Tag: poem

Schwärmerei ist Krankheit der Seele, eigentliches Seelenfieber;

C. M. Wieland, Schwärmerei und Enthusiasmus

at cockcrow mr nothing passed a man
with a dog as dark as the night though
the beast was enormous and the owner
was lame he went on to a place called
nor there

perhaps the stroller is a soul whereas
the hound is just a brute as mr nothing
badly sought to raise his spirits hence
there’s a why in that disjuncture a call
to be ‘fraid

but then he saw a swarm as such one’s
darkest cloud on the horizon and asked
if there’s the one so he could somehow
grasp that mind the only response was
the buzz

is every breath for practical reason
or for its own indiscriminate sake
and what a surprise to find an end
of such phenomenon like certainty

enough to say that a book unwritten
being more than a void is harmless
mostly in its randomness just like
one’s judgement of contemporaries

the soliloquy muttered at the other
end of the bench began to irritate
mr nothing as he tried to memorize
some useful ratios and identities

but hidden in the park he felt alike
an index of first lines when stripped
of content meaningless to the core
so he continued to listen to himself

mr nothing drank a glass of water
as he couldn’t remember the taste
just like the citizens of kirrha did
so unaware of the nebros’s advice

(by the way the asclepiad gave his scion
a really good reason to establish the oath)

that evening he was going to read
a book of english verse as given
so that he could see the islanders
through their genderless language

but as he began to wonder whether
a watergaw beyond the downpour
is as colourful as the rainbow that
he knew it will remain unanswered

by the second card mr nothing began
to have doubts seeing a red butterfly
he was seeking for patterns with help
of an old trick the rorschach inkblots

while learnt the meaning mr nothing
wondered how he could have missed
the fallacy of the maturity of chances
that misled the sacred and the rogue

but if to forget the moment of the fall
rather foreseeable output of their acts
there is still that hasty generalisation
no matter good or bad we all gamble

they used to call him mr nothing
one more eccentric josser but harmless
with his grammatical incongruousness
that has annoyed them sometimes

they used to say spell it out man
and then they laughed at his attempts
to explain all bizarre foreign idioms
spewed out of a park bench

they used to as he has gone once
leaving his tweedy trilby and a tiny plate
on the backrest of his favoured bench
now someone else amuses pigeons