
   THE DREAM, GONE NOW, IS THERE
   ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~   

   by

   Klaus J. Gerken

   (1979)
   
   
   PART I
   
   I
   
   Poor old Yoric 21.
   what's he done. what's
   he done? thinking memories
   no fun. lying basking
   
   in the sun. it's not
   infinity he understands;
   tries to understand.
   let the woman take my 
   
   hand. running naked
   through the sand. Poor old
   Yoric 21. even late
   life must be begun.
   
   
   II
   
   Yoric dreams, but doesn't
   dream. Yoric thinks but
   has it been something very
   inbetween? the sound it
   
   soft. he thinks it oft.
   and Yoric doesn't know the
   cost. Frost. on the winter
   landscape, frost, Yoric now
   
   is very lost. Yoric dreams
   but doesn't dream. Yoric
   never knows what could it
   mean. Yoric doesn't you want to
   
   scream?
   
   
   III
   
   Yoric there. at 22. married?
   no, not really true.
   sometimes, even skies, can't
   all be blue. the lady
   
   laughs. she knows it too.
   If a thing is true to
   you. Drunken moments
   have their due. paid the
   
   price and Yoric lost.
   from the sun into the frost.
   Yoric there at 22. Married
   well - pockets full of rue.
   
   
   IV
   
   He glanced. he glanced at
   New York - Yoric 13 - that
   did enough - he wanted to -
   he really did - I mean
   
   he wanted to fly. sky
   high - but the wind and the
   pollution kept the thought
   firmly on the ground. pray. 
   
   Yoric didn't pray. the harbor
   looked a day away.
   the ground. sway. sway
   Yoric may have been impressed
   
   anyway.
   
   
   V
   
   Yoric at school. Latin. Art.
   Yoric was good at everything -
   at first. that's where it be-
   gan. the curse. It was all them
   poems. all them silences. T.O.L.
   and a trying hard to get him
   into Collage (Ontario) of Art.
   But Yoric was stubborn. as
   
   hell. Yoric knew as well as
   anyone. Yoric flunked his
   grades - upset at first -
   never caring - that was worse.
   
   
   
   VI
   
   Yoric 30 now. Dreams and
   a remembering. It's a new
   voice. a new reflection. Yoric
   in love. but knew it too.
   
   Yoric then a fell apart.
   Yoric's got to start. somewhere.
   15 years now to begin - well
   at first it may have been
   
   a joke - even so and so's a 
   Doctor now. Yoric's still a
   dream. finely tuned, the wine
   flask empty - all so mean...
   
   
   VII
   
   It's a long poem. of sorts.
   restless nights. T.V. magazines
   boring to a man, who thinks he's
   done it all. Yoric then, before
   
   the fall. Play that made no
   sense at all. Queen of spades
   her Apple Pie. Drunk conducting
   symphony. Offenbach across the
   sky. Yoric doesn't know the why.
   
   did he even try? yes and sure
   enough - the music whines a bloody cry.
   when Yoric writes. the dreams
   
   don't die.
   
   
   VIII
   
   The drunken clown and Yoric's
   world. absurd but harder to
   observe. Between the layers stare
   and hidden places - friends he
   
   never knew - magazines are rue -
   poems do come back to you. and
   Yoric might confess - but then
   to whom? to yourself - but Yoric's
   
   true to any kind of hidden
   thing - It's the mystery that
   counts - making love to her. kind.
   Yoric's always in a bind. Seek and
   
   ye shall find.
   
   
   IX
   
   Yoric settles back. settles
   back. for the ATTACK. - T.S.
   Eliot and dark dark rooms.
   Gaslight better'n what
   
   you despise. Paris Haunted.
   Cold as ice. Yoric even
   needs to cry. Through Durrell,
   Miller and Brassai - fleet
   the images through the cups.
   
   If you're down, do not
   look up. Yoric thus refuses to
   take a nap. should the poet
   
   or the world shut up?
   
   
   X
   
   Yoric. three a.m. if you cannot
   sleep. then stay awake. Yoric
   never knew that stage. blasting
   music. acid dreams. Yoric yonder
   
   once grew mean. Younger
   generations, what do they?
   understand of each our way?
   Yoric wanted, order, but no
   
   difference there. Studied
   Chinese - that was fair. Couldn't
   speak it on a dare. Couldn't
   see the sign - nearness wasn't clear.
   
   
   XI
   
   It all went to his head. Plaza
   drugs and violence. Denise and
   Wendy. Marion. Golden child
   of innocence. All he knew was
   
   in his head. Spaces. Octopus
   and severed veins. songs of freedom.
   lousy poetry. all that was
   ok the experience was LIFE
   
   through hazy screens. Colours
   where "intensified" - well.
   not quite. As I said. All
   his dreams were so uptight.
   
   
   XII
   
   Poetry. The art of poetry.
   Yoric knew he could. but whether
   then he would. he never knew.
   a long apprenticeship and even
   
   harder now that he will know
   what he should do. deeper set
   through life's own wheel. samsara -
   if that's true - the cause of things
   
   comes back to you.   to grab
   an opportunity but never to
   accept any kind of offering
   from friends. Lately
   
   Yoric's at an end.
   
   
   XIII
   
   It's the fool and not the clown
   that always want's to "play it
   cool" and always nervous like ah
   that's so cruel. while trains that
   
   pass at midnight - no well just
   before. like a southern breeze
   that's soft but humid - hot as
   hell. and Yoric's naked on the bed.
   
   Don't remember that the net loss
   of any situation is - with no
   money in your pocket and nothing
   in your head.   might as well be
   
   dead.
   
   
   XIV
   
   Yoric thought the play was
   good. very good. but there were
   many problems yet to overcome
   (shall we overcome?) and the
   director and the stage and even
   
   how the situation might have
   been developed. even the
   audience would fail. and Yoric
   
   on the bridge and in the rain.
   and later at Sherrie's empty and a
   cognac reading over what went
   wrong - meanings all too strong.
   
   
   XV
   
   Yoric all but ten and almost
   drowning in a lake while he couldn't
   swim but kept a stoic
   attitude and almost went
   
   back in without a soul to know
   and just a trying trying with
   no intent but in those arts
   that a boy shd be - great and
   
   honest paleontology - just a perfect
   reasoning - even model airplanes
   and a compass couldn't get you through
   that night.   Sleep tight.
   
   
   XVI
   
   But then and even to discover
   Browning.   ny god the poet
   Didn't rhyme!   and then in
   school I thought that Keats, when
   stood upon the ship and
   seeing last of Albion   thought
   that he was old   well and
   that's how she   the teacher   did
   describe the situation and of
   how when saw the sonnets of
   a Mr. Wordsworth  oh my god
   he wrote so much!   laughter now.
   
   
   XVII
   
   And Yoric writing his long
   his very long scrambled searching
   tortuous Lay   trying to get to
   find a voice and Eshleman a
   screaming anger words and finding
   seeking searching hoping   cutting
   skin the layers must be stripped
   away - there's got to be a soul
   and then there's what you have
   the sum of life that Yoric led -
   well done, my friend, well bled.
   
   
   XVIII
   
   Also then the trees grew smaller.
   each of all was older   each of
   all the world   still not young
   but younger   early in the morning
   
   working working sometimes shirking
   all responsibility   knowing that
   the land   (although he paid)   was
   never his   the family committed
   
   to every ounce of truth they thought
   was always right   later Yoric
   might just write   "even truth
   must be a lie"   how we try.
   
