https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/49304/sunflower-sutra
AND «Ah! Sun-flower» by William Blake (1794) – the Ongoing Cultural Conversation again
Ah Sun-flower! weary of time,
Who countest the steps of the Sun:
Seeking after that sweet golden clime
Where the travellers journey is done.
Where the Youth pined away with desire,
And the pale Virgin shrouded in snow:
Arise from their graves and aspire,
Where my Sun-flower wishes to go.
I’m an old man
now, and a lonesome man in Kansas
but not afraid
to speak my lonesomeness in a
car,
because not only my
lonesomeness
it’s
Ours, all over America,
O
tender fellows—
&
spoken lonesomeness is Prophecy
in the
moon 100 years ago or in
the
middle of Kansas now.
It’s not the vast plains mute our mouths
that
fill at midnite with ecstatic language
when our trembling bodies hold
each other
breast
to breast on a mattress—
Not the empty sky that hides
the
feeling from our faces
nor our skirts and trousers that conceal
the bodylove emanating in a
glow of beloved skin,
white
smooth abdomen down to the hair
between
our legs,
It’s not a God that bore us that forbid
our Being, like a sunny rose
all
red with naked joy
between our eyes & bellies,
yes
All we do is for this frightened thing
we call Love, want and lack—
fear that we aren’t the one whose body could be
beloved of all the brides of
Kansas City,
kissed all over by every boy of
Wichita—
O but how many in their solitude weep aloud like me—
On the bridge over Republican
River
almost
in tears to know
how
to speak the right language—
on the frosty broad road
uphill
between highway embankments
I search for the language
that
is also yours—
almost all our language has
been taxed by war.
Radio antennae high tension
wires ranging from Junction City across the plains—
highway cloverleaf sunk in a vast meadow
lanes curving past Abilene
to
Denver filled with old
heroes
of love—
to
Wichita where McClure’s mind
burst
into animal beauty
drunk,
getting laid in a car
in
a neon misted street
15
years ago—
to Independence where the old man’s still alive
who loosed the bomb that’s slaved all human
consciousness
and made the body universe a
place of fear—
Now, speeding along the empty plain,
no giant demon machine
visible
on the horizon
but tiny human trees and wooden houses at the sky’s
edge
I claim my birthright!
reborn
forever as long as Man
in
Kansas or other universe—Joy
reborn after the vast sadness
of the War Gods!
A lone man talking to myself, no house in the brown vastness to hear
imagining that throng of Selves
that
make this nation one body of Prophecy
languaged
by Declaration as Pursuit of
Happiness!
I call all Powers of imagination
to my side in this auto to make Prophecy,
all
Lords
of human kingdoms to come
Shambu Bharti Baba naked covered with ash
Khaki Baba fat-bellied mad with
the dogs
Dehorahava Baba who moans Oh how wounded, How wounded
Sitaram Onkar Das Thakur who commands
give
up your desire
Satyananda who raises two thumbs in tranquility
Kali Pada Guha Roy whose yoga drops before the
void
Shivananda
who touches the breast and says OM
Srimata Krishnaji of Brindaban who says take for your guru
William Blake the invisible father of English visions
Sri Ramakrishna master of ecstasy eyes
half closed who only cries for
his mother
Chitanya arms upraised singing & dancing his own praise
merciful Chango judging our bodies
Durga-Ma covered with blood
destroyer
of battlefield illusions
million faced Tathagata gone
past suffering
Preserver Harekrishna returning in the age of
pain
Sacred Heart my Christ acceptable
Allah the compassionate one
Jaweh
Righteous One
all
Knowledge-Princes of Earth-man, all
ancient Seraphim of heavenly Desire, Devas, yogis
&
holymen I chant to—
Come
to my lone presence
into
this Vortex named Kansas,
I lift my voice aloud,
make Mantra of American language now,
I here
declare the end of the War!
Ancient
days’ Illusion!—
and pronounce words beginning
my own millennium.
