from toward the very end of Forth of July. The "W" that Bluejay & Henry's wanderings etched on the Providence East Side ridge, took some odd turns.


The scene, refreshed, reroused, was never to be forgotten,
the hen and crusader ever intermutuomergent...

Finnegans Wake

A cask of negus went barreling down the rhode
whorled in a victory-fin into the foretimes
buried in the midnight garden one St. William's
Day where he rose (our W) and rows and rowed

his henpicked galley through gales of galloping
gallic ages alone, Gellone (with 28 oarsmen
and a red coxcomb for a bully steersman)
it was a barging line or ink-can sunship

filled to the midnight brim with Orange or
honeyed yellow sweetings for the Bethel brew
it was a skeevy chicken key V shield anew
down the rustling river toward a dey of fire

on Study Hill or in Byzantium an axe
set to the roots of Oak Tree Day
Newport summons wedding for old El Rey
old Johnny Atahualpa Hamlet's summery X

the omelet ovum all at last of everywombin' man
incalculate and calculate with little pebbles
small gray veterans from Black Sea pledge
unto out of the Son of Man (here back to then)

and like a hand-sprung iron spring by
golly Moses there it goes an able nef
into the winestained cupola's deep
arrak barrel diving for the ring

of south-north stars' lamb-lamp
beeW your myrrh, my Magdalen
gleams in those double-emerald
ships (aye-aye me dewfall-camp)


No comments: