FACING THE VIRGIN PAGE – THE DEFINITION OF A POET

via FACING THE VIRGIN PAGE – THE DEFINITION OF A POET

Advertisements

FACING THE VIRGIN PAGE – THE DEFINITION OF A POET

THE DEFINITION OF A POET………………………………………………FACING THE VIRGIN PAGE………..

      
       Editor 666 has arrived. This bush pilot knows where the poet lives. His cabin is
hard to forget, as it is the only free standing structure in several hundred square miles.
      Wait-A-Bit is about 200 miles away,
but there are no free standing structures
in Wait-A-Bit – except Matilda`s double caravan
with dug-out room below… Her former friend drove a smaller trailer into a larger one, pushed insulation between the two walls, doubled up with the screening, cut a hole in the floor to accomodate the foxhole – and voila – the perfect Artic dwelling.. with steel walls…
reinforced with angle iron…
        
     

        My first wife she used to try
to piss me off – clever bitch! I loved her – still do. She figured the only way she could get me to tell the truth was when I was angry. Otherwise… I lied.
      “True enough,”  Astrid insists: “Normally
you`re a sneaky, duplicitous bastard!” So she`d try to annoy me        “Truth is best before breakfast,” she`d say…. See?  That`s pretty annoying.

        

      Today   EDITOR 666 meets the THE MAD TRAPPED POET OF RAT RIVER.
     I can relate to EDITOR666 because you must get ugly with
yourself, with your sentences – with everything in your
life. 
    I love the street and I love street talk.  I love country
talk. I love being in the country. I love to have a cold beer
sitting on a stump.
      I LOVE THE `ECONOMY OF PHRASE` SLANG
 ENABLES US TO USE!
      But do not be deceived. I spent four fucking years
at the University learning how to use this language.
And I`ve spent another ten years learning how
 to use street-slang…. I didn`t know that`s what I was doing

at the time – I had joined crack culture, “country of the Now”
      But to write well and tell the truth I almost
have to “get my dander up”… this is a phrase the old
folks used….. Get up to face the Virgin Page.
      I`m getting older now – a ripe middle age. And I`m
not as patient as I used to be – in fact I`m turning
into a real monster.   I don`t let people visit me.
Most people don`t want to, anyway.  And that`s just
fine.Works out well.
      You see I have to GET IT UP every morning (and
for once I`m not talking about sex). And you know, that
old prick Hemingway (he`s already had more than enough

attention) – but he was right about a lot of things… I like
him best when he talked about writing.
      I used to think he was always a bit pretentious about the

boxing matches, the bullfights  etc. But I don`t think that way
 any more.
      Boxing to me is just a metaphor for the fight to face
the page, and derive some truth, squeeze some juice out
of the psyche.
      Every morning it`s like climbing a mountain…to mix
metaphors.
       I`ve climbed plenty of mountains and, if you`re determined,

 the one thing you cannot do is stop

***************************

EDITING


Editor 666 – picks a lame line out of a half-assed poem
and sticks it up on the blackboard.
 
“SOME WEIRD BEAK AT BEAT IMPLORING”
       
“Ha! Ha! Ha!    What the fuck do you mean by that???

Mad Trap Poet:   If I could see the text, I could discuss it.
Ed:     You don`t need the text, fruitcake… I`ll put the text      

in big letters up above  TO EMBARRASS YOU!

MAD POET OF RAT RIVER:  He produces a 14 inch
butcher knife which looks more like a Roman short sword
than a knife….He waves the blade in the light from
the Coleman Lamp, so Ed666 can see its razor sharp edge.
“Call me `fruitcake` one more time and I`ll cut your head
         off. Right here, right now.  I`LL EDIT YOU!

EDITOR666:  Ah,  you don`t have the balls to cut anybody`s head off.   Not you, you`re a “literary type.”

