book xi - could gravestones speak (to scribd 07-07-09)

8/14/2019 Book XI - Could Gravestones Speak (to Scribd 07-07-09)

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.(BOOK XI FROM WLM: DISJECTI MEMBRA POETAE)

WLM: COULD GRAVESTONES SPEAK

by

Warren L. McClure...........................(Latest Revision 08-08-09)


2/47

02

WLM : IN MEMORIAM JPL SUMMER 1992

When a loved one diesthings of a nature undreamt of before

become things undreamt ofaspects of things not common to mind become objects on which

one's thoughts dread to dwelllay heavy on the will like a slab of stone

over an abandoned wellJustifications that would justify the fabulous saws we poets would live by

dry up like ink in an old unused penThe Sum of All Things teeters on the brink of summing it All up

with nothing left over to start it All upall over again

gives grotesque intelligence to the poems one would fashionpoems that no one else can possibly understand

pallid words wander across palimpsest pagesas tho they were to be the last lines of poetry

ever to be writtensighs issue forth from the heart

as tho they were the last soundsever to be heard

when a loved one dies

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3/47

03

And then again maybe not.......

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4/47

04

TABLE OF CONTENTS FOR WLM : COULD GRAVESTONES SPEAK

(BOOK XI WLM : DISJECTI MEMBRA POETAE)

01. Title Page02. Preface Poem (When a loved one dies)03. And then again maybe not04. Table of Contents

05. Li Pos06. That of a Reever07. That of an Octogenarian08. Epitaphs for NS, Sam, a Martyr, a Poor Man09. That of a Wino10. That of a Once Eminent Star-Gazer11. That of One Who Died in Delecti Flagrante12. Old Stones13. That of an Existentialist Who Has Ceased to Exist14. That of a Poetaster Killed by a Falling Brick15. The Gravestone of One Who Died a Bit Obese16. That of a Free Spirit Dying Young17. The Terror That's in Frost18. Farewell Farewell

19. That Death Has Come to Hummingbird20. Ask Me Not My Father's Name21. That of a Misanthrope22. The Voice in the Empty Urn23. Isadora Duncans24. An Inadequacy in a Philosophy and A Funeral Chant25. There26. Till Now27. Unless28. Thoughts on a Broken Wine-Glass29. I watched you in the window30. That of a Malcontent31. That of an Old Actors Who Never Made It Big32. Siddhartha Gautama Buddhas

33. Charles Darwins34. TSEs35. John Miltons36. A Billet-Doux from Heloises37. Lord Bacons38. That of a Squire who had a Fool for a Knight39. That of Sisyphus40. That of a Vituperative Critic41. An Epitaph For One Who Died Too Soon42. Comrades at Arms43. That of a Critic Not Famous For Tact44. A Musing45. Oh to have been a famous poet46. That of a Writer of Epitaphs47. End Page.....


5/47

05

WLM : COULD GRAVESTONES SPEAK

LI POS

(AD 701762)

O Poets to Comeshed ne'er a tear o'er my demise but quaff

half a bowl and dump the rest on thisthe thirsty Urn that holds what's left of me

the pickled ashes of my flesh and bonesAnd someone write a book of poems about

my bout with Life's intoxicating charmsfor I died as I had lived

a poem on my lipslaughing like a loon

drowning in the Lake of Lifemy belly full of beer and pinion nuts

my arms about the Moon

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6/47

06

FROM WLM : COULD GRAVESTONES SPEAK WINTER 1993

THAT OF A REEVER

To all ye who might wander nigh to thismy final resting place

and think to shed a tear or two for menote the sheaf atop this stone

and know the Reaper who never restswho cut me down in prime of life

now whets his scythe and waits for theeGrieve for thine Own

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7/47

07


THAT OF AN OCTOGENARIAN

Friendreflect on this odd headstonethat marks my aged bones last stopping placethis simulacrum of an uprooted tree

of whichonly the stump is leftand sigh for no more yearsthan mans allotted spanof three full score and ten

lest Time too tear you limb from limband trunk from rootshould you live so long as I

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8/47

08

FROM WLM : COULD GRAVESTONES SPEAK WINTER 1993..

