a pinch.
And so, Good Day to You.

The Grinch

A Cat Speaks Out

A Cat Speaks Out

Just in case you haven't heard
A cat pronounce it I say "Merde!"
Perhaps you should just hear it twice.
Well, very well, this cat says "Scheiss."
Which isn't twice. Well, sing Goddamn
A forlorn Kitty's what I am.
Alluding to both Pound and Keats
And offering you these kitty treats.
Friend, you have not larks nor linnets
When all it takes is just five minutes
To write a poem just as fine
Omitting that quite awful line
Which makes it, really, somewhat better
And makes this cat say "Donnerwetter!
Is this the promised end or what?
Q.V. Pope on Arbuthnot.

Sunday, June 19, 2005

Ship Poem

Ship Poem

We did Donne when Donne was done.
This was back in 71.
When we were done with Donne
Then we did Herbert
And Vaughn and Traherne before sherbert.
And those who were inclined to Pope.
Were very much inclined to dope.
And those who declined to Wallace Stevens
Were left alone. We had our reasons.

You is young and you think you're wise.
Then your museum burns down and your elephant dies.

Many years have passed and it isn't far
Through Villion, Nashe and then Dunbar.

You is gettin' old and you think you're wise.
Then your museum burns down and your elephant dies.

More years have passed and now I see
I'm very much inclined to me
In my little boat on the wine dark sea.

You is old and you think you're wise.
Then your museum burns down and your elephant dies.

Friday, June 17, 2005

Lon Silliman forthcoming events

Lon Silliman forthcoming events June

25, Saturday, 1 PM: arise sweet slugabed and see the dew bespangled herb and tree. A Wystan Hugh Auden afternoon. Wander about in dressing gown reading my new book on limestone. Associate with no-one. Smoke Chesterfields and drink cocktails at three and then a nap. Arise: 8 PM

Write “Leave Me Alone” – a sonnet. Tear up same. Amuse myself by looking sadly at the verses written about me by Lon Silliman. To wit:

Auden at Christmas

W.H. Auden
Perhaps the plummest
Said “Of all major poets
Tennyson’s dumbest.”

It was so cold outside
But cozy within.
A nice place to abide
With bitters and gin.

It was the season of hope
Hence reassuring them
That it was a dope
Who wrote “In Memorium.”

But Auden wasn’t a dummy.
And it was Christmas eve.
Right then he felt plummy.
Very soon he would leave.


Auden at Christmas II

W.H. Auden
Very bad
Made a list:
“Boys had:

Botley
Smythe
Thomson
Herbert...”

But at sixty
He only had one
After sherbert.

Then some cigarettes
Several vodka martinis.

It was Christmas eve
For a bit he felt greenly.
Wrote several cruel verses.
Meant none of them meanly.

Then listened to funeral music from “Tristan.”

If there was any meaning,
It appears to have missed him.


And so to bed. Who am I kidding? The change will o’ertake me again.

26, Sunday In bed all day recovering from yesterday. Lon Silliman again I hope. WHAT IF I DON’T CHANGE BACK????? Compose melancholy couplets

I would so love Rae Armantrout
If I had a clue what she’s about.

Alas, I could be post avant
Etc.

“Kant” or a similar word would work….hmmmmm