   
   XIX
   
   and the saints.   meditating thru
   the void.   floating body.   buoyancy
   reading all the books   all of
   them and reading Lilly too
   
   Dolphins always knew the truth
   the matter of our innocence   thought
   that keats was better'n milton
   teacher read the passage   that
   
   is better   can't compare   best
   is best   and worse is worse.
   whales and delphin symphony
   Mahler's Ninth   in ecstasy.
   
   
   XX
   
   Heraclitus, Wittgenstein   deeper yet
   and Kant in treachery   such
   precision   like a very well and
   oiled machine   wd very well've
   agreed with anything   but didn't
   philosophy was like the sun and rain
   like all the elements combined
   the chinese knew   and would have
   never made a fuss   if they didn't
   "westernize"  that is   learned to
   criticize   how perfect   then I ask:
   can any culture be a mask?
   
   
   XXI
   
   Did Yoric know about the crucifix
   and did he know the rosary
   and did he know religion there
   at all   unbounded in a
   
   perfect imbecility   to give it
   all away   a moment   all it
   is   a moment each might think
   eternity   Poor old Yoric
   
   he is never free   thinks he is
   but still knows how all history
   can never change beginning or
   the end.   the shade is not
   
   the bend...
   
   
   XXII
   
   True he painted some amazing
   things   and some that were not so
   great and others pure e-
   motion   didn't drink a drop
   *that year*   went so fast   was
   hardly there   Yoric always in
   good cheer   dealers didn't
   care   soft a few   but always 
   knew   his best was still to
   come   perhaps in pain,   but
   not in paint   perhaps in poetry
   perhaps in life   is living yet.
   
   
   XXIII
   
   Yoric in the swimming pool.   splashing
   like a crazed fool.   a trying not
   to drink too much...   a trying not to
   be so fat.   a trying just to write
   
   what's right? so editors would say 
   to him   this poem here   you see
   what's wrong?   it works as prose
   but not as poem   well and then
   
   again   Yoric goes his way   he
   knows the truth that's in his soul
   that's all that he can say
   Even Van Goth had his bad days.
   
   
   
   XXIV
   
   The food is always good.   and Yoric
   here on UIC   drinking fine and
   polished Montrachet.   Decadence's
   what Brian said.   ah yes but
   poets must not care too much
   
   through the drunken brawls and such   poets
   never must too much care   too
   much   anyway it helped through a
   period it's difficult   it's hard to
   
   say   it should have been easy
   a good time had by all   but
   never as expected   poets always
   
   fall.
   
   
   XXV
   
   The pine cones   and the sun
   diffuse at eventide and all
   the chirping birds and feeding
   squirrels and the time and weather
   
   mildly fine and gathering the
   swallows in the air.   Autumns
   coming   to be fair.   Yoric's
   got that kind of flair...   no
   she said   the summer's better
   
   even in hot humid weather
   Yoric likes to have control
   spoke english well,   too well,
   
   the fool.
   
   
   XXVI
   
   Your horoscope makes you a very
   enigmatic man   J said   you are
   either this or that   nothing inbetween
   and C she "freaked"  at hearing
   of the date   the year   the birth
   anything   she said I looked like
   her former husband   and was
   born   get this   born the same
   day  same year  and C she was
   a Sagittarius   and R was a Saggi-
   tarius   and all the women I have 
   known...   Yoric groans.
   
   
   XXVII
   
   It's not the mirror image
   but yourself   Yoric wonders
   is the meaning always shadowed
   by a certain glow?   and what
   
   is love?   of course   the question
   settles down and Kierkeggard
   full well knew   having poisoned
   all his hopes   (wild canaries
   
   singing in the trees)   but never
   Yoric   Yoric rides it out   the
   storm   Yoric sailor on a deep
   respectful sea   very safe   safely.
   
   
   XXVIII
   
   Yoric stoned and so alone!
   Yoric in the grips of solitude
   Yoric running   laughter spike
   Through the air   that wretched night
   
   we're off to Hull   you'll come
   along?   No,   here it's better
   melting forms   so familiar
   Dali speaks   even Artaud makes
   more sense   violence    orange yellow
   
   fading red   see yourself, a
   severed head   what you done?
   had some fun?   good ol' Yoric fled.
   
   
   XXIX
   
   And then of course the letters
   prerequisitional but hardly read
   even on the writing side
   open up your eyes!   let
   the image tumble   fall   fled.
   
   thus the answers never were
   how you are   and I'm of course
   fine here   even thirty pages
   
   of philosophy never turned a
   phrase   I'm now into this and
   into that   wd if you wd want to
   write,   please type   Correspondence
   
   must be very light
                         tight.
                         
   
   XXX
   
   Please...   and all the parties
   partial there and everywhere   splattered
   brains upon the counter   cups of
   beer and up to here   what's the
   
   record?   shit who cares   I'm so
   sick   the air's so thick
   who cant's more?   the little chick
   don't give her booze   the cop's
   
   right there   and Yoric wasted
   Don't be daft   here's a dollar
   Get a draft   you buy her one
   I'll go with you   Yoric doesn't
   
   mind   in the bushes   move your
   hide.
   
   
   XXXI
   
   the glass of wine   the
   single most enamelled moment
   in the history of man
   
   the golden chalice and the
   blood of christ and total
   sum of all that is:   the grape
   
   the vine pruned back for
   further yield   and Yoric lays
   his head back low and
   
   ruminates   and celebrates
   upon the voices that indulge
   agon in his head
                      well fed.
                      
   
   XXXII
   
   It's not an easy breeze he wants
   or even any kind of weather
   whether	thus or thus or even
   perfect in such a such a
   
   situation but play on words
   and meanings hid and poetry
   that congress IT
                      and thus
   the truth revealed through what
   
   he does or doesn't do   he's
   perfect now   this Yoric is
   complete in every situation
   in a stupor at his station.
   
   
   XXXIII
   
   So good it was and a very
   good one thus she was ands she
   from iceland that she said and
   swinging hips so luscious so like
   
   the cream and milk and strawberries
   and Yoric licks his tongue
   and Yoric offers wine and all
   are feeling fine except the darkness
   
   of the mind   seeking explanation thus
   for everything   and Yoric always in a bind
   knows his wants and needs and fears
   and hopes and every V.D. blues...
   
   
   XXXIV
   
   If it were my guitar I wouldn't
   keep it in the shape it is   but
   dust is better for the varnish
   scratched wounds are memories
   
   besides the sound is better
   life's not perfect   music's life
   and what I do it not your strife
   he paid the bill and rambled out
   
   met a friend with wife no less
   and both at university   what you
   dong now?   Yoric had to answer some-
   how   publish feelings   what a
   
   lie.
   
   
   XXXV
   
   So Yoric bitten by a dog
   and Wendy with the wrong address
   and each and every subsequent
   neurosis   treating R so bad
   
   my god's not her fault   but
   still the same   I had to scream
   at somebody   apologized later on
   she said alright   quietly and then
   
   hung up   felt more mad than bad
   It all washed out   though not the
   same,e   went back to work   and
   was insane   Yoric was insane!
   
   
   XXXVI
   
   Yoric on the porch and Wittgenstein
   correcting notes upon the book
   finest day he ever spent   alone
   none to bother there with anything
   
   pure thought   warm sun   shade
   some wine   and silence   all
   the time that any man could want
   He remembers that fondly   speaking
   
   to Anne, years later and showing
   the still autograph manuscript
   of course there's no one who will
   print it   the day's,   feeling's
   
   so much more important than
   the work!
   
