Your Jester said to your Poet That it was best to write What was lowbrow. Your Director saw, And agreed that Appealing to the masses was right. Your Poet, he wanted to stay The course to his highborn ideals. I see that by dumbing down your work You created Faust. Me, I look at the Postmodernist poems And if I tried to write a piece At my absolute worst It would turn out leaps and bounds Better than all but two of those. However, Goethe, those ugly poems Appealed to the masses, The masses of critics Who are the gatekeepers of my success. And I look at your Faust, Knowing it was written to appeal To common men. And here I am In my limited Genius Challenged by it. So, what justice is there If Faust were written today And it were hidden By a din of critics?
Tag: Poetry
Odes of Strangers, XVII
Siegfried Asher, among the Choir I heard your song, like a Castrato Androgynous. Hermaphroditous, Among God's elect, singing The hymns, beautif'lly The hymns,---melodious, sonorous. At a point within the music You touch a note, and realizing its sheer Magnificence, it pleases you,---like Aphrodite You make the gathering fall in love.
Fetishism
Feminist's Armpits Black Nationalist's Hair. White's Materialism. Gay's Pride. Fundamentalist's Young Earth. Atheist's Science. Muslim's Koran. Spiritualist's Karma. Racist's Hand Signs. Gangbanger's Club Colors. Progressive's Socialism. Blue-Collar Masculinity. To me, it's all like a medicine man Shaking his stick And thinking the rain comes from it.
What Lay Beneath
Word and Tao seem to be called opposites Yet, each speaks to the same discovered truth. Beyond the legalistic letters we Try to use, lies the sense of expressed truth. Not through matter of interpretation But through matter of the senses given We understand one another through truth. Even more, that lay hid beneath all things Is an unseen force which does define them. That we, attempting to stray from that path Do create for ourselves unhappiness; For underneath everything is the truth Which cannot be expressed by the letter But can be fully expressed through the sense. For it is this sense which defines all things And straying from this sense is what creates Bitterness, malaise and unhappiness. And this same thing is the proof of God's Will.
Prose Poem
I bought a little book of prose poems, which were all offensive to my ears. Every gaudy little line, every tacky little phrase, every grandiloquent little flowery line. One I read didn't like Hosea, who condemned adulterers to death. I think to myself, "We all deserve to die, you hypocrite." They talk about environmentalism. Offensive, draught, drivel, burning in my ears are these parasitic ostriches, and simplistic metaphors. That such would even be published, that such would even be brought to this mind nurtured and succored on the ancient belles-lettres of the past. I hate it. Yet, I would have it never burned, for everyone can have their say. For the only offense it has committed against me, is that it is published and I am not. Should my writing be among the principle letters read for generations, this angst would be sufficed, and I would be at peace. Yet, it is the simplicity of this book which causes people to misunderstand the great art form of Poetry. It is like a puzzle, which entails listening for an hour's time to a few hundred words. But, no one will give my poetry the time because simple poems have dominated the market. So I burn with jealousy; and if I should burn in this unrequited passion, I still should not throw the book into the blaze. For, though hot, and angry, and fuming, it will help me understand someone else. And with that is wisdom worth the twenty-four dollars I spent on it.
Judgment
That God kills an adulterer or a homosexual It does not bother me. That courts put to death a murderer It does not bother me. That vengeance pour out into the street And my hand has to take another's life... It will not. Solemnly I will let myself be killed And rest in peace within the comforts of the grave. For, the modern man is the opposite. They have frustration that God Will stone the homosexual But envision for themselves The murders they will commit in self defense. I believe in the Gospel because I do not have to judge But, I also believe because there will be judgment.
Drinking Rum with Obama
In a dream, I had a tiny beer mug And a shot glass. I dripped the liquor from the shot glass Into the tiny beer mug and sipped it. However, I was in a Kindergarten Class Where the rum wasn't allowed So I hid it, but Obama and I Were cool. We were just watching a movie with the kids. Obama was sitting jovially with me--- He really is a nice dude--- As I sipped on a little, tiny beer mug of rum Pouring from the shot into the smaller beer mug, just enough to taste. It was very modest, you must understand. I was very diligent to drink only the slightest bit So I could never be called irresponsible. And I could taste the rum, and it tasted delicious. But, it soon began to spill all over me As I transferred the rum from the two cups So, at last, I took a healthy swig From the original shot glass When I became impatient with spilling The rum all over myself. Finally, it was time for me to leave. So, I wrapped the rum up in a shirt To sneak it out of school. Obama had left, and was at the staircase of the daycare After the two of us were done watching the movie; We were both the teachers of the class. And, I picked up the rum Very carefully, But still dropped it onto the floor. It didn't take much But the glass shattered everywhere And rum poured out over everything. So I tried to clean it up. But, the kids all wanted to play Around in the area where I dropped The bottle, and they all wanted to help me. For, they must have felt my equal And didn't respect my authority Because I had brought alcohol into their school. However, I scolded them Because they were walking all over glass And were only in kindergarten. It would be more dangerous to allow them to help When I was thirty years old and responsible for them. One little guy in particular thought I was threatening him When he couldn't hear me over the din But all I was trying to tell him was that He was playing over glass, where he could get splinters. He thought I was saying "Knife" and was trying to kill him, But I was saying "Glass." I struggled with a vacuum cleaner I had found To pick up all the shards But the kids thought it was playtime And tackled me, hindering even the slightest bit of work. Obama was gone, So, soon, my older relatives came into The room. My mother My Cousin, and someone I hadn't ever seen before Who was about my age. And, they cleaned up my mess; Which, I was trying to clean it up Myself, but the kids weren't helping. Instead they were poking at my eyes And prodding at me with their toys. They were liable to get cuts from walking all over the glass But, I was like one of those bad teachers Who had lost control of her classroom. But, my mother came and picked them up all off me And so did my Cousin, and so did this other woman About my age, and very interestingly enough. The situation got resolved.
