Because poems
by Jon Rappoport
August 12, 2016
(To read about Jon’s mega-collection, Power Outside The Matrix, click here.)
I’ve been entranced by one kind of poetry or another since I was 11. I started writing it when I was 17. Poems can’t be classified. If you want to say there are types, they are infinite, which defeats the whole idea of cataloging them.
Poems SUGGEST. They refer to what isn’t there. But now it is. That’s the underlying point, and it quite startling to know a poem can do that.
But of course, you have to be willing to receive suggestions of what isn’t but then is. You have to shake off the predisposition to want language to do certain things but then stop at the boundary. That is a fixation, a form of hypnosis, the limitation-complex.
Reality is a fraud. It’s what is left over after all other options have been exhausted. I’m not only talking about the content of reality, but also the position of it, the front-and-center of it. Yes, you need to deal with it, and cleverly, but hypnotic attachment to it is religious. If it weren’t, why would you keep dreaming of extraordinary things while you’re asleep? Why wouldn’t you dream of walking down to the corner to buy a cup of coffee and a newspaper?
Here I’m publishing three poems. The first one was published by The Massachusetts Review in 1966. It was written after an intense period of reading William Blake’s short poems. The second one I wrote today. The third one is a brief excerpt from a very long poem, Visions of the Empire, which I finished in 2013. I’m currently revising it.
First poem:
Burned flowers of the field
My noon is over, growing old
Everything I have is finally sold
Sewed designs for men with money
Thinking it was duty
To watch them lead the world to war
From my little field of beauty
Second poem:
Because night has no name in caverns of sky plantations of stars…
This is what Hermes said in a loud wand voice over and over
As he walked the length of a broken down bar
In Times Square
And the drunks in their stools lifted their heads
As if they were poets
Waiting to join an army
Of long sword
The army they’d deserted a thousand years ago
On a spring morning when they stopped shining with green lanterns of diamond-throated Merlin birds in the high clouds
Third poem:
one version of what the old Tibetans
called the Great Void:
everybody looks around and tries to figure out what to do
because the long hustle of discovery is over
and all the explorers have been paid off
There is nothing left
except a few magicians
living in cold mountains
punching holes in the universe at will
In Lhasa they were indeed faced with that Nothing
and they turned to it in the eastern sky hanging like a lamp in a long vacated whorehouse
and bowed
that was the only ceremony in the original book
which they later
in quiet rooms
burned in wood bowls
before starting their exercises
Worship?
Decay?
Never heard of it.
And now think of something else, perfect automobiles
streaming down a tropical planet toward the
mirror lake on which stands a demigod in green pantaloons
who holds All Data in his outstretched arms
and freeze THAT in memory like a sword for sixteen hours
without moving
and finally see universe
is a product
of mind
this is what they were doing
before they wrote the books and ordered the prayer wheels from sears catalog
and jingle jangled their way into a theocracy on a cold saturday morning
they were the dim sum masters
never ordered the same breakfast twice in the holy rivers of energy
took apart the river and the energy
too
down to Nothing
sat in Void for
indeterminate length of no-time
stopping all creating
because they could
and then emerged
those few
magicians in the cold wasted hills and
and said WELL
if you folks want to elect a billion reincarnated hopalong cassidys
as your head chief go ahead it doesn’t matter
we’re out here on the edge
inventing and destroying dimensions like porcelain plates
Jon Rappoport
The author of three explosive collections, THE MATRIX REVEALED, EXIT FROM THE MATRIX, and POWER OUTSIDE THE MATRIX, Jon was a candidate for a US Congressional seat in the 29th District of California. He maintains a consulting practice for private clients, the purpose of which is the expansion of personal creative power. Nominated for a Pulitzer Prize, he has worked as an investigative reporter for 30 years, writing articles on politics, medicine, and health for CBS Healthwatch, LA Weekly, Spin Magazine, Stern, and other newspapers and magazines in the US and Europe. Jon has delivered lectures and seminars on global politics, health, logic, and creative power to audiences around the world. You can sign up for his free emails at NoMoreFakeNews.com or OutsideTheRealityMachine.
RE;
” and said WELL
if you folks want to elect a billion reincarnated hopalong cassidys
as your head chief go ahead it doesn’t matter
we’re out here on the edge
inventing and destroying dimensions like porcelain plates”
…I was there.I heard it said. Then I heard laughter in my head and some of it wasn’t mine. And some guys laughing voice shouts “doesn’t this remind everybody of before they were in body.” Somehow that made it all the more funny…