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He thought he kept the universe alone;
For all the voice in answer he could wake
Was but the mocking echo of his own
From some tree-hidden cliff across the lake.
Some morning from the boulder-broken beach
He would cry out on life, that what it wants
Is not its own love back in copy speech,
But counter-love, original response.
And nothing ever came of what he cried
Unless it was the embodiment that crashed
In the cliff’s talus on the other side,
And then in the far distant water splashed,
But after a time allowed for it to swim,
Instead of proving human when it neared
And someone else additional to him,
As a great buck it powerfully appeared,
Pushing the crumpled water up ahead,
And landed pouring like a waterfall,
And stumbled through the rocks with horny tread,
And forced the underbrush–and that was all.
When all Earth’s seas shall Levitate,
Dark shawled within the skies,
Upon our eyes will Starfish dance
Their waltz of Blind surprise.
The sun will Rise within wine Dark
As Argonauts imbibed,
Whose drunken arms embrace that sleep
Where Phaeton’s horses Stride.
Upon all of Earth’s wind-sanded shores,
As dolphins Learn to soar,
All we once were on the land
Shall be sealed behind the door
Of Ivory and Chastened Gold,
That the Mystery solved complete
Shall never til the seas’ Long fall
Wake mariners from their sleep.
— Van der Leun
I CELEBRATE myself, and sing myself,
And what I assume you shall assume,
For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you.
I loafe and invite my soul,
I lean and loafe at my ease observing a spear of summer grass.
My tongue, every atom of my blood, form’d from this soil, this
air,
Born here of parents born here from parents the same, and their
parents the same,
I, now thirty-seven years old in perfect health begin,
Hoping to cease not till death.
— Walt Whitman
Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?
I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.
I do not think that they will sing to me.
I have seen them riding seaward on the waves
Combing the white hair of the waves blown back
When the wind blows the water white and black.
We have lingered in the chambers of the sea
By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown
Till human voices wake us, and we drown.
— The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock by T. S. Eliot
Gerard Van der Leun
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Well, that was interesting.
I have an old girlfriend who lives in Lubbock. She’s a nurse that works as a patient care coordinator. They have a connected organization in McAllen, along the border with Mexico. She’s told me that yeah, the hospitals down there *are* overrun. Ambulances circle the block, waiting for a bed to open up. There ain’t no care at all on the south side, so people come north to cough on you.
She’s told me that there are some significant differences in the workforce in McAllen versus Lubbock. Quality of work and ethics are quite a bit lesser on the border. She and I have a shorthand phrase when talking about such subjects: McAllen culture.
Not a bad riff for this day and age. I got me thinking that’
There are the times to try men’s soles not little naughty Nike girly walks.
Give me liberty and give me Def Leppard with a healthy helping of both Dylons.
Fire at Will, and Phil as well as the house atop the hill where they write that Marxist swill.
Oh say, can you see, nothing but graffiti?
This land is their land, unless we take a stand.
The herd is rot around the world.
Gory gory hell’s for you,
All for one and
One for the money.
Two for the bow
Three to hold
Fire ‘till you hear
The fright of their cries.
And.
Always.
Today.
Speak softly
but carry.
That was awesome!!
Fire ‘till you hear
The fright of their cries.
most excellent!
Lost me at “Listen Bitchez”…part of our cultural decay has been the assimilation of hip-hop banter into everyday speech. Patrick Henry’s original version is just fine, thank you.
I, too, had to search for the original version. It’s a shame that we were only taught the last line in school, when there’s so much more to it. Well worth a read.