PO:  What are you—- you`re a LITTLE editor.  (He lisps
        as he says this)    

 EDITOR666:  All my life, I`ve worked like a man. You don`t  
          have the strength to cut off my head —  see these       ..        neck muscles? They`re too tough for you…. You
          do not know how hard it is…head cutting.

PO:    Oh, but I do.  I know exactly how hard it is…. I`ve
         done it before AND I LIKE IT….It`s not hard;
         it`s easy…. the prick was trying to kill me and
         it cheered me right the fuck up lifting his
         surly head into the air – by the hair… Hard, nah.
         Easy. I liked  I felt like a better man after it was
         done….. All the women in the club cheered and  
          and begged to suck my dong…. Did I let   them?         

What do you think?

(THIS IS CALLED A PISSING CONTEST… AND YES, IT DOES  HAVE SOMETHING TO DO WITH EDITING…)

Editor666:  No way.. I scan the news for mental oddities
                elements of the insane… I`d have seen  the
                news report…. Did you do it in secret, pansy,
                in your own secret closet?

PO: No it was in the news for days….almost 2
      years back… Remember a story about…..a head being
      chopped off in a public…WHAT ARE YOU, A COP?  I`m     not  not    telling you any details….

EDITOR666:   “I`m no cop! Your mayor hired me to give you
                      a hand with your narrative poems and free free             

verse…. I hear you`re good but you need help
                         bad !
              PO:      What mayor? There`s no town….if you hadn`t           noticed…. We`re on Great Bear Lake,  asshole!
        The only town within 500 miles is PORT RADIUM…
        and it`s been a ghost town for twenty years.
        That`s what they tell me.

ED6: You never bothered to go.?

PO:  Where you from?

ED6: Toronto, New York City, London.

PO:  You drop in to Rochester often? You bother to
        go there?

ED:  Never have, nope.

PO:  Well, at least there`s fuckin people in in Rochester.
       Port Radium, there no one.  And it glows in the dark!
       And It`s about the same distance…   

ED666: What do you mean, same distance. It`s just
           across the lake. I saw it on the map…

RAT:    A map?  You saw a map did ya? Ha! Ha! Ha!
           Yeah, just across the Lake, a paddle of
            about 400 miles…

ED666:  You`re not kidding are you? No, God help me!
            What`s so funny about a map?

PO:  No one`s seen a map up here for years…
        The map`s not really the problem… even WITH
       a map, we don`t know exactly where we are.
        We`d better have a drink and Il try and
       explain things for you…

Editor666:  That first pilot dropped me off
                 right in the middle of a huge parking lot…

Mad Poet:   You mean Wait-A-Bit!

Editor: __________?No. It was just utter
          devastation. Not even a blade of grass. It was
          a huge stone crusher had passed through just
          that morning…

Poet:   So you didn`t see the mayor.

Ed:     I didn`t see anybody. Wait, there was this one
      crazy asshole who seemed to be sweeping
      the place up… He was wearing this  hat like I`ve
      never seen before, and I have been to New
      Guinea… And they come up with some pretty
       wild-assed combinations over there… But
      nothing like this fool! There he was looking
      among the stones… With all these screens
       hanging over his face…..!

Mad-trap: That was the mayor.

Ed666:  Oh, no!  You`re mistaken. This guy looks like
          the moron janitor no one hired, working in this great
           latrine under the sky, scrubbing at the rocky
           coast of nowhere!

Mad Poet ( writes it down)   
       “The moron janitor no one hired,
        Working in this great latrine under the sky,
         Scrubbing at the rocky coast of nowhere “
         

 MADPO:        ” Sweeping under the open sky”…not bad!…. Maybe   you`re a poet,also

Editor666:  “I WAS a poet… It`s just that my character
                is not quite aberrant enough; my temper,
                though it is extreme, is not sufficiently
loathsome; and my genitals, though larger and much more
weighty than average, are not quite huge. And though
I enjoy beating innocent animals and persons smaller than I am, whipping them into apologetic and begging submission – I am not quite the sadist that I ought to be… to be worthy the name,”POET”.  
          Though I am deceitful and enjoy lying, 
especially to trusting souls: I find duplicity is not the air
I breathe.
        Though I do try to be an cold emotion-manipulating
beast, I am not quite up to par: I do not have that icy grasp
to squeeze each drop of soul out of each person in a situation;
       No I am not quite cold enough to deserve the title,POET.

