On a personal perspective
it has been another day of not too much going on. – Amorella
1949 hours. It has not been productive. I
wanted to write, that is to edit, but so far I haven’t taken the time. I did
get my haircut for the first time in ten weeks according to Marianne my barber.
I am curious about how things are, that is how reality really is if I no longer
existed. In some ways it would be a refreshing look-see.
This is exactly where you are, boy. Such humor. Post. – Amorella
I agree. Such humor, Amorella. Maybe now I’ll
get cracking on Brothers 10.
2016 hours. I have
completed Brothers 10, not too much change that I could see, but I got to the
final line and added;
I think a single line will work but I don’t know what line to use. I took
to the basement and quickly found my 1958, eleventh edition, of “A Coney Island
of the Mind: Poems by Lawrence Ferlinghetti” and re-read “Five” on pages 15 and
16.
Connie’s comment is:
"Warm-hearted,
Connie came into the room, smiling dearly and coerced Richard with a "Let's go, big boy. You need
to be more social."
I can’t think of a line with a twist
that would work.
How about these
lines:
“. . . They stretch him on the Tree to
cool And everybody after that is always making models of this Tree with him
hung up and always crooning His name and calling Him to come down and sit in on
their combo . . .” – Amorella
2230 hours. I have it.
Add and post. –
Amorella
***
The Brothers 10 ©2014,rho,(final)GMG.One
With
Jack contently sitting on his master’s lap Robert sat in the large comfortable chair in the TV room watching an episode
of National Geographic about lions
and hyenas sharing their scrubby desert-like territory beneath Mt. Kilimanjaro.
Jack suddenly jumped off his lap.
“I’m
I interrupting?” said Richard softly as he pets Jack who appeared eager for a
new playmate.
“No,
not in the least. Jack and I were just watching the lions about to attack the
hyenas.”
“Sounds
exciting. Who wins?”
“Lions
I assume, unless fifty hyenas jump out and tear them apart.” said Robert.
“It
all has to do with numbers. I have that in my book with the marsupials. They
are lucky to have three planets to populate rather than just one like us.”
“Hyenas
and lions are not fiction, Richie. You’re marsupials aren’t going to be in National Geographic.”
“I
know, but I am making a point about population. I think we are a little beyond
the lion versus hyena stage. What’s that? How is the male with the cubs?”
“That’s
a female. That’s her clitoris Richie.”
“You’re
kidding!”
“Nope.
She has more testosterone than the male.”
“Holy
crap!”
Robert
deviously flipped the set off. “What’s happening?”
“Nothing.
Cyndi wanted to come over, so I decided to come along.”
Robert
smiled, “How about a Taco Bell?”
Fifteen
minutes later, they are at the local fast food restaurant with two tacos and
two diet Cokes each. “We didn’t bring any poetry along,” said Richard. “I
wanted to see what you are working on in terms of the cemetery poem.”
“I
don’t see it in your poetry.” Robert pulled a tightly folded piece of paper
from his back pocket and pronounced, “Here is a poem you once wrote that I
think can be used in juxtaposition with the one I wrote. The one you read the
other day.” He gave it to Richard to read.
A Sunrise
The
beauty of a clear and Spring-like sunrise
lies in the quiet separation of light and dark
causing the crossbar atop a telephone pole
to shadow down and stretch melancholy out,
to
hold a grounded and subtle shape,
a shape a Nazarene once nailed to a cause;
waiting enough, the moving shadows of a solar ritual
pull
on the gravity of the eye weighted soul,
tugging the soul to settle and set at sundown,
to be overcome by power,
a power resting on
the edge of the universe
and hovering deep in the outback of the observing mind;
It saddles up a god more ancient than Apollo
and makes
him ready to ride a new thought through the cosmos.
***
“I
had forgotten about this one.”
“A
couple of days ago when Ferlinghetti came up, I thought of this poem. It has a
sense of Coney Island of the Mind, ‘Number Five’ in it.”
“The
gravity of the eye-weighted soul, is a good line, but why did you follow with ‘the eye-weighted rather than ‘an eye-weighted soul’ Richie?”
“I
don’t know, Rob. I wrote this more than twenty-five years ago.”
“Then
you go on talking about a power resting at the edge of the universe and you say
it is hovering deep in the outback of your mind. Is that your unconscious --
the power of your unconsciousness coming out?”
Richard
sighed and finished his taco. “The mind is not the same as the brain. It is not
physical. The mind is a shadow of the brain.”
“But
Richie,” noted Robert with a confident smile, “in your mind it appears the other way around, your mind is more real
than your brain, which is then its shadow. The unconscious is not in your brain
at all but in your mind. Isn’t that the way you really see it?”
Richard
thought about his books, “I don’t know,” He paused then responded, "I
don’t know where the words come from. I am a pregnant pause but I didn’t notice
its conception."
"We're
going to get an ice cream, you boys want to come along?" asked Kay from
the kitchen doorway.
"I'm
game," asserted Richard, glad to have a diversion.
"I
think I'll stay," recited Robert. "I have some work to do."
Connie
came into the room, smiled her dear warm-hearted smile, and coerced with a
"Let's go, big boy. You need to be more social."
With
Connie’s comment, lines from poem “5” in the eleventh edition of Ferlinghetti’s
“Coney Island of the Mind” come to Richard’s mind:
. . . They stretch him on the Tree to
cool, And everybody after that, is always making models, of this Tree, with him
hung up, and always crooning His name, and calling Him to come down, and sit in
on their combo . . .
He
replied, “We all need to be more social, Connie.”
***
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