I'll not love again

[Casey Butler]

"It's easy if you try" does not rhyme with "and no religion too", so the omission would be "it isn't hard to do".

And Manna, is she okay... Does anybody in the forum check on regulars if they suddenly stop showing up?

I don't understand your Australian reference. I posted volumes, it seems, about myself last year. I'm Jewish Swedish/Irish. I know some people from Australia.

Casey

[Cate]

And Manna, is she okay... Does anybody in the forum check on regulars if they suddenly stop showing up?

I think she's fine and dandy but I do miss her.

[Casey Butler]

I knew you'd want to see this - Violet - not that it's a sign of course... I took it today just outside of Virgin (a town here) on our way back home from visiting Zion (a park here). By the time I got stopped, backed up, and got the camera out etc, it had lost some of its symmetry, but it's really really coolness is still largely intact.

It was better when I first saw it, trust me.

I need a camera mounted on my forehead, like those Apache helicopters have cameras to direct the guns where the pilot is looking. Auto-focus might be an issue though... Something to think about anyway when you're dealing with clouds all the time.



Hi Cate, nice to see you again. I'll trust your ESP about Manna.

Casey

[Violet]

.. Good morning, Casey.. God's eye is twinkling at us, it seems..

.. you're right, I do like this, and I do look at clouds in amazement quite often.. I drive upstate, sometimes at sundown, and see the most stunning skyscapes.. I saw one recently that really did look like an endless Chinese landscape.. it seemed a fabled far off land.. and I felt as though I were a child, imagining it... I've never seen an eye though.. very unusual, I'd say.. if spotting such things is at all like a dream, and dream interpretation, then it's to pay attention to how such an image made you feel.. it seems to be a slightly squinting eye.. as if God were smiling.. (Manna loves it when I talk about God).. and while I'm on the subject.. I don't believe in God as in a personal God, a man up there in a robe and long beard.. however, I believe we all see God relative to our own personal references for such a thing.. and so why not as an old man with a beard?.. (or mickey_o's punster?).. or a young, beautiful woman?.. or an older, wise woman?.. or a cloud, even?..

I sometimes feel as though God is all around us.. and those of us who are meant to "progress" in a sense.. a spiritual sense, I mean.. are those of us brave enough to break with what ever it is in our psyches that's imprisoning us.. so that we might become, who it is we were meant to become.. in the twinkling of God's eye, as it were.. only, how many of us possess such bravery?.. Sissel maybe..

.. thank you, Casey, for an image able to inspire such morning thoughts.. it's green tea this morning..


'til later,
v i o l e t.. about to have some maple yogurt, I think..
.. oh, and please mount your camera to your forehead.. and show us a picture of that!!

[Casey Butler]

Homeland Security should forward that message to the Chief of the Children of Ammon... Our borders would be secure at last... Or to the US Army for consideration as a new recruiting motto: "Be all that God meant you to be".

I came unarmed, Violet, with a question.

Deal another hand of solitaire.

Look at this card:



Now listen carefully:

The undertow is broken forever, do you hear? They can't control you anymore. You are free, because I said so. You are not alone. I have 500 angels available as we speak, 1000 should we need them...

Casey

[Violet]

.. wow, I don't know what prompted your reverse mind control maneuver, but I do like the idea of angels.. I'm hoping mine likes me, actually.. my guardian angel, that is.. I'm stubbornly resistant to change, and so I worry that she might find me tiresome..

.. you know, between the twinkling eye of God, and the lovely birds in flight.. and in V formation.. and those beautiful Starlings, flying in those wondrous dark clusters.. and now this fleet of angels.. I do think you are something like God's messenger to me.. even if unconsciously so..

thank you, God's messenger,
v i o l e t (flower)

... oh, and I meant who we are meant to be.. well, in the very best sense.. only how to qualify that?.. if one is on the side of angels, then one would know what I mean, I guess..

[Casey Butler]

I do think you are something like God's messenger to me.. even if unconsciously so...

Such unabashed flattery is difficult to respond to...

I'd say everybody is equally God's messenger to everybody else. All of nature is a sign of God, etc... Some are more standout than others. You know the drill. Read my book. It's a freebie available right here. :-))

So you became "God's Messenger" to millions of adoring fans because you wanted to avoid being percieved as "God's Messenger"?

You're even more humble than I thought.

Casey

[Violet]

.. (oh hi.. I just saw your post after I submitted this one)..

