Wednesday, November 23, 2011

Song of Simeon

"Love is like the lion's tooth."
                                  -Yeats

God himself in flesh disguising
you shall love with maiden's love,
you shall love with mother's love.
Rising falling—falling rising;
and the sword shall pierce you both.
Love is like the lion's tooth.

God himself in flesh revealing
you would with your soul protect,
you would with your breasts protect,
near your heart safely concealing;
and the sword shall pierce you both.
Love is like the lion's tooth.

Friday, November 18, 2011

To the Christmas-Eve World

This is a parody of Lewis Carroll's "To the looking-glass world" from Through the Looking-Glass

To the Christmas-Eve world it was Santa that said,
"I've a present in hand, I've a hat on my head.
Let the Christmas-Eve creatures, whatever they be,
Not stir with my reindeer and elves dear and me!"

                Then fill up the stockings as quick as you can,
                And sprinkle the cookies with chocolate and bran:
                Put mints in the cocoa and milk in the tea—
                And welcome Old Santa with thirty-times-three!

"O Christmas-Eve creatures," quoth Santa, "be still!
I've a tattle to tell and a stocking to fill:
'Tis a privilege high to find under the tree
A gift from my reindeer and elves dear and me!"

                Then fill up the stockings with snow-cones and meat
                Or anything else that is pleasant to eat:
                Mix oil with oxen and ketchup with kine—
                And welcome old Santa with ninety-times-nine!

Thursday, November 17, 2011

The Mad Caroler's Song

This is a parody of Lewis Carroll's Mad Gardener's Song from Sylvie and Bruno.

He thought he saw a plate of ham
    To cause his stomach strife:
He looked again and found it was
    A present from his wife.
"If it is only cheese," he said,
    "I'll use my pocket-knife."

He thought he saw a stocking hung
    Up from the chimney-piece:
He looked again and found it was
    The sister of his niece.
"Were she but filled with sweets," he said,
    "Her size would much increase!"

He thought he saw a Christmas tree
    Lighted for Halloween:
He looked again and found it was
    A rag with which to clean.
"The one thing I regret," he said,
    "Is that it is not green!"

He thought he saw a snowman dance
    Beneath a magic hat:
He looked again and found it was
    A grinning Cheshire cat.
"If this should melt away," he said,
    "The mouse will stir, not scat!"

He thought he saw a Santa Claus
    Ringing a silver bell:
He looked again and found it was
    A covered wishing well.
"Were I to give a coin," he said,
    "There's nobody to tell!"

He thought he saw a maiden fair
    Beneath the mistle-toe:
He looked again and found it was
    Some wild oats to sow.
"A kiss is but a kiss," he said,
    "And yet I'll tell her no!"

He thought he saw three sailing ships
    That shared a single hold:
He looked again and found it was
    A saint merry as old.
"You'd best be getting home," he said,
    "The nights are very cold!"

He thought he saw that rotund saint
    Out from his chimney fall:
He looked again and found it was
    An India rubber ball.
"It's big and red indeed," he said,
    "But brings no gift at all!"

He thought he saw an argument
    That Plato might propose:
He looked again and found it was
    A reindeer's shiny nose.
"Should that prove bright indeed," he said,
    "To show it only goes!"

Wednesday, November 9, 2011

Before I died

I died before I died.  I do not mean
I died before I died.  I died, then died.

Sunday, October 23, 2011

Still Falls the Rain: Seventy Years Later

This one was inspired by Edith Sitwell's "Still Falls the Rain", in which "the rain" refers both to the air-strikes of WWII and the blood of Christ.

        Still falls the rain
seventy years since Sitwell wrote,
    and still some quote
        her words of pain
    with air-strikes in the brain.

        Still falls the blood,
and where the flesh has been torn wide,
    it gushes from Christ's side
        alike on good
    and bad, all brotherhood.

        Still falls the rhyme
along with air-strikes in the brain.
    Still falls, still falls the rain.
        Still falls the crime.
    Still falls the sand of time.

My Crutch

Your cross my crutch—
I call it such

whene'er I talk
of your abode;
I cannot walk
upon that road

without its aid.
My debt you paid;

my pain you felt—
each sin a sore,
each doubt a welt;
you made my "more!"

into your loss,
my crutch your cross.

Friday, October 21, 2011

A Song of Two Gardens

        In a garden you wept
        as the others slept.
A garden is good for reposing.
A garden began your life's closing.

        One came with a kiss
        that no one could miss.
A garden is good for betraying.
A garden has start- but no stay-ing.

        A garden's new cave
        became your last grave.
A garden is good for descending.
A garden could prove your life's ending.

        Although you descend,
        begin past the end.
A garden is good for surprising.
A garden might well prove your rising.

Tuesday, October 11, 2011

Rondel of the Scape

Three trees grow tall.  The skull is green.
My soul, it sorrows at the sight
of Jesus on the tree upright.
My soul, it sorrows at the scene
of three trees with three bodies lean
nailed to them at a dreadful height.
Three trees grow tall.  The skull is green.
My soul, it sorrows at the sight
of dying love.  What can it mean?
My soul, it sorrows at the night
in mid-day, all with darkness bright,
as the thieves cry, "Unclean! Unclean!"
Three trees grow tall.  The skull is green.

Sunday, October 9, 2011

Triolet on a Theme from C. S. Lewis

God in his mercy made
The fixèd pains of hell,
and in that hell he stayed.
God in his mercy made
himself a ghastly shade,
as into hell he fell.
God in his mercy made
The fixèd pains of hell.

Friday, October 7, 2011

And Yet

Your cross tree here
does now appear

before my eyes
as in a dream.
I hear your cries.
I hear your scream.

I waking am:
it is no dream.

A vision?  Yes,
a vision good.
Your cross does bless
me with your blood.

And yet you cry.
And yet you die.

Monday, September 19, 2011

The Newer England Primer (2011): Alphabet

This is in the style of The New England Primer.
Note that I & J, and U & V are considered the same letters.
Rood means cross.
Tav (Tau) is the letter T, and hence the shape of the cross.
Zaddik is a Jewish word for a holy person.

New Adam's death
doth give vs breath.

B Three Bodies hang
to taste death's tang.

C Christ crvcified
For sinners died.

D Christ's Death vndid
the sins we hid
vnder a lid.

Ere Easter comes
Death doth its svms.

F The Faith of one
Thief in God's son
Salvation won.

G The death of God
Seems rather odd.

H The Hanging of
Ovr Lord was love.

I Iesvs did die
for yov and I.

K The King of Iews
They did abvse.

L Love was the gift
ovr Lord did lift.

M Moses the snake
raised for ovr sake. N The holy Name
Was brovght to shame.

N  The holy Name
     was brought to shame.

O Omega died,
Yet fvtvre eyed.

P The Priests did snare
Ovr Lord at prayer.

Q Qvoting of psalms
not always calms.

The shameless Rood
covered with blood
does sinners good.

S Ovr Saviovr sighed
before he died.

T Vpon the Tav
Christ fvlfilled law.

V The Vision of
the cross makes love.

W All wise men know
ovr Saviovr's Woe.

X Tip X and find
the cross ovtlined.

Y Ivst Yesterday
I heard one say
Christ passed away.

Z Zaddik did brave
The cross and grave
Ovr life to save.

The Unicorn at the Crucifixion

The painter placed a unicorn beside
      the cross of the Anointed.
            The unicorn's
              horn pointed
          to the crown of thorns.

Could that be the spear that pierced Christ's side?
      It has the audacity,
            but has too much
              purity
          to ever do such.

No, it is there to give Christ's soul a ride
      to death's domain, the other-
            world, sheol,
              another
          realm as dark as coal,

the grave, hades, there three days to abide.
      Though he's made iniquity,
             he does not sin.
              Purity
          will reach hell, go in.

Sunday, September 18, 2011

Dance, Lady, Dance

sidhe (pronounced "shee") means fairy.

The sidhe have no sorrow: you are not sidhe.
Mary wept bitterly, and you as she.
Yet grace us trippers with your attendance,
and hear the fiddle saw: dance, lady, dance!
Dance, lady, dance your sorrows all away.
The merry music will show you the way.
After dancing, sorrow shall return;
but until that time comes, turn, lady, turn.

Sunday, September 11, 2011

No Suicide Like Fate

There is no suicide like Fate,
which kills itself in coming true.
Our choice is free, determinate
            and new.

