EC706 This is a
REENTRY of re-edited
EC663 [Latvian
version: “LIECINIEKS (Citas vēstures stāstam)”]s
The Life Review of Robin Ludd/ A Family Epic
By © Anton Vendamencsh,
2017
5 An Augenblink
Consciousness is
But the memory
Of a dream
Encapsuled
By vanity.
Wrote Goethe
(Imagining
Himself as son of
Job or Faust
And, thus, a beneficiary
Of Divine intercession):
“Was du ererbt
Von deinen Vätern
hast,
Erwirb es,
Erwirb es,
Um es zu besitzen.”
(Auth. trans: What
you inherit from your fathers, inherit it in such a way as to possess it)
“Was man nicht
nützt,
Ist eine schwere Last,
Nur was der Augenblick
Erschafft,
Das kann er nützen.”
(Auth. trans: What one
does not use of one’s inheritance) becomes an unbearable burden that survives
for but the blink of an eye.)
Goethe
knew that
“Hail
Death!”
Was
embracedby
The
trumpet’s blare
(God
presented
At
the
Devil’s
Victory
celebration)
That
glorified
Job’s
faith.
Is
this why
Wolfgang*led
His
German sheep
Out
of God’s sight?
*Wolfgang
is a German name that translates as ‘herder of wolves’, though originally it likely
meant ‘guardian of the herd from wolves’, i.e. ‘shepherd’. Because Goethe’s personal
names are ‘Johann Wolfgang’, and ‘Johann’ is but a variation of ‘gang’/aka jang,
yan, jean, john, huan, ivan etc., all cognates that recall the ancient
occupation of tribes as herders of forest animals. Be that as it may, it is
this poet’s guess that Goethe’s subjectivelyf identified himself more with the occupation
of his ancestors than German intelligentsia of the 18th or 19th
csentury.
I love my cat
For the
Augenblicks
He cherishes
When stretched
out
On my lap
After hunting a
mouse
And his paws
bite
Into my thigh
and I cry ‘Thanks’
and grab him
by the scruff.
Not surprisingly
In an Age of
Conceited
Human lemings
Thirsting
immortal waters
en masse
History is
become
an Augenblick
by virtue of
being
Set in ever so
brittle
White plaster
by historians
Making-believe
Themselves masons
Of
fortifications
For a
civilization
On foundations
of
foreshortened lives
foreshortened lives
And corpses
That shield
Cities and states
From consciousness
And lip
Birthday songs
Sans a birth
date
Parents or
child.
Ours is a time
Tanners
And drives
Gatherers of
Animal hair and wool
Off rosebush stalks
Go scrape rawhide https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2AS6pAWR9n4
for a living.
Simple men
Hunt elk
And Used car dealers
show antlers
On the walls
Of their mobile home
offices.
Desperate women
Fuck desperate men
To spell
Children
With a wit as desperate.
Psychologists and
Doctors of Philosophy
Hold to vanity
With convincing
Conceit
No one knows why
They they believe
Themselves
Conscious, and
And know nada
About the anatomy of
The pyche
Or why
Their children
Pretend
With narry a
doubt
That God is
naught
And was created
By some suicidal
poet
Desperate for
A human
audience.
Just so,
last night
After more
Than fifty years
I again met Silvie
Who once
I was engaged to marry.
I saw her
On a street in Boston
Pushing
A baby carriage
And asked her:
Is that you, Silvie?
She turned to me
Met my eye
And abruptly
Turned again
Away from me.
Taken aback
I said:
”I am sorry,
Take care”
And continued my way
Up Beacon Street
To where it ends
I know not.
Thereafter
Thirty years
Came to make
And became
Nearly forgot
Before another 30
Did their turn.
By some grace
The face of
The babe
Of Anne’s miscarriage
I saw not.
Such
Moments of
Remembrance
When
A foreshortened
Life skids out
From under one
Become
The eternalest
Of curses.
Ai,
As is the habit
of dreams
It awakened me
To another day:
Had I but lived
In the countryside
And been a cobbler
Of horses’ hooves
And you a maid
In my aunt’s kitchen,
I would have been
All over you
Till our
Kingdom in bed
Was aswirl
And your sweet lava of
Honey and cream
Breasts
And gives suck
To another generation
Of innocents.
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