I AM TODAY

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I am, today, a god

To myself. If a god made me,

That god, too, is a god, and if a god is a god by what he makes,

He is not a god by what he takes,

But a fortunate god who fashions, invents, gives, and fakes.

I accept all mistakes

That made me, fashion me,

And fool me, and make me feel

I am a god. Unless I am a god thinking of a god, I am not real.

 

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6 Comments

  1. maryangeladouglas said,

    October 14, 2016 at 6:04 pm

    I must admit I very much like the impact of the last line in this poem. On another subject, and with due respect, where is the essay on Bob Dylan? You, Thomas Graves/Brady/Scariet, have been such a brilliant champion—of appropriately named lists of songs that also work as poetry above all other known and unknown essayists on the current scene, that you must have some thoughts on the implications of Bob Dylan’s award although I must admit (except for whatever you would write), the endless tedium and aggravation of the myriad navel inspecting ruminations of everybody or anybody on anything Bob Dylan did or has done in his creative life is truly hard to stomach, now more than ever.

    Maybe you are just waiting until all the sickening cycle of this dies down or maybe you would rather keep your thoughts on the subject and yourself to yourself which is your perfect right.

    But the first thought I had after hearing that Bob Dylan had won was: I can’t wait to see what Scarriet (namely you) would have to say on the subject and sorry, your poem underneath the Dylan photo does not count.

    If no essay is forthcoming I will abide and just try to imagine what it might have been. And maybe the lists you already composed speak for themselves and even beyond themselves on this subject in general: namely that song lyrics CAN be, at least, some of them, POETRY. by virtue of their very lyricism.

  2. maryangeladouglas said,

    October 14, 2016 at 6:10 pm

    should be “champion’ of course, not “champio”. maybe I was trying to name a new breakfast cereal for champions. Champios, the breakfast of…

  3. noochinator said,

    October 14, 2016 at 6:33 pm

    Hope you’re not taking a selfie with a Galaxy 7!

    • maryangeladouglas said,

      October 14, 2016 at 6:40 pm

      Sharing a recent poem, appropriate to the calendar.

      REAL POETRY IS A HAUNTED HOUSE

      [to Edith Sitwell]

      real poetry is a haunted house
      said the princess. looking over her shoulder;
      drenched in the fabled rains.

      “who among all these ghosts,”
      cried she (at the clavichord formerly)
      in her last velvets, reverie-

      “could not help but be
      numbered among the musical,
      I ask Thee”.

      oh stand in the castle door;
      that’s all that’s left
      besides the wild grasses.

      Time…passes

      whispered the Princess
      and none to hear.
      “real poetry is the haunted house”

      she murmured to leafmold
      and to the ancient spores;
      the stars swung in

      their windy chandeliers=
      and none, and naught to fear-

      “the saints must live in,
      or else, turn, out of doors”.

      mary angela douglas 13 october 2016

      P.S. This poem was written when an obscured (as the moon is obscured by clouds) fragment of Emily Dickinson’s line half floated in, with me knowing only someone somewhere said something related to this. It is a musical transposition of it. The line from Emily is:

      “Nature is a Haunted House – but Art – a House that tries to be haunted.” —Emily Dickinson

      Well, her poetry was always haunted; she didn’t have to try though she was too modest to realize or say that. The poem is dedicated to Edith Sitwell because the music of it and the odd imagery resembles that period of her poetry that seemed to be coming from a different century or even speaking from an ancient tapestry on a moldy castle wall and also was written under the influence of two documentaries I saw of Irish and Scottish castles recently with the living images of ruins in some cases, only the door and a few walls left of the original structure, and the weeds grown up around this. I also thought of Hans Andersen’s The Princess and the Pea as it is sometimes theatrically presented with the Princess showing up at the castle door pre-test having walked through soaking rains.

  4. thomasbrady said,

    October 14, 2016 at 8:26 pm

    Thanks, Mary. Scarriet will publish an essay on Dylan. Very soon.

  5. maryangeladouglas said,

    October 14, 2016 at 9:34 pm

    Very happy to hear that your essay on Dylan and his reward-award is at hand.. Sometimes there is a hole in the literary universe when a person (such as yourself) may not comment for whatever reason on a subject they have thought about deep and long. (as in ” the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts”…) Glad to see you are still on planet earth continuing on musically and poetically and rhetorically and that must be too many lly’s for one sentence says someone with an invisible red pencil, somewhere!


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