Thursday, August 27, 2009
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
Monday, August 10, 2009
Seven Spewings
What follows is an example of an apocalyptic, prophetic genre of writing---the kind of thing I obsessed upon in the ‘90s, more than ten years ago. Now that all of the 0-12ers are declaring with certainty the return of the Quetzlcoatl and the guarantee of radical transformation on 12-12-12 I thought it might be fair to surface this odd little play…
Dramatis personae:
===The American Poet
===The Wondrous Bird
===Satan Inc.-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
“The clouded chamber is bathed in orange,
today’s glory
holy, solar temple…”
The crippled poet’s conscience pricked,
Drowned in stupor, stumbles forth from his suburban hideaway
To lament the coming of day.
The Wondrous Bird whose wings of fire swift and silent lift
The poet by the scruff of his neck
For a journey to the winded clime
Further and further from the city smog and church bell chime
At last to the craggy mountain keep
House of the Holy
Where the sacrifice of innocents immolates the pollution of man
Assuaging the wrathful anger of the gods.
Startled, the poet cries:
“What is this wretched feast?” pointing to the innocent girl on the altar being chewed limb from limb…”Great Bird, what redemption can be won with this sacrifice?”
“She is America’s youthful hopes, the purity of the Founding Fathers’ democratic vision;
Jefferson’s ‘egalite’ and Franklin’s ‘optimism’. The temple is the power of the poetic word to resound truth and honor creation. The birds who peck her flesh are the professions of men in these current times.”
“Bear me away, I cannot face this vision,” mutters the poet.
“But you must be made steely strong before you can bear the poetry of this land,” intones the Wondrous Mighty Bird. “Many days have I observed you in your suburban hideaway, retreating from your vocation, sallying forth with the yellow Bud beverage in tin can. I have seen you weeping and glorying in the treasury of dawn. I have seen you sprawled upon the newly mown lawn kissing the green grass and spewing! It is you!! You shall write the poetry of this land.”
The spectral winged wonder continues: “All is sacrilege, language is deceit, now the scourge is down upon the land. Now is the time of the Seven Spewings. It falls to you, O poet, to hold back my destroying arm. Measure well my arm of justice for surely I will lay all to waste. Listen well to the preview of the Seven Spewings:”
Opening my eyes, I beheld a magnificent iridescent creature scraping the doctors, lawyers and priests from their mangling professions. All at once, swirling them in his mouth, swishing them about and spewing them forth over the land.
“To you was given sacred duty, the pursuit of health, justice and sacred truth…
But you have made a laughingstock of your noble calling. For the pollution to the purity of language both secular and sacred, be cast out and utterly desolate.” The First Spewing.
Next I beheld a great beast pour his wrath upon the politicians, with fire and hail upon the prostitutes (i.e., the Senate). The Second Spewing.
Then wrath poured out like raging water upon the financiers---like wripped and shredding the economy. The Third Spewing.
This is for the churches only: scorn and rebuke. The Beast said to the great Bird, “What would you like to do to punish these men, women and children?” The Wondrous Bird pointed to me and said, “I have given man a chance to live if their Poet can discover justice and measure truth in the land.”
They flew me back to the shopping mall where a horse farm used to be. There we saw Wal-Mart, chemicals in the streams and dead fish---I cried out: “I don’t want to hold back your wrath any longer, O Great Bird!”
She answered me: “Let us utterly destroy and waste and lay waste to this heathen brood.”
“Satan Inc. has the first right of refusal on the destruction project as long as it meets the environmental code--- I believe that you will find working with them a pleasure---we have a wonderful working relationship---their ethics are sterling---Their track record, personnel---all first class. And excellent referrals. Besides nobody has been at it so long.”
“O.K.,” I muttered---“Go ahead and commission Satan Inc. for the contract.”
It was but a moment before Great Bird returned with this MEMO: SATAN INCORPORATED CANNOT SIGN ON. THERE IS NOT ENOUGH WORK TO BE DONE. LAYING OFF EMPLOYEES. NOTHING THEY CAN DO THAT ISN’T ALREADY DONE, WOULDN’T BE FAIR TO TAKE THE TAXPAYERS DOLLARS.
Then she added: “Satan now speaks on behalf of mankind, justifying and legitimating the people. He started up a chain of law offices in Pittsburgh. Not our man.”
