Well, yeah, Fred.
But there you are, I get it, I think, but still listen to Beethoven or
whatever, gaze at Spring & art, still take beauty, but not for
granted, & yet admit all this, & take it too. Dont we all?
Sharp, pointed, as usual, but this narrator is getting in deeper & deeper....
Doug
Quoting "Frederick Pollack" <[log in to unmask]>:
> No Deposit, No Return
>
>
> Someone has mocked reincarnation,
> which that culture takes very seriously;
> the idea of recompense, in some form, at some time,
> is like a better Lottery.
> So a mob, with the warmth and closeness
> of mobs, chases him through the city.
> But this occurs in colonial times,
> and the stranger takes refuge
> at regimental headquarters.
> "Youīve caused a spot of bother,"
> says the colonel, who had expected
> a grim, aging missionary
> of his own monotheism
> with its unrepeated soul.
> But this is a lad, a smiling scapegrace
> who says, insincerely, "Iīm sorry, sir."
> "I presume you told them about Grace,
> Salvation, and the Moral Law,"
> intones the colonel.
> "How everything is rewarded in the next life
> and balances in this."
> "Actually no," says the youth.
> "I donīt think one has the right
> to speak for the dead or suffering,
> to excuse their pain." "Then," says the colonel
> briskly, "I suppose you said
> there are only atoms; that death is a sleep
> like the one that preceded us."
> "Iīm afraid not. Given endless
> time and recombination, that
> conclusion too seems unwarranted."
> "Well then, my God, man, what did you say
> to upset them so?" cries the colonel.
> "I agreed with them, sir. With a cavil:
> something essentially ourselves
> is born again and again
> in other parts of the universe, and in other
> universes. And in none of them
> do we look like this,
> or breathe this air, or feel anything
> that we feel, or share
> any of these concerns."
>
>
>
>
> Been There Done That
>
>
> That bird flying northwest isnīt
> one of the geese who, returning,
> used to live at the reservoir
> and delight people when,
> past the fence, lines of goslings
> followed their mothers, or upset people
> when goslings strayed
> under the fence, or disgust people
> with their poop. Either they wanted
> a change, or the new radar
> and missiles beyond the reservoir
> bothered them. Now they stay
> along the canal or Potomac,
> where herons pose on one leg
> and turtles on logs for as long,
> apparently, as it took them
> to evolve, or until the Greenland
> ice sheet slips off
> and drowns them. That bird
> is a heron, elegant and silent,
> its head and neck the shape of the failed Concorde.
>
> In fall I gain IQ points.
> In spring I lose them, but used to regain
> and now at least remember
> as much of the body
> as I used. And partial, sketchy
> images, not of the past
> but what things in the past
> represented. Itīs a distinction
> I must insist on. Otherwise
> I risk accepting
> spring, and that spring isnīt mine,
> and death, the soft focus
> and general second-rateness
> of things. Rather the way Lenin
> said he couldnīt listen
> (couldnīt "afford," actually, to listen)
> to Beethoven, for it made him want
> to say nice things to people,
> make them smile, pat their shoulders
> with awkward, accommodating gestures.
Douglas Barbour
11655 - 72 Avenue NW
Edmonton Alberta T6G 0B9
Thats not a cross look its a sign of life
Frank OHara
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