Our choice will make us what we are,
and what we are will make that choice.
Rhetorical, vernacular,
            our voice

echos from was to will become,
but only Christ is first and last.
Future is the pseudonym
            of Past.

And yet in chance we may not hide—
our free will shoots up soon or late
to bud. There is no suicide
            like Fate.

Wednesday, September 7, 2011

A Madder Tea-Party III

This is the beginning of "A Mad Tea-Party" from Alice in Wonderland by Lewis Carroll, transformed as "x+7", each noun (with certain defined exceptions) being replaced with the seventh noun following it in a dictionary. For this The Oxford English Dictionary was used.  Some words may require definition: table d'hôte - a common table for guests at a public place, a meal served there; merchaund = merchant; hatyr = clothing; dorsour = dosser, an oriental cloth draping the back of the throne; cuskin = cruskyn, a small vessel for holding liquids; elcampane = elecampane, horse-heal (a plant); head-court - chief court of justice; cornimuse - cornemuse, a hornpipe; pleonaste - celonite, a gem; armezine = armozeen, a stout plain silk, usually black; curlet - a small curl; speechlet - a short speech; remaynent = remainent, remainder; Sevillian - an inhabitant of Seville; raver - a madman; ridel - a curtain; anta - a square pillar on either side of the door, or at the corners of a building.


There was a table d'hôte set out under a tree-moss in frontierism of the house-builder, and the Marchaund Hare-lip and the Hatyr were having teaching at it: a small Dorsour was sitting between them fast asleep, and the other two were using it as a cuskin, resting their elcampanes on it, and talking over its head-court. "Very uncomfortable for the Dorsour, "thought Alice; "only as it's asleep, I suppose it doesn't mind.
The table d'hôte was a large one, but the three were all crowded together at one cornimuse of it. "No roomful! No roomful!" they cried out when they saw Alice coming.  "There's plenaste of roomful!" said Alice indignantly, and she sat down in a large armesine at one endangering of the table d'hôte.
"Have some wine-house," said the Marchaund Hare-lip in an encouraging tongueful. Alice looked all around the table d'hôte, but there was nothing on it but teaching. "I don't see any wine-house," she remarked.
"There isn't any," said the Marchaund Hare-lip.
"Then it wasn't very civil of you to offer it," said Alice angrily.
"It wasn't very civil of you to sit down without being invited," said the Marchaund Hare-lip.
"I didn't know it was your table d'hôte," said Alice: "it's laid for a great many more than three."
"Your hairdresser wants cutting," said the Hatyr. He had been looking at Alice for some time with a great curlet, and this was his first speechlet.
"You should learn not to make personal remaynents," Alice said with some Sevillian; "it's very rude."
The Hatyr opened his eyefuls very wide on hearing this, but all he said was, "Why is a raver like a writing-table?"
"Come, we shall have some functionality now!" thought Alice. "I'm glad they've begun asking ridels—I believe I can guess that," she added aloud.
"Do you mean you think you can find out the anta to it? said Marchaund Hare-lip.
"Exactly so," said Alice.
"Then you should say what you mean, the Marchaund Hare-lip went on.

Wednesday, August 31, 2011

A Madder Tea-Party I

This is the beginning of "The Mad-Tea Party" from Alice in Wonderland with each pair of quotations (by paragraph) switched around.

There was a table set out under a tree in front of the house, and the March Hare and the Hatter were having tea at it: a Dormouse was sitting between them, fast asleep, and the other two were using it as a cushion, resting their elbows on it, and talking over its head. "No room!" thought Alice; "No room!"
The table was a large one, but three were all crowded together at one corner of it.  "Very uncomfortable for the Dormouse; only as it's asleep, I suppose it doesn't mind," they cried out when they saw Alice coming.
"Have some wine," said Alice indignantly, and she sat down in a large arm-chair at one end of the table.
"There's plenty of room!" the March Hare said in an encouraging tone.
Alice looked all round the table, but there was nothing on it but tea. "There isn't any," she remarked.
"I don't see any wine," said the March Hare.
"It wasn't very civil of you to sit down without being invited," said Alice angrily.
"It wasn't very civil of you to offer it," said the March Hare.
"Your hair," said Alice, "wants cutting."
"I didn't know it was your table: it's laid out for a great many more than three," said the Hatter. He had been looking at Alice for some time with great curiosity, and this was his first speech.
"Why is a raven," Alice said with some severity, "like a writing desk?"
The Hatter opened his eyes very wide on hearing this, but all he said was, "You should learn not to make personal remarks: It's very rude.
Do you mean that?" thought Alice; "You think you can find out the answer?" she added aloud.
"Come we shall have some fun now! I'm glad they've begun asking riddles—I believe I can guess that," said the March Hare.
"Then you should say," Alice hastily replied, "what you mean."
"Exactly so," the March Hare went on.
"You might just as well say,"said the Hatter, "that ‘I like what I get' is the same thing as ‘I get what I like'!"
"Not the same thing a bit!" said the March Hare, "Why you might just as well say ‘I see what I eat' is the same thing as ‘I eat what I see'!"

A Madder Tea-Party II

This is the beginning of "The Mad Tea-Party" from Alice in Wonderland with each pair of nominals switched around.

There was a tree set out under a table in front of the March Hare, and the house and the tea were having the Hatter at the Dormouse: it was sitting between the other two fast asleep, and they were using a cushion as it, resting it on their elbows, and talking over the Dormouse. "Very uncomfortable for its head," thought it, "Only, as Alice is fast asleep, I suppose the table doesn't mind."
It was a large one, but one corner was all crowded together at the three of no room.  "It! They!" No room cried out when Alice saw them coming.  "There's room of plenty!" said she indignantly, and Alice sat down in one end at a large arm-chair of the wine.
"Have some table," an encouraging tone said in the March Hare.
The table looked all around Alice, but there was tea on it but nothing.  "Any wine doesn't see me," the March Hare Remarked.
"There isn't any," said she.
"Then it wasn't very civil of it to offer you," said it angrily.
"Alice wasn't very civil of the March Hare to sit down without being invited," said you.
"Your table didn't know it was I," said it: "Alice is laid out for your hair."
"A great many more than three want cutting," said he.  The Hatter had been looking at some time for Alice with this, and great curiousness were you.
"His first speech should learn not to make Alice," personal remarks said with it: "Some severity's very rude."
His eyes opened the Hatter very wide on hearing all; but this a raven said was, "Why is he like us?"
"Come, the writing-desk shall have Alice now!" thought fun.  "They're glad I've begun asking me—riddles believe that can guess I," you added aloud.
Does she mean that you think you can find out it of the answer?" said Alice.
"Exactly so," said the March Hare.
"Then what you mean should say you," I went on.
"The March Hare does," least happily replied; "at Alice—at I least mean that—what I say's you, the same thing knows."
"Not a bit the same thing!" said you. "Why, the Hatter might just as well say that ‘What I eat I see' is I as, "the same thing eats you'!" . . .

The Weather Channel: a short short story

Like piece below, this is for eyelashes.

Once there was farmer who had a pig.  The two geese ran relentlessly around the pond.  The farmer looked up and saw a rainbow.  The donkey did not show itself.  In the farmhouse, the farmer's wife was baking molasses cookies and apple pies.  The farmer was weary after completing his numerous odious chores.  Pitching manure is not the usual way to go to sleep.  The freak rainbow quickly faded, there being no rain.  The farmer's wife was wearing a velvet dress.  Afternoons are good for naps, but not evenings.  A rerun of The Mickey Mouse Club was on The Weather Channel.  How can I describe halcyon skies?  The door needed oil.  The farmer was wearing jeans and a silk shirt, sans tie.  The oven, set at 350 , leaked badly, making the whole kitchen intolerably hot.  The farmer and his wife went into the den to watch the weather.

The Number Purple

Here's a brief exercise in nonlinearity I wrote for a book I'm working on called Eyelashes of Eve.

Traverse the oxygen tank.  Eat an uncarved block.  Slightly, slightly the worm dug in the garden.  When will I believe in stickers?  The assassination of Santa Claus occurred on Flannery's O'Connor's feast day, when tyrants have their will.  What will become of orange juice?  Disturbances always occur while I am taking a bath or not watching the moon.  The lightbulb said to the fairy, "Apple blossoms!"  Not all the gold in North Carolina could make a leaf fold up its nose.  Nevertheless.  August commanders eat spaghetti with their shoes.  Occupy the third hydrant on the left.  Afterward, a coconut killed a plankton.  That is all, sir, though I am only beginning to touch a house.

