If you're a frequent visitor, you may know that I have a long sequence involving a king, a fool, and many minor characters. Many of the nigh-150 poems have appeared online, and they will eventually be a book called The Book of the Red King. Here's one from Mezzo Cammin:
The Grail
The Fool knows better. He knows all the things
The world says. He knows every rippling field
And every shower of orchard petals
Is no less, no more than a passing bell.
He knows. And yet, and yet, there is the grail,
Solid in his hand and chased with golden
Mysteries, from which he drinks. It's more than
Alchemy, more than mere gold, more than
Essence of the rose, more than tidal spring.
And as he drinks, the fount, the sluice, the spill
That he knows more than anything though less
Often, possesses him and pours through flesh
In secrecy, with breaking, making power.
And while it falls, and afterward when he
Is dreaming still and stilled by after-shock,
There's nothing that he knows that matters more.
Happy April Fool's Day. I started my foolery after midnight when I convinced my youngest that his unused snow day (and hence vacation day) for today had been cancelled. Woe! Of course, it is snowing again...
Meeting me elsewhere: excerpts from 2012 books (A Death at the White Camellia Orphanage, Thaliad, The Foliate Head) at Scribd. Thaliad at Phoenicia Publishing. See page tabs above for review clips and information on those brand new books plus The Throne of Psyche from 2011, and more.
Seek Giacometti’s “The Palace at 4 a.m.” Go back two hours. See towers and curtain walls of matchsticks, marble, marbles, light, cloud at stasis. Walk in. The beggar queen is dreaming on her throne of words…You have arrived at the web home of Marly Youmans, maker of novels, poetry collections, and stories, as well as the occasional fantasy for younger readers.
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Monday, April 01, 2013
2 comments:
Alas, I must once again remind large numbers of Chinese salesmen and other worldwide peddlers that if they fall into the Gulf of Spam, they will be eaten by roaming Balrogs. The rest of you, lovers of grace, poetry, and horses (nod to Yeats--you do not have to be fond of horses), feel free to leave fascinating missives and curious arguments.
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' And every shower of orchard petals
ReplyDeleteIs no less, no more than a passing bell.' - that's just lovely!
No snow. Poor lad.
How did you manage to get through the winter with a 'spare' snow day left?
I am SOoo curious!
Thanks.
ReplyDeleteVery simple--we now have a Canadian school superintendent. Of course, it snowed today.