CHORUS
We lost Brigitte Bardot
Oh no! Oh no!
Now she can talk to Judy Dench
(Of course she can’t: she’s French!)
VERSE 1
You stayed at home
and learned to dance
when Germany invaded France.
You grew up with
a curvy corps
and quickly learned
what it was for.
BRIDGE
Sartre famous for his jokes,
Piaf sang a song or two:
Picasso stunned us with his strokes,
and you we’d simply like to screw.
VERSE 2
When the Germans
had to leave,
that’s when God
created Eve!
Lovely parts,
lovely pout,
and not afraid
to get them out!
Sartre was precise in his definition of hell
Excluded from humanity for just a case of birth
I’m punished for the others and why they’ll never tell
I’m living through insanity of those who rule the earth
Don’t count on the nation thing, this is exaggeration
Don’t intergrate me with the subject that I’m not
No Charlie Hebdo cover depicts this situation
There’s no excuse for me, despite there are a lot
No law of social death exists, yet it is used in practice
No paragraph declares about my human rights
Cursed for the land I’m in, I cannot live like this
Yet I keep carry on, though for the rest I died
The stupid role of victim prepared for me to play
I diss in full assurance that it was planned by those
Who didn’t care about the sense I’ve found today
Excluded from humanity, I stop to smell the rose.
Hiding again from the dazzling sun
Why am I here, I’ve no clue
There’s no necessity to walk around
No urgent business to do
Sounds like I’m killing the time, but I’m not
It is exactly the opposite
Time is the killer in this endless plot
With a space, an accomplice of it
It’s never a conscious purpose of mine
To sit in the Outside Looking Inn
One time its whiskey, one time its wine
And sometime a deluted gin
I wonder if Mr. Debussy comes round
With his friends Ravel and Satie
I guess they would talk to themselves rather loud
It would have been quite a party
And I can imagine me in Deux Magots
Mr. Jean Paul Sartre puts his pipe out
And says if one proves what existence is for
I’ll buy for the house a round
I’m pleasing myself with illusions, you’d say
I have to agree, in this place
Out of sight, my time shuffles away
With its old accomplice, a space.
"There is only one day left, always starting over: it is given to us at dawn
and taken away from us at dusk." ~ Jean-Paul Sartre
It’s a twilight time
and a veil of serenity
descends over the earth,
the sun lolls momentarily
upon the calm waters
of a sluggish sea.
Vistas of sylvan charm
seemed to open ahead and
a somnolent dusk pervades
every aspect of this weary world…
like a man on his deathbed
finally rests at peace with himself—
All his sins confessed and forgiven
and is now free from all concerns.
If Sartre was right
and
“Hell Is—Other People”
then
Isolation holds the key
that
opens perception’s door
(Dreamsleep: September, 2022)
I sabotaged my eight-millimeter childhood.
I never knew Sartre
But I contorted my latex face,
Burying my nothingness in family films.
My child was scripted to be ugly, skipped over
In comic relief.
Only recognizable as Menoetius,
My only animation was insolence.
I believed nothing in myself,
I knew nothing.
I sought my masquerade in
Metaverse avatars,
Really just 2D analog shadows,
Swaying waves of gray on ashen tv tubes.
Without convictions, I was convicted.
My craven rudeness landed me
In squalid wreckage,
The debris of my dormant sea,
Forsaken a million or more times,
Rebuffed and scorned,
I succumbed to my dense exhaustion.
I shut down where sleep had no form,
Where space-time is an illusion.
Some hint of dream touched and aroused me.
Some anamnesis so much greater than any containment!
I awakened sweaty, wretched, and authentically flawed,
savoring the sudden phenomenal enigma,
Ready to learn the endless patterns
of all the passions and sciences.
Love so you may understand, says Aristotle
I read this with a vague startle.
Love's no ordinary knowledge, says Foucault
who made power/knowledge into an occult.
Love thy neighbor, says the Lord
I'm in complete accord
but with the caveat
he changes his old coat.
Love is absurd, says Camus
an existential muse.
But for Sartre love is joy in action
a fine contraption.
For Luther it meant divine agape
in tension with eros's landscape.
I settle with Plato's art of beauty
and Rousseau's free will instead of duty.
All that's best in theology of love
particularly Dr. King's gift of love,
yet beware of perils of self-love.
Last night
it was a whispering wind
All the windows
I had left open
An impressive poetry
of the wind in
the mosquito net
So said Jean-Paul Sartre
With your geometry
I was doing red and blue
calligraphy
Now it's a sullen morning
Sky wearing a cloud coat
Nowhere a speed boat
However
I regard it as good
Had the life been
a monotony of
only swollen mosquito nets
the calligraphy would
obviously have lost
its curvy geometry
There
you are bending down
picking flowers
from the ground
the brown gown
touching the long grass
I am a woodpecker
with a crush
forgetting my breakfast
The door bell rang
I came to
The newspaper
A political leader arrested
for taking bribe
A scribe under threat
Rattling cups and plates
in the kitchen
In the distant park
a young girl engrossed
in a chatting session
with the sunflowers
“When you have nothing to write about, write about nothing”
Christine Mazumdar - CBC Literary Writing Tip, 6:00 am, April 13, 2021
I'll not venture into Sartre, that's too existential
for in these viral times, my needs are fundamental
although it's hard to stop my being self-referential.
