A RAKE’S PROGRESS: A COMEDY IN TWO ACTS (redux)

(I have radically revised a poem of a few days ago, and wanted to post the finished version.)

 

Prologue:

When you are the tempest

You don’t notice the gale

Swirling tumult menace

 

In the calming after the threat

You shudder at what could have been

Destruction skirting rash choices, obnoxious, noxious

Act I:

For this life it was long life in schools,

For others it could be other—say, family, workplace, working the land, art

My academic life so much this life, persistent

How I absorbed—no—consumed knowledge, consumer of knowledge

A student indebted to the luxury of lux, illumination

Guided and goaded through many books, no one could count how many books

No one could count how many names and footnotes,

Greater and lesser luminaries in the skies of every age—

Rishis, Lao Tzu, Homer, Moses, Buddha, Jesus, Muhammed

Geoffrey Chaucer, William Shakespeare, William Blake, Percy Bysshe Shelley, T. S. Eliot

Adi Shankaracharya, Plato and all his footnotes: Thomas Hobbes, Descartes, Immanuel Kant,

Soren Kierkegaard, Auguste Comte, Jacques Derrida, Richard Rorty, Charles Taylor

Reasoning, disputing, inquiring, assimilating, dissipating in pubs after class

Academic identity, subjects discussed, discussing how to discuss

Utilitarianism and Deontological ethics, epistemology the great, narrative, and the favored child

Deconstruction

 

Learning to learn to continue to learn

Living to learn at leisure and pleasure

Learning to grow trying on life, lives

Trying a Hemingwayesque character (to become a man), or The Artist as a Young Man, evolving into self

Yet it wasn’t the schools, the books, the names, that academic style, for this, my life

Nor would it be family, workplace, working the land, art alone for others

In a critical life worth living, not unexamined—passing time unaware

 

To see in a single vision the course of a life

While karma is lived out of developmental stages

Surrounded, bounded, encased within

The facts, that academic style, the collegial camaraderie

Do not make the personality’s lasting completion

Make person, mark lasting brain synapses firmware

Within the encounter with environment, the contours of self are carved

Not necessarily unchanged but the self, persistent

 

Act II:

 

A seed, a stem, a blossom, growth—becoming

The single flower—but is it?

From raging adolescence into combative adulthood

Through economic cooperation vocation teamwork

Emergence: genuine caring, community, the other

The shell that was learning and environment

Husking through what becomes self-development

In fact, new self, though persisting

 

The process of my formal education was

But a shell in which I formed.

The facts, forms of knowing, interlocutor interactions

Outside, the self incubating within the process

How ill-suited I was for a serious academic career

Working through the karma of a developing self,

Headstrong, too sure of a developing self

Indifferent to social norms—“What have I to do with thee?”

The wisdom I acquired was not in the books—

The many books, no one could count how many books, the names and footnotes

But in the crucible the walls of which were the process of my education

 

Epilogue:

 

In the calming after the threat

You shudder at what could have been

Destruction skirting rash choices, obnoxious, noxious

 

A narrow escape from who I was

 

The wisdom I have acquired am becoming, balance in choices affirm

And decorum, more or less, contours of cooperation—no—eco-operation

In sync.  Sympatico I become at peace, bright affection alone with together

A RAKE’S PROGRESS: A COMEDY IN TWO ACTS

Prologue:

When you are the tempest

You don’t notice the gale

Swirling tumult menace

 

In the calming after the threat

You shudder at what could have been

Destruction skirting rash choices, obnoxious, noxious

Act I:

For this life it was long life in schools,

For others it could be other—say, family, workplace, working the land, art

My academic life so much this life, persistent

How I absorbed—no—consumed knowledge

Guided and goaded through many books, no one could count how many books

Reasoning, disputing, inquiring, assimilating, dissipating in pubs after class

Academic identity, subjects discussed, discussing how to discuss

 

