Invocation

Slight consolation, the cool spring air
And cold comfort in the summer fair
Sour grapes in the autumn bright
Little warmth in the winter night–

Look at these things, moth-eaten, old
Could we tell, even if we were told
That they are not new, not even remade
Can’t you see that the corners are frayed?

The same old wisdom that isn’t wise
The same old truth that is actually lies
Dressed up as new, as the ever-new
But now you know that it isn’t true;

Time as an arrow, surely it flies
And I have no breath to criticize
Zeno was wrong, the target it nears
He who listens is he who hears;

The end is near, it is ever-near
Visions of nightmares may quickly appear
Remember first this, remember death
Such is the sum of man’s Progress;

Think then next on the noble and good
And not from loftiness misunderstood
On sharpness dulled, or timbers bent
Or things made trenchent because they are rent;

Remember man’s folly, intention despite
And that to decide such is not his right
But his privilege, his honored decor
It can be given, and taken for sure;

Forget not at last, the force of man’s will
The difficult tasks he is made to fulfill
To fight, to labor, to suffer all things
To gain all the treasure that suffering brings;

Tell me a story then, and follow the old
Not what is ‘new’, or so we are told
The sparks running quickly through cloth that is dry
Stubble lit shining by the fire from the sky;

Why are we shouting – why do we yell
Do we suppose they will hear us in hell?
If they brought a man back from the dead
Would those now sleeping then raise up their head?

While the wind blows, and in blowing it must
Kick up the whole earth choking in dust
Turn your back to it, just do what I ask
While you have light, put your hand to the task;

Bring forth a genius, a birthright, a call
Just this we beseech the Mother of all
Ask Him rules, whose Name is the Fair
Give life to these bones, in the cool spring air.

This poem is my introduction to Social Matter’s new Saturday feature – we will be rotating through authors of poetry and short / serial fiction. This poem both is the first edition of this feature as well as its explication and commendation; a sort of rhetorical device which is describing itself.

A short analysis of it is that it intends to describe our general purpose in spearheading such a feature, which is to move beyond criticism and deconstruction (post-modern areas) and onto construction and vision. The rhetorical form here presents thesis (which is a criticism), antithesis (the construction) and synthesis (a vision and a prayer.) I may not be the best at analytics and logic, or even dialectic and rhetoric (in the classical sense, pre-Hegel) so it is certain others can do these things better than I.

Which is, again, the point here – I’m not the only one doing this! In the next two weeks, we will introduce our other two authors for this feature, and hopefully find room for even more if it is fruitful.

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