i can't even appreciate my own, it's like it's supposed to
be a lost finger, because upon reading poetry by women
i slide into young-adult delusional
associations with my own; it's women's poetry that's potent,
i know the giants homer and virgil made the narrative epic,
but i mean the snappiness, the snappy poetry of intelligence
that's like a dropped handkerchief picked up by a dog-collared
crow of sabbath with foolery, to escape the trade of alms
and last rites, that horrid trade of the briefest farewell
and all that coffin in autobiography: coffins for coffers;
rarely a poem about the liver or the pancreas, it's all from
the heart, but as honesty goes - i said it once already -
if all my poetry came from the heart - i couldn't -
it either comes from the liver or from my ****.
i guess that's how we'll survive, with the cleopatras and
catherines of this world, singing them lullabies
of our misappropriated "endowment." but what's eerie
about today is that the house is empty, a funeral is taking place,
a plumber has died... a plumber...  talk of 40 a day, beer
and dead before 60.
wife, tick.
children, tick.
grandchildren, tick.
but i can't understand this depth of things: the jews move eloquently
from border to border, picking up language after
language without really accenting the acquired tongue, as i did too,
but i don't understand why i would have to be seduced by
the accusation that i don't belong here, that i'm being too
audacious, too prickly and not funny - or why,
before all the troubles started the muslim preachers on edgware road
thought that i was german trying to convert me -
i don't know anymore, maybe i am, after all father said that
his grandfather had a wehrmacht dagger hidden in the cellar,
so the ageing is a bit perfect to dot dot dot the pieces together.
but what i mean is: well, after living here since one can remember,
but having the burden of acquiring a mother tongue
i sometimes feel like i'm in no man's land, i can't drop the mother
tongue, i'm using the acquired tongue more than the mother tongue
cognitively, but i read philosophy in the mother tongue
because i can't read philosophy in this acquired tongue;
i guess that's due to the overstrain done by darwinism in the english
tongue, i mean, there's a lot of good philosophy to
be read, but in english it's too much of a darwinistic
revocation - it's not like you could read sartre
talking about voyeurism through the keyhole
without imagining yourself a monkey,
it's the whole imagining the origin,
it's the whole: image - monkey - phonetic content - ooh ooh ooh.
it predates accounts of history, this whole take
from darwinism; i face the fact that darwinism
eroded much of history, it's like groundhog day,
that's why the media are so pulverising, so concentrated,
so seemingly omnipresent, 24h... the whole of
human history stopped! it's because when
humanity started to record **** happening
using phonetic symbols rather than pictures of antelopes
in caves, it started to record history,
but darwinism kinda erased that... so what's the
news now? oh right, skeletons, lookalike skeletons.
this isn't an argument against darwinism using theology,
just look at history, it stopped, we're living
in a 24h pre-recording awaiting various paranoias.