Tuesday, March 3, 2015

I can't deny the scourge of the warlike Party










 I can't deny its
 pride has soiled
 me, to this day.

































Echoes of The Bacchae






     To deny the existence of red
     is to deny the existence of mystery.
     The soul which does so will one day go mad.

     I will never know how you see red
     and you will never know how I see
     it. But this separation of consci-
     ousness is recognized only after
     a failure of communication ..
































Anne Carson
Autobiography of Red
  A Novel in Verse
  xxxii. Kiss
Alfred A. Knopf, 1998©

Jacob Young
Select, London








Sending out for Boehner and Bibi





   Timing is everything. 

   Many, who couldn't bear
   the thought of risking in-
   gestion as Bibi and Boeh-
   ner trade robust resolve,
   will have underestimated
   the duration of their act.

   If there is no stalwart
   student pizza agency in
   your town down the road
   (and one can't believe,
   there isn't), it's incum-
   bent upon one rudimentar-
   ily to improvise a repast.

   If the soothings of pizza
   seem an incongruous pair-
   ing for rhetoric to rouse
   the blood, the transfats,
   alone, support the direst 
   apoplexy, with all the 
   panache of anchovy.
























Monday, March 2, 2015

Flies of the Lord: Bibi and Boehner at play






     One spoiled child of
     martial impunity, and
     our own ill-bred ditz,
     the lads have brought
     one step further than
     they may ever be able
     to survive. What will
     they not bring down?

     It is everyone's task,
     it seems to me, not to
     but to remember their
     authors as foreseeable
     accomplices in shame,
     and wash each other in 
     restorative remembrance.

     There are fragilities 
     of trust and contradic-
     tory strains upon con-
     viction, in being spon-
     sors of a nation state
     sheltering an ethnicity, 
     to end the terrorism of
     ethnicity, which every
     day are open to inter-
     nal betrayals by hubris. 
     These, they give us to 
     see, and not deny. This,
     these flies of the Lord

     Possibly, the extraor-
     dinary scandal they 
     precipitate before us,
     may hoist the scaffold
     to their common folly:
     arrogant aggression
     and racist meannness, 
     on the most saturating
     scale these two states
     have hosted in 3 gen-
     erations, may dissolve
     in sweet ablutions of
     electoral response.

     How fair's the tide?






























Sunday, March 1, 2015

Never fails





        The longer I wait
        for a haircut, the
        dumber the haircut
        I get.










































Friday, February 27, 2015

Suppose it were Friday cii: And Tadziù'd stayed in Venice





  Mother, nurse, and sib-
  lings gone, Tadziù made
  it through the cholera,
  and learned a trade. A
  port is always open to
  a storm.





  Mann's immortal story
  doesn't give us this
  information. Fourteen
  years later, he pub-
  lished a story which
  reaches around, I
  think, the waist of
  this one, in a strik-
  ing reinforcement of
  the first, which ap-
  proached the mind of
  the lover. The later
  tale, if you will,
  remembers the predic-
  ament of the youth.
  Of course the works
  are independent. In
  the way the pearl
  happens. 



         Go and enjoy yourself .. 
         Change your shoes and make
         up for what you have been
         suffering. Nobody can dance
         in shoes that pinch.















Thomas Mann

Death in Venice
1911
Michael Henry Heim
  translation
Harper Collins, 2004©

Disorder and Early Sorrow
1925
H.T. Lowe-Porter
  translation
Alfred A. Knopf, 1954©


















It's started




  That reflex for a shower,
  after the latest infusion
  of Clintonism, which may
  be defined as the nausea
  arising less from the as-
  sault, than from the tem-
  erity of its excuses.

  Is one really to be com-
  pelled to endure this a-
  gain, on the pretext of
  progressivism? 






































Thursday, February 26, 2015

The lead in one's back pocket





    They say we
    don't have
    seasons, 
    who've nev-
    er met the
    tide.