   
   XXXVII
   
   Nothing Yoric does has an
   aura of tragedy   he accepts
   it all too readily   fina-
   lizing every argument   every
   
   situation   part of nature
   part of fate   the grand de-
   sign   part of all that is so
   all complete   Yoric calls it
   
   deed   Even wishbones do not
   go a-pop perfect every time
   notice now Yoric takes it with a
   poem and a grain of of pure sea
   
   salt.
   
   
   XXXVIII
   
   ... Is at odds with everything
   himself, the world, the universe,
   even Alfred Jarry knew
   THAT curse   the better off
   
   he was the worse   it's all a
   very simple thing   a SITUATION
   not a ring   never noticed
   anything   like the rolling tidal
   
   sea   storms and calm and
   mystery   all is said and all is
   done   when we stop we just go
   on   the more we do the slower
   
   that we run.
   
   
   XXXIX
   
   I wished that I could meet her
   sleep with her and even better
   yet   but god she was so
   young!   so Yoric drank and
   
   drank his fill and even more
   as that was all that he could
   do   the better worst of any-
   thing   that Yoric knew that
   
   dreams are never what reality
   should be, could be, would ever
   be   she went with someone else
   and Yoric stood alone   without
   
   another opportunity.
   
   
   XL
   
   All his friends   yes   all advise
   his friends gave him   he never
   once took hold   he always
   knew that fate would take him
   
   by the throat and cast him like
   a cork upon the waves   he
   cared no more for planning
   anything   a course of action or
   
   a fling   his works were
   scattered by the wind   that
   is, were hidden somewhere in
   a darkest corner than his mind.
   
   
   XLI
   
   Whatever the point is: it is!
   that is Yoric's statement   I was
   meant to say his final, statement
   but final is never *that* secure
   
   Yoric talks a lot of silence
   he is voiceless clear precise
   and definitely a liar   he
   keeps his stories straight though
   
   others might be fooled but
   Yoric knows it's all the way
   Marpa said to Milerepa   all
   these stones are just a lie
   
   that is the truth.
   
   
   XLII
   
   Jessy Winchester sings: "Dangerous
   Fun"   Yoric sings along   he
   weakens   falters   dies   is re-
   born   lives!   breathes   he
   
   tumbles from the womb of
   every virgin that he's touched
   he secretes the divine truth
   into every cunt   like great Artaud
   
   he give birth to himself   great
   Yoric knows   Hamlet mystifies
   him   he knows that Hamlet was
   a greater fool than he can
   
   ever be.
   
   
   XLIII
   
   Cathy we're in the laundry 
   room said the message on the
   door   that's what Wendy
   wrote   that was before
   
   Yoric got stuck all night
   ALL NIGHT in the elevator
   after a party and Wendy
   went back up to her
   
   apartment   Yoric didn't have
   a key   he rode the elevator
   in a stupor   all night long
   3 a.m.   Met Randy going home
   
   "What the hell is going on?"
   
   
   XLIV
   
   Yoric with his second bottle of
   wine   Yoric with his second per-
   fect lie   Yoric who dreams of a
   French chateau   Yoric who's the
   
   greatest poet ever lived   Yo-
   ric who got in a fight
   with an editor   and every other
   editor and poet that he ever
   
   met   Yoric who's the true
   reflection of the moment that he's
   known   Yoric who's the lost
   continent Altantis   a rotting mass
   
   of stones.
   
   
   XLV
   
   ... A monument of splintered bones
   each of us envelopes each of all
   there's else   otherwise how could
   we live   the neighbours do not
   
   talk al all except they think of
   money   everybody's everybody thinks
   of that   and Yoric thought also
   Ezra   poor old Ezra   he was
   
   right   usury is all concerns us
   now   each word we write
   each thing we do   how much
   money is it worth   how much
   
   money is a gravestone worth?
   
   
   XLVI
   
   In a bar   1972   Yoric
   and he picked up us and a
   Jamaican   took us home   he
   said   (and there were)   three women
   there   (couldn't blame him)   I mean
   they wouldn't fuck him (he complained)
   so we went to Hull   I mean this
   guy had three hundred dollars on him
   so we drank the whole place dry
   and ate too much to eat and Yoric
   was almost beaten to a pulp   ah yes
   but her legs were mighty fine!
   
   
   XLVII
   
   ... To touch this waitress' legs
   almost got him decapitated while
   going to the can   but 3 or 4
   bottles of wine later hiked a
   ride back to some restaurant
   
   ate two helping of fish and chips
   and that was good  this idiot
   screaming at some guy with
   two black chicks   "fuck them fuck
   them now - or are you queer?"
   
   he didn't answer  don't
   blame him   finally the idiot
   ran out screaming down the street
   
   bad acid   yoric took home a
   taxi and a whore   felt good
   
   severed ears are still 
   good food.
   
   
   XLVIII
   
   The guy paid for everything
   food wine as well he'd
   pay for the ladies of the night
   (Yoric offered one a tube of
   hot sauce  she   thought it
   funny  but didn't take the
   offer   might as well do
   better not   V.D. blues
   and all of that   I mean no
   
   one cares   but was too drunk
   pilot's got to be sober
   half the world was still
   alive  politics is amazing.
   
   
   XLVIX
   
   Yoric having over friend   ain't
   no sweat   the sweat comes la-
   ter when there's time to think
   when the mind establishes
   
   the wrong   I mean the thing   the
   whole thing   the conversation
   the not really thinking   the
   emptiness and the discussions of
   
   what those others are   and then
   there's the drinking and the smoke
   and many other things   Yoric
   wants to be alone   anywhere
   
   but most of all at home.
   
   
   L
   
   It' not that Yoric always
   stutters when he's nervous
   he doesn't but then he doesn't
   It's more like then his accent
   
   that which overhung from an
   ancient Saxon heritage
   proud of that   yet he knows
   he wants to know   yet doesn't
   
   really want   that is   Yoric's
   uncomfortable unless at first
   he understand the other's mind   that is
   he wants to hold the advantage
   
   he pays each back in kind.
   
   
   LI
   
   Morning of the next and other day
   Yoric is awake   stomach
   churning   eyes a-blurring
   something's still the matter
   
   with the head   my god he
   said   my god   my god   not
   that again! 
                why drink so much I
   do not want to drink
   
   so much.   I want to waken
   just one morning whole a-
   gain   in one piece   not
   like scrambled eggs   or
   
   anything like that.
   
   
   LII
   
   Yoric knows a-plenty   every-
   thing   he understands this vio-
   lence   a play that has no plot
   no actors and no stage   
                              good
   
   ol' Shakespeare duelling nevermore
   with what's his name   ah   Mr
   Shaw   
        and sometimes even all
   of this has gone too far   Yo-
   
   ric wants to play piano   played
   instead guitar   very badly
   but his songs are not half bad
   Yoric blames it on his head.
   
   
   LIII
   
   Yoric at the Arts Centre   John
   and Debbie
              many other "friends"
   Frank in love and out of
   love with suicide so near at
   
   hand.   Wendy minxed and slight-
   ly drunk   and crazed and some-
   one pops a pill   
                      until...
                                  let
   the colours come   lie still
   
   her tongue's so good the
   bushes scream   indiscreet and
   all a-dream   floating in a
   mass of cream
                    scream.
   
   
   LIV
   
   And then was sober   did a
   lot of painting   tried to
   give up writing   but instead
   wrote some fine things   trans-
   
   lated Dante's Hell   well   at
   least the primo canto
                            not the
   content but the voice   a
   poet's right to make that
   
   choice   anyway,   the year went
   fast   all too fast
                       but then
   in retrospect   perhaps
   the finest year that I ever had.
   
