Sunday, July 05, 2020

Wastrel Hours

Extra Spirituality
He greatly craved the beer, the wine,
the wastrel hours, wasted fine.
Many a glass he raised on high;
many a drunken flight he'd fly.
But waking was as Housman said:
"The spirits of the night are dead."
He never said quite that, I grant,
but he'd not dis it on a rant.
That's my wisdom, and that's my ken;
I know that you'll be back again.

I'm still trying to get used to the new formatting process that Blogger demands I use. I must be doing something wrong because "Preview" doesn't work for me.

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Friday, July 03, 2020

Eins, zwei, g'suffa

Extra Drinks
Oh so sad was the fact Pound got wasted,
so much so that his face got hard pasted,
stuck fast to the floor's
worn spot where the doors'
swinging, ass-biting range got bums tasted.

Wednesday, July 01, 2020

No Quarter Given: Discuss!

Lots of people, for some reason, have recently been discussing the meaning of the expression "no quarter given." I added an anecdote to one of those discussions about my experience that I thought might be relevant to the topic. I was the Grit newsboy in my hometown as a kid. I sold copies all over town, to every household that would buy one. My goal was to sell 200 copies per week, but I think I reached only 185 in my three years of selling. I had no bicycle. That was beyond my means. I therefore walked all over town every Saturday, and that took all day. The pay wasn't great. At that time, a copy cost 15 cents, and I got to keep a nickel. The Saturday saleswalk exhausted me, so I stayed home to rest when deliveries were finished. Sundays, everything shut down, so I couldn't entertain myself spending my hard-earned nickels. I used to imagine wealth in coins. If only a copy were 75 cents instead of 15. Since I received a third of the price, I'd have gotten 25 cents per sale, but the price was not 75 cents, so no quarter was given . . .

Sunday, June 28, 2020

Dresden

Dresden
Extra Pound looked every way round
at destruction so far and wide,
for he'd not looked to run aground
when he'd switched to the other side.

"Was it for this the weed grew tall?"
did fatuous Extra thus say.
"Oh, what dread sin moved me to call
and awaken this judgement day?"

Call it Pound's improbable pride,
the worth in himself that he saw,
for he was worthy just to chide
himself under judgement of law.

Another non-limerick poem on Extra Pound, the somewhat ridiculous, nonexistent sibling stand-in for Ezra Pound.

Wednesday, June 24, 2020

For Thomas Pynchon

Rocket Limerick
There once was a writer whose pinch on,
twixt thumb and forefinger, flicked a switch on,
sent across the sky screaming,
in the morning light gleaming,
a sound-breaking rocket of mention.

The V-2 rocket was fascist Germany's most terrifying weapon, working its deadly destruction at greater-than-sound speed. Fascism is never very far away, not when Extra Pound makes an appearance - or even more so, when he doesn't seem to.

Hello Extra.

Saturday, June 20, 2020

The Towering Truth

An Untrue Watchtower
Old Terrapin, the High and Mighty Low,
addressed bold Pound with words as brave could show:
"Of Mighty Yertle's fall,
please do, O Pound, recall,
and make me not past proper limits go."

The word "true" can mean "straight," as any carpenter would tell you. This implies that "untrue" would indicate "leaning," in this context, anyway. A leaning tower! But turtles all the way down . . .

Thursday, June 18, 2020

Extra Pound Shuffles Off

Extra's Sorry Excuse
Pound at the butt end of his days and ways
told Ginsberg that his insane howling craze
against the Jews
were stupid views,
and his whole life had been that long, wrong phrase.

This will wrap up the story of Extra Pound, when I get there, but meantime is the time to fill in for now. Oh, and in case you didn't know, Ezra Pound really did say something of the sort to Allen Ginsberg, in 1967, I believe, so this part's historical.

Also, the "butt end of his days and ways" is another allusion. Your guess . . .

Wednesday, June 17, 2020

New Blogger Adopted

Extra Laid Back
Extra Pound settled down 'pon the new blog,
thankin' 'bout how he jus' might go whole hog,
but he then thunk, "No, no!
That's like 'Go! Hogs! Go! Go!'
I ain't nuthin' but a derned ol' houn' dog."

Why Extra Pound is talking like a hillbilly exceeds my understanding. Oh! Maybe because a hillbilly's trying to write this limerick and can't switch dialects. So sorry. It's hillbilly all the way down! I'll probably get a pounding for this . . .