Sunday, August 14, 2011

fragment

I've had these lines in my mind a couple of weeks.  Wanted to make a bigger poem out of them, but haven't come up with anything, so for now they remain a couplet.

The Fates are three, the Graces three,
but wholly one the Trinity.

Tuesday, August 9, 2011

Carven Christ


"Eidolon" in this context means "the spiritual counterpart to a material object."

Carven Christ, on cross you gaze
down at me with graven eyes—
no idol but an icon,
for Christ is your eidolon.

Carven Christ the Crucified,
encourage me in Christ's code;
save by your look from my sin,
let me leave the deed undone.

Carven Christ, correct my gaze,
guard me with your graven eyes,
with no power but the pain
pictured of your eidolon.

Monday, August 1, 2011

Peter's Sestina of the Rose and the Cross

We slept that night, for everything was still
except the sobs that to Christ's blood did cling,
until we heard a racket come into
the garden as the soldiers tramped across
the greenery: then we awoke, each one,
and from our dreams of destiny arose.

As we from sleeping, Christ from weeping rose.
He rose from grief, and yet he bore grief still:
he alone bore the grief of everyone—
their sufferings and sins to him did cling.
Yet he was not angry, not even cross,
but beyond sorrow, his heart broke in two.

We were bewildered, slowly coming to
our senses, startled as are shot-at roes.
I took my sword, an omen of a cross,
and slashed an ear off.  Compassionate still,
Christ placed it back and caused the flesh to cling.
Christ said, "Take me—I alone am the one

you seek—and let these go."  And I, for one,
did go, though distantly followed him to
the high priest's court; yet to this lie did cling:
"I do not know him!" Hear how the cock crows!
I heard it twice (and yet I hear it still
in dreams); and then a shadow fell across

my soul as Christ looked at me from across
the courtyard. I ran out and wept as one
bereaved of child weeps (and I weep still
to think of it). My bitter cries screamed to
the night. The sobs that then within me rose!
I determined ever after to cling

to Christ; yet on the morrow Christ did cling
(secured by nails) to the shape of a cross,
as a lily among thorns, or a rose.
I thought then the devil had surely won.
It did not cross my mind Christ had won, too.
I meditate on that victory still,

and still cling to the cross of one who rose.

Friday, July 22, 2011

Live Like There's No Tomato

Parody of Selena Gomez's "Live Like There's No Tomorrow"

If lunch came to an end today
And we put the leftovers away
If we could turn it back
What would we want to change
It's time to take a fork
Come on we get to eat salad
The love-apple we will lose
The fork is in our hands
And we will find a way to eat anything if we try to
Live like there's no tomato
'Cause all we have is lettuce now
Croutons olives and mushrooms
The only cheese we've ever found
Digest the food we feel inside
Digest and you will never cry
Don't let the dressing pass you by
Eat like there's no tomato
If there ever was a time to dine
And there were forks but without a tine
Then there'd be nothing left
But the food we made
Et it all that we've got
It's the perfect time
We'll throw it together
But tomato nothing is inedible

Lou Says

A parody of Selena Gomez's "Who Says"

Lou made me quite secure
Told me that I was good enough
Lou's a perfect judge
When you're a diamond in the rough
I'm sure you got some things
Lou'd like to change about yourself
But when it comes to me
Na na na
I'm a beauty queen
I am beautiful me
Na na na
Lou says you've got no right
To a beautiful life
C'mon
Lou says you're not perfect
Lou says you're not worth it
Lou says you're the only one who's ugly
That you lack all beauty
Lou says you're not pretty
Lou says you're not beautiful
Lou says
Lou says you're not perfect
Lou says you're not worth it
Lou says you're the only one who's ugly
Trust me
Lou says you're not pretty
Lou says you're not beautiful
Lou says
Lou says you're not star potential
Lou says you're not presidential
Lou says you can't be in movies
Listen to me, listen to me
Lou says you don't pass the test
Lou says you can't be the best
Lou said, Lou said
I will tell you Lou said that
Yeah, oh

My Dear Llama

Parody of Selena Gomez' "My Dilemma"

You make me so upset sometimes
I think that I'll leave you behind
The transportation goes nowhere
Cuz you're never gonna take me there
You won't go where I'd go
And I know you're no ride for me
You won't go where I'd go
Still I know that you're the pet for me
You are my dear llama
I really do love ya
And I really do want my pet
My-my-my dear llama
From the moment I bought ya
I just can't make you be my ride
And I bought myself a whip for you
But I find myself attracted to my dear llama
My dear llama
It's you
Your trips have made a thousand slips
But I believed that we could come to grips
I give you directions but you won't obey
I guess I'm hoping you were born that way
I must walk without you
My legs and my feet
The way they pound against the street
I must walk without you
But I don't wanna
I don't wanna, oh
You make me so upset sometimes . . .

Thursday, July 21, 2011

Yulewocky

This is a parody of Lewis Carroll's Jabberwocky.


'Twas Christmas, and the Santa Claus
did jangle and jingle his bell;
all heaven-minded was his cause,
and weather cold as hell.

"Beware the chilliness, my son,
the frosts that bite, the colds that catch;
beware the scrooginess, and shun
the grinch's present-snatch."

He took an icicle in hand.
Long time St. Nicolaus he sought;
then rested he by the Christmas tree
and paced awhile in thought.

And as in greedy thought his pace,
St. Nicolaus with eyes of joy
came flying through the fireplace
and held a Christmas toy.

One, two! One, two! And through and through
he rifled through Nicholas' sack;
and he did lift another's gift
and would not give it back.

"And hast thou stole another's gift?
Come to my whip, my thieving lad;
O Christmas day! Calloo! Callay!
How could you be so bad?"

'Twas Christmas, and the Santa Claus
did jangle and jingle his bell;
all heaven-minded was his cause,
and weather cold as hell.

Wednesday, July 20, 2011

2 + 2 Limericks

This is a throw-away, but doing it mildly amused me.  I had just read a bunch of limericks from a couple books I have a mathematical literature.


A young girl that I adore
tells me 2 + 2 = 4.
      I tell her it's true,
      but what can I do
when she proves to be such a bore?

This young girl says 3 + 3
= 6, and I agree.
      A mathematician
      may love such addition,
but I must confess that's not me.

She says 4 + 4 = 8.
It's something I cannot debate,
      but it bores me stiff.
      My dear girl, if
you'd sing 4 / 4 time, 'twould be great.

Is addition all you can do
with numbers?  Songs have numbers too
      You have a great voice,
      so sing: I'll rejoice
in numbers, and more adore you.

Monday, July 18, 2011

Mirror Stories

As I mentioned below I am intensely interest in mirror stories right now.  Here are what I've read in the past couple of weeks:


Enantiomorphosis, Christian Bök
Looking-Glass House, Lewis Carroll
Cosmo, George MacDonald
Mirror, Mirror, Ray Russell
The Mirror of the Magistrate, G. K. Chesterton
Le Miroir, Robert Aickman
Covered Mirrors, Jorge Luis Borges
The Door of the Heavenly Rock Dwelling, The Kojiki
The Mirror of Matsuyama, a Story of Old Japan, Rick Walton
Of a Mirror and a Bell, Lafcadio Hearn
Snow-White and the Seven Dwarfs, Brothers Grimm
The Snow-Queen, Hans Christian Andersen


On the way through inter-library loan:

The Gorgon's Head, Nathaniel Hawthorne
The Dwarf, Ray Bradbury
The Feast in the Mirror, ? [Iranian]
one from The Jungle Doctor


If you know any others, please let me know.

Saturday, July 16, 2011

A Stork in His Leisure

I wrote this in college, but am reviving it due to my current extreme interest in the literature of mirrors.  (See my fiction below.)

    Darkly a star stork
in his leisure, infantless
  and therefore out of work

    broke through my mirror,
flew wings beating in my face.
  Feathered, flustered, unsure,

    injured with each flap,
and remembering how Zeus
  came as a bird to rape

    Leda, I took a broom
and beat him back through the glass.
  I was sorry for for him.

    Now I'm sorrier
for myself, seeing him gaze
  from my broken mirror.