   
   LV
   
   I didn't want a party   all I
   did was want some friends
   with easy conversation   nothing
   wild   or strange   or violent
   
   was there anything wrong with
   that?   but still I shake and
   wonder if it's all worth while
   I mean it hardly matters but
   
   life's so useless   ain't it
   not?   sure it is   and all the
   pain and torment,   empty
   situations
                 life is just an
   empty parking lot.
   
   
   LVI
   
   Yoric loved potato ships
   fattening   Yoric loves good
   food good wine   fattening
   (besides it costs so much)
   
   Yoric loves life   that's
   misery   and Yoric loves
   Women   but still he's
   afraid of them
                     so Yoric stands
                     
   alone   shotgun to his head
   (he really doesn't want to
   end up dead)   cuts a
   cross into his chest instead
   
   (suffering for art).
   
   
   LVII
   
   He's not that drunk   he knows
   that score   oh christ so many times
   been chained to that old floor
   Yoric vomits every word
   
                              Would
   the world want poets such as these?
   sure   the world's no better
   than the rest   what rest?
   Sleep gentle dreadful sleep
   
   wish I could... forget   everything
   that's at stake   (Yoric
   give yourself a break)
                             alright
   but still I think it's
   
   much too late.
   
   
   LVIII
   
   Good luck Yoric those are your 
   endeavors   to be a good
   poet   a good person   to
   never fail at anything   to
   
   try to be yourself with only
   the
       occasional
                  mask
                       (that is
   all I ever ask)
                      deep in
                      
   thought:   how would it be   if
   everything were changed today?
   a letter,   something unexpected
   brought that fame?
                         oh Yoric
                         
   You've only yourself to blame!
   
   
   LIX
   
   Yoric in love with a married 
   woman   plays the fool   e-
   ven Leopardi could have better
   done
           today   Van Goth's ear
           
   would have been sown back
   on
         what he thinks will free
   the poet never does
                       but then
   Yoric with a stoic face
   
                              "She
   said perhaps another time
   she was fumbling with her ring
   and I was very drunk on wine"
   
   Yoric you couldn't feel a thing.
   
   
   LX
   
   Yoric unemployed   it's
   better this way   you're no
   good at anything   even poetry
   a total violation of what
   
   should have been   warps his
   sanity   don't explain   it's just
   a feeling that we have   it's
   there   but still beyond repair
   
   Yoric in despair   wakes up
   early   combs his hair   knows
   the crowds will only stare
   stays inside   "away from there".
   
   
   LXI
   
   Crowds don't please him
   very much   always feels
   so out of touch   Yoric
   loves and hates his solitude
   
   says   it's life must be
   attackt   that is what poor
   Yoric lackt   not a knowledge
   of the world  but politics in
   
   general hurt   smack dead
   down a barrel,   gun,
                           even
   sunrise vanishes too fast
                               never
   notice till it's past.   vast.
   
   
   LXII
   
   Aghast aghast   out of breath
   aghast   and then again the perfect
   ending to a perfect vivisection   I
   don't know   and don't ask me
   
   and everything else you might ex-
   press   like perhaps Drusilla, Nero
   any other thing   anything   and
   Eliot to tea   a madman's
   
   dream   awarding him the Nobel
   prize   awakening a mindless
   imbecility   universe   curse
   Yoric couldn't be off worse.
   
   
   LXIII
   
   Holan spent fifteen years with
   Hamlet   and Yoric 15 days
   with Holan   and "Shakespeare's
   in the alley"   no less with
   
   all that he could muster   e-
   ven fresh girls aren't THAT
   innocent   country matters
   and the like   fun of innocence
   
   and confidence and if you dare
   but do you dare and not
   too hard and o we all must
   play our parts   make a start
   
   that's art.
   
   
   LXIV
   
   Ah yes   work it over
   more complete   work the song
   and then repeat   break your
   fingers   damn the keys!
   
   tear up page   tear out
   your hair   so inconvenient
   this damned despair   why's
   the poem never work?
   
   was better first   before
   it take apart   Yoric's got
   a broken heart   here's the
   slip   now do your bit.
   
   
   LXV
   
   Best hangover remedy yet in-
   vented   that is Newcastle
   Brown ale   soothing your stomach
   like a cradle rocks to sleep
   
   a baby
            after reading want-ads
   in the paper three days	old and
   finding nothing   day's so hot
   the room in shambles   why go
   
   on with it?   "pass it over
   in silence"   the Cabinet of Dr.
   Balabri's better suited to the
   voices Yoric hears   when always
   
   deaf.
   
   
   LXVI
   
   Yoric's perfect in his way
   everything together comes
   just to write the works his way
   
   Separated from the world
   Ideal logic stalks his day
   When he's done it's hard to say
   Yoric's cold   the world's away
   
   this how Yoric does prepare
   cd have done it anywhere
   Damned distraction   do you care?
   Now we don't   it's not fair.
   
   
   LXVII
   
   It's so damned silly   phone a
   friend   not over caring   not
   anything   nurturing a hangover
   with the remnants of a feeling
   
   good   and well three or four New-
   castle ales   and now perhaps
   a little T.V.   that is to relax
   to get stupidity out the system...
   
   alone again   good   writing each
   and all of this   that is very
   good   the soul is only part
   of it   all is else and everything.
   
   
   LXVIII
   
   Late night watching television
   sound off   very quiet hum
   of the T.V. set   (Broken tuner
   put together back with glue)
   
   mind empty empty very emp-
   ty   what's the image?   people
   moving   moving always moving
   there amongst the shades
                              there
   
   where no one seems to care   the
   railroad bridge at night   Hotel
   du Nord   something very ominous
   fright that is no fright but is
   
   a loss.
   
   
   LXIX
   
   Look around this room   these
   walls   these paintings   books
   these scrambled thoughts stai-
   ning pages on the floor   god
   
   this place's a mess   must
   needs be cleaned a bit
   the cupboard and the closet propped
   up to the hilt   how's
   
   it ever possible to find 
   what you are looking for?
                          easy
   scrambled room for scrambled
   mind   through being lost
   
   dear Yoric finds...
   
   
   LXX
   
   So much there   to write   to tell
   to sanctify   to understand
   so much to explain   to ex-
   plain   but not to them but to
   
   oneself   YOURSELF   who cares
   it could be any self   to write
   to be   Yoric rambles on and
   on   giving mind no rest
   
   the few things worth the while
   and if done wrong then don't in
   style
           each and every ounce
   of blood   suffer Yoric if you
   
   must.
   
   
   LXXI
   
   It's like going to the moon   one needs
   to think as a machine   the purpose
   now is getting there  not to heave
   a lot of mystical tears   or lights
   
   of fancy to explain the news-
   worthiness of any situation such
   as that   given time to think is
   sometimes wrong
                     getting there and
   
   not arriving   (like Cavafy said)
   is all that matters most
   never to make more of that
   which s   never to force the dream
   
   to not see clear.
   
   
   LXXII
   
   Yoric like Balzac   eh?   what's
   that?   never   the form of work
   is never so precise as just to
   separate ideals                  
   			      Yoric doesn't
   			      
   write   he vomits up a flood
   of images   emotions all in
   sequence of a purposeful in-
   violate fraternity   those who
   
   join should always be the equal
   that he never was   no feelings
   for the one's below   use them
   use them   that is all   eso-
   terics   usury, appall.
   
