-----Original Message----- From: Mike Geary <atlas@xxxxxxxxxxxxx> Sent: Jul 18, 2004 1:40 PM To: LIT-IDEAS <lit-ideas@xxxxxxxxxxxxx> Subject: [lit-ideas] SOMEDAY'S POEM PORTRAIT OF THE ARTIST AS A JUNG MAN -- It was a great day for European culture, he said, when you made up your mind to swear in yellow. I hear Eliot in the above lines. Or Joyce, but not Portrait I don't think but I haven't read either in years. Finegan's Wake maybe? Don't make me spend hours looking. This poem is so cool. De profundis clamavi ad te, Domine Watch your step as you descend the depths. A key, a lock, a life in hock -- things aren't always what they seem, you've got to analyze your dream. A troll, a witch, a winged mare, they tell you what's really there. We walk about, blindfolded I's, closed against the archetypos' surprise. Once I had a dream that I was but a tongue. A tongue without a mouth, like a north without a south, like a man without a houth to lisp in. I would flutter like an aspen when I tried to speak. Men called me a freak said that my physique left something to be desired. But women got all fired up and they retired to their boudoir with me. I won't tell you what happened nextly. You'll have to read it intertextly. Hello yellow jello. ------------------------------------------------------------------ To change your Lit-Ideas settings (subscribe/unsub, vacation on/off, digest on/off), visit www.andreas.com/faq-lit-ideas.html ------------------------------------------------------------------ To change your Lit-Ideas settings (subscribe/unsub, vacation on/off, digest on/off), visit www.andreas.com/faq-lit-ideas.html