XXVIII
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And God the Father Eternal (Boja d’un Dio!)
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Having made all things he cd.
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think of, felt yet
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That something was lacking, and thought
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Still more, and reflected that
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The Romagnolo was lacking, and
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Stamped with his foot in the mud and
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Up comes the Romagnolo:
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“Gard, yeh bloudy ’angman! It’s me”.
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Aso iqua me. All Esimo Dottor Aldo Walluschnig
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Who with the force of his intellect
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With art and assiduous care
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Has snatched from death by a most perilous operation
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The classical Caesarean cut
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Marotti, Virginia, in Senni of San Giorgio
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At the same time saving her son.
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May there move to his laud the applause of all men
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And the gratitude of the family.
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S. Giorgio, 23d May. A.D. 1925.
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Item: There are people that can swimme in the sea
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Havens and rivers naked
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Having bowes and shafts,
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Coveting to draw nigh yr. shippe which if they find not
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Well watched and warded they wil assault
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Desirous of the bodies of men which they covet for meate,
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If you resist them
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They dive and wil flee.
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And Mr Lourpee sat on the floor of the pension dining-room
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Or perhaps it was in the alcove
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And about him lay a great mass of pastells,
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That is, stubbs and broken pencils of pastell,
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In pale indeterminate colours.
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And he admired the Sage of Concord
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“Too broad ever to make up his mind”.
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And the mind of Lourpee at fifty
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Directed him into a room with a certain vagueness
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As if he wd.
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neither come in nor stay out
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As if he wd.
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go neither to the left nor the right
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And his painting reflected this habit.
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And Mrs Kreffle’s mind was made up,
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Perhaps by the pressure of circumstance,
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She described her splendid apartment
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In Paris and left without paying her bill
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And in fact she wrote later from Sevilla
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And requested a shawl, and received it
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From the Senora at 300 pesetas cost to the latter
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(Also without remitting) which
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May have explained the lassitude of her daughter;
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And the best paid dramatic critic
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Arrived from Manhattan
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And was lodged in a bordello (promptly)
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Having trusted “his people”
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Who trusted a Dutch correspondent,
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And when they had been devoured by fleas
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(Critic and family)
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They endeavoured to break the dutchman’s month’s contract,
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And the ladies from West Virginia
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Preserved the natal aroma,
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And in the railway feeding-room in Chiasso
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She sat as if waiting/or the train for Topeka
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— That was the year of the strikes —
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When we came up toward Chiasso
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By the last on the narrow-gauge,
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Then by tramway from Como
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Leaving the lady who loved bullfights
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With her eight trunks and her captured hidalgo,
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And a dutchman was there who was going
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To take the boat at Trieste,
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Sure, he was going to take it;
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Would he go round by Vienna? He would not.
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Absence of trains wdnt. stop him.
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So we left him at last in Chiasso
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Along with the old woman from Kansas,
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Solid Kansas, her daughter had married that Swiss
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Who kept the buffet in Chiasso.
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Did it shake her? It did not shake her.
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She sat there in the waiting room, solid Kansas,
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Stiff as a cigar-store indian from the Bowery
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Such as one saw in “the nineties”,
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First sod of bleeding Kansas
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That had produced this ligneous solidness;
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If thou wilt go to Chiasso wilt find that indestructable female
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As if waiting for the train to Topeka
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In the buffet of that station on the bench that
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Follows the wall, to the right side as you enter.
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And Clara Leonora wd. come puffing so that one
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Cd. hear her when she reached the foot of the stairs,
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Squared, chunky, with her crooked steel spectacles
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And her splutter and her face full of teeth
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And old Rennert wd. sigh heavily
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And look over the top of his lenses and
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She wd. arrive after due interval with a pinwheel
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Concerning Grillparzer or — pratzer
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Or whatever follow the Grill —, and il Gran Maestro
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Mr Liszt had come to the home of her parents
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And taken her on his prevalent knee and
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She held that a sonnet was a sonnet
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And ought never be destroyed,
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And had taken a number of courses
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And continued with hope of degrees and
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Ended in a Baptist learnery
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Somewhere near the Rio Grande.
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And they wanted more from their women,
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Wanted ’em jacked up a little
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And sent over for teachers (Ceylon)
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So Loica went out and died there
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After her time in the post-Ibsen movement.
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And one day in Smith’s room
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Or may be it was that 1908 medico’s
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Put the gob in the fire-place
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Ole Byers and Feigenbaum and Joe Bromley,
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Joe hittin’ the gob at 25 feet
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Every time, ping on the metal
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(Az ole man Comley wd. say: Boys! ...
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Never cherr terbakker! Hrwwkke tth!