   
   LXXIII
   
   Yoric loves to taunt a suicide
   His own perhaps   his dreams
   his pride   the songs he sings or
   feels inside   "Lather" and
   "White Rabbit"   from the 60's
   
   acid rock   15 years   it took
   that long to learn to hold
   a gun   (imaginary, no less
   
   real)   violence is always only
   how you feel   (that is real)
   but then   no need yet to be
   shocked   "only there for those
   
   who fought."
   
   
   LXXIV
   
   Eyes so very tired now   printed
   page is split in two   ink will
   run   (a deed is done)   inside
   out   and Yoric floats   upon
   
   the world   upon a cloud   30
   years   and what a draught
   little would it mattered
   hadn't so proliferate the lie...
   
   Yoric kept his stories straight
   (is lying then a poet's fate?)
   Van Goth's ear   Picasso's fear
   all for art   then   shed no tear.
   
   
   
   PART II
   
   LXXV
   
   Yoric never satisfied   not
   intense   but sometimes sometimes
   doesn't think that life is real
   got the rotten end of any deal
   
   Ottawa's fake   it's Art that's
   here at stake   
                   reads his work
   no power there   might be life
   as lived   no true dra-
   
   matics anywhere   want dra-
   matics   no not really
   Yoric lacks an explanation
   that's the problem   that's his
   
   station
   true equasion.
   
   
   LXXVI
   
   He's falsified
   his own
   strong situation...
   
   Yoric wants to find   like
   Rimbaud
           transmutation of (not
   of metals but of) life
   not an end   but the beginning
   
   of it all   wants to see   not
   how to change but what the
   possibilities ought to be   where
   it all went wrong
   
   perhaps it's god he want's tp
   play   but is too smart for
   that   recall Caligula   he
   never could react to that.
   
   
   LXXVII
   
   He wants to get back to a
   perfect night   not a dream
   but shadow that equates
   reality   he wants to worship
   
   from afar   a lady   like a
   guiding star   perhaps a beatrice
   or Fanny Brawne  if Keats or
   Dante did it   why can't I?
   
   Indeed it's not perfection that
   he wants   it's something more
   to focus on   but then can
   any woman take such adoration?
   
   
   LXXVIII
   
   Getting back to Van Goth's ear
   no one understood all clear
   was it love or hate or
   was it fear?
                  whores will
   
   always call you dear   "Dame
   religion"   might you say
   let's you worship her *that* way
   the physical must always pray
   
   ah yes   but memories   from
   "Time Retrieved"   to   "House of
   Sleeping Virgins"   everything relies
   on these
           emotions.
   
   
   LXXIX
   
   Yoric learned   how hard he
   learned   a deeper fall
   no man has earned
                     the
   search for self is never
   
   strong in those who think there's
   nothing wrong   Not Neurosis
   but a flood of feeling
   what has been and what could be
   
   Yoric always wants to see
   very clearly everything   so the
   mirror's violent
                      to really learn
   let no one guide your hand.
   
   
   LXXX
   
   I kinda like him   Yoric
   all his fears his hopes his
   dreams   even when he couldn't
   give a damn   even when
   
   he suffered so and never felt
   he need to show it   even
   when he lied
                  still he was
   a happy man   I wonder
   
   how he's coping now   deep
   so deep within himself
                           those
   he sees are memories   or just
   a function of his brain.
   
   
   LXXXI
   
   Electronic impulses   not
   much different than  a Lanpar
   Scope   he sometimes wonders
   are we so controlled?
   
   perhaps we are   if that's the
   case is not all life in
   vain?   who knows   perhaps
   we're here to gather some
   
   experience for beings who cre-
   ated us   beings who are part
   of us   a way   an only way
   that they can really feel.
   
   
   LXXXII
   
   Strange if we should be that
   way to feel reality only
   through the physical and not a
   mental state   not to feel
   
   through thought?   to only think
   that love is sex   or
   nourishment is food   or
   pain is shedding blood    or
   
   broken bones   Yoric feels
   so different now   locked
   inside his world   the physical
   so rarely touched   the mental
   
   so sublime.
   
   
   LXXXIII
   
   Yoric doesn't like his person
   well   sometimes   tries to figure
   himself out   others seem so
   different   
               yoric wants to cry
   
   He sees the image of a balcony
   always there again   standing high
   above the ground   the view
   
   is always lovely there   won't
   go there again   Yoric looked
   so calmly down   stared
   into infinity
                   Yoric so
   
   wants to be free.
   
   
   LXXXIV
   
   There's something about churches that
   Yoric likes they're so old I
   guess   he hates the modern
   world   wd take time back
   
   as far as possible   perhaps
   even so before the humanoid
   emerged upon this world
                             how
   was it then   the moment
   
   of the birth   that primal mo-
   ment of the earth   the first
   all in a hostile sea   How
   could it have been all begun
   
   so secretly?
   
   
   LXXXV
   
   Don't compare me thus to
   anyone   I'm me myself
   the best I can
                   I steal the
   best and make it mine
   
   a poet must reflect the
   world   the way it inter-
   acts with him   a line
   another poet writes   if that
   
   I use I'll make it mine
   its usage in the way i will
   like an artist uses paints
   no credits given to discoverers.
   
   
   LXXXVI
   
   For days Yoric mopes around
   doesn't do a thing   hates the
   world and hates himself
                            you've
   got to get a job   but I don't
   want to work   but You've got
   to make a living!   I don't
   want to live!
                   the situation's
   getting worse   Yoric nurtures
   
   what he think's the cause   all
   the pressures   everything   he sports
   a mustache   shaves it off
   Yoric can't make up his mind
   
   that tough.
   
   
   LXXXVII
   
   Couldn't care less   wakes up
   early   just to think too much
   the world is out to lunch
   Yoric missed the train   realson
   
   too insane   perhaps the work
   inane   but it really doesn't
   mater much
                is there anything
   that Yoric cares about?
                             yes
   
   there is   but he can't get
   it out   it's locked inside
   his brain   all that needs be
   pain   without that there can't be
   
   gain.
   
   
   LXXXVIII
   
   The man who never hates hates
   incredably   more than anyone
   always on the run   from himself
   from others too   hide the fact
   
   you do it too   what? to
   feel emotions that are very
   real   (rotten deal)   play-
   ing solitare   hours on
   
   end   and every game is
   lost   in a personal
   frost   (Yoric coughs)
   all it ever is   a great big laugh.
   
   
   LXXXIX
   
   To know what's right and not
   to do   (Confucius always knew it
   too)   said so   Yoric studies
   hard   the path was right but
   
   neither heart nor soul could
   play that part   the world of
   politics were never it   Yo-
   ric couldn't calculate   he saw
   
   the world for what it was
   what once was perfect never
   is again   those who follow
   rightful path first must know
   
   the other way.   Yoric knew
   it everyday.
   
   
   XC
   
   Enough to throw a fit   silence
   that is it   what's the use
   of thunder   torture silence
   better when we think so   it
   
   
   trounces on us unawares
   hold us up   (like love)
   then lets us drop   either
   situation;s THE event
   
   still don't know what
   Yoric meant?   don't be
   daft   married fourty years
   and still stomping like a
   
   herd of buffaloes from
   each other   won't they
   ever learn?
   
   
   XCI
   
   Yoric the surrealist   Dali
   gets away with it   Yoric
   is the only fake   always on
   I guess the make   not the
   
   quest for love at all   that
   only leads him to the fall
   but the quest for   what's it
   called   yes, individuality
   
   originality  Yoric already is
   that kind   but only sees the
   surface there of things   makes
   one wonder if he's serious.
   