Let the States tremble,
let the nation weep,
let Congress legislate its own
delight,
let the
President execute his own desire—
this Act done by my own voice,
nameless
Mystery—
published to my own senses,
blissfully received by my own
form
approved with pleasure by my sensations
manifestation of my very
thought
accomplished in my own
imagination
all
realms within my consciousness fulfilled
60 miles from Wichita
near
El Dorado,
The
Golden One,
in chill earthly mist
houseless brown farmland plains rolling heavenward
in
every direction
one midwinter afternoon Sunday called the day of the Lord—
Pure Spring Water gathered in one tower
where
Florence is
set
on a hill,
stop
for tea & gas
The first moment
I saw you in the Post Office
You saw me
And I didn’t know.
The first moment
I saw you
I knew I could love you
If you could love me
You had sort of a flavor
The way you looked
And you looked at me
And I didn’t know if you saw me
And there wasn’t any question to ask
I was standing with some papers
I started shuffling the papers
But I didn’t know what order to put them in
But I figured I wanted to do it in such a way
That it looked like I had some purpose
But I really just wanted to look at your eyes all the time
And you said
Look at me with your eyes
Look at me with your eyes
In that first moment
Your face burned into my dream
And right away I had this feeling
Maybe you’re lost
Until now
Maybe I’m lost
Until now
And I thought
Maybe I’m just making this up
But your eyes
Looked like they were saying
Look at me more
I would shuffle the papers
Look at you
My breathing changed
Then I felt something dissolve
I felt there might be a danger
That anything could happen in the next moment
Maybe you would turn away from me
Or you could say
Let’s go together
Forever
When we sat across from each other
In the place where we met
You talked about your days by the waterface listensYou talked about yourself as a childface listensWhen we were lying next to each other
You told me your fear of the night
Of every nightface listensYou imagined moving to your ideal countryface listensYou told me secrets about people in your life
Strangersface listensYou showed me their picturesfaceYou played me your favorite music
I couldn’t hear the music in it
When we’re tangled up in love
Is it me you’re whispering to
Or some other
When we’re tangled up in sleep
It is my leg you feel your legs against
Or is it Paul Newman’s leg
When I move my eyes like this
Is it causing you to think of Marlon Brando
When we’re tangled up in meeting other people
Is it me you’re introducing
Or is it Warren Beatty
When I stand with my body facing in one direction
And my head in the other
Do you think of Mick Jagger
If you could only give me a few clues
I could invent the one you’d have me be
I
Uh
I wanna’ show
Um
Some thing
SSSomething
That uh
Some
Something tender
That
Comes from you
Uh
I Can’t
My words
Won’t
Find
I wanna’
Bring something out
That
Some
But
Uh
It doesn’t fit this time
What can I call you
Can I call you «Honey»
Or «Sweetie Pie»
Can I call you «My Treasure»
Or «Precious One»
Or can I call you «Babe»
Or maybe I could call you «Darling»
Can I call you «Darling»
I heard someone else call someone «Angel» once
Can I try «Angel»
Can I call you «Sweetheart»
Or «Sugar»
Or maybe I could call you «Love»
Just «Love»
It was in one moment
When we looked
When we saw each other
That I killed you
I saw you lying there
Unmourned
You didn’t know
I didn’t say I saw you dead
I saw you thinking of something else
You couldn’t see
The thing I’d done to you
When I sit like this
Do you see me brave
Do I make a mystery to you
When I put on a gaze
When I stretch my arms like this
Do you see me sensual
When I look releaxed
Do you believe me
When I’m acting interested in your words
Do you believe I’m completely interested
Which presentation of myself
Would make you want to touch
What would make you cross the border
Could you give me a small part of yourself
I’m only asking for the tiniest part
Just enough to get me from here to there
Could you give me something
Anything at all
I’ll accept whatever it is
Could you just put your hand on my head
Could you brush against my arm
Could you just come near enough
So I could feel as though you might be able to hold me
Could you touch me with your voice
Blow your breath in my direction
Is it all right if I look straight into your face
Could I just walk behind you for a little while
Would you let me follow you at a distance