Mad poet:  “WHAT? did you just say? Are you mocking me? Did you just insult me??`  You`re drunk, aren`t you…?
                You`d better be!”

Editor 666:  “Oh, no! Drunk?  Never!  Alcohol gives me the
                  great clarity.  The more alcohol I consume, the
                  more intelligent I seem to be…

                   I do not know entirely  how the 
                 Cosmos works, but the more I drink, the less                   

intelligent  other people  grow to be, other
                  people in the room with me, the dumber they                   become….                          
                 
             quite likeable folks turn out to be fools and
                 morons – the alcohol gives me the power
                 to discern their retardation easily…

MadPo        Man,  you`re hammered! Look, it`s
                  OK to talk to me this way…for a moment…But if you start spouting off this way in Wait-A-Bit…. 
someone`ll put a bullet thru your brain… and laugh about it… It won`t take  very long, either!

Edito666:   WAIT-A-BIT does not exist!

MadPo:    Ha! Ha! That`d be a good start.  They`re sensitive
          over there about their town stature         

ED666:  Statue…?.

MadPo:  That, too! It was melted down in seconds!

EDITOR666:  “WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU SAYING, MAN?”


               

               

Mad Po: I had sex with his wife.  He found out.. Broke into my house… I woke up he had a knife in his teeth and
            his hands in my pants….
   
Ed666:  So you cut his head off…. and then you ate his
            brain…

Mad Po:  Quite right. I felt I had to … to prove
              the ability that he was trying to remove
              from me.
              I caught him and I ate his brain.            
              I felt like a real success that day!

Ed666:    They found you covered in blood
              a man`s brain in your mouth….

Mad Po:  Yes.

Editor:     You did all that and got away!  You`re a sick
              prick aren`t you? Brains, guts, mental illness and
              a gory past – you have exactly the traits I hope
              to find in a poet… Yes, you are mad -but that can
              be a good thing for similes, images and symbols.

Mad Poet:  So you`ll work with me?

Editor 666: Yes, I will. You`ve got all the qualities.

Poet:   In honour of our deal, I will present you with
          this!         The  Poet from Rat River
          holds up the huge knife…

Editot 666:  I was hoping for something else”, he
               whispers in the poet`s ear.

Mad Poet:  That?  You want “that?”

The editor nods his head, “Yes”


Poet: Poet nods his head.  “That can be arranged.”

            They shake on it.


  EDITOR 666 – DEFINITION OF A POET:  Intelligence of an  eccentric kind, passion with a BENT twist —a different   way of thinking and seeing the world, 
 necessarily strange associations. A mean, assaultive   character   prone to grandiose thoughts.  Alcoholics are often best – alcoholics who yearn for 
childhood before the age of 5 (Like- Dylan Thomas.) A puerile intellect that makes manipulation
of children and naive under-confident women a simple matter.
     A capable individual,  a person who devises a plan and can then carry the plan out –  no matter how outrageous, violent and sordid the plan may be.  A person with massive manic interludes…. an attractive, handsome sociopath (who can really screw the ladies over).
        
MADPO:   “What?” WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY….??? Let me read that! I`VE NEVER HEARD SUCH A STRING OF INSULTS, degenerate thinking in one place
!
EDITOR 666: Ho! Ho! You know I speak the truth!

PO:   You`re going to pay for that little joke!

Editor 666:  Who`s joking? 

         Both men are loaded now. The overproof has found
a major place in them both.
        Running down towards the river. Mad Trapper Poet
 of Rat River asks:  “Do you think I`m poet material? Do you think I can make the grade?

