Forth of July is among other things a psychic edifice, a large icon, sort of a massive ecumenical mysterium (ecumenical is not the word I'm looking for. . . I hope it comes to me. . . it's on the tip of my tongue. . . meaning, a fusion of different cultural/religious elements. . . syncretic, there we are). An algorithm, built on the basic pattern of the Orpheus myth. . . the idea that poetic speech reaches to recreate & re-enact the origins of everything, driven by an overwhelming longing & sense of loss. . . Bluejay leads the speaker into a myth of America, near the River & the Delta. . . MLK & Egypt & Ethiopia & the MLK-y (Melchizedek-y) Way. . .
. . . from one of the nodes of the poem (in July):
So you done chased yo feline
wid a beeline all dis way.
You done yo jawin an yo yawn,
read all round a boot, an leafed
every dern throwaway lifesavin
catamaran catalog down hard
King Mo alley, right? Drawn
them buckets a fearwater
juss like Fogman ordered, huh?
An here you be. Argo widow
woulda gone wid ya, Hen – d'you
noah that? Golden Hugh too –
that serial son of ol' Blue J!
– he woulda gone justa fleece
the fleas offer yurt coffin, Leif –
believe you he wild! Job
for one hardtack or two, ill sea!
Wid all dem aye-ayes in yo head,
man, you mighta seen at dear
befoe slammin – huh? Yas.
Y'wound un I done wid wood, man.
Ball upn lance them railleries, an
linkum all to the she-player. Nice
reel! Cause what happen in Nam,
bro, should be never a gain for no body.
I been there, saw, felt – done died to.
Been. You can thin out the ought
nought, but it won't play my dobro.
No way. Cause we allus carryin each
fo each bit o'honey. Thas way that pen
gonna be meltin yo mountain an nip
yo lie sites. An – give a chary kitty cheer!