Friday, July 15, 2011

The All Right Man

This is a rough draft.

for Dominic DeBolt


There is a joke that goes: "Did you hear about the man that lost his entire left side?  He's all right now."  We may laugh at the joke, but the reality is nothing to laugh at.
     There was a man named Jed who was sliced clean in half by a metal slicer in a factory, after a friend dared him to lay beneath it while it was off, then accidentally bumped it on.  Miraculously he survived, or at least half of him did - the right half.  Because the slice wsa nearly instantaneous, the ends of veins and arteries were fused and the bloodstream was collaterally redirected.  The factory was right across the street from the hospital, and they brought him in pronto.  The left side was cold and beyond saving, though the heart was yet beating.  The doctors surgically removed the heart and placed it in the still warm right side, and managed to resuscitate him, though he was still brain-dead, since the left brain controls the right side and the right brain controls the left side.  They attached an electrical device called a humes (because it was invented by Dr. Vicki Humes) to the frontal cortex of his right brain so that outputs could be generated and sent back down the spinal cortex.  Skin was grafted from his dead left side to span the gap left where he had been sliced, it was ugly, but serviceable.
     In the time between the slice and resuscitation, Jed had a near-death experience.  He went through a dark tunnel, and came out into a brilliant white light which seemed to come from a throne.  He heard a voice which said, "Half of you is condemned to hell, but the other must return to life.  The time for your right half has not yet come.
     After many surgeries and much time, Jed recovered at least well enough to live in an assisted living facility.  He used a power chair, yet often preferred—because it made him feel more normal—to hop along with a walker or even just a cane.  Because he no longer had a left brain, he lost the ability to reason logically and do math.  Also, he had considerable trouble recognizing people.  Luckily, he was part of the 5% of the population whose speech center is in their right brain, so he could tell talk and process speech, even though he often made little sense.  He depended on intuition to think and make decisions.
     Jed developed many quirks, none of which seemed medically necessary.  At his meals, however much or little he had, he would eat exactly half of his food, at least as near as he could determine.  He took up painting, but would always leave the left side of the canvas blank.  He would read only the last half of books.  He loved to sing, but would only sing every other note.  When he saw a new mirror, he would immediately run up to it and press the sliced part of his body against it, thus appearing a whole person.  He frequently did the same to mirrors he had already seen.  Only then did he seem happy, and he would sing songs without skipping any notes.  He had a full length mirror installed in his room, and spent hours pressed against it.  He had another installed sideways and placed his bed against it: he would fall asleep looking and feeling whole.
     Jed was not a pleasant person to be around.  He hated everything, everyone, and especially God.  He would fly into fits of violent rage.  His only comments were incisive, derogatory or pessimistic.  His speech often consisted mostly of obscenities and profanities.  —Except when pressed against a mirror.  He was then content, pleasant, and gentle.  He frequently remarked, "I'll be whole again in hell;" but as if hell would then be paradise.
Now there was a non-profit organization known as EAT (European Assisted Tours), which provided the necessary aid for people who required assisted living to tour Europe.  Thinking of the new mirrors he could try out, Jed signed up.  All his traveling companions wished he hadn't.  He loathed them and they loathed him.  He was as disruptive as he could possibly.  He regretted coming in the extreme.  He had little enough time to spend with the new mirrors he saw, and most of them were very small, so only a small part of him seemed whole.  He certainly would not have come had he known how many churches they would go to: museums and churches seemed to be all they ever went to.  Museums and churches, and he was never allowed to stay behind.
One day they went to the Cathedral of St. Mark in Presto, Italy.  Jed screeched curses all the way end, but in the narthex he immediately fell silent.  It was the biggest mirror he had ever seen, at least 30-foot square, spotlessly clean and with a perfect reflection.  Before anyone could stop him, Jed was out of his power chair and hopping—without even a cane—over the railing that guarded the mirror, and up against the mirror itself.  They decided to let him go.  At least then they could hear the priest that was guiding the tour.  "This mirror is said to have been blessed by St. Mark himself," the priest was saying, "and many miracles are recorded for those who have looked in it."  Jed did not hear a word.  Never had he felt so whole.  He felt wholly whole.  He was sure of it.  He drew away from the mirror, and the reflected half came with him.  He was whole again.  He was whole.  He fell to his knees before the railing, and joyfully shouted his thanks, again and again.  Then suddenly he grew silent and began to weep.  "What a wretched man I have been, totally undeserving of this miracle.  Jesus, forgive me.  From now on I will be wholly yours."  He felt the forgiveness flow through his body, both sides.  Once more he shouted in joy.  From that time forth he was a changed man, a joy to be around.  Once he had grown used to his new left side, and was able to move into independent living.  He loved everyone in the apartments and they loved him.  He wrote (with the aid of a ghost-writer) a book about his experience. He spoke at churches and assemblies.  There was no greater witness to Christ's grace.

Thursday, July 14, 2011

Allilee & Faff

This idea seems obvious enough, it might have been used before; but if so, I am unaware of it; if anyone knows of a previous story with the sames thesis, let me know.


And it happened that on the eighth day that Princes Allilee was christened, and all the notables of the land, including the five fairies, came to the christening and brought gifts for the infant.  Now the gifts of the fairies were these:  the first fairy gave Allilee truthfulness, the second fairy gave Allilee trustworthiness, the third fairy gave Allilee endless confidence, the fourth fairy gave Allilee a sense of whimsy, the fifth fairy gave Allilee beauty that could never be equaled.

Seventeen years passed and Princes Allilee was the joy of the land.  Suitors came from near and far, but only princes were permitted to see the princess, for the king reckoned only royal suitors suitable.  Now there was a man named Faff who was a worker in metals, and he conceived a high passion for the princess and went to the castle to woo her.  With him he brought a tiara he had made her out of silver, the materials had cost him all he had saved for his old age.  It was the most intricate and beautiful that had ever been made.  But because Faff was not a prince, he was not allowed to see the princess.  Desperate in his passion, he gave the tiara, which he had brought as a gift for the princess, to the doorkeeper of the princess's rooms as a bribe.  The doorkeeper announced him and let him in.
     "What do you want of me?" Princess Allilee asked.
     Faff had never seen the princess up close, and she was even more beautiful than he had realized.  He determined in his heart he must marry her.  Knowing he may never be allowed to see her again, he stated his case bluntly, "I want to marry you."
     The princess laughed outright.  "You?  You smell of sweat, you are swarthy, your skin is rough, you have bad breath, you have bad teeth, and you are certainly no prince.  Go away.  I never want to see you again.  How could you even imagine marrying beauty that can never be equaled."
     Being so spurned, Faff cried in his outrage, "No great loss!  I know a hundred girls as beautiful as you."
     "Show me one!" Princess Allilee exclaimed.  Knowing her beauty could never be equaled, she added, "show me even one girl as beautiful as me, and I will marry you.  Now leave before I call the guards.
     Faff went home crushed.  None of his familiar things could comfort him.  He concentrated on his work, for only this could give him a little ease.  And so day passed on to day.  Then one day, while burnishing some brass bowls he was making for a local merchant, he noticed his reflection in one of them; and he noticed the more they were burnished, the clearer the reflection grew.  The words of the princess came back to him, "Show me even one girl as beautiful as me . . ."  He knew what to do.  He took a sheet of brass and burnished it as brass had never been burnished before.  When at last it gave a perfect reflection, he went once more to see the princess.
     At first the doorkeeper (a different one than before) would not admit him, but Faff so dazzled him with the sheet of brass that he announced him as a wizard and let him in.  The princess looked at him.  "Oh, it's you again," she said.  "You're not really a wizard, are you?"
     "I am not," Faff answered.  "I have come to claim your hand in marriage."
     "Get out," the princess ordered.
     "One moment, your majesty," Faff said.  "It is said you always keep your word."
     "That is true," the princess answered.
     "If you recall, you told me you would marry me if I should show you a girl as beautiful as yourself."
     "That is true," the princess answered, "but it is well known that at my christening I was given beauty that could never be equaled."
     "And yet, see this . . ." Faff said, disrobing the mirror.
     The princess gasped.  "I have never seen such beauty!" she exclaimed.  (She had, of course, never seen herself.)  She gathered her wits.  "And yet, the Fairy's gift . . . I must be more beautiful."
     "How can you be more beautiful than yourself?" Faff said, "For it is yourself you see.  But you are as beautiful as yourself, and I have shown you yourself, so keep your word and marry me."
     Princess Allilee, true to her word, married Faff.  After the king's death, they became co-rulers of the realm, as Queen and King.  As for Queen Allilee, she was truthful and trustworthy, but no fairy had given her the gift of wisdom or compassion or charity or goodness—and she was greatly lacking in these traits.  As for King Faff, he was a clever ruler, but not a wise one; he was quick to anger, eager to boast, and hasty in his judgments; he despised laborers because they reminded him of his origins; he was admired for nothing but his wit.  Theoretically, as co-rulers, Queen Allilee and King Faff had equal authority; yet they seldom agreed, which caused continual conflict in the realm, as some followed one and some the other.  Queen Allilee and King Faff died the same day, slaughtered by bandits who plundered their carriage.  There was much rejoicing at their deaths.
     And that's how the mirror was invented.