EDITOR 666 “A person of your experience, proclivities and background, you will shine!” 

SINGING & WRITING: “IT’S SO SERIOUS!”

        I was recording my song: “IT’S SO SERIOUS!” In a 24 Track Recording Studio just north of Toronto. I’d had invited about 20 jazz musicians including the 5 of us in JOHNNY ROCK AND THE THE MAINSTREET BAND

           There were 20 or so musicians drinking strong rum in the manager’s office. I had hired a woman producer who was more of a ballbuster  than I had expected. Half the band was black and they don’t like getting ordered around by this white gal. I realized they were plotting to kidnap her and put her in the trunk of someone’s car.

         I took over her chair right away, but that didn’t help much. They all could see her through the soundproof glass. They knew where she was…

       I was getting worried about her safety. So I took all my clothes of and started singing this next song in my underwear —- I was aiming for some comic effect… when I started barking like a dog, baying like a hound – this got plenty of laughs…

 

I wanted to bring a pit bull into the studio and have him howl under the microphone, but the manager nixed this idea. The mike cost about 10 Gs and he thought the dog might eat the mike…

         So I had to take over. That’s when I wrote this song.

 

        “IT’S SO SERIOUS!”

 

And I’m glad I did.

 

(C)1980-2018 by W.G. Milne  All rights reserved.

 

 

******

The Critical Edition of Q
A Synopsis including the Gospels of Matthew and Luke, Mark and Thomas with English, German and French Translations of Q and Thomas

Series:

Editors:  Robinson J.M., Hoffmann P., Kloppenborg J.S.

Year: 2000
ISBN: 978-90-429-0926-7
Pages: CVII-561 p.
Price: 70 EURO
Summary:
The Critical Edition of Q: Synopsis including the Gospels of Matthew and Luke, Mark and Thomas with English, German, and French Translations of Q and Thomas, edited by James M. Robinson, Paul Hoffmann and John S. Kloppenborg, culminates almost twenty years of teamwork by the International Q Project, which includes more than 40 scholars from North America and Europe. The outcome of this massive undertaking is an 8-column synopsis on facing pages, which presents the critical text of Q itself in column four, flanked by the Matthean and Lukan texts from which it has been reconstructed, and then, in the other columns, Matthean and Lukan doublets, and parallels from Mark, Thomas, John and the LXX. With all these materials laid out in parallel lines, the study of the Q sayings is greatly facilitated. Toward the bottom of each page the resultant Q text is presented in non-formatted and hence more readable form in Greek, English, German and French. A history of Q Research opens the volume, and a Greek Concordance of the critical text of Q closes the volume. Thus the Critical Edition of Q serves as the standard tool for all Q research of the future.

PASSAGES FROM PASSAGES

I left the city and took “the narrow path to the deep north”. In the north

I built a cabin out of oak logs on top of a 150 foot cliff. In that cabin

I worked on clarifying the meaning of some of the texts found at

Nag Hammadi, Egypt, 1945.
Most times when I have difficulty with a passage, the sunlight would pour through. On a cloudy day, the skies would open and the passage would write itself.
Once I was working by a campfire in the bush at night, and I was totally stifled.
A passage in the Gospel of Philip had me stumped. I was staring into the campfire
and couldn’t do a thing. After a few moments the Northern Lights descended
and the woods lit up all around me, and the passage basically finished itself.
No further thought went into the matter. The pen just wrote.
Later I was wondering whether I had imagined the whole thing. But I had
a visitor in the cabin, and she came running out and said, “The cabin just got
really bright.”
This sort of thing was not a rare occurance, but happened frequently.
Many different kinds of experience struck me as not merely odd, but
certainly a sign of Divine Intelligence within all things.
                                          *
Through Realization. or Revelation, or Satori, Enlightenment,
the Knowing of the early Christian Gnostics, through this Experience
which is fundamentally the same in all cultures, “identity” becomes
“Identity” and the seeker becomes One with God. Through an annihilation
of the ego, an implosion occurs which destroys the shell of the egg,
and the mystic achieves spiritual maturity. This is by no means
an easy process.
 