EPITAPH FOR N. S.

As a dull sea does not descrythe earth below that tremblesso a crass world has passed him by

with muted drums and cymbals..

EPITAPH FOR SAM

Sam used to run our neighborhood storebut things arent the same as they were before

cause Sams not there anymore..

EPITAPH FOR A POOR MAN

All his debts are quit save one.

.EPITAPH FOR A MARTYR

All you who are oppressedlift up your heads

as you pass me byhere I lie asleep

a friendwho gave her life

turning the other cheekso your lives might be dignified

in your eyesand the eyes

of your

Fellow-Man

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9/47

09


THAT OF A WINO

My God I know Ive often bothered youfor in my time Ive turned up quite a fewand if it be your will to send me down below

dont expend a lot of your precious wit

mulling over my hapless fatefor I hear the Devil now and then

enjoys a jug

My God thy will be donemove over Lucifer here I come

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10/47

10

FROM WLM : COULD GRAVESTONES SPEAK SPRING 1999

THAT OF A ONCE EMINENT STAR-GAZER

Why cast you down your distraught gaze my friends and wonderhow goes it now with me within this humble urn

Lift up your eyes to the vast panorama of the night skyLook you there to the stars among which my thoughts

were once so wont to wanderI sought to bring them down to earth

but there they are no nearer now than ever

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11/47

11

WLM : COULD GRAVESTONES SPEAK AUTUMN 1993

THAT OF ONE WHO DIED IN DELECTI FLAGRANTE

O Curious Wonderers yewho would disturb my sleep

weep not for mefor ere I died

I came I saw I conquered Lovethat someone else held dear to Life as I

And Fate was on his sidefor he drew first and ran me thru

while I was occupiedelse here he'd lie

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12/47

12

FROM WLM : COULD GRAVESTONES SPEAK SUMMER 1981

OLD STONES

Dotted about the countrysideunder staid stones and the shade

of old oaks and cottonwoodsthose from whom I am begotten lie

victims of the Light and DarkContests of

the Seasons

pawns remanded to the Windsthat I might be

here in their steadhunting unicorns among the Stars

Whither will I

These weather-beaten graveyard metaphorsseem answer enough

thither will Ifor thee

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13/47

13


THAT OF AN EXISTENTIALIST WHO HAS CEASED TO EXIST

Impudent Lecteurwhy do you stare at this stone

If you must read something go read LEtre et le NeantOf course I enjoyed not eating not drinking not loving

and I stayed in bed till noon each day and smoked cigarettesAnd then I died

What else is there to sayDeath is the most important question

But that too is meaninglessso completely beside the point

that I dont know why I ever said itor why anyone would have ever bothered

to put up this stone

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14/47

14

FROM WLM : COULD GRAVESTONES SPEAK SUMMER 2003

THAT OF A POETASTER KILLED BY A FALLING BRICK

O Sensitive Perusers of sad words on tombsknow that I was presumably brought low by some careless wightwho knocked over a brick from the Tower of Learning

while I was innocently conversing with my Muse

in the Garden of the Moon belowSigh for the Grand Works thus lost to the World as you must

Nor let the trite manner of my death pass lightly by as it werefor it came from on High

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15/47

15


THE GRAVESTONE OF ONE WHO DIED A BIT OBESE

You Perspicacious Passersby may notemy grave is twice as wide as most

where others of my friends requiredsix or eight stout-hearted men

to bear their biersmine took ten

for I was of a portly weightO how I enjoyed a plate piled high

or two or threewashed down with a tankard of this or that

or two or threeand afterwards a pieand perhaps a cake

Still were I to be given my lifeto live over again

and promised a full score more yearsthan I lived in the last

if for the nonce I were but to change my ways

I'd not back away from the table once

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16/47

16


THAT OF A FREE SPIRIT DYING YOUNG

You Proud Young Prudes who would shrugat my quick demise and then resume

your grim treks up and onwards alongthe path to Riches Glory Fame and Death

might find it wise to pause a nonce to notethat tho my days were short I reaped much joy

while that you sow is griefthat soon or late you too will come untodroll graves like this

