“History” — Part II

[For an overview of this poem and its complete title, please see the previous blog.]

Second Theme

7. Sunlight

When the whirled is all inhuman

Flower, what can I say

To the angel flaming

Flower-spectrumed in Eden?

Shall I ask this angel

Who’s got my mind in hock,

Who burns my eyeballs green,

Who strips the gears of my soul

Naked, for wisdom? No,

It’s the always instant

Of knowing nakedness

That makes us men. When self

Begins to speak again, the leaf

Will mean again, and be

Less real. I will decide,

And see an abstract leaf.

 

 

8. The Judgement of the Leaf

Impairative of an impeerious god:

Not to turn away

From chaos, no matter how

It burns my fundamental rock.

Faced or unfaced,

Chaos doesn’t disappear.

It’s never overcome;

It’s always there,

And any order is in ignorance

Of chaos, and every poem’s a mask

That makes and cannot cure dis pair,

And reason’s deck tells no fortunes,

Cannot trump a leaf in sunlight,

And thought is ugly imitation

Of this leaf, and every word’s

A ruen of some mythology.

Yet fire is just a mask.

Everything’s a mask.

There are no masks.

There is no mystery

A leaf is everything

It seems, and more.

It’s searching

Makes it metaphor.

So, there’s only history.

 

 

9. The Voice of the Hermit

The Ding an sich’s inhuman, man;

don’t mess with it. It doesn’t

care if you burn or not.

Besides, there’s no way back;

and nothing turns; forget your globe.

You’ve got to go on.

You can get anywhere from hear.

Going direct is fast, deepends

On knowing that you’re hear,

But going by the hypersphear,

That’s through so much Terra

Incognita you need a Palomar to see

all the way inside yourself.

The guide-books never tell you

that; all they give

you is a waterglass.

  

 

Third theme

 

10. Isis Unvaled

The First Person is God the Lover.

The Second Person is God the Beloved.

The Third Person is God the Love.

God the Beloved is both male and female,

And creation is the naming of names

By the Word, who is male,

On the Matrix, who is female.

 

Intellection differentiates.

Perception differentiates.

Even self-awareness differentiates.

What integrates?

                                                You’re trying too hard.

But it revolves around Merry. The whirled

                                                Is all ways infinitely veri us

                                                And immaculate.

                                                Come on, admit it:

She always was God.

  

11. The Lovers

They say his mother never loved.

That sure as hell makes her

Some bloodless goddess for the hypocrites.

 

Before he thinks about the desert,

Conceives himself a cock to rouse the world,

He and Madeleine fuck, and therefore love.

I hear him whisper like the leaves

In Augustine’s garden, hear him sweating

On Madeleine’s breasts, hear them rock,

Hear him whisper just before they come,

            “Do unto me as I do unto you.

             The Kingdom of Heaven is within you.”

 

 

12. The Horned God

1. Those who think

 Fucking is good

 Are on the side of God.

 

             2. Those who think

             Fucking is evil

             Are on the side of the devil.

 

3. Christ sits at God’s rite side

 And is God’s rite hand.

 

             4. Satan sits at God’s left side

             And is God’s left hand.

 

5. Neither hand knows

 What the other hand’s doing.

 

6.       Sex is a metaphor.

 

 

13. Isis Valed

Lady, Eden was the world

When Adam, uninformed by sex

Or word, was not yet man.

Since mercy masks us from the sword,

From all of God in every path,

Can we sing the virgin leaf

That’s Eden if we saw it flame?

 

Hail, graceful lady,

By whose grace I see

The leaf flame in itself!

But, Lady, how can we perceive

That now you are the second Eve

By whose fruit we are reprieved

From the cell where first Eve falls,

Deceived into a single self?

 

 

14. The Star                                                                

The Lady is not mayd

By words, but we

Sing by words

The unmayd thing

We never say

That makes us sing.

 

Although I am the tree

I think I see,

Somehow, Lady,

Let me sing,

Let my song be, the thing

Itself, the tree.

 

 


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