his mind leaping like dolfins,
These concepts the human mind has attained,
To make Cosmoss—
To achieve the possible,
Mus, wrecked for an error,
But the record, the palimpsest—
a little light in great darkness—
an old “crank” dead in Virginia—
Unprepared young burdened with records,
The vision of the Madonna
above the cigar butts;
over the portal.
Have made a mass of laws
(mucchio di leggi)
Litterae nihil sanantes
a tangle of works unfinished.
I have brought the great ball of crystal,
who can lift it?
Can you enter the great acorn of light?
but the beauty is not the madness
Tho my errors and wrecks lie about me.
and I cannot make it cohere
If love be not in the house there is nothing,
The voice of famine unheard.
How came beauty against this blackness,
Twice beauty under the elms—
to be saved by squirrels and bluejays ?
“plus j’aime le chien”
Disney against the metaphysicals,
And Laforgue more than they thought in him,
Spire thanked me in proposito
And I have learned more from Jules
deep in him,
chi crescera nostri
but about that terzo
again “is all paradiso”
a nice quiet paradise
over the shambles,
and some climbing,
before the take-off,
to “see again”.
there verb is “see” not “walk on”
i.e. it coheres all right
even if my notes do not cohere,
a little rightness,
to excuse his hell and my paradiso
and as to why they wrong,
thinking of rightness
And as to who will copy this palimpsest?