DO YOU UNDERSTAND THE MADNESS: ROUND ONE

Image result for arranged marriage in painting

We attribute to every sporting contest a rivalry which may, or may not, exist.

We think we see love.  Which may not exist.

Most opponents are paired up by chance. The rivalry isn’t real.

In an arranged marriage, where love is the object, a thousand considerations and judgments will arise, as two people, forced into a relationship of love, are forced to overcome a potential horde of disgusts and dislikes, in order to love.

If one isn’t feeling the love, it isn’t going to happen; if a heavily romantic atmosphere is not artificially created, with a certain genius for love-design, given that most human beings are not exactly gods and goddesses, love of mutually strong attractiveness is, in fact, an extremely rare thing.

In combat, however, the randomly matched will have no problem working themselves up into a feverish madness to win; a great egoistic desire to vanquish the other, as if an overwhelming rivalry had existed for a lifetime, is easily attained.

The competitive conquers love—the hated is instantly fashioned; combat can be had for nothing. True love belongs to only the most miraculously fortunate.

The first thing we do when we land on the site of this year’s Scarriet March Madness tourney is wash ourselves in the simple outdoor shower, the rich jungle of the tropical isle stretching out from us in all directions.

The opening ceremony’s camaraderie is helped by symbols (mostly edible) and drink, and also the music from the loudspeakers—composed long ago by the early founders of the Madness.

This year we have songwriters, bands, poets, filmmakers, actors, and writers.

There are four brackets: song, film, poetry, and prose. The greatest words, expressing every aspect of human history: love, war, beauty, history, and rivalry.

Reproduction is not love; animals pair up, and reproduce, and yet—human love is mysteriously tied up with animal reproduction—this idea is wittily and breezily celebrated by Cole Porter in his famous song Let’s Do It—Let’s Fall In Love.

The Star Spangled Banner has an equally vital and universal theme: the landscape of a country, the bravery of its defense, the patriotic celebration of its freedom—no embarrassing love material in this song!

Is it ironic that the first team mentioned in our first contest features a song about “pairing up?”

Will Cole Porter win, or lose, against star spangled patriotism—a pairing of citizen and country?

These two songs. They don’t write them like this anymore. They don’t.

The Star Spangled Banner wins.

“Let’s do it” has met its match.

In the sunshine of this year’s Madness isle.

Where crowds of visitors gather in large numbers for the thrill.

Rivalry behind every tree.  Love on the top of every hill.

 

 

 

 

 

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1 Comment

  1. maryangeladouglas said,

    March 10, 2017 at 4:19 am

    Well I know my poem here will appear an anamoly but so what I just wanted to leave it here as the old novels say, as a souvenir. Souvenir of what someone will scoff and I will just say: of the praise of days. And because I like some of the sentiments in this essay and because I like the picture. And because it is my song in full blown anamoliness and I know that’s not a word but it is now.

    IMAGINATION, MEMORY’S DOWER

    to William Shakespeare this small book of days
    and to my mother, Mary Adalyn Young-Douglas

    beyond the coast of what is seen
    in dreams, in the rustle of pages
    in the green of a shadow on

    a greener wall, being small
    caught in the rain
    distracted from pain

    have you really witnessed
    so many snows as this
    you wonder to yourself in bliss

    crystaled in the cold or blown
    from the petaling trees of april magnified
    magnifying a white white glory

    have you really existed under the stars

    you could not see in the city lights
    or borne the flights of others on
    your back or tracked beauty itself

    have you really can you really
    look back on so much gold squandered
    and still there is more

    the coinage of days

    imagination’s stored it up for you
    in silos of the night
    not ill met by moonlight, Titania

    not ill met.
    with my small border of roses, lilies
    flowerets crowned and remembered, yet.

    mary angela douglas 9 march 2017


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