   
   XCII
   
   It was so easy to take
   your head off   climb the
   walls   see the world revolve
   around your eyes   stimulate
   
   your mind   oh but don't
   create   don't even think
   (that's fine)   as long as there's
   no interference from another
   
   source   and   "ever try to
   read Finnigan's Wake on acid?"
   Yoric was impossible   o lost
   Yoric make the most of nothing.
   
   
   XCIII
   
   Yoric's so afraid of everything
   but most of all afraid of
   change   the very thought devistates
   his every ounce of strength
   
   confrontation frightens him   he
   wants to be alone   he wants
   to lock the door   cork up
   his room   he wants to
   
   only write write write
   he wants to live inside his
   head   it's the only thing that
   matters that   the world is too
   
   complex.
   
   
   XCIV
   
   Yoric worked as a Barber once
   (a dull man's job) so long
   ago it seems like yesterday   it
   frightens him to think of it   waht
   
   poet was a Barber once?   it
   gave him time to write   mostly
   under pressure very bad   but
   still it was security   (ex-
   
   tention of his home)
   
   He there could hide so well
   away   refuse to think and
   dream the time away   no more
   time to get off the floor.
   
   
   95
   
   Yoric shaved his mustache off
   disn't like the change -
                            Yoric thinks
   it's better now - to realize
   the world for what it is
   
   (there's nothing wrong with this)
   from Barryman to Van Goth's
   ear - suicide is never fear
   neither will it be despair
   
   More or less it's just a
   dare - a game that no one
   wants to play - even photo-
   graphs will fade away.
   
   
   96
   
   Yoric applies for a job   this
   "old"   (he said)   professor
   (PHD et al) researching a book
   Biography to be precise   says
   
   needs a helper   an "assistant"
   speaks for quarter hour   tells
   all about the book   Yoric sure
   can do the job   but no
   
   Professor wants someone with a
   more "Academic" background
   O.K.   Yoric said at least I tried
   The hung up   Damn   could have
   
   done that job.  He lied.
   
   
   97
   
   It is always waiting waiting
   for the opportunity that seems
   to never come   a monotiny of hope
   like as if the vision
   
   too clear   greener grass and so
   much we want but never
   get because we don;t g after
   it   Yoric has no one to blame
   
   but himself   but Yoric isn't
   lazy   just too busy
   with whatever life will offer
   him   he's got little time for
   
   anything.
   
   
   98
   
   Yoric knows   no matter how
   it hurts   he's got to tell
   the truth   not just tell but
   face the truth   he's got to
   
   tear himself apart   come to
   grips with every situation
   and he's got to learn that
   THIS IS IT   nothing else
   
   the moment is the basic pre-
   mise   the reaction to an
   interaction   the way he's
   built   not of bolts but flesh.
   
   
   99
   
   Yoric never smiles   the weight
   of centuries upon his back
   all of it   the weight of
   anything amassed - his heritage
   
   he's reading   learning   his
   experience   everything that touched
   him even more   Yoric has a
   good good memory   even
   
   when a-weary drunk   can't
   forget a thing   wishes though
   he could   at least for once
   at least to be like every-
   
   body else.
   
   
   100
   
   Yoric's grown too fat   Yoric
   looks like Balzac now   Sports
   a mustache in his mind   writes
   upon the table top of a very
   
   grand design   knows it's
   there   but can't explain
   (Yoric's in a lot of pain
   thoughts keep hammering his brain)
   
   Even writes when he's a-dream
   wrote a novel that way once
   thinks that it is very grand
   hasn't shown to anyone.
   
   
   101
   
   Cold and calculated thus
   the situation is that said
   the passage is of time   so
   difficult to understand   ex-
   cept in certain book of His-
   
   tory   Yoric doesn't mind
   the age   there's no passing of
   his youth   Yoric looks
   five years younger than he is
   
   overweight   a bit   perhaps
   but he thinks   (at times)   he's
   Balzac anyway   But he
   doesn't wish he were   totally.
   
   
   102
   
   Himself is best   no other thing
   would be experience   that's his
   job   his "destiny"   to thus ex-
   perience another thing   certain
   
   things   to create from that
   to show the world another
   way   another path   (to
   rightiousness?)   no   that's
   
   not the way   he'll just
   point the way   put up sign
   a milestone   he knows
   what's best in his own world.
   
   
   103
   
   Yoric on the dance floor
   feels like a bloody fool
   this is fun? this enjoyment?
   couldn't wait to get back to
   
   table and get drunk   she
   just cornered him   I'm bored
   that's just what she saud
   Didn't like her much at all
   
   Corners of her mouth were
   black   opium   didn't like
   the stuff   Yoric mad alrea-
   dy   what's for lunch?
   
   104
   
   Yoric born in Germany   thirty
   years ago   when was Yoric
   really born?   fifteen years
   ago?   then he knew his trade.
   
   saw the light?   no   opened
   just his mind and flooded
   out   school project   write
   a cuplet   took a week
   
   that was that   never stopped
   filled up notebook after 
   book   flunked his grades
   Yoric always knew the way.
   
   
   105
   
   Only one teacher   T.O.
   LaGrave   only one person
   understood   got good
   grades in Art   that is
   
   for writing poetry!   true
   enough   one of these days
   you'll have to do some work
   but still the grade is made
   
   Yoric knew not how   he
   knew not anything   his trade
   begun   his calling made
   what was there to stop him
   
   then?
   
   who is there to guide him now?
   
   
   106
   
   But that was long ago   even
   now remembering is hardly
   worth it all   Yoric always
   wanted to be a painter   had
   
   his chance   but used the
   chance to his advantage   no
   only what was needed   some-
   thing to describe his inner
   
   feeling   that was all he wan-
   ted   out of what   theraphy?
   no   a new way to explain
   a certain need   that was
   
   Yoric's deed.
   
   
   107
   
   All the books he ever read
   each locked in his head
   mired books that told the
   truth even though it was a lie
   
   had stamina   hand tossed
   in the flame   so that utterly
   defiant   Yoric always knew
   those books had burned the
   
   soul   you could stale-
   mate such a question   why?
   twisting dagger through the
   guts   only perfect later on.
   
   
   108
   
   Yoric a barber   ten long 
   years   if it hadn't been
   for writing   for these "counter"
   movements of reality   he's
   
   have done it long ago
   like a prison every day   a
   job he hated   and what
   better reason for to cut
   
   one's off from all the world
   living only for sex and wine
   and to forget the late late nite
   T.V. and ahopelessness   divine.
   
   
   109
   
   He kept on writing   Yoric
   did   that was all he
   had   so like a drug to
   him   he'd give you eve-
   rything   but wasn't a Gau-
   gan   there were (there are)
   too many ties already   Yo-
   ric knows he'll ill escape
   
   His life's his art   no social
   part   that's all he's got
   He's happy there   so let
   him be   that's his eternity.
   
   
   110
   
   Everything he does he has to
   know about   he hates
   unceratin situations   he
   needs a point of reference
   
   but sometimes lately many
   milestones vanish   he's
   standing in a desert   tossed
   upon the ocean   Sargasso
   
   weed   (with reference to Crowhurst)
   not quite lost   but it's
   the fake  the fear of a
   mistake   how much more
   
   can Yoric take?
   
   
   111
   
   Yoric   how to come to grips with
   yourself   try to analyze each
   and every one of all these poems
   that you wrote?   those novels
   
   wherein you lied ot fanticized?
   but was it all a fantacy?
   could it have been a disguised
   truth?   all of the emotions
   
   that you felt   each of them
   were real   does love
   have to be consummated
   to be really love?
   
