We are charged and driven,
dying to be
imprinted onto whiteness,
the minds dark ink
reprinted in endless new editions.
Some call this poetry,
how we are compelled to rehearse
deathbed scenes torn from our youth,
then others tell nothing at all,
but tap to unwrap
a brief and breathless thought.
Now we are this electric signaling
upon the lids of space-boards -
open casket viewings,
our penny-weight eyes,
rising to a world where a life
can be replayed once more.
Thought I perhaps should let all my friends see,
How touched I was on finding this letter to me,
Found by mistake, after so many years,
I collapsed into buckets of tears,
A treasure bequeathed to me, was meant to be.
POST-SCRIPT:
As the writing is faint
in the scan above I have typed it out
for ease of legibility.
Abu Ben Adhem
(poem by Hunt, James Henry Leigh)
(1784-1859)
Has been translated in Greek by
Dimitrios Stais (as per manuscript
in possession of his son Panos Stais)
This small note is sent to
Jennifer Alan Hunt, the great
grand-daughter of Dimitri
Stais.
Of course, poems of many other
authors of this "English Verse"
Oxford Book were translated
in Greek by Dimitris Stais,
but I simply make mention of
the one titled as above because
of the author's name. (HUNT)
May I express the
wish, dearest Jennifer, that
one of the future editions of
Sir Arthur Quiller-Couch
comprise some of your cherished
poems.
With lots of love
your gd father
Panos
Athens 19th December 1968
From Genes to Brains to Books
Lap in words from these Brooks
Pan ideas heavy to swirl analysis
There, assimilate your anonymous
Fill your Mind to cast first Editions
Emulate Gutenberg's Impressions
Now, aspire to be
SET FREE
The glossy acrylic smell of new editions
is cordite to my nose,
an explosive mixture of - need to know.
I finger trawl over dust covers
mindreading unread masterpieces.
Movies ransacked many of these novels,
hearsay and word of mouth
account for aisles
of open secrets and
commonly revealed revelations.
I should obtain a dozen or so acclaimed sagas,
display them on a prominent shelf –
because, well, one really ought to,
or maybe just read last chapters,
if not too long.
too grand
running
around
turned
to
absolute
sounds
recalled
secrets
painstakinly
plotted
&artfully
arranged
regularly
contiued
motivates
things
of life
times
undertood
by
editions
made
for happiness
George Rodrigue never expected the Blue Dog to be his ticket to fame
But it is, and it has never stopped
If you were one of the lucky ones, you have first editions
Purchased for a mere pittance on the streets of New Orleans
Others can copy it, but they had better not.
Everyone knows who has rights to the Blue Dog
George has become rich off of him, and rightly so
It was just last night.
I was not sleepy, nor did
I want to watch tv. I had
read the Bible earlier.
I came across 3 old copies of
one of my favorite magazines that
I had not read for some time. I
had 3 editions and read portions
of each of them.
One edition had a story about America's
nicest cities. It was a great story about
how the city came together during a potential
crisis and avoided a potential riot.
I love reading as well as interacting with
certain items of print that I read. For
example, this magazine has a very popular
page that tests one's vocabulary. For the
most part, the words are not everyday words
and are usually very challenging.
Last night, as always, the readings were all
very pleasurable, but my vocabulary score was
not, which made the reading a bittersweet
experience.
My Score? Let's just say that this magazine
is very nice and kind with human sensibilities.
There were three categories of performance.
Genius, Mental Giant, and Prodigy. I was a bit
disappointed with me, but was encouraged
when the magazine deemed me a Prodigy.
020223PSCtest, A Simple Pleasure, Julia Ward.
Ranks of glossy printed editions
squeezed into a concertina of space.
The acrylic smell of new books
is cordite to my nose.
Then in softer contrast,
the musky ambiance of the old and well-thumbed,
a well used dust on dust-covers.
A tactile nosegay of leather-bound
classics.
Fact or fiction,
all are revelations revealed.
The appeal of the alphabetically ordered,
arrayed in an athenium
of only passing inquiry.
Movies have usurped many of these stories,
as well as Wikipedia factoids, reviews, e-books,
and word of mouth accounts.
I crouch and stretch
in a confined alcove for a few volumes
that have kept their obscure tales
under cryptic wraps.
I could take them home, maybe fill a single shelf;
speed-read my way through,
read the blurbs and the last chapters,
just in case I am ever asked.
