Down to verse (1636)

Fed’s Broadway CCXXXII

Voided entry XXXVI

Pound found his flower,

But left a lesser son,

The crossed out one.

He found his bower,

Haiku, flower,

Beyond a Far East sun.

Purport?

To shine on his own kind.

But left a lesser son,

The crossed out one.

Left him,

To breathe, to mind, new lilies.

How, where?

No fleur du mal,

But where some battle hymn,

Not of some shore of yore,

Said from God’s breast,

Said how,

O wha, o wha, 

Said how to make him free.

Down to verse (1635)

Fed’s Broadway CCXXXI

Voided entry XXXV

Pound found his flower,

Left his gift,

Far e’en from Dido’s shore,

Nor craft, nor oar,

Nor carrying charge

For ship or barge,

Of its day’s freight,

Thru pirate strait

To breeze, grift high seas

To coast far west.

To grift high seas,

Not tame them,

To find no halcyon,

But lethargy

On every coast,

As kinds began to die.

Down to verse (1634)

Fed’s Broadway CCXXX

Voided entry XXXIV

Pound found his flower,

His floruit, circa nth 19,

His free Juneteenth,

To leave a floating seed

In the Moluccas.

A floating seed,

Alive to life,

Yet dead to it,

Bred for a course,

Yet broken so

To know no prayer, 

Nor history,

Nor God, 

Nor mused poesy,

Nor educated drivel

For to see

The growing nothing. 

Down to words (603)

https://chicago.cbslocal.com/2020/03/25/beck-lightfoot-on-stay-at-home-order-citations-to-be-issued-parks-could-be-shut-down/

Down to verse (1633)

Fed’s Broadway CCXXIX

Voided entry XXXIII

The lethargy of Dido’s coast

Would lurk,

Behind the throes of  word and work,

Though father Pound transcend them all

On his prosodic highway, 

In verse that nonplussed Hemingway,

The man of ice, whose prose

Froze over pachyderms, 

Could bury Hannibal’s elephants,

Yea, or hunt them.

Daddo's game:

Hemingway wrote: "The best of Pound's writing—and it is in the Cantos—will last as long as there is any literature."^[4]

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ezra_Pound

Down to verse (1632)

Fed’s Broadway CCXXVIII

Voided entry XXXII

Yet lethargy of Dido’s coast

Would lurk,

Through monks and wars,

Popes and whores,

Through monks and wars,

Financiers, courtly loves,

Lives of rents,

Pauper’s crusades

With blades and circus tents

Pitched town to town

‘Til run aground,

Unholy Roman frauds (and broads),

Barbarians in scores.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/People%27s_Crusade

https://www.coursehero.com/file/6557291/The-Medieval-Paupers/

Down to verse (1631)

Fed’s Broadway CCXXVII

Voided entry XXXI

The lethargy of Dido’s coast

Would lurk,

Though long ago did history

Leave Rome’s cauldron

Of unholy loves,

For yet unsainted saints:

Artist’s palettes, paints,

First, sticking spears for Rome,

Impaling hordes that forced retreat

As Rome split two brothers, faint,

In churches twain as well.

Daddo’s game:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Theodosius_I

Theodosius died, after suffering from a disease involving severe edema, in Milan on 17 January 395. Ambrose delivered a panegyric titled De Obitu Theodosii^[48] before Stilicho and Honorius in which Ambrose praised the suppression of paganism by Theodosius. Theodosius was finally buried in the Church of the Holy Apostles in Constantinople on 8 November 395,^[49] in a porphyry sarcophagus that was described in the 10th century by Constantine VII Porphyrogenitus in the De Ceremoniis.^[50]

Theodosius's army rapidly dissolved after his death, with Gothic contingents raiding as far as Constantinople. As his heir in the Eastern Roman Empire he left Arcadius, who was about eighteen years old,^[51] and in the Western Roman Empire Honorius, who was ten.^[52] Neither ever showed any sign of fitness to rule, and their reigns were marked by a series of disasters. As their guardians Theodosius left Stilicho, who ruled in the name of Honorius in the Western Empire, and Flavius Rufinus who was the actual power behind the throne in the East. Several historians mark the day of Theodosius' death as the beginning of the Middle Ages.^[53]

Augustine and Chrysostom stand as parallel saints.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Augustine_of_Hippo

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/John_Chrysostom

Successive Barbarians:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Alaric_I

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Athaulf

Down to words (602)

History forces its way to us again.

https://www.bloomberg.com/news/articles/2020-03-23/san-francisco-fights-coronavirus-by-finding-the-homeless-a-home?srnd=premium

Down to words (601)

https://www.bloomberg.com/opinion/articles/2020-03-21/coronavirus-crisis-exposes-systemic-failures-around-the-world?srnd=premium

The sunset of a mindset, perhaps.