What we have forgotten, because we have been lead astray, is this:
it is not the name that is important. All our holy men have been murdered;
our heros have been slaughtered, because of names. These holy ones
would be horrified and enraged if they knew their names
are being used for such hellish purposes!

The very names of our holy men have been used as a justification

for slaughter! Also our names for God. In the name of Christ,

in the name of Allah, in the name of Krisna, we kill each others’ children.
Then distracted, we allow those who have lied to us for thousands of years,
those who are aligned with Power and Greed, we allow them to fool us again –

Don’t be blinded by names – don’t be led astray. Allow the name of God to be nameless. “I AM THAT I AM” is a good nameless name,

         Or: THE ONE WHO IS CREATING US.

Creation never takes place in the past tense. It is a continuous birthing.

I sometimes us the phrase: “THE TRUE ONE” because no names attack to it.

 

*

 

The Lord of light cannot be invoked. His grace is like the wind;
it goes where it wishes. When Grace fills you,
the room seems to lighten up a bit. Other people notice it, too,
that the room has brightened. Suddenly your are filled with
love and confidence. We can all be mystics.

*

The answer is to take the energy of this anger and use it as fuel

for meditation. Take the fuel of this rage and look within to the new country of the soul, the pure

land where men cease from grasping.

Look within and see until the mirror appears,
the mirror that is no mirror, but is the eye through which
you see God. And God sees you also through the same mirror,
and you know and you are known. The two become one,
the division between you and God disappears.
The One Light shines eternally,
and will forever shine within true men and women the world over.

There are many pathways to One Place. It is simple.

Do not be confused by names. Your duty is the Holy
Quest to your soul, to that which you have always been,
even before your parents were born.
I asked God one time, “What am I?” God answered in a loud Voice,
“You are an empty vessel.” It is through this empty vessel
that I write to you these words.

A TOUCH OF TRUTH, A TASTE OF THE OCEAN

A TOUCH OF TRUTH, A TASTE OF THE OCEAN
The earliest Christians were called Gnostics mostly in an attempt to dismiss the Christ’s emphasis on “knowing”. “Know yourself and you shall see me.” “HE WHO DR…Source: A TOUCH OF TRUTH, A TASTE OF THE OCEAN

June 9, 2016
A TOUCH OF TRUTH, A TASTE OF THE OCEAN
The earliest Christians were called Gnostics mostly in an attempt to dismiss
the Christ’s emphasis on “knowing”. “Know yourself and you shall see me.””HE WHO DRINKS THE WATERS FLOWING FROM MY MOUTH
SHALL BE AS I AM
AND I SHALL BE HE
AND THE HIDDEN THINGS SHALL BE REVEALED TO HIM”
GOSPEL OF THOMAS

This message is very simple. It describes a mirror-like confrontation between
master and student. And the master is urging the student-seeker to question the nature of his identity and being.

*

Again I ask you for your strength, for I have no
strength of my own, only the strength that you have
have given me

O holy one of Israel and Albion, thank you for your
grace, thank you for your gifts, thank you for the truth
that you have given us. O Father, you who ride the clouds
and pierce the clouds with the brightest light of
illumination, I greet you again.
I ask you to fill us with your light, as
you have done before and fill this room again
with you Grace.
O Lord of the Meeting Rivers, Lord on high,
you have given us love of the Mother and the
Earth, our mother; you are aware that our
adoration of the Mother is the love of
you, the most high. Help me teach your
mysterious message to your children
You are the Lord of the Indus plains,
the red earth; you are Father of the islands
and Lord of the sea. You are the incandescent
light at the core of me; you are the mystic
star of all the tribes.
Thank you for your gifts, thank you for
your Grace: thank you for the strength
you give to all of us.

2.