If I had anything of value I’d gladly give it to you
If there’s anything of me you want just take it
But don’t think I’m this way with everybody
I almost never come to this
In fact usually it’s the other way around
There’s lots of people
Who would love to even have a conversation with me
Who even ask me if they can walk behind me
So don’t get any ideas that I’m completely alone
Because I’m not
In fact you’re the one who looks like you could use a little company
Where do you get off thinking you have anything to give me anyway
I have everything I need
And what I don’t have I know where to get it
Any time I want
In the middle of the night
In the middle of the afternoon
Five o’clock in the morning
In fact I’m wasting my time right now
Just talking to youHums
A capella, melody line only
no words
«I’m in the mood for love»
I’m haunted by your scent
When I’m talking to someone else
I’m haunted by your eyes
In the middle of brushing my teeth
I’m haunted by your hair
By your skin
When you’re not around
Are you visiting me
Am I dreaming you up
YOU
Who makes me believe that we’re lovers
YOU
Who lets me pretend
YOU
Who reminds me of myself
YOU
Who controls me
YOU
My accomplice
YOU
Who tells me to lie
YOU
Who is acting as though we’re still in the first moment
YOU
Who makes me believe that we’re lovers
Forever in love
Now we’re acting the partners in love
Now we’re acting the estrangement
Now we’re acting the reconciliation
Now we’re acting that the reconciliation was a success
Now we’re acting that our love has been deepened by the crises
Now we’re acting that we’re both in endless harmony
Now we’re acting that one of us has been injured
But we’re not saying which one
Now one of us is acting the pain of premonition
Now we are acting the leaving
Now I see you in anguish
Now I watch you leaving
Now I feel nothingSings:
| «The thrill is gone The thrill is gone I can see it in your eyes I can hear it in your sighs Feel your touch and realize The thrill is gone» |
You who are not here
You who are missing in my body
Holes in my body
Places like holes
Like bullets made
Patches of agony
Swimming
From my feet
To my hands
You who are gone
Missing from the place you lived in me
Instead of blood
Hallow veins
The groin is locked
You
The missing part of me
You
That disappeared
I’ve lost 15 pounds for you
I’ve dyed my hair brown for you
I’ve designed a special smile for you
But I haven’t met you yet
I’ve bought a flashy shirt for you
I’ve plucked my eyebrows out for you
I’ve covered myself in Musk Oil for you
I’m still hunting around for you
I’ve changed my walk for you
I’ve even changed my talk for you
I’ve changed my entire point of view for you
I hope we’ll find each other soon
It was in a moment we were together
The murder took place
Without any weapon
It took place
Between two moments
In no time
It was in a moment
Between two thoughts
When the murder took place
Without any weapons
I wasn’t sure which one of us was killed
I wake up
Only a little ways
Out of sleep
You look like my child
Breathe
Helpless sleeper
Frightened of your dreams
Separation of sleep
I breathe with you
Breathe the same way
See how it is to be you
Sleeping
I feel like a detective
Spying
Your sleeping body
I’m not very far from sleep
Your dream changes
Your lips move
Talking to it
In words I’ve never heard
Then comes a longing
That I don’t understand
Because it feels like it’s towards you
But here you are
So I don’t understand
What this longing’s for
I embrace you in sleep
My arm moves with your breathing
Your breath makes my arm rise and fall
For one moment I think of the killing
Still
Frozen
I’m confused by the yearning
I want to have your dreams inside me
I want to strangle your dreams
Inside me
As the light comes through
And the night is turning into day
I want to know I’ll die before you
I want to know I’ll die before
We aren’t lovers anymore
Now that I’m with you I’m saved
From all grief
Now that I’m with you I’m saved
From being in parts
Now that I’m with you I’m saved
From hoping for anything else
Now that I’m with you I’m saved
From all other wanting
I
Can’t
Uh
What
I want
What
The
The thing of it is
I
Some
Kind
Some kind of
Something
Won’t
Come
Out
The
Way
I
Uh
Nothing
Seems
To
Uh
Fit
The
Expression
That
I
Uh
Um
Want
Won’t
Uh
Come
Even though you see it’s a hoax
We continue as though it isn’t
Even though we’re duped
We agree to continue
Sometimes I would want to reach
My arm would start
Something in my arm would start