Down to words (600)

https://www.politico.com/news/2020/03/21/doj-coronavirus-emergency-powers-140023

Down to verse (1630)

Fed’s Broadway CCXXVI

Voided entry XXX

Sailed to madness.

The widow Dido

Met her Aeneas

On her coast of lethargy, 

Wished him there to tarry, marry.

But, sea scion anew, he surged,

Through hard, unflattering surf

To found old Rome,

A glory that would end

In fooling Poe, and wreck

His Helens and his barks of woe.

Daddo’s game:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dido

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Edgar_Allan_Poe

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/To_Helen

Down to verse (1629)

Fed’s Broadway CCXXV

Voided entry XXIX

Aye, Zuckerhulks,

What whore ashore,

What momentary prize,

What laughing roar.

Quid nunc?

Alls or nothings,

Let highs be high,

Let Xanax be

For the River Lethe.

I sit my spar. 

I sit upon its prow.

Daddo's game:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lethe

Down to words (599)

https://www.msn.com/en-us/news/politics/coronavirus-outbreak-a-cascade-of-warnings-heard-but-unheeded/ar-BB11pYY1

Down to verse (1628)

Fed’s Broadway CCXXIV

Voided entry XXVIII

Sailed to madness,

Fantasies sailed, 

High waved,

Through confluence, divergence,

Then rank apostasy, 

By demiurge or other, in tracks

That racked a world soul

Into slightest fears,

Fears that a monarch,

Or a cloud,

Might aim or claim migration.

Or fire conflagration.

Chimera like,

The language twisted,

As each fear flooded,

Ne’er to put out fires,

But to stoke them.

Daddo's game:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Monarch_butterfly_migration

Down to verse (1627)

Fed’s Broadway CCXXIII

Voided entry XXVII

Aye, Zuckerhulks,

Alls or nothings,

Come the binaries.

Let highs be high,

Let Xanax be

For the River Lethe.

I sit my spar. 

I sit upon its prow.

Daddo’s game:

History comes to us:

https://www.cnbc.com/2020/03/17/mnuchin-says-trump-administration-is-looking-to-get-cash-to-americans-immediately.html

The set up for MMT:  The requirement for one to fulfill to get future money is not far behind. Interest rates have gone to zero in the US, and the progressives are not yet even back in power.

https://finance.yahoo.com/news/upside-down-world-negative-rates-100000573.html

Even aged savers will apply when yields go below zero.

As we pray to the youth to take the virus seriously and not party, we soon become prisoner to the Zuckerhulks, our own begotten zombies.

Down to verse (1626)

Fed’s Broadway CCXXII

Voided entry XXVI

Zuckerhulks,

‘It girls’ all,

Clara Bow tall,

All it took

Was a ‘hundert’ years,

(Eff the genders, 

eff the pronouns)

Each his own Astaire,

His own stairs

To his stars,

His own Abraham,

His own promise of salvation,

His many nations,

His own Mephisto,

(Metaphisto, yea)

Each his own Scotus,

His own Haecaiety,

His own gaiety.

His own Blake.

His own Marriage

Of Heaven and Hell

To take.

I sit my spar. 

I sit upon its prow.

Daddo’s game:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Clara_Bow

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fred_Astaire

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mephistopheles

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Duns_Scotus

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Haecceity

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/William_Blake

Down to words (598)

https://dnyuz.com/2020/03/14/a-bank-in-midtown-is-cleaned-out-of-100-bills/

Down to verse (1625)

Fed’s Broadway CCXXI

Voided entry XXV

Aye,

Zuckerhulks.

O’ might each

Sculpt his place with Pound,

Might his 

Fractioned life abound,

Yet he only know

His numbered ratio

For a word,

Thus he only have

The special blessing

Of a fancied surd.

Let him come to have it.

I sit my spar. 

I sit upon its prow.

Daddo’s game:

Conceive of ratio as ‘principle’.

Down to words (597)

https://www.belfasttelegraph.co.uk/news/uk/quarantine-has-psychological-impact-which-can-be-long-lasting-says-review-39042177.html

Down to verse (1624)

Fed’s Broadway CCXX

Voided entry XXIV

Aye,

Zuckerhulk,

Why pray?

Why pray to e’en a county court?