Safe Yank
The American was a typical man of his breed
Loving guns and weapons and ammunitions
He had a huge collection of firearms at home
Well over 300 rifles and hand guns of all kinds
From Red China via Albania to Belgium
And American editions along with Russian
He went to the range twice a week to shoot
Keeping up his proficiency in case of threat
Whether the threat of Communist invasion
Or Muslim extremists targeting malls and buses
He was ready to go and all set for the war
His bunker was prepped for the Boogaloo
If it happened was a different matter
In his head he’d fought it a hundred times
With a dozen different battle plans
He won every single time for he was right
With the best training intent and will power
Plus Sweet Lord Jesus was on his side
What could possibly go wrong in war?
It would come calling soon enough
MAJOR INSOMNIA
CORPORAL SLEEP
Nick Armbrister and other writers
Acclimatization is a serious matter.
I mean one cannot keep bouncing around
a kaleidoscopic chameleon-like center
can one?
Therefore I have almost absolved myself from
causing all that emotional mayhem
that a youthful spirit engages upon
not having yet acclimatized itself
to whom I was, or to what I would become.
Was it my fault that all those
‘soon to be’ lovers
bought a copy of me,
an unedited work in progress?
Most who waded in the ankle-deep shallows
of those earlier days were but rough drafts,
early editions of what they eventually turn into.
The maxim: “they know not what they do”
has to apply or we would never arrive at that stage
of namely and to wit,
that stabilized imperfection most achieve.
Though I do pity the girls
who bought that knock-off copy of me,
the women who were scammed
by a none-copyright version of myself,
but to be fair,
they also were none-acclimatized
and should have saw
the dire warning: caveat emptor.
Imagination Owl was tired today.
He had collected first and second editions
And kept the wolves and hounds away.
Everyone had heard about his collection and wanted a peek.
He was not against showing them, but he had a tired beak.
Tomorrow they want you to do a reading in Des Moines.
He was the kind of orator and reader that many seek.
He had a gravelly voice, and he rarely charged more than a coin.
Not tomorrow, he stated. I need a break of a day or maybe two.
He was tired of fan mail, suppers with widows and old maids.
He sat down at his fire and played a bit with the annoying flu.
Then opened up some missives and read those that made the grade.
When he finished reading the things that delighted him the most,
He took out a pen and wrote the beginning of a fine exciting tale.
He would apologize to his agent, his mother, and his persistent host.
But tonight he wanted a good book, a fire and some fantastic ale.
When we check out the room
Of the speakers on Zoom
Our eyes start their job of assessing
For the objects that loom,
Nothing staged, we assume,
Give us hints of what they are possessing.
Every bookcase, so neat!
Offers clues, though discreet,
Of editions that they have been reading
And the artwork we greet
In each private retreat
Makes us think, “Oh, that’s just what I’m needing!”
The celebrities’ digs
For these stay-at-home gigs
May cause envy of spaces resplendent
But the biggest of wigs
Might be living like pigs
When they aren’t on-camera transcendent.
NOVELTIES
by Thomas Campion
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Booksellers laud authors for novel editions
as pimps praise their whores for exotic positions.
Original Latin text:
IN LIBRARIOS
Impressionum plurium librum laudat
Librarius; scortum nec non minus leno.
Keywords/Tags: Campion, Latin, translation, epigram, literature, novels, novelties, books, write, writing, writings, booksellers, publishers, authors, pimps, whores, prostitutes, prostitution, exotic, positions, praise, trade, career, analogy, quote, quotation, saying, witticism, bon mot, words
The ‘classics’ section is not small.
Ranks of tightly printed editions
squeeze a concertina of time.
The glossy acrylic smell of new books
is cordite to my nose,
I dodge a graphic array of explosive masterpieces.
Movies have usurped many of these books
Wikipedia factoids précis lengthy sagas,
Hearsay, and word of mouth
account for whole aisles of masterpieces.
There are just a few left,
books that keep their obscure tales
under cryptic wraps.
I could take them home, maybe fill a single shelf –
speed-read my way through,
or maybe just read the blurb and the last chapter
just in case I am ever asked.
Who needs a boost?
With endorphins you are always in the driving seat.
Belt up about clean bill!
Self love, self acceptance come in standard and
De Lux Editions, jewel case or soft pack
signed by the inner peace within.
Put those axons and dendrites to work.
Pump up those dormant alkalies asleep on the job.
Treat yourself well,
be your best health care plan,
be that one and only healer,
wave goodbye to doctors bills!
Sub Categories
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