I meant to reply to this. Your poem below is brilliant and makes me entirely happy. Wonderful the yongling ycomen and all of that but even more wonderful the list at the end and the vanishing -- so maybe a poem that restores all of this by at the last pointing to an unknown transcendent -- but maybe not -- and that's the fantastic power of the comedy.
I'll reply with this:
Just Spring with Chaucer and Some Shriners
Whan in Aprille with its shoures soote,
The Dow declines, the staring Owl sings "Hoota Hoota,"
And I am bathed all in swich liquor:
Johnny Walker Red or sometimes Dewars
Then me lova lova to go um on pilgrimages
And ask a drunken Shriner where his lodge is
And wenden there to myken my complain
Singing nonney nonney hey the wind and rain!
And wanton, dally, smile and jest:
A summer-seeming sprag wit methought the best
That can be doone more than kith and oh! so much less than kind.
Here at the end of an awful century
In the Hungry Mind.
A knycht I am, a parfait gentle wight.
Bodeless my birkin and my pants are tight.
Fell is my feigning and I am rather tired.
My brainpan leaketh and my arms are wired.
Twa corbies natter over my ancient bones.
My leman is lumpish and lubbers low moans.
Ye scenes of childhood! When I ramped
Reckless of the objective world.
My little dust box delicate scamped
My fingers fashed my hair dew curled
My little earth! That one sweet look:
Crying “Abbadabba die welt zuruck.!”
Erkennt Ihr die Lieder?
My tiny Gluck my und so weider?
Oh, I have lost the important connexion to the land.
In a field I am not the absence of the field
And what can I do about it oh Mark Strand?
And Berryman descants: “A most melancholy Boya
When all that’s left is Dana Goia.”
Ich glaube a clock there was with a sleepy baby face:
A dark veined darling all bedight in lace.
Langsamer war dee day. Komme nicht zuruck.
I saw the movie. I read the book.
The Shriners with their little Harleys,
The thereness, the isness, the beardy bar barley,
The sloppy slop! The happy hop!
Of Aprille when the birdes are braw:
The who shebangadey green green carnival.
And where is Christ with his little pony
And Mary makeless and the winter cherry
The albatross with his abalone
The ant king and the malt fairy?
Therey?
Not very.
MC Ward <[log in to unmask]> wrote: Wonderful, Joe. Maybe you'll be interested in this
one:
Vertigo under Mistletoe
I'm at a place called Vertigo
It's everything I wish I didn't know
(U2, "Vertigo")
_all-heal_ by the garland flaunted
above the rushes-o _punt!_ what betidith
these yuleclouds magellanic?
O natal star say our
yongling ycomen
littel childe myrrh is mine
its bitter perfume
its babel sound
O hush ye men of strife!
it's kisses kisses
then into egypt with him
crisscross the rubicon
sun askance the snow
where it lies dinged
by deer on the run
so infant limbs do
blanch to lose their
outdoor color and
_touch my
robe!_
O babe be not
affrighted
desire of nations
mark my step
my good page
holly mistletoe red berries ivy
turkeys geese game poultry brawn pigs
sausages oysters
pies puddings fruit punch all instantly
_vanish_
from _The Moon Sees the One_ , Wild Honey Press, (c)
Candice Ward, 2006
--- joe green wrote:
> Tu Mani Martini
>
> Outta Here
>
> I wait beneath the willow.
> So many young people.
> The young men with their young women dancing.
> Fireflies and a moon above.
> Screw them all.
> Lawn party..why am I here?
> I need another martini.
> I would go but my wife took my keys.
>
>
>
> The Stars The Stars
>
> All the night the moon shone
> The stars burned in the golden sky,
> I watch "Gilligan's Island"
> On an old black and white TV.
> I pass the window to get another drink
> Thinking of the Professor.
> There is no other life.
>
>
>
> All the Holy Night
>
> The immensity of the universe!
> Reading the New Yorker
> A nice New Yorker cartoon.
> Skipping the shitty poems.
> My Martini is so cold.
> Look there's a cartoon I missed!
>
>
> Something You Can Count On
>
> The moon is like a gypsy playing a yellow guitar.
> A martini is just a martini.
> Every damn time.
>
>
> The Plum Wine of the Buddha
>
> This is just to say that
> The Plum Wine of the Buddha
> Cannot properly be called a cocktail.
>
>
> In Martini Veritas
>
> After five martinis
> Soft jazz
> Still sounds like shit
>
> Praise
>
> I hold a Martini
> As I recite my poem to myself.
> The sound of one hand clapping!
>
>
> Nighthawk Outside the Diner
>
> After five martinis
> What's not to like?
> I'll go in.
> They'll want to hear my poetry.
>
>
> Cardinal Martini
>
> The Musings of Cardinal Martini
>
> Will I Be Pope?
>
> Black smoke. White smoke. No smoke.
> What's the difference?
> Every day's a good day.
>
>
> Above St. Peter's Square
>
> Waving at the faithful
> From the balcony.
> For God's sake. Hold me up!
>
>
> Should Women Be Priests?
>
> Yeah, right.
> Next they'll want to be bartenders!
>
>
> Midnight Mass
>
> The Pope is missing!
>
>
>
> Easter Morning: Wrong Sermon
>
> What's the problem?
> The Diamond Sutra is way cool.
>
>
>
> Explaining the Virgin Birth
>
> No vermouth.
> Still a Martini.
>
>
> joe green wrote: Immense
> interest here. Wit honored. Epigrams loved.
>
> Jon Corelis wrote: The epigram (which might be
> defined as a very short poem with a punch
> line, though it doesn't have to be humorous) is a
> somewhat neglected
> form today. Some of these have appeared on this
> list previously, but
> it was a long time ago, and others are new, so I
> thought posting this
> small collection of them might at least stir some
> interest in the
> genre.
>
> --
> ===================================
>
> Jon Corelis www.geocities.com/jgcorelis/
>
> ===================================
>
>
>
> ---------------------------------
> Boardwalk for $500? In 2007? Ha!
> Play Monopoly Here and Now (it's updated for today's
> economy) at Yahoo! Games.
>
>
>
> ---------------------------------
> Got a little couch potato?
> Check out fun summer activities for kids.
>
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