Nietzche
Bluelighter
When Pound's cry grows old
and the revisions and prescriptions
of the occidental cannon
fray and wear thin
the spectral whimper will be heard,
the thunder’s tears will be felt
and left in the dust . . .
the new life and the possibility of another.
Today I pray,
Viens, oui, oui.
But tomorrow I’ll weep,
for what I might have said
and might have heard.
So we commit our eloquent eulogy
for what might have,
always,
already,
held out
and rationalized,
recorded in stone
but eroded too soon.
And for every grain of sand,
for every particle of dust,
for every parcel encoded with “Gap,”
I dedicate these humble words to you.
And there will always be enough time
to sweep dust,
build sand castles into empires
and cultivate a garden.
Verily, verily, I say this unto you,
as Pound’s cry sediments
under millennia of dust and sand.
[This message has been edited by Nietzche (edited 07 September 2001).]
and the revisions and prescriptions
of the occidental cannon
fray and wear thin
the spectral whimper will be heard,
the thunder’s tears will be felt
and left in the dust . . .
the new life and the possibility of another.
Today I pray,
Viens, oui, oui.
But tomorrow I’ll weep,
for what I might have said
and might have heard.
So we commit our eloquent eulogy
for what might have,
always,
already,
held out
and rationalized,
recorded in stone
but eroded too soon.
And for every grain of sand,
for every particle of dust,
for every parcel encoded with “Gap,”
I dedicate these humble words to you.
And there will always be enough time
to sweep dust,
build sand castles into empires
and cultivate a garden.
Verily, verily, I say this unto you,
as Pound’s cry sediments
under millennia of dust and sand.
[This message has been edited by Nietzche (edited 07 September 2001).]