Bad Numbers
Don't let anyone fool you. Nine Million Muslims were killed in Myanmar's genocide. One hundred and twenty million people were pogromed in China And another two hundred million the last fifty years. Twenty million were murdered by Stalin. Fourteen million souls were killed during the Holocaust. Right now, it's said only one hundred souls were killed in Myanmar. That only twenty million starved in China. And---I guess for political reasons---Stalin's numbers have increased to sixty million. Please, let's remember the past, so we aren't doomed to repeat its mistakes.
God’s Plane and Scale
Mr. Emerson, may I just attain What you said about circles. It makes me first get offended. As is true with all wisdom All truth, we resist it at first. We do not like things to be So simple, nor do we appreciate Patterns we ourselves have not attained. Yet, looking at the mountains The trees, my palm, my fingers My gloves, the rocks, My calves, the cow's horns The lizard's ovular body The worms, the fly's which are Shaped like eggs, The grasshoppers which are shaped Like fingers, the bird's Which are shaped almost ovular The frogs, which when scrunched Are like a little oval The bushes which are ovular too... And cats and dogs and horses when they lie down. I do say I see the pattern as well. And I do believe I have a theory on why. Pi---being infinite, as is the infinite measurement of the curve--- Must inherently be the natural order of geometry. So everything, running off, and smoothing over by rain And evolving over time, Naturally must produce a circle. As, Pi is the natural shape, the natural Number of nature, by which all other things are dictated. Surely, it has its subtle imperfections Making each specimen different, But given the natural shape of all things Are likened to a circle--- And what is straight Often we can assume was man made, How men create things in squares And nature its circles--- I do say it's an offensive little thought. That I hadn't attained it first--- Maybe I equal you in genius For giving an explanation as to why--- Is it the infinite reality of Pi Which causes this? That number naturally representing The geometry of a curve Therefore, randomness must Inherently, be shaped into curves. For, the patterns in nature show That all things, built by God, Are as a curve. Men build in squares And God builds with circles. Because men must shape our environment To order, and God must shape His environment To the natural world toward that infinite Shape, that infinite number Pi. And Mr. Emerson I do not plagiarize you Rather, as you said about great poets Writing in an age where there are few, We take all things and make them our own. But, my solemn task is finding in the past Things which ought to be remembered by all For a better future. Another peculiar thought. It seems that man is the only creation Of God's which is like a rectangle. For, the Golden ratio By which men create and shape their world, Is dictated by the rectangular shape of our body. No other creature is dictated by its rectangular Form. None which I know. For, they are either cones, spheroids Or outright shaped like circles. The Human body, when standing upright Exhibits the Golden Ratio;--- That being Five to two. So do trees, so do bushes, But only human bodies seem to be nature's rectangle Which may be why we prefer them in our creations. But this strange ratio has been told to me By a much beloved professor When describing the Acropolis Which is fitted to our human shape;--- Which does appears in nature;--- Perhaps it is nature's rectangle Which we men are formed closer to---- Yes, it is most defined in our human form. For, perhaps these two measurements The measurement of Pi And the measurement of Phi, Perhaps these numbers are scientific Facts, oblong and shaping the world Through their infinite order. Perhaps Pi is nature's curve And Phi is nature's rectangle Both working together In their infinite measurements As if planed and scaled by God Like the Bible said, "Wisdom was with God when he Planed the Scale of the Earth". For, by observing this order, I am confident that God exists. For, these measurements create Upon the earth, and define all Aesthetic Beauty. That, and of course, Fibonacci's sequence; Which repeats itself through all natural shapes. For some reason, these numbers lay down the law Of how our natural world gets shaped by the Eons of textures and winds, and rains. And, certainly, to have such geometric certainty As this---for randomness cannot truly occur in nature According to these principles--- It must be that an architect, by design Created our world. And as certain as these mathematical principles are Which are observed in everything from trees To mountains, to rock formations And even the Grand Canyon and Niagara Falls, So are the moral principles laid down by Christ As certain. Which, Mr. Emerson, Is my scientific foundation for believing in Him.
The Reason We Are Stupid
The reason we are stupid Is a conspiracy of racist white men Who want to pioneer the future By turning all art into its most banal And turning all beauty into its most hideous. If one really wished to fight racism One would fight the injustice Of intelligent ideas being battered down By populism. For the markets failed us And are a cracker Striking the backs of poets and visionaries Denying them the right to speak. Yet, the very same who fight racism Are only a brand like deodorant. They are just the catalyst to the race war Where we all. in our divisive lines Hurl warfare upon one another Because we cannot understand How similar we all are. No one listens.
B. K. Neifert 