Poetics and Ruminations

New Year's Wishes

As the Lapp herdsman says,

As a cowboy instructs Esquimaux,

As a bartender excuses a spill,

As a jazzy movie director signals for emotion in an actress,

As wind breakers warn others,

“Hobble ewe-deer,”

“Harpoon  few steer,”

“Happens to beer,”

Hipster cues tear,

“Hefty peeoo near to you!”

Uncle Wesli’s Daily Epitaph for Wednesday, December 30, 2009

 

R.I.P. RUDYARD KIPLING

December 30, 1865 – January 18, 1936

 

He left Vermont because his tippling

Brother-in-law threatened Kipling.

In Britain he found that his guerdon

Was shouldering the White Man’s Burden.

Uncle Wesli’s Daily Epitaph for Tuesday, December 29, 2009

 

R.I.P. BILL BAER

December 29, 1948

 

Erato taught him how to chime,

And he arrayed his lines with rhyme

Till he ran out of threads to wear —

Now time has worn our poor Bill Baer. 

Uncle Wesli’s Daily Epitaph for Sunday, December 27, 2009

 

R.I.P. CHARLES OLSON

27 December 1910 – 10 January 1970

 

He read the cant of Ezra Pound

And now he lies beneath this mound

Of rubble, pondering his role, son —

Ezra’s avatar, Charles Olson.

"Epitaphs for the Poets" Completed

 

    On Christmas night, 2009, I finished writing my series of poems titled, Epitaphs for the Poets, which picks up where William Dunbar's "Lament for the Poets" left off (actually, there is some overlap). Of course, there are some through the ages that I chose not to write, and others will very likely crop up during the course of the next year, but I have a full twelve months' worth done, and at the moment there are two-hundred-forty-five epitaphs ranging from couplets through the roundel, which is eleven lines long. I have not included any of the elegies I have written.

    Here is Dunbar's "Lament" in a modern version:

WESLI COURT’S EPITAPHS FOR THE POETS

PROLOGUE: WILLIAM DUNBAR’S LAMENT FOR THE POETS

 

I who was in health and gladness

Am troubled now with great sickness,

Enfeebled with infirmity;

Fear of death disturbeth me.

 

Our pleasance here is all vainglory,

This false world is but transitory,

The flesh is fragile, the Fiend is sly;

Timor mortis conturbat me.

 

The state of man does change and vary

Now sound, now sick; now blithe, now sorry,

Now dancing merry, now like to die;

Timor mortis conturbat me.

 

No state on earth here stands staunch.

As with the wind waves the branch,

So waves this world's vanity;

Timor mortis conturbat me.

 

Unto Death go all estates,

Princes, prelates, and potentates,

Both rich and poor, of each degree;

Timor mortis conturbat me.

 

He takes the knight in the field

Armed under helm and shield —

He is victor of the melee;

Timor mortis conturbat me.

 

That merciless and tyrant king

Takes, on the mother's breast suckling,

The babe full of benignity;

Timor mortis conturbat me.

 

He takes the champion of power,

The captain sheltered in his tower,

The embowered lady in her beauty;

Timor mortis conturbat me.

 

He spares no lord for his puissance,

Nor clerk for his intelligence;

His awful stroke may no man flee;

Timor mortis conturbat me.

 

Neither astrologers nor magicians,

Clerics, scholars, or logicians

Find help in their conclusions sly;

Timor mortis conturbat me.

 

Those most learned in medicines —

Leeches, surgeons, and physicians —

May not cure their mortality;

Timor mortis conturbat me.

 

I see that poets sing their sheaf,

Play their pageant, then go to grief;

Death does not spare their faculty;

Timor mortis conturbat me.

 

He had to impetuously devour

The noble Chaucer, the poets' flower;

The Monk of Bery, and Gower, all three;

Timor mortis conturbat me.

 

The good Sir Hugh of Eglinton

And also Heriot and Winton

He has torn from this country;

Timor mortis conturbat me.

 

That evil scorpion has brought to wreck

Master John Clarke and James Affleck

From ballad-making and tragedy;

Timor mortis conturbat me.

