waiting a little longer for Godot......the sequel

[saw]

estragon : we always find something, eh, Didi
to give us the impression that we exist ?

vladimir ( impatiently): yes, yes, we're magicians
but let us persevere in what we have resolved, before we forget

and where is that fucking Godot ?
sonuvabitch thinks he can just keep
us waiting like a couple of tramps

fuck him, who needs him
to hell with Shakespeare and Kafka too
to hell with Samuel Beckett, Francis Bacon

all of 'em, what do they know
about us, Esty
we know much about them, and they

know nothing about us, c'mon
our primary ontological security
is firmly in place without them, isn't it

despite our lack of possessions
despite their many successes

[Lightning Rod]

Yes, I always dreamed of Dali
asking me for my autograph
a scribble of my DNA
one-way intimacy we have
with god and celebrity

[judih]

the sequel - perennial wait
with aplomb

[RonPrice]

Excellent. Beckett is a wonderful playwright. And your poem says a great deal and it spoke to me.-Ron
---------------------
There was for me, as there has been for millions, a kind of hell of frenetic passivity in life. Working out how to live, what to do, where to find meaning, what to avoid, whom to marry, when to marry, what career to follow, whether to go fishing this afternoon or to watch the movie. This hell could just as easily be called a hell of frenetic activity. It seems to me that millions become so adjusted to this hell that it becomes a normal behaviour pattern. Of course, it is not always experienced as a hell; sometimes the spaces seem to be filled to overflowing with life's rewards, life's juices.(1)
(1) Samuel Beckett, Waiting For Godot, 1953(1948). This theme of meaningless passivity is portrayed with some profundity.
-------------------------------------
Virginia Woolf put it this way: "We are porous vessels afloat on sensation, sensitive plates exposed to visible rays. We take the breath of voices in our sails and tacking this way and that through daily life we yield to them." Some live their lives from one great individual moment to the next, tumultuous thoughts and feelings transform chaos into meaning as they struggle to understand the violent moods of their soul. They learn to absorb what the fiery, the violent and the desolate moods might teach and to express heightened moments of remembered intensity, partly due to a sensitivity to the shudderings and inconsistencies of life, partly due to a gradual awareness that this is their road to survival, partly due to incapacities in other domains of life and partly, perhaps, to those mysterious dispensations of a watchful Providence and His many earthly gifts.
-------This poem speaks to these issues well due in part to the inventice.-Ron, Tasmania
-----------
In the 1960s and 1970s I learned these things largely unobtrusively, largely indirectly, for the most part quite unconsciously. In the 1980s and 1990s the whole thing slowed down. I could tack through daily life without the frenetic passivity. The desolate moods eventually disappeared; the shudderings of life softened and a watchful Providence gave me new tests to occupy my soul.

[Arcadia]

... spicy!!!!!!!!

[RonPrice]

When someone says that what I write is "spicy," Arcadia, I am not exactly sure what they mean but it sounds enticing. thanks.-Ron in Australia

[theirishsea]

saw, I like the poem quite a bit. I like Ron Price's comments & quoting of Virginia Woolf too.

I have nothing to add but admiration & that I want to add.

[RonPrice]

Encouragement is very satisfying, theirishsea. You can come for coffee anytime; I'm only 10,000 kms away.-Ron

[hester_prynne]

Saw, a big bravo from me on this one....
H