   
   112
   
   Not so much foolhardy as it
   is another view of the world -
   whether crows or cubes or abstract
   forms   the painter segragates
   
   himself   he *needs* the other view
   Yoric rumbles   "out of self"
   Doesn't know anything at all
   the way he feels   might just
   
   as well walk through a wall
   he doesn't seem to think at all
   perhaps it's Art that life's
   about   perhaps the other way
   
   around...
   
   
   113
   
   It works all strange   the
   music's loud  you cannot hear
   the light so overpowering
   you'll be blinded when it comes
   
   Can we recognize ourselves?
   mirror's black   so might be
   moons   the castaway adrift
   at last!   a contradiction
   
   like an atom's blast   Yoric
   understands at last   head's too
   high above the clouds   down
   to earth it's all about.
   
   
   114
   
   It's not so silly as one thinks
   a lifetime passes in the eye
   of a blink   a deep a dream
   a private realm   (a shady
   elm   for making love be-
   neith   as Yoric once a-did)
   and really no pretence is
   here   Let only those who know
   
   beware   perfection's best
   when no one's there   I've
   heard it all before somewhere
   Yoric always wants a share.
   
   
   
   115
   
   It's Yoric's right to do what -
   ever Yoric has to do   but
   Yoric never thinks of it
   that way   Yoric always
   
   failed   he's always been
   the jester without jokes
   the lover without women
   and the monk without a
   
   robe   Yoric's been a
   kind of joke   least
   of all himself to blame
   when Yoric paints a picture
   
   to immortalize the frame.
   
   
   116
   
   Whatchin' those movies
   aint no fun  what's the
   use of other *such* realities?
   If it's truth boy that you
   
   want   take a look at
   all those walls all of this
   monotony   that's what free-
   dom really means   al-
   though the sport's built on a
   team   one remembers what
   one means   that is a personal
   ideal   never what it seems.
   
   
   117
   
   Yoric knows that everything
   went wrong   I mean that he
   went into town   (that is)   to
   work at ten   and typed
   these envelopes   till three
   got paid a-dollars ten
   (she wasn't there)   so
   went and bought some wine
   
   a litre of the "better" stuff
   that he could find   then home
   (two girls at the bus stop
   giggling)   a way to pass
   
   the time.
   
   
   118
   
   My work consumes my every
   need   all my life is how
   I write   what I write and
   what I do   (and you my
   
   friend can di it too)   it's
   all so easily   all so perfect
   all complete   nothing there
   beyond the need   Yoric
   
   laughs   a silent mournful
   laugh   that's the only way he
   finds release   eternal
   peace   poetry's his own
   
   disease.
   
   
   119
   
   Yoric stayed awake all
   night   bad dreams?   no
   just fright   fright of
   everything that his reality would
   
   conjure up   even more as
   if of dreaming this   that's the
   highest form of fear there
   is   fear of life as you
   
   might want to live it
   fear of how you should be
   living it   fear of everything
   fear of waking up again.
   
   
   120
   
   Yoric wants to cultivate
   a madness   a perfect re-
   flection of a perfect situ-
   ation   that is how to fake
   
   the world and all its appre-
   tures   like screaming light
   and all too many books and
   absinthe mind and voices that
   
   refuse to answer when they're
   spoken to   that's to yourself
   and others too   Morphene in his
   mind*   each and every character
   
   is YOU!
   
   *Note: Morpheme, see the novel RITES.
   
   
   121
   
   Blast   a way thru   with a
   serpent's jaw she so devours
   you that there's little time to
   think   but thinking would only
   
   ruin it   too much thought the
   worse for wear   tearing at
   each single file arrangement
   in this all but static universe
   
                                      what's
   worse is never so secure   blast
   wind sucks eternity   jutting
   forth from out necessity
                              not
   a hoe in hell,   the way it
   
   used to be.
   
   
   122
   
   Only a ruler bites through
   a time of abunance   usually
   short lived   but not to be
   sad   as all must pass...
   
   as all remeains in one way
   or another   not to fail   not
   to lose sight of one's object
   but still to float freely...
   
   as to let the wind take sail
   follow the wind   do not
   be as stubborn as to try
   and fracture that wind   know
   
   not blindly.
   
   
   123
   
   ALL OF IT   that's the game
   an artist's always got to
   renegotiate his stand   he's
   never free but must bite
   
   thru   sometimes that leads
   to an extreem naivity
   and almost trance   where
   everything declines into a
   
   secondary stance   before
   that inevitable conquest
   perfect conquest of
   one's self   all of it.
   
   
   124
   
   Yoric writes the worst poems
   in fact Yoric doesn't write
   at all   he's a scientist
   exploring the inner recesses
   
   of himself  his body and
   his mind   whether dream
   or in reality   to Yoric
   there's hardly any difference
   
   whether TV screens or
   books or even on the street
   everything is a reflection
                              he
   can use that has he's like.
   
   
   125
   
   As everything he's like   that
   that is a part of what his
   life   his drive   the only
   way he knows that he's a-
   
   live   alive   living breat-
   hing   loving   all's to him a
   feeling to explore   nothing
   less and nothing more   and
   
   violence in every situation
   as:   clawing out my eyes
   and is it love dispised?
   the truth to Yoric's just a
   
   pack of lies.
   
   
   126
   
   It's an inverted cone   a 
   dunce cap   a spiralled
   universe touching   touching on
   an insignificance   that's it
   
   that is always it   the perfect
   moment   the perfect movement
   all of it   it never exist-
   ed   an impish smile   (Voltaire's
   
   perhaps?)   gives it all away
   head above the clouds   but
   on a clear day   keeping tabs
   on everything   that for Yoric waits.
   
   
   127
   
   If ever he will find it   has
   found it   he will never
   know   or will he ever
   want to know   isn't it
   
   the search that's all im-
   portant?   the anticipation
   finally which writes the
   work   fills the page?
   
   it's all a type of rage
   grinding teeth   always the
   restriction which is still
   ones self   (wiskey's onm the shelf).
   
   
   128
   
   A person's room is like his mind
   a reflection of that internal
   agon exploring every possibility
   a fixation with the self
   
   each piece of furnature   each
   book each painting   the whole
   atmosphere   that which tears
   or shapes the soul   a re-
   
   flection of an individual
   how a person shapes his life
   Yoric likes an empty room
   but always it gets cluttered fast.
   
   
   129
   
   It's not how the image is
   but how the image is
   percieved   Yoric makes
   no bones about it   his
   
   life   (coined now apprentice-
   ship)   a bloody mess   he
   suffers for a need (he thinks)
   but suffers very needlessly
   
   He wonders sometimes how it
   would have been had he stayed
   in Germany   would his life be
   different then?   sure enough
   
   he's be not here.
   
   
   
   130
   
   His dream world how would that
   be changed?   or would his
   dreams be his reality?   no
   way to know   Yoric knows
   
   all this   he doesn't even
   care to speculate   he's
   happy in his happiness   and
   even so is happy in his
   
   sufferinf   all's a part of
   life   his dreams   once
   shattered lies high   that's
   how Yoric builds his Try...
   
   
   131
   
   A crisis alweays in a crisis
   lost among the crowd   panic
   as a woman's body soothes
   him   the leading up to
   
   frightened   Yoric the devine
   jester   cap and bells
   rotten jokes   nervous
   everything is nerves   even
   
   sleep   how he dreams   how
   he writes   how he no-
   tices the world   Yoric only
   'knows one perfect situation
   
   void.
   