You Proud Young Prudes take heed from onewho lived and had no truck for gainlighten up a bit and have some funbefore your blossoms too are blown and gone

You Proud Young Prudestho you thrive to hoar old ageand change not your ways

the eulogies your kin will singwill never ring so trueas this my owntho I died youngfor there'll be nothingfor your stones to tellother than this

That you were born onceyou never livedand then you diedand thenthat incommensurable wishthat now perhaps your souls might rest

in peace

in Erewhon

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17/47

17

FROM WLM : EPITAPH FOR A COUNTRY POET WINTER 1979

THE TERROR THAT'S IN FROST

You see me here a rugged vinethat's cast its seed and passed its primeI've been fenced who's left to careMy thistles keep away the kine

For flush of color friends left me hereThe Scythe-Man blind held me dearbut they are gone and I but waitthe cry of ice-flakes flurrying where

I can but lie and see them takethe measure missed by scythe and rakeLike mulch I'll sweat from sweet to sourand none will come to weep my wake

And after that a hoar frost bowerand after that the Winter's hourOh to have been forever a flower

Oh to have been forever a flower

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18/47

18

FROM WLM : NOTES FROM THE AGE OF FLIGHT WINTER 1965

FAREWELL FAREWELL

Out go the lightsas the Sun rises

above the treesacross the river

The snows come lateDeath cannot wait

till afternoonFarewell Farewell

the bell must tolltoo soon too soon

one's day is donethe Bull has won

over the Old Mancome to the Mountain

from out the Sea

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19/47

19

FROM WLM : NOTES FROM THE AGE OF FLIGHT AUTUMN 1962

THAT DEATH HAS COME TO HUMMINGBIRD

Awake SparrowListen Bee

Ant go tellthe Butterfly

what once hadthrilled

the Hummer'swings

a Stillness stealsa Whiteness

wringsfrom out his form

This morningbrings

all coldness wherehis warmth

had beenand gay before

that Stillness came

Awake SparrowListen Bee

Ant go tellthe Butterfly

THAT DEATH HAS COME TO HUMMINGBIRD

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20/47

20


ASK ME NOT MY FATHER'S NAME

Ask me not My Father's nameHe was not of this time

In a different agehe would have been an honest peasant

Or perhaps a repentant thief

If you think all peasantsmoved into town in the 17th Century

or the 18th or 19th evenyou've not bothered to look about

The Industrial Revolution hasnt endedInfernally the process still goes on

surely slowly grotesquely it still goes on

My Father was somewhat knowledgeableat one time early on he taught school

at another time

he supervised a shiftat an electroplating plantwhere he was poisonedIn between these times

he tenant-farmedfarm after farm after farm

He was totally unable to graspthe Totalities of the Age of Flight

His Weltansicht fell to pieces

His brain burstNot all at once

but a little at a time

It took four years of this burstinga little at a timeto come to an end

Death found him in a little green roomafter the fourth breaking

in a long long daylife literally squirting blood-red

from his world-worn eyes

It was one of his more coherent later daysand he passed it with resignation

somewhat forgiving and unafraidFor several years he had been afraid of everything

When we disposed of his meagre belongings

we found a small Biblemarked appropriately with an unpaid bill

at the first verses of Lukeat the passages about the man possessed by demons

Ask me not My Father's namefor his name too is Legion

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21

FROM WLM: COULD GRAVESTONES SPEAK SUMMER 1998

THAT OF A MISANTHROPE

(WERE ANYONE TO EVER PUT UP A HEADSTONE OVER HIS GRAVE)

You Feckless Fool who would rather stroll among the Shades at evethan truck with others of the Human Race

nor frolic with Family even before the common hearthbeware lest you stumble over my grave

this humble mound of earth a mole might makeunkempt, unmarked, unwept upon

and thus have cause to ponder who it is that herein liesO Feckless Fool even I while still alive like you

hardly knew myselfFor I was born

no one cares to remember when or whySans kith sans kin I must have lived

I must have diedfor someone buried me

O Feckless Would-Be Misanthrope take heed the statemy friendless bones lie in

and seek to alter your own fateere its too late

ere its too late

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22


THE VOICE IN THE EMPTY URN

O Haughty One I seeyou gaze with awe on this empty Urn againwhere it waits in its sacred spaceupon that secret Shelf

you fashioned for it above your HearthYou admire its blues its greens its greysand thank your lucky starsfor that auspicious day you first acquired it