Monday, June 15, 2020

Big Bad Glass Eyes Re-Visited

I've thought some about the title to yesterday's poem, and I think that the connection to artificial intelligence ought to be ramped up a bit, so I've dropped "Glass Eyes" for "AI's Surprise."
AI's Surprise
I need some new glass eyes.
Why? Why,
the better to see you with,
my dear.
Surprise!

Must be AI's Big Bad Wolf. What a surprise!

Note on pronunciation: The second line has two words spelled identically but pronounced differently, the first "Why" with aspiration (hwī), the second without ().

Sunday, June 14, 2020

Big Bad Eye Glasses

Glass Eyes
I need some new glass eyes.
Why? Why,
the better to see you with,
my dear.
Surprise!

Must be AI's Big Bad Wolf. Note on pronunciation: The second line has two words spelled identically but pronounced differently. The first "Why" is pronounced with aspiration (hwī), and the second "Why" without aspiration ().

Thursday, June 11, 2020

Spotless

Extra Pound's Political Theology
I have in my mind the conception
of an immaculatest inception.
Some think him a clod,
but he's better than God.
He is leadership's perfect confection!

As you see, I'm getting back to my epic limerick on Extra Pound.

Tuesday, June 09, 2020

I Have in My Mind . . .

There's a discussion at Jihad Watch as to what jihadis mean when they cry out "Allahu Akbar!" Here's my explanation:
Everybody relax. This "Allahu Akbar" cry is just St. Anselm's ontological argument expressed in Arabic. What these Muslims are crying out as they perform their religious activities is "I have in my mind the concept of a being greater than which cannot be conceived." Just a little theological chat. That's all. It’s perfectly innocuous.
No need to worry . . .

Tuesday, June 02, 2020

Hell is a Flood of Water . . .

Arkansawyer's Apologia
There is an old man from the Ozarks,
so busy he'd prob'ly miss Noah's Ark's
big embarkment today,
if it left in that way,
leaving him to the rising tide's devil sharks.

I refer to myself, of course. The Covid-19 Virus has put the entire semester online, and that's a lot more work than I ever would have imagined. I haven't been to campus since December! All my work is through computer connected to internet.

Sunday, May 31, 2020

Extra Perturbations

Pound's Orthographic Perturbations

To Extra Pound, that word disturbed,
that weird word massedurbation,
which reached his inner ear, where curbed,
like the misspelled misterbation!

Much better were the made-up word
that he called disturbation,
and made-believe he'd never heard
of a word like masterbation.

Monday, May 25, 2020

Extra Pound's Sentimental Verse

Extra's Song
Help me not fend
or fetch this clock!
I'll fix it to the wall!

Just stand, defend,
with wretched Glock,
the aviator's call!

Dust heap, forfend,
nor watch that flock
march goose step down the hall!

All youth, befriend,
Each door unlock,
watch goslings, eager all!

Now, that's a strong call to action in the tradition of fascist farce-force songs!

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Friday, May 22, 2020

A Little Foolishness

Fooled
Full full of himself
felt old Extra Pound;
Of that could one quite
well expound, profound,
for full of himself
felt old Extra Pound.

I cannot fathom whence some rhymes have come, but who cares?

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Tuesday, May 19, 2020

Give or Take Eternity: Re-Visited

I left something out of this poem, so here the poem is again, very slightly altered:
Our Eternal Wages
If the wages of sin is truly death,
God owes to us each one a final breath-
taking moment that he might then recall
the nefesh of life he gave to us all,
the psyche of soul, a foretaste of spirit,
the pneuma of life, the ruach within it.

It now truly says a lot: Saint Paul's glorification of the resurrected body in a nutshell!

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Monday, May 18, 2020

Give or Take Eternity: Getting Paid

Our Eternal Wages
If the wages of sin is truly death,
God owes to us each one a final breath-
taking moment that he might then recall
the nefesh of life he gave to us all,
the psyche of soul, a foretaste of spirit,
the pneuma of life, the abundance within it.

And that says a lot: Saint Paul's glorification of the resurrected body in a nutshell!

Update: See next blog entry.

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Friday, May 15, 2020

More Non-Limericks

Ship's Hold
Our Extra Pound
has grown quite old,
and yet's renowned
as good as gold,
but should be bound
by four walls cold.

We don't want to forget the ceiling or the floor, of course:
Ship's Hold
Our Extra Pound
has grown quite old,
and yet's renowned
as good as gold,
but should be bound
by four walls cold.
Two more redound
and all's a-told.

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Wednesday, May 13, 2020

Not a Limerick

Extra Pound

was up on down,
soon on late,
to on fro,

and more or less straight.

