The Lion Path
4/17/22 Sunday. Easter, Orchids for Ruth.The very darkness of Puritan thought at bay is the American Renaissance. The American Renaissance, to hear Martin Amis and Wallace Stevens' biographer contend the elements of transcendentalism and realism in Stevens, already early set the stage for understanding that American poetry is a re-litigation and a religion, as is American fiction. It replaces the stuff from which Whitman and Dickinson, Crane and Stevens got their inspiration in the first place, the enthusiasms of the KJV Bible, but not just the book, the life and surety they drank from their homes among these folk or at least absorbed from those who led them highest, the way Hopkins did Crane. Afterward, in the critics and professors who make them known to the culture the leavings become a substitute religion of truth, the way Dostoevsky and Kafka are for a slightly wider set. But, again, these are extractions, not ore mined for gold, but throwing out the gold for the rest. As everyone knows the gold is in the finding, the process of the knowing its nearly unspeakable joy.The hillsides of these writers are a perfect gold age Raleigh wanted, where gold the size of a walnut or a child's head can be picked up from the ground. Or call them gems in Whitman, Dickinson, Crane, to change the metaphor slightly, the volcanic pressures that form the carbon into diamond from intense pressure deep within the kimberlite, but then rejected for the surface rock when what these best critics like Bloom and Hartman want most of all, as does Elon Musk, the experience itself, not what it made in Crane imperfect, but what it will make in them first hand. That is the experience they all long for. To walk in the garden.
From desire to weariness to desire, live for when vision comes to weariness, like terrible lightning every movement in feeling or in thought, to prepare in the dark its own increasing clarity, confidence its own executioner.
Iago is another agency man pouring doubt into Othello’s Hamlet father Banquo’s ear, our case Earwicker’s ear and Claudius, Hamet’s uncle pours into his father’s ear, lots of poison there and if Baghdadi worked for CIA, he the “American caliph” of Iraq dismemberment scenario, super Baghdadi, Oswald, too, then their last words count, something about betrayal of the hand that fed so that we see betrayals are the matter to dip a sop in the dish with which would be the same in some worlds as the betrayal of Joyce and Yeats to turn pyramids on their id sides to form cones interpenetrating in the structure of A Vision of the Vatican of the west, a Finnegan's’ Wake to wake the parody of the individual assassination of Banquo into the assignation of the world. Wake is no longer death but life. And who knows but that world is worlds, Egypt not only come to Rome but to Ireland among the Lochloins and Finn Mac Cool. Ramses Tut in this new history of the inseparability of the probable from the improv, telling their symbolic myth of the human form, out-Blake, where the immortals wake in their mummies to speak the secret name, overthrow the kings, the kings, the things on the bosom of eternal.
Now let it be said they erred faintly in the changeover of the world from its primary tincture to the approaching antithete. Even if the inhabitants of Dublin were offspring of the Vikings you’d think they be about bringing up Finnegan again the way Yeats promised to write a volume from the grave for that Finnegan is a legend of antichrist coming awake when it had been killed, we stun to learn, as the Everyman father of Shem and Shaun, that is the Egyptian of events to follow. Can these bodies live? They tied them to the mouths of cannons and shot them in the air. Blow a Sepoy up and out in the deep sleep of nations homeless to believe Oslo an outpost of Tucktomen on the Adriatic, and i looked through all the dynasties and could not find his name, which it if dislocates thy mynde look for three worlds of symbolism, history and daily life to clarify where Banquo’s life is a record of events of the entire life of the nations. Not just one so far.
Tincture tincture on the wall bring us back to where we were, and everything began where everything begins when discord falls into vortex and concord reaches the center and shrouded time is emptied out and they turn and run in circles around themselves, pass before and increase in their turn, Empedocles distributing, attributing the diminishing to nothing and interfeasting to the opposing each in the middle of the other’s base and there we have before us worlds, the one world burrowing on into another world. Egypt drove to France and all of solid fire / and gold, this hand to touch / her Baby long to man / Gesheuntight Finn / erse solid west of his comprachioes --to quote a street ballad in that way.
