Saturday, February 7, 2009

217. YOUR FRAGRANT MYTHOLOGY

YOUR FRAGRANT MYTHOLOGY
Portraits of dead Gods and old leaders -
one in some proportion to the other,
whether better or worse, fill up the
rogue's gallery where I generally live.
I have taken pencil to paper, in the
past, just to inscribe my feelings about
what it is I see - nothing much, mind you,
but a sensible drivel just the same.
I could have written songs about a Caesar,
or some Wotan or Thor, had I wished to -
but instead, as hard as Carrera marble,
I chiseled an image by words of the
deeds which have gone undone...
when any of these Gods or demi-Gods
or earthly potentates deemed it suitable
to show up (throwing thunder, heaving
lightning, raising the dead, burning bushes,
whatever). Great and sanctimonious, how
nice it was to know that we were somehow
saved by their persistent interdictions into
the affairs of Man - though it was, perhaps,
only when it suited them, not us. By which means
they could inscribe their own stories, with their
own fiery pens, into the poor hot hearts of
ineffective men. Statues are toppled for less.

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