Posts Tagged ‘insects’

Monday 26 September 1955: Relativity Mr. Eliot

12 Mar
            (Every opening day event
            is safely defined
            according to the board
            of heavy commissioners,
            who having frequently
            engaged in parasitic
            intercourse with important
            anti-matter details, do
            thus proclaim this work
            to bless the eyes and tongues
            and postage stamps of public
            yen with fire and dogma, that
            these blessings endure secure
            as the new lamp post
            in the old land of triumph,
            as foretold in the chapbook
            of Turquoise Laughter,
            found on the bookshelves
            of those sleazy sectarians,
            the Unknown Poets.)

My god! Those scrambled tenses
Are breathing insects
About to inherit the earth
As the meek ones.
Should we give the order to poison them,
The lie more likely to succeed beyond
Crock derivation, say?
The social instincts and mortal thunder
Track across the skies of deprivation. They
Mock us and tell us paradise
Has ranked us this way.

He comes much later than Voltaire.
With able lunacies guarding
Their classical moons,
In numbers too written
To catch a falling
Sparrow by jet liner.

So doggedly
He comes before us,
Letting us spoil him with a role
Abandoned to grief, walking,
To serve eyes never before ruled.
An expanded version of the likeness
Of man is displayed in his temples
More pulled to powerstare.

A coward without wings
Brings no one change, but
To you who think
Without a padlock brigging
Your brain, to you who think
His work is discriminating,
I say knows the difference in universal
Meaning between sugar and salt
And his birthright.

Give fair attention to the perfumery
He exposes, the sweat, the toil,
The semen.

Missing no link!

Question him if in doubt.
The idiom may be lost in translation.
Condemned to die or forty years
He shall return. When he walks among men,
The obvious is hidden, orphic
Associations and fresh failing crops,
And door alarms.

Left Bank will soon pass away like the rest.
And Burnt Norton will accuse Lucifer
As the author of time!


"Ignorance and virtue suck on the same straw. Souls grow on bones, but die beneath bankers' hours.""