Ah how Fate seemed to turn your way that day

But list to me this Voice Within and learnno matter how tall you stridenor wide the swath you cutnor the little or much youre worthwhen your time on Earth is upburned to a crisp your flesh and bonesthe ashes you once called your Self

will scarcely cover overthe bottom of

this Urn

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23/47

23

FROM WLM: COULD GRAVESTONES SPEAK SUMMER 1995

ISADORA DUNCANS

To dance was my one obsessionMy regrets

twoFor had I not loved

fast carsand long scarves

Id still be dancing

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24/47

24

FROM WLM : NOTES FROM THE AGE OF FLIGHT WINTER 1960..

AN INADEQUACY IN A PHILOSOPHY

Cogito ergo sumDescartes echoesfrom his tomb

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.A FUNERAL CHANT

Cease timeDeath hoverLife endSnow cover

Wind blowRain fall

Bud blossomNever Never

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25/47

25

FROM WLM : NOTES FROM THE AGE OF FLIGHT SUMMER 1960

THERE

I remember you Majoryou and Iwere sittingThere

like thispassing the timeof day

Thousand-leggedvermiformswove themselvesin and outour uniforms

One surprisedslithered excitedlyacross my forearmover the bones

Your jacket openedat the neckand embarrassed youbecause of a teartherein your skinthat allowed me to seethe emptinessinside youwhere your heartshould have been

Where was it

we wereDo you rememberDo you remember meWhat were we doingThere

When

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26/47

26

FROM WLM : NOTES FROM THE AGE OF FLIGHT SUMMER 1960

TILL NOW

Till nowIve spent

my time afloatat sea

while promontoriesfell

to right and leftof me

but noneRimbaud

has rockedthis drunken boat

this bateau ivre

Till now

And nowI must come in

at duskto Inverness

an inner strivingdrives me on

to shore again

There Chauras lieshis head chopped

off

I must take uphis talmudic task

his poetic missionwhich I too

can never expectto ever finish

to ever

abandon

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27/47

27

FROM WLM : NOTES FROM THE AGE OF FLIGHT WINTER 1965

UNLESS

Unlessyouve made your mark

in better dayswhen you are old and grey

no minds will changewhen men hear you speak

no hearts will leapwhen they hear you sing

no tears will fill their eyeswhen you pass away

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28/47

28

FROM WLM : NOTES FROM THE AGE OF FLIGHT AUTUMN 1965..

THOUGHTS

ON

A

BROKEN

WINE

GLASS

Often my image have I seen in theeWill it too

some dayso shattered be

that those following after cannot seethe

faceted

essencethat

was

me...

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29/47

29


FLIGHT #431

I watched you in the windowWhile you were near

And when you were far awayAnd I could no longer see you

I watched the windowFor I knew you would be sitting there

And you were awayAnd up

And I watched your planeAs it disappeared into the haze of distance

There to flickerLike some black star

At the extremity of visionAnd then you were gone

And I was left waiting on the rampDeath must be a little

Like that

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30/47

30


THAT OF A MALCONTENT

You Droll Pedestrianswho dare to tread nearby this homely graveYou who perhaps thought you were once my friends

You who now may stand with mouths agape

and wonder how it goes with mebelow this sparse cold mound of earth

Droll Pedestrians I wonder for your sanitiesOf one who was never satisfied with Life's rewardswho always hoped for nothing less than something more

how could you expect of one such as Ito be otherwise in Death

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31/47

31

FROM WLM : COULD GRAVESTONES SPEAK AUTUMN 1996

THAT OF AN OLD ACTOR WHO NEVER MADE IT BIG

You Callow Friendswho come here now to stare at thismy final sticking placewho never once while I alive

