I've read a bit about Sir Richard. A thoroughly sick bastard who
apparently liked to do some of his "interrogations" personally, and who
got Queen Elizabeth's permission to install a torture chamber in his
residence in London. Indeed, I am not sure of his place in what I wrote:
he may be a darling I have to murder. From the Coen brothers to
Topcliffe to Schubert...it may be just a bit raucous. If we're going
into musical references, seriously, Berlioz might be a better choice.
Does Topcliffe fit at all? All I can say is the pain of chronic illness
is rather like prolonged torture, e.g., racking. In fact my blog has an
illustration.
http://neurohell.wordpress.com/2014/08/28/part-iv-a-new-hope/
Still, the question is out there: what belongs, overshoots the mark, or
might be better replaced?
ken
On 11/24/2014 11:05 AM, Douglas Barbour wrote:
> You may very well be the only USAmerican poet 'who ever put Richard Topcliffe into a poem,’ Ken, but so early, & the rest gets to the hurting point. I like the slide from the Beatles to Schubert…
>
> Ah, yes, the fact that opoids are now more sought after than all the ‘criminalized’ drugs. Wow.
>
> Yep; less pain still feels good….
>
> Doug
> On Nov 23, 2014, at 3:15 AM, Bill Wootton <[log in to unmask]> wrote:
>
>> Well you're still whole as a poet even if reduced to demi-man status, Ken. Spirited poem. Not dark yet but getting shady eh.
>>
>> Bill
>> On 23/11/2014, at 9:17 AM, Kenneth Wolman wrote:
>>
>>> TRAMADOL
>>>
>>> Little voice like the German kill guys
>>> in The Big Lebowski: "Ve're gonna come back,
>>> Lebowski, and cut your johnson off, we're
>>> gonna really fohck you up!"
>>> You mean there's something left
>>> to fohck up? You mean I'm not already dead?
>>> You mean you're not Sir Richard Topcliffe,
>>> Elizabeth Tudor's prized priest-hunter,
>>> traitor killer, who could spend 30 minutes
>>> coaxing from the body some poor ordained soul
>>> via his cockandballs? Skillful, indeed an artist,
>>> who would demonstrate for the cheering
>>> crowd each stage of his work,
>>> until the victim was allowed at last to die.
>>>
>>> So this new art of the doctor's arsenal,
>>> my ode at last to Tramadol, to turn pain
>>> from endlessness into a thing controllable,
>>> take one of these every 8 hours,
>>> don't overdo it, this stuff will really
>>> fohck you up, make me unable to perform
>>> like some guy in an ED commercial,
>>> like I'm supposed anymore to care.
>>> There's no one here to receive what I've
>>> left behind. Surcease of pain matters
>>> more than getting off my tired rocks,
>>> nice as that was. My tastes have evolved,
>>> I'm a Beatles song, not half the man
>>> I used to be. All I dream of now is dreams,
>>> of sleeping at my desk listening to Schubert,
>>> dreaming not of fucking but of driving a car,
>>> no, not into a tree, but to the next rest area.
>>> This one is nice but I want shade trees.
>>>
> Douglas Barbour
> [log in to unmask]
>
> Recent publications: (With Sheila E Murphy) Continuations & Continuation 2 (UofAPress).
> Recording Dates (Rubicon Press).
>
> that we are only
> as we find out we are
>
> Charles Olson
>
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