And it happened that on the eighth day that Princes Allilee was christened, and all the notables of the land, including the five fairies, came to the christening and brought gifts for the infant.  Now the gifts of the fairies were these:  the first fairy gave Allilee truthfulness, the second fairy gave Allilee trustworthiness, the third fairy gave Allilee endless confidence, the fourth fairy gave Allilee a sense of whimsy, the fifth fairy gave Allilee beauty that could never be equaled.

Seventeen years passed and Princes Allilee was the joy of the land.  Suitors came from near and far, but only princes were permitted to see the princess, for the king reckoned only royal suitors suitable.  Now there was a man named Faff who was a worker in metals, and he conceived a high passion for the princess and went to the castle to woo her.  With him he brought a tiara he had made her out of silver, the materials had cost him all he had saved for his old age.  It was the most intricate and beautiful that had ever been made.  But because Faff was not a prince, he was not allowed to see the princess.  Desperate in his passion, he gave the tiara, which he had brought as a gift for the princess, to the doorkeeper of the princess's rooms as a bribe.  The doorkeeper announced him and let him in.
     "What do you want of me?" Princess Allilee asked.
     Faff had never seen the princess up close, and she was even more beautiful than he had realized.  He determined in his heart he must marry her.  Knowing he may never be allowed to see her again, he stated his case bluntly, "I want to marry you."
     The princess laughed outright.  "You?  You smell of sweat, you are swarthy, your skin is rough, you have bad breath, you have bad teeth, and you are certainly no prince.  Go away.  I never want to see you again.  How could you even imagine marrying beauty that can never be equaled."
     Being so spurned, Faff cried in his outrage, "No great loss!  I know a hundred girls as beautiful as you."
     "Show me one!" Princess Allilee exclaimed.  Knowing her beauty could never be equaled, she added, "show me even one girl as beautiful as me, and I will marry you.  Now leave before I call the guards.
     Faff went home crushed.  None of his familiar things could comfort him.  He concentrated on his work, for only this could give him a little ease.  And so day passed on to day.  Then one day, while burnishing some brass bowls he was making for a local merchant, he noticed his reflection in one of them; and he noticed the more they were burnished, the clearer the reflection grew.  The words of the princess came back to him, "Show me even one girl as beautiful as me . . ."  He knew what to do.  He took a sheet of brass and burnished it as brass had never been burnished before.  When at last it gave a perfect reflection, he went once more to see the princess.
     At first the doorkeeper (a different one than before) would not admit him, but Faff so dazzled him with the sheet of brass that he announced him as a wizard and let him in.  The princess looked at him.  "Oh, it's you again," she said.  "You're not really a wizard, are you?"
     "I am not," Faff answered.  "I have come to claim your hand in marriage."
     "Get out," the princess ordered.
     "One moment, your majesty," Faff said.  "It is said you always keep your word."
     "That is true," the princess answered.
     "If you recall, you told me you would marry me if I should show you a girl as beautiful as yourself."
     "That is true," the princess answered, "but it is well known that at my christening I was given beauty that could never be equaled."
     "And yet, see this . . ." Faff said, disrobing the mirror.
     The princess gasped.  "I have never seen such beauty!" she exclaimed.  (She had, of course, never seen herself.)  She gathered her wits.  "And yet, the Fairy's gift . . . I must be more beautiful."
     "How can you be more beautiful than yourself?" Faff said, "For it is yourself you see.  But you are as beautiful as yourself, and I have shown you yourself, so keep your word and marry me."
     Princess Allilee, true to her word, married Faff.  After the king's death, they became co-rulers of the realm, as Queen and King.  As for Queen Allilee, she was truthful and trustworthy, but no fairy had given her the gift of wisdom or compassion or charity or goodness—and she was greatly lacking in these traits.  As for King Faff, he was a clever ruler, but not a wise one; he was quick to anger, eager to boast, and hasty in his judgments; he despised laborers because they reminded him of his origins; he was admired for nothing but his wit.  Theoretically, as co-rulers, Queen Allilee and King Faff had equal authority; yet they seldom agreed, which caused continual conflict in the realm, as some followed one and some the other.  Queen Allilee and King Faff died the same day, slaughtered by bandits who plundered their carriage.  There was much rejoicing at their deaths, and the chief of the bandits who killed them was made king.
     And that's how the mirror was invented.

Friday, July 8, 2011

The Gospel of Henry Kelsen

I wrote this after reading some stories of Jorge Luis Borges.

The Gospel of Henry Kelsen contains no moral dicta or spiritual teaching of its hero, no miracles or moral actions, or—for that matter—immoral ones.  It claims neither that he did nor that he did not do any such; it is silent on the subject.  It gives but a hint as to whether he was wise or foolish, compassionate or cruel, industrious or lazy.  It says nothing of his religion.  One can gather very little of the outline of his life from it.  The language that he uses is that of the 20th century American Midwest, and a few references to cars, weather, etc., are congruent with this.  It is apparent that he lived to a fairly old age, though how he dies is not mentioned.  So much could be said as to what this Gospel does not contain, that the reader might wonder what it does contain.  The first few verses will demonstrate the general tenor:

1.  The Gospel of Henry Kelsen according to Anne Bifford.
2.  One Monday Henry ate a sandwich for lunch, and the following day a casserole.
3.  He at times heard the noise of television.
4.  While he was out walking, it began to rain, but later the sun came out.
5.  He met a boy who said, "Hi."  "Hi," Henry replied.
6.  Henry crossed the street.
7.  No one knows how often Henry crossed a bridge.

And so on through four long chapters.  There is nothing particularly notable in any of these, though it does not preclude the possibility that he did something notable.  Not even the Kelsenists take any of this as metaphorical or metaphysical.  The only remarkable thing about this Gospel is that the Kelsenists consider it their sole Holy Scripture, and believe that Henry Kelsen was God.

Wednesday, June 29, 2011

Crush®

Parody of Selena Gomez's song "[It was just a] Crush"


I guess I should have known it wasn't gonna end okay
Cola is caffeine-loaded but I like it just that way
A bomb that's ticking with neither one of us to taste
Just like a countdown ready to blow
I sat around and thought how I wanted to taste that brew
No matter what you think, everyone does not like this brew
You think I'd like something but Coke®, baby it's not true
Caffeinate me
The orange tastes like dust
I didn't get a rush
It was Orange Crush®
I cry when I drink such
I have tasted too much
I'll throw away the pop there's nothing that I'll use
The thing I never wanted to drink I owe it all to you
I just won't help myself
It's just what you drink 'Cause this is orange, not a Coke®
Caffeinate me
The orange tastes like dust
I didn't get a rush
It was Orange Crush®
I cry when I drink such
I have tasted too much
You'll be fine, just find another to give this pop
Won't be long until they're more than ready to stop

I Won't Swallow These Pies

Due to the interest shown in my other parodies of Selena Gomez, I'm posting this one even though it was written some time ago.  It parodies her song "I Won't Apologize [for who I am]"


You gave me some dessert
And I thought that I would eat
You were servin' deservin'
No one to eat your pies
It's all yam and crust
It's not the pie that we discussed
No its not the same thing
I guess it is pure yam and pure yuck
I can't eat what you want me to eat
I'm sorry for chewin'
I'm sorry I had to have a taste
Believe me it's better than your pumpkin jam
But I won't swallow these pies made out of yam
Remember at the go
You said it was made from potato
But it wasn't the 'tato
That you knew I did know, and
I tried to accept it
I didn't know it was so bad
But it was, and I won't
Swallow it 'cause it sure don't make me glad
I will even have to spit it
I'm sorry for chewin'
I'm sorry I had to have a taste
Believe me it's better than your pumpkin jam
But I won't swallow these pies made out of yam
I think the taste
Is total waste
'Cause I couldn't spit out the pie with enough haste
It was disgraced
I don't want it to be graced
Sorry
Throw it out I won't taste it again
I'm sorry for chewin'
I'm sorry I had to have a taste
Believe me it's better than your pumpkin jam
But I won't swallow these pies made out of yam
I'm sorry for chewin'
I'm sorry I had to have a taste
Believe me it's better than your pumpkin jam
Why should I swallow these pies?
No I won't swallow these pies made out of yam

Filtered through Fluff

This poem is in the Irish form rannaigheacht mhôr (the great versification), which is reputed to be the most difficult form in the world.  It requires cadence, generic rhyme, generic consonance, dissonance, alliteration & echo - all in set patterns.