You pervade all things and teach me
my own intelligence. Help me teach
the difference between reality and the
lies that have been told.
You are God of the mountains,
the shepherd of the valleys. Little
children are born knowing you.
Trailing clouds of glory do they
come. *

I ask you to bless this wine,
O Lord Jesus Christ, soul of my soul,
heart of my heart, One day I
had my communion bathed in you.
And what had been my mind
dissolved in your eternal Knowing.
I have never been the same.
*

When you want to sell something,
you make it very special. So the rulers,
organizers of the monopoly, made you so very special,
so miraculous and exceptional, that
no man could be like you.
All we could do is worship you from
afar for being so utterly above us.

*

But this
was not your purpose, your purpose
was to dissolve into the seeker and
have the seeker dissolve into you, until
there were not two identities
but one only.
This is the meaning of communion,
it is the meaning of the Eucharist,
as well.
*
“FOR GOD IS A DYER. AS THE GOOD
DYES, WHICH ARE CALLED TRUE, DISSOLVE
WITH THE THINGS DYED IN THEM, SO IS
IT WITH THOSE WHO GOD HAS DYED.
SINCE HIS DYES ARE IMMORTAL,THEY BECOME
IMMORTAL, BY MEANS OF HIS COLOURS.”
*
On earth, in darkness and ignorance,
you see things but you
do not become like them. You see the sun,
you do not become the sun.
*
But in this place, the place of realization,
the place of redemption, “it is not possible
to see anything of the things that actually
exist, without being like them. “You saw the
spirit, you became the spirit; you saw Christ,
you become Christ. You saw the father,
you shall become the father. In this place,
you see everything and do not see yourself.”

“But in that place you do see yourself – and
what you see you shall become.”
For example, in that place (oblivion)
you see something or someone
you desire, you become that desire”.

This is the gospel of the one who
is searched for, and the seeker,
once enlightened, can no longer
be found.
The one who is searched for
was revealed to those who are
made complete, perfect through
the mercies of the Father, the
hidden mystery, Jesus the Christ
enlightened those who were in darkness,
the darkness and the fog of oblivion.
He gave light to their darkness;
he cured their blindness: he enlightened
them; he showed them a way, and the
way is the truth which he taught them,
the fruit of the tree which was Christ ,
the tree of the lineage of the Lord.
*

“AND HE DISCOVERED THEM IN HIMSELF,
AND THEY DISCOVERED HIM IN THEMSELVES.”
*
This is why the Bridal Chamber contains a
mirror. For the seeker reflects the one
who is sought, and the one who is sought
reflects the seeker. And a merciful God
is the reflection of the man.
There the man is baptized with water. light
and fire, in order that the Chrism may take
place. For no impure woman or man may enter
the Bridal Chamber, for there the marriage
takes place between the Lord God and the man
who has pursued the truth until he has
disappeared into the sanctuary, made chaste
by the Son.
*
There is no describing these things, but a
road map can be made – with signposts
along the way, so that the seeker may
not be lost completely.
I was lost in the early days, and when
realization occurred I had no idea what
had happened. I had no idea which way to
turn. I had to go to a zen temple, where
the monks knew of such things. In fact
realization was the aim of all their
zazen.
in the early days , then as now.

(C) 1990-2018 by W.G. Milne

PRIMARY COLOURS

A SHORT CURIOUS POEM WHICH IS FAR FROM PLAIN

zappadat- THE MOVEABLE FEAST




I live in an
old house
and as I peer
through the blinds
I see a red car,
the blue ass rolling
of a woman in jeans;
hear the roar of
yellow – a Caterpillar
tractor

I peer through
Venetian blinds
hoping to see
someone alive

a dance, a sign
echoes of a
poet’s line
as the sky turns 
indigo
then midnight blue

watching to see
what the day is
whether yellow
or red

watching to see
myself perhaps
and passers that pass
and maybe 
catch a glimpse
of you.






(C)2018 by W.G. Milne

View original post