Where does my mouse prompt go when it disappears
before I go into Device Manager to return it now to here?
and with so many dying, why have I neither fear nor tears?
For deep inside lies nought but emptiness
which almost rhymes with nothingness
and a fear that it's all meaningless.
Neurotechnology,
a gift or a bane
With thoughts simply neurons,
case structure our brains
Is humanity destined
to merely plug in
Will all beauty and truth
be a programmer’s whim
And what of our history
that starts to rewrite
Will all paradox suffer,
conversation contrite
From Plato to Sartre,
one thing is the same
The essence of man
—will a mystery remain
(St. David’s Pennsylvania: March, 2021)
If
“Condemned To Be Free”
as Sartre said,
Then
doom me forever
—unchained and unled
(Bryn Mawr Pennsylvania: February, 2021)
Existence before essence as Sartre said
Xylographed from fountain and ink pen
In wood words intentions and meaning
Sculptures of thought bound in reality
Telescoped into prisms of here and now
Entropy thrown in for good measure
Nothing is impossible do what you wish
Take what is yours and not what they say
It is not freedom from but freedom to do
A chocolate needn’t know why it tastes goods
Leave the wrapper for the end enjoy while it lasts
Surrender to incredible living for real action
Water mouth-watering pleasures and leave
Essence as an afterthought as ex post factual
Enter phenomenal existence and be authentic
To choose responsibility over dogmatic faith
Saunter and take in the fleeting moments to live
07th February 2021
'Existence comes before essence' is the main tenet of
Jean Paul Sartre's existential philosophy
I've since forgotten nearly now
All my schooling, my meditations
I am where I am, my tracks all gone
Gurus, the sentients, seers, sages
Enlightened speakers through the ages
Only conclusions, refrains remain
I hear loud voices along the way
Their slogans, sayings, mere repetitions
Arguments of logic: Descartes, Sartre
Shadowy souls of philosophy past
Silent statues sounding shallow words
In corridors of museums of thought
Feeling a self-imposed island
Then who to turn to, except myself
Comforts of ego, identity once known
Deception consumes my reality
It's lonely here - onliest here
The place of no illusion, no paths
Letting go, one of the toughest things
Cannot say what benefits it brings
My trail, my wake, has dissipated
No one to see my self dissolution
Allay fears, dry my tears, prod my peers
This, the unique uncommon moment
Now is the time for my commitment
Observing for me has long been done
Every solitary step: best be brave
The ringing bell can't be unrung
Reality's song can't be unsung
Reality has no forward or back
No such thing as time, only being
Just me to face, the onliest place
10/20
Gurus religion and spiritual leaders encourage us to kindly
Reflect on meaning and soul for the sake of compassion
Existence before essence takes another stance on ethical life
As Sartre lies in his grave his message stands firm just the same
To heal confusion and balance dysfunction with a humble mind
Eternal infinite and impermanent uncertainties challenge
Serenity and the pedestal may threaten to be a garrotte
Calling for honesty and moderation in the face of defeat
Anton once stood at a crossroad with a noose round his neck
Pondered persecution death and the illusion of prison
Emblazoned by provocations of doubt he had a great escape
14th January 2020
WHERE DID I COME FROM AND WHY AM I HERE?
WHERE AM I GOING? WHY IS IT UNCLEAR?
IS THERE ONE WITH ANSWERS LISTENING TO PRAYERS?
AM I SIMPLY HERE FOR AN UNSEEN SOMEWHERE?
IS LIFE JUST A GYM WHERE I SIIMPLY WORKOUT
SWEATING AND GRUNTING AND HIKING ABOUT
DOING BI'S AND TRI'S AND THIGHS TILL I'M BEAT
GETTING A SICK PACK AND THEN I'M COMPLETE?
WELL, I AM FAMILIAR WITH MONSIEUR DESCARTES
PASCAL AND ROUSSEAU, SHAKESPEARE AND SARTRE
I'M ONE WITH BUDDAH, WITH YIN AND WITH YANG
GOT FAITH IN JESUS, ALLAH AND THE GANG
IS LIFE JUST A HORSE RACE, BEST TO BET WIN OR LOSE
AND FAITH THE WINNER IN THE GOD THAT YOU CHOOSE?
IT'S ALL PREPARATION, A NOBLE PURSUIT?
AND HEAVEN OR HELL, THE REWARD, WHAT A HOOT.
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