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distraXionZ by Ian: Imitation of Keats (...or Mockery)

1:31:00 AMConstrux Nunchux

Imitation of Keats (or Mockery?)  1

Say, Solitude— if time permits—who helms
This course, that has so oft our paths endowed
With one another’s presence and allowed
You audience with my innermost realms?
Or waving from afar amongst the elms
Obscured in a pavilion many bough’d?
Or passing by me in a city crowd
Too quick to trace a glance? it overwhelms,
How oft I observe your smiling obverse
Image approaching and  never find
A word to say. Assume me to be kind
As I do you, hold innocent my terse
Tongue. As we're destined to be long entwined,
We may as well innocently converse.

Well!  Solitude you devil, I select
You for companionship, if I must
Have anybody that is, to entrust
My bliss to and my soul’s pleasure protect.
Before with others I’ve failed to connect,
Leaving me in silence haunted, nonplussed
Save for an occasional startling gust.
But though in still vigils when I reflect
On human-kind, renewed preference
Denies each last one as a candidate;
With ambulant hatred, wont to equate
Haughty ignorance with sweet innocence—
My crystal senses could not tolerate
Such prolonged intentional turbulence!

If spans in front of us this long recess
Of time to spend together, Solitude,
And nature's many pleasures to be viewed,
Allow me a thought refined to address:
Let's promise not to dwell, I'll say obsess,
Seeping in each other's lives and intrude
The identities innately imbued
In us each. Let's be not a jumbled mess.
Though kindred spirits we'll long remain,
If we establish'd ourselves sep'rately,
Our milky burdens shared in company
Invited, should never cease to ease our pain,
Yet unstain'd individulaity
Must be the highest bliss one can attain.

Look.  Solitude.  If here together dwell
We must, I now insist you pay the rent
For I have all my parent's money spent
And no belongings have I left to sell.
What more must I say to you to compel
Your dollar? I've far too long been patient
And must set rules tonight, for your intent
I've seen before and know a bit too well
Such juvenile attempts at duplicity.
The hours will be strictly limited
When by our kindred sprites we're visited,
Especially Depression and Complexity.
The food I’ve labeled is prohibited,
And try conserving electricity...




On yet again reviewing Keats’s ‘Chapman’s Homer’   2


                                I

I've been absorbed in antiquated seas
Becoming well acquainted with detailed
Accounts of western islands oft regaled,
Envisioning Apollo’s victories.
There I abandon the iniquities
Of the world, both bold and quietly veiled
That for so long have my senses assailed.
There I forget my inadequacies.
It would be foolish to think I could stay
In the realms of gold, though I pacify
Myself with thoughts of departing the grey
Forever, yearning with an eager eye.
I dread knowing I must return and say
To this quickening goodly state goodbye.


                                II


What end dictates that I my time devote
Without rest or cognizant economy,
Like Galileo his astronomy,
To learning by heart like stars what bards wrote?
What necessitates that each anecdote
Is dissected as if anatomy
To be prepared for an academy
Where on demand I must present a quote?
Do I clutter with conceits my cortex
For the benefit of humanity?
No. My intellect is but a vortex
Knowing no remorse for its vanity
Demanding instead to be fed more text
To further enhance its quaint urbanity.




III


So intimately have I traced the map
Where western islands rest, so oft, so keen 
For new ken to precisely find what mean
Those shapes that through some literate mishap,
The pure emotion fell into a gap
That has since closed.  I can no longer glean
That realm's sincerity which once had been.
I'm sorry Keats! and Homer my old chap,
What can I say to you that would excuse
The blind obsession with which I destroyed,
Pinning under glass, the elusive muse
Through whom you shared serenity enjoyed.
With carelessness, I did your words abuse,
No doubt you sit now silently annoyed.



                                IV

The language and the legend in the song
Of deep-brow'd Homer, with deeds that besot
Our people so, Apollo did allot
Unto another time. We see no wrong
In commandeering each heroic throng
However, reducing to afterthought
They who for thrones led a noble onslaught,
Forcing modern fancy that does not belong.
Once, Homer did his countrymen enchant
With his words inventive, bold, intrepid
Imagination did in them implant.
But once detoured into the tepid
Waters of our tongue, rhymes began to slant
The meter bow'd and grew decrepit.


                                V
               
It's not romanticism to reject
The modern world and hold in praise
On principle assumed the ancient days’
Allure, giving those nearby indirect
Proof of one’s heighten’d virtue and respect.
Forget Apollo!  Hang maudlin displays
Of martyrdom and sensitive malaise
For they do not permit one to neglect
Ubiquitous tyranny and avarice
Buried underneath the charming, unkempt
Landscapes in voluminous artifice;
Nor from the modern age do they exempt.
They only underscore facile cowardice
In one’s time and incompetent contempt.




                                VI

I daren’t deem your lavish verses false
Nor your kingdom scenes triviality.
My mind however—in totality
Escaping into full hypnotic thralls—
Recoils when it, weakened by dreams, recalls
The selfish greed and immorality
Of pale, half-forgotten reality.
Each returning trial further appalls
My senses, left in increasing frailty
Near palsy from countless inscrutable
Cruelties, rendering bards’ fealty 
To Apollo fleeting, not mutable
But mute and my wakening state faulty
And for this world wholly unsuitable.
________________________________________
1. Original poem, for reference.
2. Original poem, to show how damned clever I am.

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