Learning to learn to continue to learn

Living to learn at leisure and pleasure

Learning to grow trying on life, lives

Trying a Hemingwayesque character (to become a man), or The Artist as a Young Man,

evolving into self

Yet it wasn’t the schools, the books, for this, my life

Nor would it be family, workplace, working the land, art alone for others

In a critical life worth living, not unexamined—passing time unaware

 

To see in a single vision the course of a life

While karma is lived out of developmental stages

Surrounded, bounded, encased within

The facts, the academic style, the collegial camaraderie

Do not make the personality’s lasting completion

Make person, mark lasting brain synapses firmware

Within the encounter with environment, the contours of self are carved

Not necessarily unchanged but the self, persistent

Act II:

A seed, a stem, a blossom, growth—becoming

The single flower—but is it?

From raging adolescence into combative adulthood

Through economic cooperation vocation teamwork

Emergence: genuine caring, community, the other

The shell that was learning and environment

Husking through what becomes self-development

In fact, new self, though persisting

 

The process of my formal education was

But a shell in which I formed.

The facts, forms of knowing, interlocutor interactions

Outside, the self incubating within the process

How ill-suited I was for a serious academic career

Working through the karma of a developing self,

Headstrong, too sure of a developing self

Indifferent to social norms—“What have I to do with thee?”

The wisdom I acquired was not in the books—the many books, no one could count the books

But in the crucible the walls of which were the process of my education

Epilogue:

In the calming after the threat

You shudder at what could have been

Destruction skirting rash choices, noxious, obnoxious

 

A narrow escape from who I was

 

The wisdom I acquired, and did become and am becoming,

And decorum, more or less, contours of cooperation—no—eco-operation

In sync.  Sympatico become peaceful and am becoming peaceful, become peace

WHAT MATTERS IN THE CHAMBERS OF MY HEART

I played my heart out one sunset flag lowering

Playing taps on trumpet at church camp

How I held that long, lingering note till my breath nearly ran out

It moved everybody—children surrounded me at chapel afterward

Moved me too, I felt it all, feel it still, I’m there, now—44 years later

 

I had played solo trumpet in filled concert halls

Been interviewed on radio about it

But that doesn’t hit me now

Like sunset, flag lowering, at church camp

 

I played trumpet duets that I’d composed

Before and after evening chapel at church camp

44 years ago, and it pleases me now to be there again

 

I played bass at a church Convention worship service

I see the drummer lean forward to look at me

After a drum solo to get in the groove again

I’m there, 5 years ago, even now

 

I played bass in packed bars, jazz clubs, hotel dance floors

Church Convention sits with me more pleasantly, now

 

Then there was Memorial Day at the family trailer campground

Mom and dad and children danced on the cement floor

Mom sang along with the ‘50’s Little Richard song

We played Monkees for a boy who saw them on Nickelodeon TV

And it sits with me like church, 33 years later

 

COVID-19 affords me much time, much occasion to reflect

Success deconstructs in reflecting over a life well-lived

It sits as a matter of what means to me

And meaning is not a matter of acclaim or money

Church and family camping echo pleasantly

Through the chambers of my heart

And sit well with me in reflections of COVID-19

BIRTH AND SECOND BIRTH

Today we celebrate the day that’s you

But I celebrate this day for me, too

On this day you were born into life

As if a second birth, you are to me as if a wife

 

Your birth, your birth to me, made my life live

That is what your birth and what you give

I didn’t really have a life till you

Then you came, then I was born anew

 

