Honestly, I'm a Liar, & Other Balances & Imbalances

December 27, 2016

From author Jim Crace’s “Quarantine”

Filed under: fragments, prose, visions — Tags: , , , — namelessneed @ 5:40 pm

“After his boyhood years of study at the temple school, steadying the scroffs and holding down the parchments beneath the pointing fingers of the priest, Jesus had learned to match up some of these Aramaic shapes to sounds–the little candelabra of the letter sha, the lightening strike of enn, the falling plough sign of the kaoh. He liked the places on these parchments where scribes were changed. The one who’d stitched his way across the page with wary, threadlike marks passed on his verses to the playful and untidy  one who led his muddy sparrows leave their tracks in undulating lines. Then came the scribe whose writing always toppled backwards, as if the meanings to the words were riding faster than the shapes which soon would fall on to their spines.

“This was a happy ignorance for jesus, only knowing a dozen words amongst so many thousands. He would not want to read as easily as scholars, he told himself, for that would only help to split the meaning from the sound, to divorce the music from the shape. If he could read like his priest could, by simply dragging the forefinger underneath the script and speaking every word he touched as if these were not verses but an endless rote of errands to be run, then the scriptures might become little more than strings of tiny tasks, a list. There’d be no mystery. But in his ignorance, he could both listen to the words of the reader and marvel, too, at the unspoken narrative of shapes, or concentrate not only on the script but also on the spaces in between. God was in the spaces, he was sure. God went to the very edges of the page.”

Author Jim Crace, from “Quarantine”

May 17, 2013

More “Creation Themes” I Found While (Not) Looking For Something Else

Filed under: Uncategorized — Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , — namelessneed @ 1:24 pm

 

i)

s t  I N K

.

of all the lies

in the air

that this liar

is truly unaware of

(is  ’truly’  the right word?)

of all the lies

casual and caressing there

the air currents  n

night-blooming jasmine

the golden ones have come from…

(I’ve told em. All alchemy.)

emboldened lies, all born, I imagine,

from an open pen draining onto pages,

.

from nothing.

ii).

.

.

I’VE   IVORY

.

Shiny gold pen when an old

Shade-off light bulb

(it can be a candle)

Best  Klieg-lights this  crèche ,

Best showcases this birthplace.

.

On my knees

To lure verities,  (surely,  scour our trees)

To cure maladies,

Wrest fallacies from unsound foundations,

Whisper one less lonely

Wise,  recognizable incantation.

Take this shiny gold pen…!

.

It’s nearby,  go forth,  go further.

I clear my path,

&  Go over…

&  I’ve  Ivory!

Simba’s  mammoth  cemetery!

(they must go deep)

Precious sunned bones poised on  as symbols

Archetexture   actually

I take a sacred see of symmetry

.

iii)

When poetry’s  god the old notions

When poetry goes poetry in motion

All of a sudden certain

Privileged glimpses are blurting out

.

All of a sudden

Uncertain unseen forces

Focus on instances, my wording output

(shushshush  on my sources)

It’s a code I can tap

Out

.

February 11, 2012

N O I S E

“May  our  miracles

…Not be cruel.”

I tipped my head up,

Away from my novel.

So uncharacteristic

From some televangelistic

Noise at the end of Pop’s assisted-living room.

The old & Southern bible guy

Was odd  about numbers, too.

Not magic mathematics about chapters & verse,

But worse,  what words add up to,

& seven is this

& five is that.

His numbers were different from mine.

Maybe,  I was getting it wrong.

The old & Southern crowd was all nodding.

It takes a stadium.

Maybe  ‘m

Imaginin’,

Tho’ mostly sure  that’s it.

January 12, 2011

Coffee Break Theology

The sight of a meteor

Might signal us

To kiss and cuss.

You’ll utilise your

Cues-to-Be,  or tries

To be..the spiritual

Realized

Beast  the best

Of us are.

.

We’ll take it.

November 25, 2010

SILENCE FOR SIRE

 

Agonizingly,  A  friend, and wise king,  He

Begged  for  his  life.

I woke  &  witnessed his naked strife.

As softly he spoke out his pleas,

Softer, I called my  ”All Mercy”.

.

.

If only,  as when our women grieve,

I should wear a veil, head bent.

I would shield  my  damning  grief,

And all my disillusionments.

February 27, 2010

Yes, The Sequences Go

Yes, the sequences go, this sets pro-

gressing.  We stand in our streams,

Study up storm weather

We’re all under the weather.

Yes, The compass is no good.

Guessing; Push the river?

Willfully  take  steps?

Or wade on down  downflow?

Resplendent.

             .

Rest on it.

It will come

October 23, 2009

miscast

If I’d insist on playing the pacifist

(I’m maybe miscast)

I’d resist being all-too-willing

                                        to killing time.

 

If I would want to resist the persistent praying

For my mercy, for all our mercy,

Inarticulate verses of mercy,

Maybe I’d want to take steps,

I’d want to take things into my own hands, 

Maybe I’d want to take on the task

Of yanking my mask off,

Of thinking of thanking

                                          myself more.

Tho’  I’d  heed  less

Jesus

September 1, 2009

CLIFF NOTES PHOTO

Filed under: poetry — Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , — namelessneed @ 8:38 pm

There’s a cliff someplace

Where the wind’s not too strong, nor too bracing

Where the edge is hardly edgy

Where the drop  is in a full bucket

Where the view is–

Where the shot is tight/wide open

                                          We will take it

Where from where we stand unsteady and

Search from this perilous perch

for a shot at a sight/wide open.

 

 

 

for Richard Thompson,Richard Melvin, Son Of Man

August 27, 2009

Another Dawn (against my deep green leather, on)

I take my ten tablets.

Wash  ’em w/ Irish.

It’s my time

for medicine,

& no time for nonsense.

Work for cash is already done.

I’m ready to pull hard

for a merciful god.

Finally I’ll try my hand

To move a pen

To move my words

To move me.

July 31, 2009

I”ll Believe I’ll Believe Here

They say that at sea

Mal de mer

Is easier to bear

If you can lift your gaze,

Look, and lock in the horizon—

The distant   constant   transcedent  end.

 

I’m a man who  says “land,too.”

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