4500 steps
5/13/22 the Egyptian ollave, a learned man in ancient Ireland, of the Irish erev rav, the Egyptians who went along in the Exodus. Some where they call them ephebe ones after the Gks but if at center it is day and night they fight when Nurses to the trams are gone And the prams go rolling on. All signs of prams the alpha talk, bred into brains with beatings and boasting, be an ollave be an olive for you should under the cunning Osiris creeping along the river bottom looking for his parts, being the the dozen or so arms legs liver gizzer mind contact with the maa-mu as he must think unity and effort as he calls out shhh, in the night at the groans and wheezes disturbing his mediosleep, but it is himself not the four capitals of the origins of history scissioned that fell full when he transmarried the one onnan, Atum, can there be any doubt, Nun, we know, the waters that were not, then were, then only were, then were not and never more shall be where could he stand and offered himself as a hill, hello rock but not believe it will not last the pram and tram empire to net the light to unam sanctum eat the mile long Onesine, the hundred letter omnino esse de necessitate salutis buried in the grass with the mummy Giza Osi trying to sleep, the grfasses whistering him he hears at night and says shhh, don’t you know I’m, shhh simultaneous a beat of the simultaeneous scatter those 12 or so parts to finger the battle of the night against the day, down there was shud a clatter, a shatter, a shudder, then Sankey sunk to the af-invented gates for twelve pieces found by then, one in the hill gate, two in the glade, three on the mount gate, four in the spring, five in nest, six rang from limbs, seven swiming away on the pool, eight a beaver catching, nine by the hen, ten, well ten was helioplit the center part hour of stillness he ran a line up and down to measure the culminated day and night, eleven his precognition, twelve the basket where he lay, he kept himself in and that is as far as he got on the pylon collapsed pylon on the east bank of his emergence of faith, for burglars stole two parts of his pistis, the so the ollave driven out thought he was what the record said in a letter found by hen about the periploi south and the buried Babel buried there, not in Ireland sonny, a third of it sunk into the ground so it don’t show so well the capsized husk, pieces of Alp pasted over it we don’t like to speak their names too husky the immorts presuming to wake, wakey wakey time to go to school! The land league, bog peat, the turf folk dudes, Wakey wakey, you can’t sleep all day! Wakey wakey, humpty shine the hills you think your coming in but not, being officially deranged, the potlatch not your blood dispersed parts delivered to reunite when twilight are dispenses parts and Parousia recovers the lost, day being night and night as day.
The flies are the eyes a myth of Palintir
a statue of ZEUS,
god of flies and death. image has
white eyes and blood-smeared cheeks. only look at those houses and
tell me how they strike you. You will observe there's not a window anywhere.
They open on closed courtyards, I suppose, and turn their back-sides to the
street
THE TUTOR- Only that? We met him on the road to Delphi. And when we took the boat at Itea,there he was, fanning that great beard in the bows. At Nauplia we couldn't move a step withouthaving him at our heels, and now—here he is again! [leviathan] Do you think that chance explains it? [Hebrushes the flies off his face.] These flies in Argos are much more sociable than its townsfolk.Just look at them! [Points to the IDIOT BOY.] There must be a round dozen pumping away at each of his eyes, and yet he's smiling quite contentedly; probably he likes having his eyes sucked. That's not surprising; look at that yellow muck oozing out of them. [He flaps his hands at the flies.] Move on, my little friends. Hah! They're on you now. Allow me! [He drives them away.] Well, this should please you—you who are always complaining of being a stranger in your native land. These charming insects, any-how, are making you welcome; one would think they know who you are. [He whisks them away.] Now leave us in peace, you buzzers. We know you like us, but we've had enough of you. . . . Where can they come from? They're as big as bumble-bees and noisy as a swarm of locusts.
[Meanwhile ZEUS has approached them.]
ZEUS:
They are only bluebottles, a trifle larger than usual. Fifteen years ago a
mighty stench of
carrion
drew them to this city, and since then they've been getting fatter and fatter.
Give them
another
fifteen years, and they'll be as big as toads
---argues the synchronicity premise leviathan a mythical Hydra with the moving heads and slippery tongues and all of that I fee this creatue growing eyes that look in many directions I sense the long necks wih dragon heads that move as the the research moves in my my mind it does not meearely react to what you do it follows with you almost as if it knos were you are going for perhaps where you should be going and hee’s another twisted thing about this living entity it wants to be causht it almost dares you it reveals clues that only you could find specifically tailored for you and only you
These Fortean incidents… a st3ep-up in the level of synchronity that surrounds their lives. I can now say that the more involved you choose to be, the deeper and more profound these experiences become.
Until the galleon was discovered in the middle of the jungle [halfway through chapter 1] I didn’t really think the book would get anywhere.” One Hundred Years of Solitude
Hart Crane and Hopkins esp Windhover and Lachyrame Christi Ivor Winters read The Wreck of the Deutschland and other poems to Crane, who responded enthusiastically: [a letter to Winters, January 28 1928] 'It is a revelation to me”of unrealized possibilities. I did not know that words could come so near a transfiguration to pure musical notation”at the same time retaining every minute literal signification! What a man—and what daring! (Crane 568)
Gargoyle 1964: Grief, depravity and slave hood, insanity judgement and salvation are the themes of those first pieces in the gargoyle of 64-all unmasked and intimate. No wonder the drexel establishment library does not acknowledge that mag, it takes them all to account it scares them to death.
Links Charles h. kerr publishing
Ottawa Surrealist Group members and friends:
International Surrealist Groups and Individuals in No Particular Order
Fresh Dirt (Alabama, Virginia)
Icecrawler/Heelwalker (Theory – Stockholm Surrealist Group)
International Surrealist Group Activities
Analogon / Surrealist Group of Czechia / Prague
Much more exhaustive link-list from Stockholm, including pages for individual surrealists:
Peculiar Mormyrid-sent Jerry Arstarchius
Emancipatory surrealist What is surrealism, if not the enchanted hammer that breaks the bars of the iron cage that imprisons us? commodity fetishism leads many individuals to confuse freedom with the free choice of a product on the shelves. https://peculiarmormyrid.com/surrealism-and-freedom-michael-lowy/https://peculiarmormyrid.com/surrealism-and-freedom-michael-lowy/