Filtered through Fluff




Moonlight falls, filtered through fluff
like a waltz you wilting catch
through rain's wrath—just a touch,
just a tang, half of a half.

We walk by the river road,
talking tall till giver God
leaves to light the spinning globe.
We grieve that the night is robbed

by the Cross of Christ alone.
Laws of love stretch to have room
righteous and romantic rain.
Bright dances and moans the moon.

Tuesday, June 28, 2011

Big Tuition

This one is a parody of Selena Gomez's "Intuition"


Feel like I'm going to school, whoa, whoa
Yesterday I was just a fool, whoa, whoa
Well I'm flat broke, yeah I've been there before
But I keep my head up 'cause I can always borrow more
I made the choice to be the best that I could ever be
That's why I'm going to the big university
Gonna borrow my big tuition
To the college that I 'list in
Everything's gonna be all paid
It's gonna be Sallie Mae
Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh . . .
Oh, oh, oh, it's gonna be Sallie Mae
Borrow my big tuition
It's gonna be Sallie Mae
I gotta get into college, whoa, whoa
I always need more knowledge, whoa, whoa
What's the payment compared to the debt of the world
Quit trying to hit every man woman boy and girl
Better borrow all it
Within a single debt
Tomorrow's never promised so I might not even have to pay
All I know is to school I'm gonna go
And looking back I'll see all that I then know
Right it gets so confusing
Feel like I will know what I'm doing
But I trust my loan, and in the end
It'll turn out better than when it began
You see what's meant to be is going to happen
You know it's gonna be Sallie Mae

Off the Chain

This is a parody of Selena Gomez's song "[Your Love Is] Off the Chain"

Racing
He's shaken up my pacing
Because your dog is chasing
It's your dog I know
Running
Because I saw him coming
Barking he's so cunning
O why did you let him go?
A thousand hounddogs barking I can
Hear the catcher parking as he
Calls his name
Your Rover's off the chain
The bitches go so crazy and you
Find his speed amazing and I
Can explain
Your Rover's off the chain
Coming
Your setter keeps on coming
He bites my ankle, crushing
Skin and bone and so much more
Just when
When I least expect it
He makes me feel bone-naked
Like nothing I felt before
I'm not the type who gets crazy for setters
Odds of my trippin' have just got better
Limping in the leg your dog did get—grrr
For Rover
Your rover
Changes everything
Everything is changed
Everything is changed
Everything is changed
Your Rover's off the chain

Sunday, June 26, 2011

Cross-tree of Christ: Englynion

The englyn is the most intricate form I have ever attempted.  There is far more going on than meets the eye, yet giving the forms it unique flavor.  The 8 strict englynion are the first of the 24 Welsh "strict meters".



Cross-tree of Christ: Englynion


1) englyn penfyr

Cross-tree of Christ, of wooden structure,
pure day poured on you, as did
all midnight—and it madly flowed.

2) englyn milwr

Cross-tree of Christ, say which can
man or woman more love: sin
in bloom? your fruit, free, ripe, brown?

3) englyn unodl union

Cross-tree of Christ, in you will life rejoice
  voice till stars at last all
fall; so Satan fell to hell;
—well, you will make life whole

4) englyn unodl crwca

Cross-tree of Christ, your love-lace,
grace-craft, sacrifice-art, peace-
piece, surpasses so the price and worth of
  love's grand things men engross.

5) englyn cyrch

Cross-tree of Christ, can I sing,
ring bowls, bells, practice drumming,
ding triangles, try gongs—look-
ing on your yearning for wrong?

6) englyn proest dalgron

Cross-tree of Christ, of pure pain,
plain to no pulse, serpentine
sign on you, sin on your bone,
own me—I'm a man, a moon.

7) englyn lleddfbroest

Cross-tree of Christ, blood its fuel,
cruel, ludicrous, if I'll
smile on its stone hate, who'll
fool, born from burn and boil?

8) englyn proest gadwynof

Cross-tree of Christ where I rave,
grave of granite where I grieve—
thieving holding hell, you shave
grave, and cross-tree, Christ, you leave.

Friday, June 24, 2011

I Don't Know Who To Pity Most

While working on putting together my collected poems, I found in my first chapbook (The Bewildered Gymnast) this poem that in many ways pleased me, and in many ways did not.  Then I figured out I could make it into a much better poem by stripping almost half of it away.  So here's the new version:

Hosea 1:2-9
Isaiah 20:2-4
Ezekiel 4:1-3.10-13

Those who loved Hosea most
begged him not to get married
to a prostitute, but he,
convinced by divine command,
ignored them.  His loved ones hurt
to see him court disaster.

Those who loved Isaiah most
were distressed beyond degree
That he thought God had told him
to run three years in the nude.
They tried to reason with him
as their hearts cried out in love.

Those who loved Ezekiel most
were crushed to find him cooking
his food on dung and playing
out fancies of destruction.
Love weeps, but how to reason
with demented religion?

Monday, June 20, 2011

5-best-book lists

I Made a bunch of 5-best lists of books.  Find almost any category you like and you'll get my highest recommendations.

GENRES (book-length fiction by single authors)

Mainstream:  1) The Complete Stories, Flannery O'Connor,  2) The Old Man and the Sea, Ernest Hemingway,  3) The Power and the Glory, Graham Greene,  4) Lord of the Flies, William Golding,  5) Pride and Prejudice, Jane Austen.

Science Fiction:  1) The Complete Fictions, Jorge Luis Borges,  2) A Canticle for Liebowitz, Walter M. Miller,  3) The Space Trilogy, C. S. Lewis,  4) Voyage to Arcturus, David Lindsay,  5) The Compass Rose, Ursula K. LeGuin.

Fantasy:  1) The Silmarillion, J, R. R. Tolkien,  2) The Earthsea Trilogy, Ursula K. Leguin,  3) Lilith, George MacDonald,  4) Gormenghast Trilogy, Mervyn Peake,  5) Duncton Wood, William Horwood.

Gothic:  1) All Hallow's Eve, Charles Williams,  2) We Have Always Lived in the Castle, Shirley Jackson,  3) The Portent [aka The Lady in the Mansion], George MacDonald,  4) Tales of Suspense, Edgar Allan Poe,  5) Dr. Jeckyll and Mr. Hyde, Robert Louis Stevenson.

Mystery:  1) The Name of the Rose, Umberto Eco,  2) The Complete Father Brown,  3) The Complete Sherlock Holmes, A. Conan Doyle,  4) Tales of Mystery, Edgar Allan Poe,  5) The Complete Peter Wimsy Stories, Dorothy Sayers.

Westerns:  1) Heart of the West, O. Henry,  2) The Virginian, Owen Wister,  3) Aces and Eights, Jolly R. Blackburn,  4) The Friendly Persuasion, Jessamyn West,  5) Little House Series, Laura Ingalls Wilder.

QUALITIES (book-length fiction by single authors)

Holiest:  1) At the Back of the North Wind, George MacDonald,  2) Till We Have Faces, C. S. Lewis,  3) The Power and the Glory, Graham Greene,  4) The Greater Trumps, Charles Williams,  5) Sylvie and Bruno, Lewis Carroll.

Most Beautiful:  1) Taliesin, Stephen R. Lawhead,  2) The Silmarillion, J. R. R. Tolkien,  3) The Earthsea Trilogy, Ursula K. LeGuin,  4) A Canticle for Liebowitz, Walter M. Miller,  5) Duncton Wod, Willian Horwood.

Most Mind-blowing:  1) Alice in Wonderland, Lewis Carroll,  2) Last and First Men, Olaf Stapleton,  3)  The Pendulum, Umberto Eco,  4) Erewhon, Samuel Butler,  5) Flatland, Edwin A. Abbott.