   
   132
   
   Yoric freezes   Yoric's hot
   Yoric grabs his own erection
   Yoric's mind is imbecellic
   Yoric's life is so idyllic
   
   Deep in thought  (out of it)
   above the universe   sexual
   power chanelled thru the
   mind   all powerful
   
   Deeper thru the twisting
   screw   deeper   fathoming
   every meaning   every absurd
   
   meaning meaning simply
   nothing nothing at all.
   
   
   133
   
   Yoric feels depressed   op-
   pressed   Yoric can't accept
   the rotting of the Roman Emipre
   he can't reconcile himself to
   
   so few poets that survived
   what happened to all the
   others?   Yoric thinks that
   history is just a series of
   
   mistakes   nothing he says is
   THAT important   to not
   starve   to procreate
   to survive the elements   that is
   
   all important.
   
   
   
   134
   
   What's today important?
   paper work? red tape?
   boredom?   what's the
   real world like?   one
   
   without this artificial fla-
   vour   this poisoning with
   out technology?   is there
   reason to survive talking to
   
   a computer?   who makes less
   mistakes than you?   what's
   the use of living in a world
   like that?  wrists are cut
   
   for less than that.
   
   
   135
   
   No matter how wild it
   gets   no matter how much
   we drank   no matter how
   insane   how rediculous the
   
   situation   it's all still the
   same   no different   we
   always knew   we didn't care
   the forces sprng to life
   
   Yoric walks through walls
   others talk to paintings
   one's no different than a-
   nother   this the same as
   
   all that was.
   
   
   136
   
   Yoric violates his own
   sanity   the music is his
   head's always too loud
   his hand is guided by
   
   another force   the voices
   always penetrate  a feeling
   of each helpnesless   always
   form that versus content
   
   a vortex throws off sparks
   while blinding everything   a
   vortex like the universe
   expanding   contracting   all
   
   and everything is powerful.
   
   
   137
   
   Yoric doesn't see to want
   to do anything right   he's
   afraid of failure   that is
   failure brought about by the
   
   wanting of success   otherwise
   it doesn't matter a hell
   whether things go wrong or
   right   Yoric;'s only Plus
   
   is fright   (rains alright)
   he thrives on what he thinks
   is sufferingf   mental anguish
   if confession were good for
   
   the soul   Yoric wouldn't.
   
   
   138
   
   Once is enough   but Yoric
   makes the same mistake twice
   just to be sure of himself   now
   that's a joke   but the mask he
   
   wears is better than a
   Montegue's   it's better than
   a frightened doestalked by
   a wolf   but TYoric doesn't eat
   
   his prey   Yoric tortures it
   uses it to his own "artsistic"
   advantage   Yoric can't be true
   That false mask... that is really 
   
   you. 
    
   
   139
   
   bored again?   always bored
   that's the only way to be
   for an artist anyway   that's
   how dreams beset
                      others might
   read romantic or detecive 
   novels   I create these
   situations in my mind   I
   live them thus
                    It's the
   
   only way   the only way
   an artist only knows is
   through himself   what others
   might incline to call insane
   
   Yoric only feels his pain.
   
   
   140
   
   Yoric admires his own stami-
   na   which of course is never
   there   he digs a hole   he
   drinks some wine   the more that he
   
   gets drunk the more he sees
   the light   the more the useless
   imbecillity collides with what
   proports to be a proposition
   
   of a high intent   Yoric really
   didn't know what, ah, he meant,
   all the same, just leave it be,
   Yoric knows he is a fallen tree.
   
   
   141
   
   Yoric has a right to do this
   that is   write   but no one else
   no one seems to this that work is
   feeling work  work is just mono-
   tony   it's not   the work that
   Yoric does is really suffering
   he doesn't   but he does,   just
   wants the world to know
   
   the world just doesn't carte
   Yoric's drunk   could be at the fair
   Yoric says he's got the flair
   flair for what?   what's there?
   
   
   142
   
   The inexhaustable well   to-
   wards that   even though there
   now is mud and the well
   needs repairs and to be
   
   dredged   what seems so
   stagent now will one day
   clear   that's the image so that
   others therefrom might enjoy
   
   a drink   quenshe their thirst
   thereby   be satisfied   Yoric
   says to friends   you yourself
   the poet heaves these stones
   
   upon his back   so that that
   light might one day be seen
   clearly.
   
   
   143
   
   This is forcing one to believe
   it's no different to deceive
   guess what's happening   win a prize
   
   no different all   except a pack
   of lies   listen to the radio
   watch a lot of stale TV
   write a book you want
   
   write   if it has already
   been   then do it right
   work a bit   monotonize
   suffering   then dispise   aye.
   
   
   
   144
   
   Fanatically Yoric tries to 
   understand himself   he already
   does   but doesn't want
   to believe himself   others
   
   are just simply too puzzled
   to comprehend everything   and Yo-
   ric is quite a pussle
   he lives by himself in a 
   world of broken images
   (sutured hopes?)   Yoric
   quickly shakes his head   (he
   dead?)   Yoric's always been well
   
   
   read.
   
   
   145
   
   Yoric loves to see his friends
   perplexed  he loves to ply
   a joke that's very subtle
   of course they all will think
   
   he's crazy   well, perhaps he
   is   (something's got to give)
   lose his friends or lose his
   sanirty   Yoric's very hard
   
   to please   lives his life
   the way he wants   "suffering
   for ART"   Damn it all, you're
   enjoying it   how in any way
   
   can that be   "suffering?"
   
   
   146
   
   Yoric is a haunted (king
   of the woof, hunted?) man
   alone   quite alone   iso-
   lated from the world   not
   
   because he wanted so   but
   because he ses the truth
   he notices what the world
   is and what it will be-
   come   but Yoric strikes
   out on his own   he's not
   easily understood   but
   that's good   makes them wonder
   
   how.
   
   
   147
   
   What is ceratin?   if any-
   thing, what is?   even
   without image, wityhout
   thoughts,   what is?   and if
   
   Yoric isn't, who is?   Str-
   ange to say the least   bet-
   ter to wait to get the key
   than to barge in   (where
   
   should one begin?)   it's as
   Hang Gliding doesn't master
   all the wind   thinking doesn't
   master all the mind   what
   
   a find!
   
   
   148
   
   Yoric thrives on rain
   it's the knowledge of the
   certainty of something happe-
   ning   it's the somber mood
   
   a sharing of all history of
   a momeny such as this   a
   day that deep reflects upon
   the image of a total truth
   
   everything's intensified   o joy
   of those emotions   Yoric
   likes to think   whether of
   romance   Yoric takes that chance.
   
   
   149
   
   I believe Yoric when he says
   that he can do everything   from
   a Cahateau in France to a
   Basement studio in Ottawa
   
   He can write the finest novels
   and paint the m,ost astounding
   pictures   He creates, like
   Balzac   his youth like
   
   Rimbaud   he's a vulcano
   Mount Vesuvius deviuring
   Pompaii   he just laughs at that
   the divine joke is always
   
   about one's self.
   
   
   150
   
   It is not to find anything
   not the sword excaliber
   not the Bible nor I Ching
   It is sometininh much more
   
   personal   (whatever moods
   the rain might bring)
   something Yoric cultivates
   half or nothing that might
   
   separate...  Yoric don't you
   think it's getting late?
   punching holes in the debate
   what's there?   or just a
   
   twist of fate?
   
   
   Copyright (c) 1979 Klaus J. Gerken
   Published by Ygdrasil Press 1998
    
   
         