Today, this day is all yours and all you

But it’s also all about me, too

Now it’s us, not you or I separate

With you, our life is one eternal date

LIFE IS

Life is not

The acquisition of money, material possessions

Life is

The pursuit of a passion

A life’s dream, a contribution to society

In youth, it is the pursuit of a job

A career, a profession, a calling

In adulthood, it is the maintenance of a lifestyle

In maturity, you realize that life is a pastime

And along the way, it can be

The accumulation of experiences you will be happy to remember

But, in truth, life is

The formation of the kind of person you want to be,

Learning who that is

To be and become who that is

By means of and through and despite

What life will bring your way

To be and become who that is

By whatever powers or Power you know

DOCTRINE AND LIFE

It seems to me that intellectual assent to

Some doctrinal formula

Won’t cut it

If you stay the same person

Or rebirth isn’t new birth at all

And repentance is but a Biblical, Latinate word

Some say faith will do it, alone

Some say without works, faith is dead

If I stay the same, the same nature, natural man, I’m dead

I shudder, chagrin at where I’ve been

And in the development I know hope blossoms

Planted in this fallen, fallible flesh, this clod of clay

Torment, foment, and a breath of inspiration

Bringing life,–they say I’m living better

If living matters amid faith alone

All I can say, can see, is I’m less restless, fractious, caustic, cynic

I know life is better for me, some serenity

I don’t know if it’s the Spirit moving over the faces of the deep

If it’s rebirth,

Or even if new life matters amid intellectual assent to

Some doctrinal formula

I know what I am, and what I am agrees with me

And I agree, assent, with the life coming at me

Aging

I am aging

But I don’t feel like it

I’m as full of life as I was at 20

But young people remind me of my age

When they have no interest in what I have to say

My body reminds me of my age

When it gets stiff, strains, twists, sprains

Days get better

I am happier, more content

Bothered by less

More pleasant

With age

Aging is a good thing

True, death is nearer

I don’t fear it

I’ve had a good run

Given life my best shot

I expect to be here a while yet

Aging is a good thing

Life is a good thing

Saint Lucia (An Epic)

I am posting a poem called “Saint Lucia (An Epic)” over a few days.  It is a long poem in 5 parts.  I am posting one part per day.  Yesterday I posted part I.  Today I post part II.  My girlfriend said that passages in part II sound racist.  My intention is social criticism, not racism and I hope that readers will understand my intention.

II

Arrival: The Resort

Beyond words, beyond generous

Our luxurious resort home for a week

Riding through impoverished exclusively Afric locals

We few white riding into opulence

Did I detect resentment in our driver’s responses to our questions?

 

Morning coffee overlooking the ocean

Reflecting about self, self-esteem, why we are who we are

What we want, what we wish for out of life

 

Last night I saw the Southern Cross for the first time

My camera can’t photograph it

It belongs to the sky—the dark, night sky

 

Breakfast and the pool for a while and some Wallace Stevens

A Hobie-Cat, a snack, and some Wallace Stevens

The pride of the atheist and texts of atheism

Smart words

 

We few white

Pleasant indolence, calm, tranquil

And some Earl Klugh

And there is no time but the clocks and the calendars mark it

What day is it today?

Is it Tuesday?

And enjoying Joe Zawinul

The easy pace-in everything-leads me to wonder if my life in the city is too frenetic

Life Winding Here

The life I’ve led is winding

I have made plans

I have made choices

And the life I’ve led winded here

I can look back

And wonder at the path I’ve taken

The path that took me

Happy with that path in retrospect

The life that winded here

To this pleasant place

Now I am here

Now I am happy

Happy with it all

The path, the past, the present

 

I have choked and spat out

Unhappy options I had little choice but accept

And endure time

But winding to this place

This pleasant place

Here, now

The good path that winded here

Now

 

Yet here faith and mistrust oscillate

This place so contingent

This pleasantness

So easily brought to ruin, potentially

And the future a guess at best

Not even

There is yet faith, growing faith

Trusting that it’s all going to be all right

 

Thinking back

On a life lived long and well

In expectation of life yet to come

Probably long life

As life now

As life was

Will be

To wind to another tomorrow

A Life

There was me

Me getting by

And that’s about it

Just getting by

 

Then there was life

And that life was you

Is you

 

Life now

Living now

Loving now

Loving life

Loving you

 

Even alone, you are in my life

Even in pain, want, struggle

Your pain, want, struggle

My pain, want, struggle

I live, have life

Have a life

Have you

 

In success, accomplishment, happiness

Yours or mine, yours in mine, mine in yours

I live redoubled

Love redoubled

Love life

Love living

Love you

Previous Older Entries Next Newer Entries