Who full grown,

Testeroned,

Bench pressed,

Would piss himself

In penmanship,

Die on a page

Of a meager text

Before Pound’s age, 

Die on a page

Of a 4^th grade

McGuffey.

Why pray to e’en a county court,

Scarce none can read the pleading?

I sit my spar. 

I sit upon its prow.

Daddo’s game:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/McGuffey_Readers

Down to verse (1623)

Fed’s Broadway CCXIX 

Voided entry XXIII

Pray to madness,

Pray, O Zuckerhulks,

Infinite by infinite,

Disciples, apostles even,

Of Hegel’s law of hearts, today,

Mr, Mrs, in between,

Each reaching

For an illness of infinity,

Galloping past Cantor,

Bursting continua,

Thirsting for his own speck

On a murderous richer line.

I sit my spar. 

I sit upon its prow.

Daddo’s game:

https://www.marxists.org/reference/archive/hegel/works/ph/phc1bb.htm

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Georg_Cantor

Down to verse (1622)

Fed’s Broadway CCXVIII

Voided entry XXII

I was not one of his, you see,

Was dead to him, a son to be,

This strange Aeneas, Mauberl(e)y,

To see the growing nothing.

I was not one of his to be,

I know no prayer, 

No history,

Nor God, 

Nor mused poesy,

Nor e’en educated drivel

For to see

The growing nothing. 

I sit my spar. 

I sit upon its prow.

Down to verse (1621)

Fed’s Broadway CCXVII

Voided entry XXI

I sit my spar. 

I sit upon its prow.

Picture dying,

Not rising as one.

Picture no busy old fool,

No mercy for crying,

For dying of light.

No Donne, 

No Dylan tickling.

Picture no Jack of Christ

Born thorny on a tree,

Flack Jack instead.

No metaphor,

Nor rub, 

Nor love.

Picture the note

Of Cliff of it,

The little peek at it,

The little peep of it. 

Testify not.

I will not hear your words.

I sit my spar. 

I sit upon its prow.

Down to verse (1620)

Fed’s Broadway CCXVI

Voided entry XX

Picture the wasteland,

The unproved rocks,

The thunder of nothing,

No fire or rose as one.

Picture it, 

From the poor,

Mere lesser artist.

Picture it
From Old Possum,

Daddo’s friend.

I sit my spar. 

I sit upon its prow.

Daddo’s game:

Again, Eliot dedicated The Waste Land  to E.P., as the greater artist, though Eliot’s conceptions were arguably extraordinary, clearer, greater.

Down to verse (1619)

Fed’s Broadway CCXV

Voided entry XIX

The cold chiseled

Graveyard whistle 

At a tomb of woven words,

Indifferent,

Warp, woof amiss,

Soul, art lost

In the greatest sin of all.

Picture it, 

But you cannot,

Zuckerhulks,

You cannot see the poor,

Admitted, lesser craftsman.

Your mindset now,

Less tradition, talent,

All in space

Of, yea, mere hundred years.

I sit my spar. 

I sit upon its prow.

Daddo’s game:

Following the epigraph is a dedication (added in a 1925 republication) that reads "For Ezra Pound: il miglior fabbro". Here Eliot is both quoting line 117 of Canto XXVI of Dante's Purgatorio, the second cantica of the Divine Comedy, where Dante defines the troubadour Arnaut Daniel as "the best smith of the mother tongue", and also Pound's title of chapter 2 of his The Spirit of Romance(1910) where he translated the phrase as "the better craftsman".^[24] This dedication was originally written in ink by Eliot in the 1922 Boni & Liveright edition of the poem presented to Pound; it was subsequently included in future editions.^[25]

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Waste_Land

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tradition_and_the_Individual_Talent

Down to verse (1618)

Fed’s Broadway CCXIV

Voided entry XVIII

Lost, as I am, 

To sit my spar,

I make my list,

Autist,

As digits come from far 

To point me,

Maimed,

Shamed,

On my little prow,

Somehow shunned from seas,

Once beauteous, wondrous,

Triton stormed, thunderous.

Adrift, a dead sun

Now defaces me,
Etches me an epitaph.

Down to verse (1617)

Fed’s Broadway CCXIII

Voided entry XVII

Picture it.

Zuckerhulks,

By the fractioned minute:

The poorer art

Of turning envy 

Chained into hate,

The bankrupt rage

To be one late 

To post for race.

The fear to miss the post,

The poorest art, 

To stage indifference, 

So to list it.

I sit my spar,

I make my list.