Most Mind-stretching:  1) The Complete Fictions, Jorge Luis Borges,  2) Alice in Wonderland,  3) The Pendulum, Umberto Eco,  4) The Complete Father Brown, G. K. Chesterton,  5) The Complete Sherlock Holmes.

Most Entertaining:  1)  The Rectory Umbrella, Lewis Carroll,  2) Pudd'nhead Wilson, Mark Twain,  3)  Mrs. Pickerel on the Moon, ?,  4) The Purloined Paperweight,  5) Trout Fishing in America, Richard Brautigan.

Most Moving:  1)  The Old Man and the Sea, Ernest Hemingway,  2) The Mill on the Floss,  3) A Canticle for Liebowitz, Walter M. Miller,  4) Little Dorritt, Charles Dickens,  5) Pride and Prejudice, Jane Austen.

Best Prose Style:  1) The Complete Stories, Flannery O'Connor,  2) The Earthsea Trilogy, Ursula K. LeGuin,  3) The Complete Short Stoeies, Ernest Hemingway,  4) A Canticle for Liebowitz, Walter M. Miller,  5) Duncton Wood, William Horwood.

Strangest:  1) Trout Fishing in America, Richard Brautigan,  2) Alice in Wonderland, Lewis Carroll,  3) Amerika, Franz Kafka,  4) Tristram Shandy, Laurence Sterne,  5) Gormenghast, Mervyn Peake.

ARTHURIAN LITERATURE


Arthurian Romances (Medieval): Peredur, anonymous,  2) Parzival, Wolfram Von Eschenbach,  3) Perceval, Chrétien de Troyes,  4) Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, 5) Le Morte d'Arthur, Malory.


Arthurian Fiction:  1) Taliesin, Stephen Lawhead,  2) The Crystal Cave, Mary Stewart,  3) The Dragon and the Unicorn, A. A. Attanaso,  4) The Mabinogion, anonymous, tr. Lady Charlotte E. Guest,  5) A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court.

Arthurian Poetry:  1) Taliesin Through Logres, Charles Williams,  2) The Book of the Holy Grail, A. E. Waite,  3) Sir Gawaine and the Green Knight, anonymous, tr. J. R. R. Tolkien,  4) The Idylls of the King, Alfred, Lord Tennyson,  5) Quest of the Sangraal, Robert Stephen Hawker.

Arthurian Non-Fiction:  1) The Discovery of King Arthur, Geoffrey Ashe,   2) The Celtic Sources for the Arthurian Legend,John Cos and Simon Young, 3) The Arthurian Encyclopedia, Norris J. Lacy,  4) Arthurian Legend in the Middle Ages, Robert Sherman Loomis,   5) Arthurian Companion, Phyllis Ann Karr.

ODDMENTS

Best Science Fiction Antholgies:  1) Fantasia Mathematica, Clifton Fadiman,  2) The Science Fiction Hall of Fame, Vol. 1, Robert Silverberg,  3) The World Treasury of Science Fiction, David G. Hartwell,  4) Sacred Visions, Andrew Greeley and Michael Cassutt,  5)  Timeless Stories of Today and Tomorrow, Ray Bradbury.

Best Fantasy Anthologies:  1) Masterpieces of Fantasy and Wonder, David G. Hartwell,  2) Modern Classics of Fantasy, Gardner Dozois,  3) The Circus of Dr. Lao and Other Improbable Stories,  4) Fairy Tales, The Brothers Grimm,  5) The Mabinogion, anonymous.

Poets:  1) The Collected Poems of A. E. Housman,  2) The Complete Poems of Gerard Manley Hopkins,  3) Collected Poems of James Joyce,  4) The Complete Poems of Robert Southwell,  5) Collected Poems, Dylan Thomas.

More Poets:  6) If I Had Wheels or Love: Collected Poems of Vassar Miller,  7) The Complete Poems of Marianne Moore,  8) The Works of George Herbert,  9) The Complete Poems of Walter de la Mare,  10) The Poetical Works of Thomas Traherne 1636-1674.

Kookiest Books:  1) The Sacred Mushroom and the Cross, Michael Baigent,  2) When Worlds Collide, Immanuel Velikovsky,  3) First Man, Then Adam, Irwin Ginsburgh,  4) The New Guide of the Conversation in Portuguese and English [aka English as She is Spoke], Pedro Carolino,  5) Chariots of the Gods, Erich Von Daniken.

Mythozoology:  1) The Book of Fabulous Beasts, Joseph Nigg,  2) Giants, Monsters and Dragons, Carol Rose,  3) Dragonology, Dr. Ernest Drake,  4) The Book of Imaginary Beings, Jorge Luis Borges,  5) The Lore of Unicorns, Odell Shepherd

Hymnals:  1) The Hymnal 1940 [Episcopal],  2) The Hymnal 1982 [Episcopal],  3) Hymns of the Living Faith [Free Methodist, 1951],  4) The Hymnal for Worship and Celebration [Non-denominational, 1986],  5) The Lutheran Hymnal [1941]

Bible Translations:  1) Young's Literal Translation,  2) Green's Literal Translation,  3) The New English Translation of the Septuagint [OT only],  4) The Septuagint with the Apocrapha, tr. Sir E. L. Breton [OT only],  5) The New Revised Standard Version.

Wednesday, June 15, 2011

Correspondence on "The Raven"

Recently when going through a file of old unfinished writings, I came across this satire.  My intention was that by the end both sides would look absolutely ridiculous.  Think it's worth finishing?

Correspondence on "The Raven"

by Claire Darrings, Ph.D., LL.D.
and Wilhelma Jennow, LL.D., D.D.


     The following letters from Dr. Darrings and replies by Dr. Jennow appeared in The Epoch Literary Review over several issues. It is reprinted here for the first time. The article which provoked the debate, being of only marginal interest, has been omitted.


Volume XI, issue 2

     Concerning Dr. Jenning's recently article, "The Symbol of The Raven", it is the editors' prerogative to publish religious drivel of this fashion, though not what I would look for in a supposedly scientific literary review. I do not deny their may be some truth in the concept of authorship, though such truth lies outside the realm of literary scholarship. What I cannot accept is Dr. Jennow' personal views, contradicted by abundant literary evidence, being disguised as genuine literary scholarship. I am referring, of course, to her statement that "Poe's" raven was once a parrot. My first reaction was to  laugh and dismiss it, but further reflection convinced me that this was precisely the sort of thing which undergraduates latch unto and repeat innocently, creating a barrier to their intellectual advancement and retarding them socially in the academic community.
     I have before me the text of "The Raven". The bird in question is referred to as "raven" no less than eight times, and never as "parrot" or any other species of bird. While it is frequently called "bird", there is no reason to suspect this generic term as implying anything other than raven.  The use of the generic does not imply a change in the specific. One might just as well argue that the raven was once a rock formation because it is referred to as "it". Dr.. Jennow does discredit to others who share her authorial beliefs, many of whom have no difficulty in reconciling their religious and literary viewpoints.
Sincerely,
Claire Darrings, Ph.D., LL.D.
University of Gotham

Dr Jennow' reply:
     I would like to point Dr. Darrings's attention to a passage in "The Philosophy of Composition" in which Poe writes, "Here, then, immediately arose the idea of a non-reasoning creature capable of speech; and, very naturally, a parrot, in the first instance, suggested itself, but was superseded forthwith by a Raven, as equally capable of speech, and infinitely more in keeping with the intended tone." While Dr. Darrings may reject the religious authority of "The Philosophy of Composition", she she will no doubt admit it as an historical document.


