Thursday, January 1, 2015

Canto 2 - Pound

I do not know how long I slept there.
And even the length I was not known to me.
It could have been a second, a minute, and hour, or a day,
each had its own appeal.
Each had its own rapture and damnation.
For each was something in return: silence is but another name.

And though I woke up time and again,
because each sleep needs another to wake it,
there was one wakening which put the others to shame,
and I knew I was truly awake.
Not because of what I knew, nor what I did know,
nor what was because because because and so invests in spells,
but what I knew positively, and I knew was wrong,
as if I were in 2002 and thought one of their people thought,
though I knew that that was wrong.
And I understood, that thinking what other people thought,
and knew it was wrong, 
had a kind of comfort that I didn't know before.
Wrong! To be ever so exactly wrong, 
and no that no one would contradict you.

A grimace was the thing on my face,
as they wrapped up in gauze and not lace exactly,
I was going in to the bowels,
and then some,
but I knew one thing: I was in a hospital,
because that was the only place they knew to put me.
They could not reach in, and I could reach out but made no sense.
And what nonsense it made, 
It wasn't gibberish, or nonsense, but extremely fine shade of sense
that did not happen to be true.

But how I wished  it  was,  it was,  it should  have Been.

In this state I had to modes,
 and in every other state I had one.
 so I knew however  doll this  was,
 it was reality,  and everything else was  feigning remote 
and in the end  meant nothing to anyone but me.
 falling smoke nuisance in London,  and we gusto I do it in,
 because who would know where it came from?

 who want want any thing of mine,
 and who want one anything that was thine,
 if they could get it from the source.
 I have Ezra Pound right here,
 clearing in two the distance,
 and my words are miss translated,
 even as I reached to speak with them.
 it is all a fraud,   but the most truthful fraud that could be reached,
 and is instead,  and then some.
 how I remember Christmas that I learned that.
 and then some.

 right now it is the winning years,
 and with a slow stupor,
 people realize that this was only a dream,
 delivering upon a yes we can,  know we can't, yes we can.
 and then to deliver to the 1% of country which is in yet ruined,
 but will be soon.
 how much better it is to dream a twisted dream,
 and go in to exile,  screaming at the night.
 that was  Pounds away,  and many others.
 and as I will in a dream,
 it called me,  and I felt its allure,
 like  Hippocampus and sirens in my dreams.

 watching steering at them,  the large drops
 which were disgusting in there   fervort  beating steering hide monster.
 which only made them more disgusting than you can imagine.
 unless of course you have had a blood vessel,
 rupture.
 and then there is only piece.
 and place that makes one wonder at what it is.
 because you know it is real,  but in a dream.
 in a nightmare.
 forever aghast at what was done to make it so.

 how pound Pound,  and delectably so.
 he wants to form the word for the sun,
 and for the father who inspired them.
 he wants to play with letters,  and symbols,  and numbers.
 to form of an essence the thing that he wishes for,
 but does not seek to touch.
 because that would be wrong,  and some subservient wish,
 and he would not want that  King of the Mountain top,
 he has it now on flat and,
 though he wishes it was around their.

 again words inflicted by translation, 
 and I hadn't had a mileage,
 that was Spanish actually,  and meant nothing like
 it sounds in English,  the words are different,
 and you and I can't figure them out, 
it breathed and then was gone  in to the corners of   mail after  soon
 that to was not what I said,  nor anything like it.
 but now translator in the way,  it's what I've said to you.

 oh how I wish that I  had known
 that Star Trek and Canto  XLVIII  said the same thing,
 that one,  few,  and many 
  went both forward and backwards,
 and win translated into symbols would be blacker than black.
  and high have to look for which symbol must be pressed,
 to write the wrong,  and right the wrong, 
 which the translator must have known would have happened.

 so I'm sitting here, and trying to form an image. 
 but my eyes only taken a fraction of what they see, 
 and I don't even realize it.
 so I will back in two dreaming,  because I know that most of what I've seen,
 wasn't truly there at all,  but I do not know,
 and as  as roof pound,  is descending into characters
 of an older four of Chinese writing,
 which I have two plaintively nine
 translate into the real Chinese,  because he reads the older script.
 and that will not do to someone who learned Chinese
 on the contemporary plane of Beijing.