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Saturday, May 09, 2020

Serpentine Old Man

The Serpent?
Silent slithered snakelike the old man from his tree,
and coiled his scaley legs below one scaley knee,
where there lurked a knotty knotty naughty problem,
not that the man were lost of thought or fallen dumb,
but that this knot awaits: the Alexander "Key."

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Saturday, May 02, 2020

Memories are Short, but so is Time

Timely Memories
Once had a good time by all,
but whether by autumn or fall,
or springtime or lent,
some calendric event,
I do not recall now at all.

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Friday, May 01, 2020

"Ruby, Don't Don't Take Your Love to Town"

The great Mel Tillis wrote the lyrics to this song, and several performing artists have tried their hand at it, but seems to me that Kenny Rogers has given us the definitive cover.

I'm not entirely sure of the lyrics below, for there's some slippage in the 'verbiage,' but I've put together a plausible version:
Ruby, Don't Don't Take Your Love to Town 
You've painted up your lips and rolled and curled your tinted hair.
Ruby, are you contemplating going out somewhere?
The shadows on the wall tell me the sun is going down.
Oh Ruby, don't take your love to town.

It wasn't me who started that old crazy Asian war,
But I was proud to go and do my patriotic chore.
And yes, it's true that I am not the man I used to be.
Oh Ruby, I still need some company.

It's hard to love a man whose legs are bent and paralyzed,
And the wants and the needs of a woman your age, Ruby, I realize,
But it won't be long, I've heard them say, until I'm not around.
Oh Ruby, don't take your love to town.

She's leaving now 'cause I just heard the slamming of the door,
The way I know I've heard it slam one hundred times before,
And if I could walk,* I'd get my gun and put her in the ground.
Oh Ruby, don't take your love to town.
A great song. One little flaw, though. When the man said, "And if I could walk, I'd get my gun and put her in the ground," I thought, "Well, if you could walk, you'd be able to meet Ruby's needs, and you wouldn't need to put her in the ground, 'cause she wouldn't be taking her love to town."

But I've heard some versions that say "If I could move,* I'd get my gun and put her in the ground." That might resolve the logical conundrum. Maybe my friend Bill Vallicella could drop in and clear things up.

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Saturday, April 25, 2020

Troubled Times

Time's Decline

The time was late,
the hour near.
Yet still she stood
in line so queer.

The hour late,
the time was near.
Yet stood she still
in line so queer.

The hour late,
the time was near.
Still stood she yet
in line so queer.

The hour late,
the time was near.
Still yet she stood.
in line so queer.

The time was late,
the hour near.
Yet still she stood
in line so queer.

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Tuesday, April 21, 2020

Smelly Dog

How's That Dog Smell?
Old Extra Pound could snuff the coffied ground
and carry on because his nose was sound!
And even when hot upon the still-hot trail,
Pound managed to constrain his wagging tail!
He was a good dog, after all, as we found!

But how does he smell? Terrible! Just terrible.

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Sunday, April 19, 2020

Fascist Leanings

Sacramental Is-lamb for Extra Pound?
Against each monotheism inveighed Old Extra Pound,
though he held a secret feeling for the one that came around
mouthing anti-Jewish wishes
that were shared, so unselfish-ish,
such that soon as thick as thieves they'd both abound!

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Thursday, April 16, 2020

Says Who?

A Foisted Poem
"A toast!" Pound toasted, raising the toasted
toast extra high, as if it were a roast,
or a sin,
once again,
as if such were whereof up high to boast.

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Tuesday, April 14, 2020

The Big Why

The Big Why
Extra Pound wondered once aloud, "Why
do my friends in this world all go by
bearing animal names
barely suiting their frames?
If I can't find out why, I'll just die!"

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Monday, April 13, 2020

Cousin Cuisine

Turtles
Old Terrapin, the High and Mighty Low,
considered Cousin Tortoise Down Below.
Tortoise was the lowest of the turtles,
rumored to be tasty cooked with myrtles'
astringent berries, but who, then, would know?

Are these Kissing Cuisine?

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Friday, April 10, 2020

Fallen Paradise

Paradise Gone
Terrapin, the High and Mighty Low,
dreamt of a garden where he once could go
freely, unafraid, discouraged not
from entering within that now-dark plot,
but many tears from way back when did flow.

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Thursday, April 09, 2020

La Rue de La Rue?

Stygian Crypt
From darkness through darkness to darkness, he flew,
with message so dark even Raven would rue
when broken in halves was the seal blooded-red,
with writing that told of the ashes of dead.
Still Pound spoke of naught what he knew to be true.

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