Wednesday, February 18, 2015

Canto 28 -Publius Vergius Maro


Armma virumque cano Troiae qui primus ab oris
Italiam fato profugus laviniaque venit

Time is not a time that A clue  that wonders
 to how the meter is put together  in fact
 in courses the things and what yonder fact
 but an alliteration  of the verses in   intent is but a dream
 there are other forms that need to be rendered all in all
 for you to get the delicate meaning hidden in the verse
 and gripped with these is the Armature and literature and these I render
 thinking close to a formal thing that cannot be measured but script wrote r'member
 and in thinking past all the times which I remember so well as to set
 a pattern that makes it so and thus remains in a dream that
 passes over any other paper which you may think you know.
 it is this power it is this pattern which will condemn by its godliness and form
 the lovely dactylic hexameter which is beneath the form of forms
 in classical Latin and ornate Koine  that renders thus the  ancient words there
 too far away and forth to go a Crispin soul to tell and gone.

 You who do not know the way nor the time that I speak to tell
 will not understand the verse and rhyme  poor who is to give the sign
 and display some attention to forgotten details that only poets will know
 anything in the stream reach for glory that only poets may know.
 what he is there to speak when all but a rose is to due  dropped in a cage
 and less no more than them but an age dead and gone dead and gone,
 though Vergil uses  these but spiritually in his rhyme and gloss.
 Chocking  on a bitter taste that makes a Man Mad, though there is no
 connection between what I said and what I did,
 but touching therefore of every kind to know that there is a sentence
 which remains in a riddle wrapped up in industry,  deplored by an enigma.

 But left another ways to go,  a beast that affords some other length,
 but breath and towards a given name recounts the terror
 that much a man made much of this,  and gone and gone to dust.
 so this is why this tale is formed as it's formed with a bitter  whale,
 do form a new form of other kinds leading soundly to take amends
 and remake them in another kind completely as but a due  and dust.
 Homer would end on a  bitter note,  because his Koine
 was not the same as classical Latin which demands
 an armed struggle for a cracken  race,  that turns the victory into dust
 public in its name,  because public in its dust,  and then some.

Yet forces which I lie  our forces which cannot be maintained
 however much however may the stirrings of a man,  who is just a man,
 when they were just a friend and gone and then Relapsed
 would that I could tell you of Queens Lane Coffee House
and how non-resolution did not scatter from  there in ancient  times
 it was just a dream stuffed in lobster shell critiques.
 imagine everything different without tea or coffee,
 because the is where he lived every day of every minute,
 and yet he wrote the most glorious of poetry yet imagined
 all for the want of a horseshoe nail,  broken back and fort-ward.

Arms,  forever harms declared a sordid detail and bach again,
 words that are never translate accept by those who know.
They  are not scatological in nature,  as Koine  is
 in the  poems  of Aeschylus,  that body conservative Greek,
 who maintains not a fiction that he tells stories of kind
 that all Victorians of the world could not actually hide
 no Vergil  is  ramrod stiff,  and yet fluid to the tongue
 and what tongue  it is on its back and on its front.
 that arise  fare sun,  to take away the moon,  in its wake.
 how could we know what to do if that sun were but a moon,
 and stood and toiled who knows how long it stands,
 to take a moment to reach the end ,  be better and

 to seek to find and not to yield,  to bitter end  makes bitter end,
 though Tennyson  yields in double meter backtrace
 which is in triple meter in  sublime magnificence.
 oh how I wish to relate,  in triple meter as flaccid prose
 the way He  did as casually as a sonnets  day,
 but my meter is iambs  and things related to it,
 as  dactyl was the minor theme amidst hills of spopee
 was to Him, the poet, down to his deathbed,  and to eternity.
 it was ever thus,  go sweeping its arc had little gobs,
 and even some  caesure in its wake
 made to break the meter,  and give it flow.

 so renowned the sound that is Vergil,  it flows down the river,
 which stands from the spring of Homer,  blessed Homer,
 and close out to Dante,  whose Comedy was made  Divine
 by other hands than his,  some say to break it down,
 and out to the flow of who their hands,  even as it speaks English