Sometimes I would almost reach
Something near my neck would move
And then come back
I wanted something on my face to show
Some sign
Unlock my face
Instead I lock my arms
The head would nod
While you spoke
I wasn’t sure about the head
Wasn’t sure what it was saying
While I listened
Wasn’t sure what you saw it saying
Agreeing or denying
I wanted my mouth to move
To carry something across
Some sign
One eye was going with it
Is this the face that shows me
It was a moment I wanted to be strong
Through the chest
It fell
You saw it falling
I went on as though you didn’t
I brought it back
I was wanting to be clear through the hands
While the voice kept talking
I held my face together
My mouth on my hand
Then it dropped
My hands held each other
All the time you saw me
My whole body began to shudder
Everything began to shudder
Nothing would hold still
You tried to show me you didn’t see me shaking
You took my hand away from me
And everything stopped
From my fingers I returned
You
You
You
You
repeats(Light fades to black)
-END-
What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow
Out of this stony rubbish? Son of man,
You cannot say, or guess, for you know only
A heap of broken images, where the sun beats,
And the dead tree gives no shelter, the cricket no relief,
And the dry stone no sound of water. Only
There is shadow under this red rock,
(Come in under the shadow of this red rock),
And I will show you something different from either
Your shadow at morning striding behind you
Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you;
I will show you fear in a handful of dust.
(…)
After the torchlight red on sweaty faces
After the frosty silence in the gardens
After the agony in stony places
The shouting and the crying
Prison and palace and reverberation
Of thunder of spring over distant mountains
He who was living is now dead
We who were living are now dying
With a little patience
Here is no water but only rock
Rock and no water and the sandy road
The road winding above among the mountains
Which are mountains of rock without water
If there were water we should stop and drink
Amongst the rock one cannot stop or think
Sweat is dry and feet are in the sand
If there were only water amongst the rock
Dead mountain mouth of carious teeth that cannot spit
Here one can neither stand nor lie nor sit
There is not even silence in the mountains
But dry sterile thunder without rain
There is not even solitude in the mountains
But red sullen faces sneer and snarl
From doors of mudcracked houses
If there were water
And no rock
If there were rock
And also water
And water
A spring
A pool among the rock
If there were the sound of water only
Not the cicada
And dry grass singing
But sound of water over a rock
Where the hermit-thrush sings in the pine trees
Drip drop drip drop drop drop drop
But there is no water
Who is the third who walks always beside you?
When I count, there are only you and I together
But when I look ahead up the white road
There is always another one walking beside you
Gliding wrapt in a brown mantle, hooded
I do not know whether a man or a woman
—But who is that on the other side of you?
Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.
Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again; but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?
The last quarter of the moon
of Jesus gives way
to the dark; the serpent
digests the egg. Here
on my knees in this stone
church, that is full only
of the silent congregation
of shadows and the sea’s
sound, it is easy to believe
Yeats was right. Just as though
choirs had not sung, shells
have swallowed them; the tide laps
at the Bible; the bell fetches
no people to the brittle miracle
of bread. The sand is waiting
for the running back of the grains
in the wall into its blond
glass. Religion is over, and
what will emerge from the body
of the new moon, no one
can say.
But a voice sounds
in my ear. Why so fast,
mortal? These very seas
are baptized. The parish
has a saint’s name time cannot
unfrock. In cities that
have outgrown their promise people
are becoming pilgrims
again, if not to this place,
then to the recreation of it
in their own spirits. You must remain
kneeling. Even as this moon
making its way through the earth’s
cumbersome shadow, prayer, too,
has its phases.
I’m the man behind the man
behind the man
and I have got my hands
in everybody’s pockets.
I know who’s been sticking his plug
in Marylin Monroe’s socket.
