Well that may have to be, Doug, that poem and that judgment, because
that's what I am able to write, one of a set that have begun to
appear.
& I don't think it is Swiftian.
This poem started with a friend telling me, in some distress, of
having to deal with the growing incontinence of his terminally sick
lover, which recalled for me a similar experience I had some years ago
with a friend. Neither of us then much welcomed that less than
pleasant intimacy but it needed doing and I did it and she accepted
the help.
More recently, I think it's relevant, and we're grown up here, I had
an infection which required I do not go far from the toilet. I fasted
for three days rather than taking the antibiotic route and its
destruction of most of my microbial fellow travellers, and remember
marvelling at my body's capacity for manufacturing noxious output.
Which dwindled and my illness passed. Nurses face that all the time.
It is possible nowadays almost to isolate ourselves from the faecal
quite as much as we have from the facts of death. Even the country is
largely free of the faecal as the beasts we keep in captivity know
four walls. But it's there under the dust of artificial fertiliser
The poem started in its mechanics from the phrase “full of shit”
which brought in the above and added a further dimension which I
imagine works in Canadian English.
Both, incontinence and people who are full of shit, tend to isolate
those concerned from others, as my illness did, temporarily; as does
inability to express themselves clearly, leaving them meaning to mean.
Others recoil; but there are plenty who can state their meaning well;
and we are all full of shit mechanically
I could point to the difference between the depicted behaviour here
and that of the Houyhnhnms in Swift. Nor do I think I indicate any
revulsion such as that expressed by Lemuel Gulliver.
Far from lustful unclean apes in my fellows, I tried to describe
something rather monumental, almost Moore-like maybe though a bit
closed in as things are at this time of year - fog and smelly cattle
sheds. Try the early morning train for a cleaned up version.
I'm sitting in a cafe with wifi. Looking around I'd say there's a lot
of the dairy herd going on. Chewing the cud, you know. Awareness not
quite I and thou. I'm trying to look at it clearly.
Anyway, sorry to have offended.
L
----- Original Message -----
From: "Poetryetc: poetry and poetics"
To:
Cc:
Sent:Wed, 28 Nov 2012 09:53:34 -0700
Subject:Re: couple sitting
My 'ugh,' seems demanded here, Lawrence. A somewhat Swiftian vision
at work...
Doug
On 2012-11-28, at 3:57 AM, Lawrence Upton wrote:
>
>
> two bags, proud with shit,
>
> left near to each other,
>
> holding themselves in;
>
>
>
> neither says much, though
>
> they speak, both; lowly,
>
> silence imposing its damp
>
>
>
> within each self,
>
> whispering; releasing them
>
> from meaning to mean ,signifying
>
>
>
> their own tightness; lowing
>
>
>
Douglas Barbour
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