“Well how then are we going to bring about Justice?” I asked. The Great Bird paused, reflecting, and added: “There is no one left to turn to but Nature.” (to be continued…)
Dramatis personae:
===The American Poet
===The Wondrous Bird
===Satan Inc.-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
“The clouded chamber is bathed in orange,
today’s glory
holy, solar temple…”
The crippled poet’s conscience pricked,
Drowned in stupor, stumbles forth from his suburban hideaway
To lament the coming of day.
The Wondrous Bird whose wings of fire swift and silent lift
The poet by the scruff of his neck
For a journey to the winded clime
Further and further from the city smog and church bell chime
At last to the craggy mountain keep
House of the Holy
Where the sacrifice of innocents immolates the pollution of man
Assuaging the wrathful anger of the gods.
Startled, the poet cries:
“What is this wretched feast?” pointing to the innocent girl on the altar being chewed limb from limb…”Great Bird, what redemption can be won with this sacrifice?”
“She is America’s youthful hopes, the purity of the Founding Fathers’ democratic vision;
Jefferson’s ‘egalite’ and Franklin’s ‘optimism’. The temple is the power of the poetic word to resound truth and honor creation. The birds who peck her flesh are the professions of men in these current times.”
“Bear me away, I cannot face this vision,” mutters the poet.
“But you must be made steely strong before you can bear the poetry of this land,” intones the Wondrous Mighty Bird. “Many days have I observed you in your suburban hideaway, retreating from your vocation, sallying forth with the yellow Bud beverage in tin can. I have seen you weeping and glorying in the treasury of dawn. I have seen you sprawled upon the newly mown lawn kissing the green grass and spewing! It is you!! You shall write the poetry of this land.”
The spectral winged wonder continues: “All is sacrilege, language is deceit, now the scourge is down upon the land. Now is the time of the Seven Spewings. It falls to you, O poet, to hold back my destroying arm. Measure well my arm of justice for surely I will lay all to waste. Listen well to the preview of the Seven Spewings:”
Opening my eyes, I beheld a magnificent iridescent creature scraping the doctors, lawyers and priests from their mangling professions. All at once, swirling them in his mouth, swishing them about and spewing them forth over the land.
“To you was given sacred duty, the pursuit of health, justice and sacred truth…
But you have made a laughingstock of your noble calling. For the pollution to the purity of language both secular and sacred, be cast out and utterly desolate.” The First Spewing.
Next I beheld a great beast pour his wrath upon the politicians, with fire and hail upon the prostitutes (i.e., the Senate). The Second Spewing.
Then wrath poured out like raging water upon the financiers---like wripped and shredding the economy. The Third Spewing.
This is for the churches only: scorn and rebuke. The Beast said to the great Bird, “What would you like to do to punish these men, women and children?” The Wondrous Bird pointed to me and said, “I have given man a chance to live if their Poet can discover justice and measure truth in the land.”
They flew me back to the shopping mall where a horse farm used to be. There we saw Wal-Mart, chemicals in the streams and dead fish---I cried out: “I don’t want to hold back your wrath any longer, O Great Bird!”
She answered me: “Let us utterly destroy and waste and lay waste to this heathen brood.”
“Satan Inc. has the first right of refusal on the destruction project as long as it meets the environmental code--- I believe that you will find working with them a pleasure---we have a wonderful working relationship---their ethics are sterling---Their track record, personnel---all first class. And excellent referrals. Besides nobody has been at it so long.”
“O.K.,” I muttered---“Go ahead and commission Satan Inc. for the contract.”
It was but a moment before Great Bird returned with this MEMO: SATAN INCORPORATED CANNOT SIGN ON. THERE IS NOT ENOUGH WORK TO BE DONE. LAYING OFF EMPLOYEES. NOTHING THEY CAN DO THAT ISN’T ALREADY DONE, WOULDN’T BE FAIR TO TAKE THE TAXPAYERS DOLLARS.
Then she added: “Satan now speaks on behalf of mankind, justifying and legitimating the people. He started up a chain of law offices in Pittsburgh. Not our man.”
“Well how then are we going to bring about Justice?” I asked. The Great Bird paused, reflecting, and added: “There is no one left to turn to but Nature.” (to be continued…)
Thursday, August 06, 2009
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