Volume XI, issue 3

     It is notable that, put to the point, Dr. Jennow refers not to "The Raven", but to a religious work which I will "no doubt admit as an historical document." Both religious scriptures and historical documents lie outside my field of specialty, but I understand that the "Philosophy" in question is not only not included in the more popular editions of Poe, but has not been considered trustworthy evidence for some time. Even those who grant Poe's authorship of both the "The Philosophy" and "The Raven", have suspicions that in "The Philosophy", Poe is suffering from some sort of mental ailment. The scripture contains a number of absurdities. For instance, the claim that "nothing even remotely approaching this combination [of lines into stanzas] has ever been attempted."
     More important, perhaps, is the difficulty in reconciling "The Philosophy" with the poem itself. For example, "Here then the poem may be said to have its beginning—at the end." This refers neither to the first nor last, but to the third to last stanza. After this stanza, in which Lover and Bird converse, "Poe" places the lover in his chamber, he introduces the bird (into the chamber apparently, the bird and the lover having already met). This, then, is the beginning of "The Raven" according to "The Philosophy". Most authorists today interpret this figuratively, and it is indeed difficult to see how else it can be interpreted, since any examination of the text proves it to be quite false literally. I would suggest that authorists seeking academic credibility treat the parrot passage similarly.
     What concerns me about Dr. Jennow is not her personal beliefs about the author, but her insistence on confusing these with literary criticism. Granted, a poem may have an author. While linguists and symanticists are often inclined to doubt this, we have no concrete evidence to the contrary. The self-sufficiency of each poem and the findings of generative grammar may tend to make any author superfluous, but cannot prove him nonexistent. Aestheticists and prosodists, on the other hand, have frequently felt some sort of author implied by their findings. Though the "higher critics" scarcely remain even as a fringe religious sect, their attempts to demonstrate multiple authors for a single work were once considered a legitimate part of literary criticisms, and even today, because of their influence, some poems (known as "collaborations") are traditionally referred to as having more than one author. This is all very interesting, and the evolving relationship between literary scholarship and religion is a worthwhile subject for an historian; but it has long been accepted in the academic community that a work must be examined by its observable attributes, irrespective of traditional authorship or the critic's authorial theories. If an authorist's views are true, they have nothing to fear by this, and the knowledge of literary scholarship may even make him a better authorist. It is only the fundamentalist authorial sects which have any reason to oppose genuine scholarship. I do not know what affiliations may influence Dr. Jennow
Sincerely,
Claire Darrings, Ph.D.,LL.D.

Dr. Jennow' reply:
     I would like to thank Dr. Darrings for her thoughtful comments. Unfortunately, she has misunderstood the intention of my reply to her last letter. She is quite correct in asserting that my religious convictions should not influence my literary scholarship: they have not done so. I did not mention "The Philosophy of Composition" because of its religious value, nor even because it is necessarily correct in many points. Suppose, for the sake of argument, that it is spurious—written, let's say,

Friday, June 10, 2011

Considering string theory.

The rounding of the circle is no easier than the rounding of the square.

Monday, June 6, 2011

I said, I was villanelled out, but this one seemed necessary to complete my book.  I now have the proofs half done.

Hellfire

"Whatever else we know about the bad place,
we know it was made by God,
and therefore was made out of love."
     -George MacDonald


"God in His mercy made
The fixed pains of Hell."
     -C. S. Lewis


Love is too weird to understand,
and much too strange to ever tell.
Hellfire is by mercy fanned.

God governs with a mighty hand
and outstretched arm all those who fell.
Love is too weird to understand.

God makes the plans of the unplanned,
the chaos of bottomless well.
Hellfire is by mercy fanned.

Of those who land where is no land,
what do we know?  Grace is pellmell.
Love is too weird.  To understand

is only to misunderstand.
Pity those locked in pity's cell.
Hellfire is.  By mercy fanned,

the flames leap high.  The sight is grand:
is God then good?  How can we tell
love is?  Too weird to understand?
Hellfire is by mercy fanned.

This is not in my own voice - I have many friends.  I wanted to do a villanelle suitable for a non-linear book I'm putting together, hence this.  I'm also putting a book together of my villanelles.  With this one I am officially villanelled out.


Secretary Bird Eggs


Darkness falls.  I have no friend.
Bite me like I'm buttered toast.
Come to Mommy in the end.

See the shades of day descend.
I am a guess about a ghost.
Darkness falls.  I have no friend.

In the blender all things blend.
I leave my faint.  I, unlike most,
come to.  Mommy, in the end,

intends the things I too intend.
Lightnessfalls I have (a host);
darknessfalls I have.  No friend

forsakes me, for I've none.  I tend
too many rabid sheep.  I boast.
Come to Mommy.  In the end

all must burn the cloth they mend.
Fly the flag of Barbary Coast.
Come to Mom, me, inn, the friend,
darkness, falls.  I have no end.

On a Theme from William Dunbar


The field is won, overcome is the foe,
despoiled of the treasures that he kept.
Surrexit Dominus de sepulchro.

Unseen, unheard, with no one there to know,
out of the grave Lord Jesus Christ has crept.
The field is won, overcome is the foe.

Nonchalant, with säng froid, a ripple's flow,
out of the grave Lord Jesus Christ has stepped.
Surrexit Dominus de sepulchro.

Victorious, triumphant, with a glow,
out of the grave Lord Jesus Christ has leapt.
The field is won, overcome is the foe.

Forevermore now since that long ago,
out of the grave Lord Jesus Christ has kept.
Surrexit Dominus de sepulchro.

Forevermore Lord Jesus Christ lives, though
deep in the grave Lord Jesus Christ has slept.
The field is won, overcome is the foe.
Surrexit Dominus de sepulchro.

Friday, June 3, 2011

Here's another I just finished.

On a Theme from William Blake


And Newton's particles of light
Are sands upon the Red Sea shore
Where Israel's tents do shine so bright.

Apostles on Mount Olivet
know not what the night has in store;
and Newton's particles of light

show but the tint, not the spirit
of Jesus' saltwater and gore
where Israel's tents do shine so bright.

How could they guess that Rabbi's fate
(though he had told them all before,
and Newton's particles of light

make of each drop of blood a mote
of crimson)?  They wake and cease their snore
where Israel's tents do shine so bright,

visible but to inner sight.
They are blinded both to that gloire
and Newton's particles of light
where Israel's tents do shine so bright.

I have recently done a whole series of Good Friday villanelles on themes from various poets.
Here's another one.

On a Theme from Richard Rolle
a villanelle



My truest treasure so traitorly taken,
  so bitterly bounden with biting band,
how soon of thy servants was thou forsaken.

They winked as thou wept, and would not awaken.
  They stared when they stood, did not understand
my truest treasure so traitorly taken.

With slobber and slime their sleep was well-slaken.
    With fever of fear their fire was fanned.
How soon of thy servants was thou forsaken!

In dreams did they dread the devil, that drakon,
    and hated for hell to hold by the hand
my truest treasure so traitorly taken.

They shifted their shadows, they shook, they were shaken
    by sight of the sword and spear that there spanned:
how soon of thy servants was thou forsaken!

How quick did they quit the quest when was quaken
    the ground where they grieved the graces so grand!
My truest treasure so traitorly taken,
how soon of thy servants was thou forsaken!

Thursday, June 2, 2011

I had the most interesting experience yesterday.  I was on Amazon and checking out a record of art songs.  At first I couldn't hear it, then I realized my sound was off.  I turned it on and heard wonderful Celtic music, which surprised me, sung by a lady.  Then a classical baritone came in quietly in the background, but after a few seconds grew loud as the Celtic grew quiet.  Then the Celtic grew loud again and they both sang loud, but in perfect counterpoint.  It may well be the most beautiful sound I ever heard.  I got excited, and determined to buy the album.  Then I realized I had Celtic music playing on Windows Media Player - two songs played at once, the beauty a coincidence.
This one is also out of season

On a Theme from T. S. Eliot
a villanelle

The bloody flesh our only food,
the dripping blood our only drink,
and yet we call this Friday good.

We fast, but inwardly are fed;
We feast on flesh (Come, have a chunk),
the bloody flesh our only food.

Nails wait to nail a hanging God,
while plank is nailed crosswise to plank,
and yet we call this Friday good.

From the perpendicular bed
of nails we carve fresh flesh—we think
the bloody flesh our only food,

and we think right.  Our God is dead.
His flesh is old and cold and rank,
and yet we call this Friday good.

Perhaps at last we've understood
the dripping blood (our only drink),
the bloody flesh (our only food)—
and yet we call this Friday good.

Wednesday, June 1, 2011

I know this is out of season, but I often write out of season.

A Secret Which Surprises Us No More
a villanelle 




God a newborn behind a stable door
came unexpected to a doubting age,
a secret which surprises us no more.


An angel first announced it to the poor,
a star first portended it to the mage,
God a newborn behind a stable door.


Though few indeed were told that heavenly lore,
his birthday now is all the yearly rage,
a secret which surprises us no more.


Ignorant then, we now choose to ignore
or not ignore, engage or not engage
God a newborn behind a stable door.


It is a much too often used trapdoor
causing a disappearance from the stage,
a secret which surprises us no more.


It is the seed inside the apple core,
it is a re-read mystery’s last page,
God a neborn behind a stable door,
a secret which surprises us no more.