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Never cherr terbakker!,
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“Missionaries,” said Joe, “I was out back of Jaffa,
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I dressed in the costume, used to like the cafés,
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All of us settin’ there on the ground,
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Pokes his head in the doorway: “Iz there any,”
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He says, “Gar’
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Damn
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Man here
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Thet kan speak ENGLISH?”
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Nobody said anything fer a while
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And then I said: “Hu er’ you?”
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“I’m er misshernary I am”
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He sez, “chucked off a naval boat in Shanghaï.
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I worked at it three months, nothin’ to live on.”
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Beat his way overland.
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I never saw the twenty I lent him.”
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Great moral secret service, plan, Tribune is told
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limit number to thirty thousand,
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only highest type will be included,
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propaganda within ranks of the veterans,
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to keep within bounds when they come into
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contact with personal liberty ... with the french authorities ...
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that includes the Paris police ...
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Strengthen franco-american amity.
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NARCOTIC CHARGE: Frank Robert Iriquois
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gave his home Oklahoma City ... Expelled July 24 th.
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“Je suis ...
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(Across the bare planks of a diningroom in the Pyrenees)
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... plus fort que ...
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... le Boud-hah!”
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(No contradiction)
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“Je suis ...
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... plus fort que le ...
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... Christ!
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(No contradiction)
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“J’aurais ...
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aboli ...
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le poids!”
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(Silence, somewhat unconvinced.)
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And in his waste house, detritus,
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As it were the cast buttons of splendours,
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The harbour of Martinique, drawn every house, and in detail.
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Green shutters on half the houses,
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Half the thing still unpainted.
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“... sont
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“l’in .. fan ... terie KOH-
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lon-
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i-ale”
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voce tinnula
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“Ce sont les vieux Marsouins!”
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He made it, feitz Marcebrus, the words and the music,
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Uniform out for Peace Day
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And that lie about the Tibetan temple
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(happens by the way to be true,
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they do carry you up on their shoulders) but
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Bad for his medical practice.
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“Retreat?” said Dr Wymans, “It was marrvelous ...
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Gallipoli ...
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Secret. Turks knew nothing about it.
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Uh! Helped me to get my wounded aboard.”
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And that man sweat blood to put through that railway,
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And what he ever got out of it?
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And one day he drove down to the whorehouse
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Cause all the farmers had consented
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and granted the right of way,
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But the pornoboskos wdn’t. have it at any price
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And said he’d shoot the surveyors,
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But he didn’t shoot ole pop in the buckboard,
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He giv him the right of way.
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And they thought they had him flummox’d,
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Nobody’d sell any rails;
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Till he went up to the north of New York state
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And found some there on the ground
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And he had ’em pried loose and shipped ’em
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And had ’em laid here through the forest.
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Thing is to find something simple
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As for example Pa Stadtvolk;
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Hooks to hang gutters on roofs,
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A spike and half-circle, patented ’em and then made ’em;
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Worth a good million, not a book in the place;
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Got a horse about twenty years after, seen him
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Of a Saturday afternoon
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When they’d taken down an old fence,
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Ole Pa out there knockin the nails out
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(To save ’em). I hear he smoked good cigars.
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And when the Prince Oltrepassimo died, saccone,
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That follow the coffins,
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He lay there on the floor of the chapel
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On a great piece of patterned brocade
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And the walls solid gold about him
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And there was a hole in one of his socks
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And the place open that day to the public,
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Kids running in from the street
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And a cat sat there licking himself
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And then stepped over the Principe,
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Discobolus upstairs and the main door
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Not opened since ’70
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When the Pope shut himself into the Vatican
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And they had scales on the table
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To weigh out the food on fast days;
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And he lay there with his hood back
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And the hole in one of his socks.
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“Buk!” said the Second Baronet, “eh ...
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“Thass a funny lookin’ buk” said the Baronet
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Looking at Bayle, folio, 4 vols. in gilt leather, “Ah ...
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“Wu ... Wu ... wot you goin’ eh to do with ah ...
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“... ah read-it?”
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Sic loquitur eques.
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And lest it pass with the day’s news
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Thrown out with the daily paper,
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Neither official pet
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Nor Levine with the lucky button
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Went on into darkness,
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Saw naught above but close dark,
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Weight of ice on the fuselage
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Borne into the tempest, black cloud wrapping their wings,
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The night hollow beneath them
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And fell with dawn into ocean
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But for the night saw neither sky nor ocean
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And found ship ... why?... how?... by the Azores.
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And she was a bathing beauty, Miss Arkansas or Texas
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And the man (of course) quasi anonymous
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Neither a placard for non-smokers or non-alcohol
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Nor for the code of Peoria;
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Or one-eyed Hinchcliffe and Elsie
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Blackeyed bitch that married dear Dennis,
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That flew out into nothingness
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And her father was the son of one too
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That got the annulment.