I have files on everyone who counts,
yet they would amount to nothing,
if I did not have the will to use them.
They call me a cruel sonofabitch
just to aggravate me,
but my strength is truth.
I have the proof
of every kind of infidelity
and that makes me the one free man
in a country of prisoners
off lust, greed, hatred, need
greater than the fear of reprisal,
all the recognized sins
and all those unrecognizable,
except to me and God. Maybe God.
Sometimes my whole body aches
and I lie down on the floor,
just staring at the ceiling,
until I am feeling in control again,
my old confidence surging back
through me like electricity
and I get up, Frankenstein,
revived by the weakness of others
and as unstoppable as a handful of pills
that could kill you on a night like this,
like the night when Marylin kissed it all goodbye.
They all wanted me
to take the A train to anonymity,
those who would seduce their own mothers,
after an audience with the Pope.
The Holy Joke I call him.
I’d like to get a tape, or two,
of that crew in Rome.
A two-way mirror
somewhere in the Vatican, the camera rolling,
while some Cardinal is jerking off
over a silver bowl.
But I digress.
Now Lyndon Johnson and a negress,
that is delicious,
something best served on a platter.
Save until after the elections
when it really matters.
I’m so scattered lately.
I feel like shattering all my Waterford crystal.
Ask me anything you want, but don’t touch me.
I keep my pistol loaded.
Don’t say I told you. Do.
I want the lowdown sonsofbitches
who betray me to know
I’m on to them like a fly on shit.
I will not rest,
Until spit in their mouths
and piss on their faces. The fools.
J. Edgar Hoover runs this country.
J. Edgar Hoover rules.
Here is the Spotify playlist for the next 4 classes, in which we’ll be dealing with «The Ambient Century»:
From The Drift (2006)
On 28 April 1945 Benito Mussolini was taken for execution by members of the commitee of National Liberation for Nothern Italy. Claretta Petacci insisted on dying with him. They were shot, the bodies piled into a truck and taken to the Piazalle Loreto in Milan to be strung up by the heels side by side, their heads about six feet from the ground. They were mocked, vilified and riddled with bullets by the crowd that had gathered.
Birds
Birds
This is not a cornhusk doll
Dipped in blood in the moonlight
Like what happen in America
This is us
Our eyesides snagged
Dipped in mob in the daylight
Like what happen in America
The breasts are still heavy
The legs long and straight
The upper lip remains short
The teeth are too small
The eyeside is green
The hair long and black
Still coming through
Still coming through
She knows this room
She can navigate it in the dark
She entered the Palazzo at night by a side door
To ascend to a lift in the upper floor
She lies on the bed
Looking up not yet seeing
The signs of the zodiac painted in gold
On the blue vaulted ceiling
His enormous eyes as he arrives
Coming nearer in the surrounding darkness
His strange beliefs about the moon
Its influence upon men of affairs
The danger of its cold light on your face
While you were sleeping
She’ll eclipse it with her head
Stroke him ‘til he sleeps
Until he has nothing to do among men of affairs
Sometime before dawn
Her bare feet cross the floor
She gazes from the window
At the fountain in the courtyard
«Sometimes I feel like a swallow
A swallow which by some mistake
Has gotten into an attic
And knocks its head against the walls in terror»
This is not a rabbit skinned
With a body of silver
Like what happen in America
This is not a terrapin
With its shell torn away
Like what happen in America
The breasts are still heavy
The legs long and straight
The upper lip remains short
The teeth are too small
The eyeside is green
The hair long and black
Still coming through
Still coming through
The mood soon changed
In the clear morning air
A man came up towards the body
And poked it with a stick
It rocked swiftly
And twisted around at the end of the rope
Finer than a hair from every side
Finer than a hair
Birds.
Birds.
This is just a cornhusk doll
Dipped in blood in the moonlight
This is just a cornhusk doll
This morning in my room
A little swallow was trapped
It flew around desperately
Until it fell exhausted on my bed
I picked it up
So as not to frighten it
I opened the window
Then I opened my hand
Analogy 