(no subject)

[phthalombrage]

15: Bad Poetry and Good

Dolfinfan13a: lit?
monoxyde d azote: yesh
Dolfinfan13a: eww
Dolfinfan13a: how far?
Dolfinfan13a: when'd u start?
monoxyde d azote: um
monoxyde d azote: editing pen women thing
monoxyde d azote: did research for teaching my chapter
monoxyde d azote: have not touched anything but revising the intro
monoxyde d azote: for the actual paper
Dolfinfan13a: hahaha
Dolfinfan13a: yay
Dolfinfan13a: someone further behind then i am
Dolfinfan13a: im on page 4
monoxyde d azote: everything rolls up like a big pile of crap
monoxyde d azote: I am a scarab
Dolfinfan13a: hahaha
Dolfinfan13a: ill join u in being a scarab
monoxyde d azote: seriously, though
monoxyde d azote: the last time I had to teach a lit chapter
monoxyde d azote: paper due.
Dolfinfan13a: hahahaha
monoxyde d azote: this time it's the same
monoxyde d azote: oh yeah
monoxyde d azote: and
Dung beetles eat dung excreted by herbivores and omnivores, and prefer that produced by the former.
monoxyde d azote: the former would be schleif.
monoxyde d azote: so we have to deal with it, since we obviously enjoy it.
Dolfinfan13a: hahahahahaha
Dolfinfan13a: right...
Dolfinfan13a: sometimes analogies just need to die
Dolfinfan13a: k nicole?
Dolfinfan13a: lol
monoxyde d azote: bit of sarcasm never hurt anyone
monoxyde d azote: except the people at whom it was directed...
Dolfinfan13a: hahahahaha



Grace To Be Said at the Supermarket

This God of ours, the Great Geometer,
Does something for us here, where He hath put
(if you want to put it that way) things in shape,
Compressing the little lambs into orderly cubes
Making the roast a decent cylinder,
Fairing the tin ellipsoid of a ham,
Getting the luncheon meat anonymous
In squares and oblongs with all the edges bevelled
Or rounded (streamlined, maybe, for greater speed).

Praise Him, He hath conferred aesthetic distance
Upon our appetites, and on the bloody
Mess of our birthright, our unseemly need,
Imposed significant form. Through Him the brutes
Enter the pure Euclidean kingdom of number,
Free of their bulging and blood-swollen lives
They come to us holy, in cellophane
Transparencies, in the mystical body,

That we may look unflinchingly on death
As the greatest good, like a philosopher should.

-Howard Nemerov (1920-1991)

Comments

[randomhobbit5.livejournal.com]

I like the poem. I think we read it in Lang.

Whose Dolfinfan?

[23rd-irishman.livejournal.com]

I think you're thinking of the Allen Ginsburg poem.

[cantalopesunite.livejournal.com]

Eric Allseits.