would grant the chance for me to playthe weightier parts upon the living stage

but forced me there to wearthe jester's cap and ass's ears

to provide relief by foolish words and comic faceand bear the butt of the audience's jeerswhile you so greater thespians than Iwallowed in pathos up to your noble crestsknow that I have had my chance to wear

the tragedian's mask at last

Oh how I wish I had againmy jester's cap and ass's ears

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32/47

32


SIDDHARTHA GAUTAMA BUDDHAS

Humble Supplicants

Let my protuberant abdomenbe admonishment enough for you as to the effervescence

of worldly whimsthat the social milieu even we saints must suffer thruis built like an old toiletits foundations laid on the accumulation of four thousand years

of feces and urine

Yet eat drink fornicateFor enlightenment doesnt come from moderationStill I wish I hadnt consumed in totoall of that spiced dish of sukara-maddavanor especially the bamboo sprouts

trodden by pigs

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08-20-94.............

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33/47

33


CHARLES DARWINS

My Dear MournersI didn't in the least mind dyingit's as much in the nature of things as taking a crapAnd after the joys of aging

heart palpitations vomiting migrainesboils chills tics tremblings insomniayou name it what can I sayOr my physicians going about in white dragBut this beshitting by my favorite pigeonsof my headstonehas got to be put to a stopPlease shoo them away

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FROM WLM : SHOULD GRAVESTONES SPEAK WINTER 1996

TSES

O Ye Crits who still turn the Wheel and look to windwardand feed the gulls that hover o'er my tomb

and like them let your liquid siftings fallA pox on thee who never writ a kindly word

in my Poetry's defenseMay you rot in Hell among the turds

of those who never raised their penwithout misquoting

my intents

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35


JOHN MILTONS

A word or two for those of you who wonder overmuchover the ins and outs of Theology

I languor now in Hell My Friendson a throne of sorts

for having painted a more likeable portrait ofOld Beelzebub

than God

who was highly displeased to say the least

thank Heavens thothe Devil liked it

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A BILLET-DOUX FROM HELOISES

Oh Abelard AbelardHow my spirit pineshere beneath the sodbeside the nunnery

Godspeed the hourwhen you and Iare reunitedin Paradiseand youagainhaveallyour

parts

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LORD BACONS

You blissful Passersbywho blithely skip along the Merry Way

of Life and Art and Sciencethat circs the Slough of Deep Despond

I implore you do not ignoremy Novum Organum

and as for that unfortunate experimentwith the chicken

that I did lastI summarily wish to High Heaven

and by the Grace of God Abovethe less be said the better for it

or better yetwere it forgotten

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THAT OF A SQUIRE WHO HAD A FOOL FOR A KNIGHT

Having spent my life on Earth being faithful to a foolnever asking for any more than a little barley for Old Dapple

and a bit of bread and cheese for myselfI'd hoped to fare better

in my afterlife in Hellfiguring I could keepa jump or two ahead of the Fire

if given a leagues head startbefore Old Scratch turnedhis Hell-Hounds looseI fare me well so far I guess

given the nature of the gamehaving ill-used no one I know of except myself

And have I done ill inadvertentlyto anyone else

take it up with the Devil if you wishjust don't take it out

on my poor Old Ass

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THAT OF SISYPHUS

Perplexed Muserhere I lie at last beneath this pebble

which was once that huge boulderI was by Dis condemned

to roll uphill foreveras penance for my evil dayswhile yet alive on EarthPerplexed MuserTake careand mind thy ways

toward friends and neighborslest the stone that awaits you in Hades

be not neat and round like minebut square

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40


THAT OF A VITUPERATIVE CRITIC

Why stare ye thus with mouth agape Poetat this my open grave

Did you expect the Earthto hold me fast

to stay my tonguewhen that last breath I took

was to curse your Book of Poems

Such trash

Stand down

Youll not escape my wrathIll haunt you from this grave

from Limbo Heaven HellIll heckle the Devils Keeper till He wills

to still your feckless musingslest you forswear for aye

on this open grave to ceaseyour silly scribblings

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AN EPITAPH FOR ONE WHO DIED TOO SOON

Soft soft you mourners round my urnwho oft before I know were wont to muse upon

the lives of mice and menand the flowers of the field

and those too of butterflies and mothsI had garnered much

and planted moreAll I had wished for

that I had notwas well within the reachof my outstretched armsfor the gathering inAnd now Im goneto rest amongthe myriad whowere whisked awayere they had reapedall they had sown

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FROM WLM : LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT SPRING 2002

COMRADES AT ARMS

Heroes are but men like each of usof blood of flesh of bone

yet they possess a little more of something elseEsprit

the stuff that bondsComrades at Arms

to overcome their Country's foesas Fate decrees

Today we honor one of thoseour stouthearted Company Commander

Colonel William BarberFox Two Seven First Marines

who fought beyond where Duty callswho wrought the best from each of us

at Toktong Pass Korea

Here at this last muster under his aegis

we lay to rest his flesh and bonesthru which Life's blood no longer flows

but that Esprit he shares with usstill marches on

Comrades at Armslike Fox's lines at Toktong Pass

the bond still holds

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THAT OF A CRITIC NOT FAMOUS FOR HIS TACT

Pity-pity Pathetic Poet you who to earn pence enoughfor purchase of your daily pint and loaf would prey upon

the Sympathies and choose to dwell unseemingly longon that unhappy happenstance that has or will befall

each and every one of us who bears the name MankindI would have you take a glance at a sobering scene which

except via myth and lie no ones been able to descryOn this Stage no sound is heard not even TimesBeyond an efferential scrim the Light dimsbecomes a black pinprick in a mise en sceneIts as if you were being anagogically turned offIts as if you were caught in a horrible dreamwhere in the midst of it you never wake up

Its as if you were viewing a series of framesfrom an old movie strip that suddenly snapsAll human beings fat fit fair lean or worse

are fated for just such a Final GlimpseHow far removed do you think you are

from playing the Star in such a scenetwo years three years maybe four

Can you imagine yourselfoff that Stage into the Wings

by promising to clean upyour Act

after the Curtain drops

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FROM WLM : FLYTINGS SPRING 1997

A MUSING

Of all the beastie forms with whichwe have been by Nature blest

if someone said some have to goI think Id miss

the mosquito least

And next I thinkwould be the roach

or perhaps the anttheyve both survived

far past the span of mostI wouldnt sorrow overmuch

were they to go

along with flies and fleas and lice and gnatsand mice and rats

But most of allId like to see

the critics of my poems deceasebefore I lose my lease on life

so that I might writetheir epitaphs

And next in line the beastId like to see drop dead the mostwould be that ass the parodist

who cant express his inmost needto show his lack of wit

without plundering someone elsesmasterpiece

And after that

the pseudointellectual clownwho laughs at antics

such as thisI think the World would be

better off withoutI doubt Id share a tear

over his demise

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FROM WLM : LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT SUMMER 1996

Oh to have been a famous poetand to have written with authority

to have had every fabulous wordthat ever escaped my pen

posted for posterityto be read in awe

by future witsas examples ofthe Absolute TruthsI once found

in Poetrysagely saws which

long after my demisewould still draw oohs and ahs

from hoi-polloiwho only think in prose

and giggles from the cognoscenti

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FROM WLM : LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT - WINTER 1994

EPITAPH FOR A WRITER OF EPITAPHS

My Bemused Testators

Many a line I've writto celebrate the passing on of some poor wit

with never a thought that itwould some sad day

come down to thisthe writing of my own

But why not

Who knows better than I of thatto which I should atone

or that I'd care to be remembered byThe list for the first too long to fit

any stone I know ofthe list for the last to short to waste

a chisel on

So

To those I've hurt bear me no illTo those who've hurt me I bear none

To those who loved me all my love

Yet why bother having some ass defaceanother stone when I pass on

You who would read droll epitaphsread those on which the words I wrote

for star-crossed lovers and fools are carvedand those for poetasters

who never learned to scanand those I wrote for prideful souls

and other clownsfor they apply as well to me

And you perhaps

Or no

Then time were better spentto write your own

than pondering overmuch on thislast Will and Testament

of mine

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WLM : COULD GRAVESTONES SPEAK

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book xi - could gravestones speak (to scribd 07-07-09)

Documents