 

Holland and Barbour he has bereft;

Alas! that he could not have left

Sir Mungo Lockert of the Lee;

Timor mortis conturbat me.

 

Clark of Tranent, too, he's slain,

Who wrote The Adventures of Gawain;

Sir Gilbert Hay — ended has he;

Timor mortis conturbat me.

 

He has Blind Harry and Sandy Traill

Slain with his shower of mortal hail,

Which Patrick Johnston could not flee;

Timor mortis conturbat me.

 

He's taken Ralph of Aberdeen

And gentle Ralph of Corstophin —

Two better fellows may no man see;

Timor mortis conturbat me.

 

Now in Dumferlintown he's done

With Master Robert Henryson;

Sir John of Ross has bent his knee;

Timor mortis conturbat me.

 

And he has taken in his maw

Good, gentle Strobo and Quentin Shaw

On whom all creatures have pity;

Timor mortis conturbat me.

 

Good Master Walter Kennedy

In point of deed lies verily —

It were great ruth that such should be;

Timor mortis conturbat me.

 

Since all my brothers thus are gone,

He will not let me live alone;

I may perforce his next prey be;

Timor mortis conturbat me.

 

Since for the dead there is no cure,

We'd best prepare for what is sure

That we may live eternally;

Timor mortis conturbat me.*

Happy New Year, Poets, Wherever You Are.

Wesli Court

 * This version of "Lament for the Poets" by William Dunbar is from The Collected Lyrics of Lewis Turco / Wesli Court, 1953-2004, www.StarCloudPress.com, 2004. ISBN 1932842004, jacketed cloth, $49.95; ISBN 1932842012, quality paperback, $26.95, 460 pages, © 2004, all rights reserved.

Uncle Wesli’s Daily Epitaph for Saturday, December 26th, 2009

 

R.I.P. THOMAS GRAY

December 26, 1716 – July 30, 1771

 

He wrote but little, published less,

Much to his own and the world’s distress,

Till it fell upon him to portray

A “Country Churchyard” in tones of Gray.

 

R.I.P. JEAN TOOMER

December 26, 1894 – March 30, 1967

 

In his background there were numer-

ous genetic lines. Jean Toomer

Was himself a melting pot,

Though he was not a polyglot.

Uncle Wesli’s Daily Epitaph for Friday, December 25th, 2009

 

R.I.P. WILLIAM COLLINS

December 25, 1721 – June 12, 1759

 

He traveled unsuccessful roads,

For no one thought much of his odes,

But now beyond this plot of wall-ins

There is much praise for William Collins.

Uncle Wesli’s Daily Epitaph for Thursday, December 24th, 2009

 

R.I.P.  MATTHEW ARNOLD

December 24, 1822-April 15, 1888

 

He was arthritic as a critic,

Only slightly worser as a verser,

Something of a Trojan as a theologian —

Earth broke the mold of Matthew Arnold.

Published in Per Contra Spring 2009 Light Verse Supplement at www.percontra.net/14lightverseentry.htm

 

 
Dana Gioia and Wesli Court

R.I.P. DANA GIOIA

December 24, 1950

 

He stopped upsetting apple carts

And led an Endowment for the Arts.

Now dead male poets can enjoy a

Fellowship with Dana Gioia.

Uncle Wesli’s Daily Epitaph for Wedesday, December 23rd, 2009

 

R.I.P. ROBERT BLY

December 23, 1926 -

 

You need to be a world-wide roamer,

Read Neruda and Tranströmer,

To write verse true as apple pie

Opined the poet Robert Bly.

Uncle Wesli’s Daily Epitaph for Tuesday, December 22nd, 2009

 

R.I.P. EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON

December 22, 1869 – April 6, 1935

 

He lived in Gardiner, Maine, called it his own,

Though he renamed the place “Tilbury Town”

And hated it. It was the skeleton

Which he fleshed with the Corpus Robinson.

Published in Per Contra Spring 2009 Light Verse Supplement at www.percontra.net/14lightverseentry.htm

 

R.I.P. KENNETH REXROTH

December 22, 1905 – June 6, 1982

 

His third wife fell in love with Creeley

Because she loved a bit too freely,

But so did he: while still in wedlock

With another, he made her bedrock.