Casey, somehow this thread has put me in mind of another poem of mine.. it’s a slightly different kind of poem for me than most of the poems I've written.. it's from a number of years ago... In the back of my mind was the David Cronenberg film, Crash (not to be confused with a more recent film by that name)... What that translates to here has to do with the convention of women as objects.. cars as objects.. a conflation of the two, in a sense -- objects upon which culture projects its collective desire and/or degradation.. anyway, I've attempted to transcend this objectified manner of prison (with each word itself its own object, like the bricks the girl is picking up off the road), as I've tried to in some manner point to how these object-like things known as words can be called upon to transcend their literal meanings... hopefully so to afford us... something "other"..

.. of course, in the beginning was the word.. though I read somewhere how words, in this biblical context, were imbued with their own divine meanings and power (don't ask me to explain more than that, as I'd have to look it up again).. As things stand now, however, it seems it is left to us to divine such meanings, and imbue words with such power.. and I believe that's the exalted province of poetry.. (don't say anything, Mickey)..

.. oh, and I.F., this is the poem I thought you especially might like, though I’m not sure why I was thinking that now.. (!)..

.. anyway, here goes..



Shorn of Neglect

(on the nature of
objects and beingness)


There are motels for sex,
for writing,
for the exhibition of
cars. There are women,
and then some.
There are things, thing like.
Actions, like those of things,
but taken from the flesh
like stillborns.

There are girls that are blonde,
brown,
young, not so young.
This girl, blonde,
because her hair seemingly glistened,
glistened under the street light,
glistened because it was not unlike the car
it was caressing
as she was entered (the
anonymous lot of men and cars and vacancies,
not unlike her eyes.)


Shine
on shine on oh little flower.
the roadway may seem dismal now, but
look a decade further. done
now
her pants already zipped (tight,
like rubber.)


This girl,
blonde, young,
might be thing like, like
the car. The car her hair’s caressing
as she’s entered. Or
she might be the thing
of propositions, as if to tie down
what is solid, known and thing like is
to beckon the Unknowable (or is it
that our gods always find us
in our nil?)


Once it was in the reflection
of a damaged front fender. the car
started, even,
as she drew herself
under.


On this particular night, the girl,
blonde, young,
went in for a spell, spending her
precious dollars on a room. She lay down,
closing her eyes, listening
to the rain.
It was a comfort; she
felt safe.

Then the rain drew closer. In mind
derived of sound
as if in form
like her own tears.
And in her crying, it was Earth
that rained.

But like a thought –– the room’s
milky walls, not a moment ago luminous
in the darkness,
were all hard now, like paint. And
the room was itself empty, as if
she were the spirit that had
left it.


she sat up
thinking the certainty
might leave her. (this car. this mottled
car.)
then she lay back again, drawing
the thin bedspread
up around her neck. (yes, certain chocolates
are morbid too –– dense
with no trace of milk
or flour.)


she gathered now the heavy bricks
that were blocking traffic
as they’d spilled
from a passing construction
vehicle. (she was in her heels, it was
getting dark, and it had just
begun to rain.)

she liked handling the bricks (as cars
skidded to avoid both her
and them.) she didn’t care that the
men in these cars were yelling obscenities
at her, deriding her
to get her out of the way. she was already
invisible, except for this new task
of picking up these bricks, of feeling
their weight, of setting them down on the
side of the road with purpose, as if she could
build something there.


she thought of this
now,
as she lay in bed. how very solid
the bricks were.
solid
and slick from the rain. how
very solid she was
in their heaviness. heavy
now
with the rain. comforted
in its steadiness.


v i o l e t, 2001

[Casey Butler]

Ooops... was in a rush...

I'm stubbornly resistant to change...

What would your guardian angel want you to change? Did she ever tell you?

"Stay the same for me, Violet, you are what God means you to be." is what I think your guardian angel would say. "Just stop the killing now, it's over."

Such a big order, I know...

I think it would be nice if you'd choose to be a messenger of God too, just like the rest of us.

(We crossed posts... Sorry... I'll read later)

Casey

[Violet]

.. actually, that's a good question.. what my guardian angel would have me change.. I guess what I was thinking of were those challenges one feels called upon to meet.. it's highly personal stuff, I guess.. but you sort of know when you're falling short.. I guess that's what I mean..

[Casey Butler]

Your poem is very nice, maybe profound, but I can't seem to hear the words transcending their literal meaning - not on first reading anyway. And on second reading, maybe I'll get it wrong... "It isn't hard to do", you know.

The man next door can't read it. The woman across from him can't get on the Internet. The man behind us is high as a kite, is a former truck driver, and lives quite literally. I could go on. God's messengers all, BTW.

Words conveying messages that transcend their literal meaning target only the classes of people capable of accessing and reading the words and absorbing the messages. Words with music, of course, travel a little farther, but they're even more likely to be misunderstood, aren't they?

Are you also only collecting a certain class of people to present?

but you sort of know when you're falling short...

Maybe you can help me. I'm falling way short. I'm still here, me and God's messengers, with my unanswered question above.

Casey

[Violet]

.. oh, I'm hardly the person to worry about what class of people can access what I write.. I probably should worry that any people at all access what I write!.. anyway, I write primarily for myself.. and now for the handful here.. and Leonard, if he cares to poke his nose in once in a while.. I've published things at times, but not poetry, and I haven't made a living at it..

As far as class goes, I believe in trying to be careful with people as I go through my life, whomever they are.. I probably empathize too much for my own good (I'm told).. actually, someone recently suggested to me that it's better to have compassion over empathy.. I suppose one can preserve oneself and still be compassionate, while with empathy, one starts to.. well, over empathize, I guess.. I imagine Sister Teresa was the queen of compassion, as empathy would no doubt have been too draining.. Anyway, I haven't really thought this through.. it's just something that's recently come up..

.. I'll think about your saying that this last poem's words may not be transcending their literal meaning.. I mean, I write so differently usually.. and I'll find that the words just flow, in a sense.. here there was more of an objective, so it makes sense to me that it might fail for that very reason.. then again, it might be more of a mental poem, I don't know.. I'd love to know other people's reactions as well.. I find myself liking reading it, but I think I know what you mean..

.. and, of course, Casey, I will help you.. only I'm not sure I understand you.. I've been enjoying this thread since at times it's as if we're having two different conversations, but still I find it sort of fun, maybe because of that.. anyway, I'm not sure what your question is.. Oh, I know what I wanted to say.. that it's you who are being too modest.. I meant it when I said that you were being God's messenger for me -- right here, with this thread.. I don't want to dilute that by saying everyone is God's messenger, even if, in a larger sense, this is true.. But right here and now, it's you who are being that, so try accepting that.. it's sort of cool..

.. other than that, I'm not sure what your question is.. and so I'm not sure how to be of help.. and since we seldom understand each other, I'm not sure I'd be of help in any event (!)..

.. okay.. off to "beddie bye" now.. (is that how it's spelled?..).. (Manna?)...
v i o l e t... zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz...

[Casey Butler]

And I always thought it was empathy that made us compassionate.

Well, fiddlesticks, as my grandmother would say, great guns and little sixshooters. And how hard it is speak what might be seen as rudely to a lady such as yourself. My question was about poets and reason, but if you didn't notice the question I suppose that's the answer to it.

Perhaps as a messenger if that's what I am to you my unconscious message is my deafness to much of what poetry tries say. I love building things, fixing things, creating things, learning things... I love words too before I run out of them (all too soon) but I love them for something besides what poets do I guess. What I'm meant to be is the rider of a horse traveling across the countryside, if any horse will have me.

As for Leonard: Speaking for a large segment of Leonard's audience and potential audience (if I may be so bold, having met quite a few samples thereof, related and not-so-related) and for perhaps a large audience segment of that coming Tel Aviv concert to benefit Peacemakers which irony of attracted me here once again:

"We asked for bread and you gave us a stone, we asked for fish and you gave us a serpent."

Righteous Jews are immune from judgment, of course...

However, you write beautiful songs and poetry... thank you for that.

For your enjoyment, Violet, God's messenger Sissel again: (Now don't let her strong Texas accent distract from this wonderful rendition)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DvaoySHd ... 0&index=62

Maybe Sissel likes horses.

No, Sissel likes singing.

Casey

[Violet]

.. as to this empathy/compassion stuff, I'd like to look into it further.. maybe you're right, maybe you can't have one without the other..

.. okay.. you might consider rephrasing your question about poets and reason.. then maybe I'll have a go at it..

.. gotta get down to business here, I'm afraid..

v i o l e t.. with some green tea again..




last edit.. I decided to delete a paragraph, as there are certain topics that, for me at least, require more in depth handling than what I'm prepared to take on here..

[Casey Butler]

I wasn't referring to the Israeli tour controversy I've read about here. I'm rather apolitical (checking to make sure my feet are still attached) and happy for Leonard that the anticipation levels are so high. It will be an historical event for sure.

Give me a month or so to rephrase the question, please. I first need to get Sissel out of my system somehow. I will work on it.

Thank you. :-)

Casey