Joe, I'm delighted with your response to one of my
favorite poems--thank you! The poem was originally an
e-Xmas card, but has moved away over time to widen its
references. One of the things I like best about _your_
poem is precisely its range of references. It was
great fun to be able to recognize some of these: the
Middle English, of course (I'm a medievalist), but I
couldn't read the German, alas. I have other comments
to make, but I need several rereadings first..
It occurs to me that you might like my chapbook, _The
Moon Sees the One_. I'd be glad to send you a copy if
you promise to comment on it (front- or backchannel,
it doesn't matter to me). I'm so sick of people who
request a copy and then never even acknowledge its
receipt.
Thanks again for your enthusiastic response to
"Vertigo under Mistletoe"--and more anon on your own
poem.
Candice
--- joe green <[log in to unmask]> wrote:
> 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.
>
=== message truncated ===
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