Recall me? Ishmael?

An Expansion

I’m back in circulation. And it’s long, long I’ve waited.
So mind your every step.  I’ll repay you with
interest somehow, mind.   And every time you see a long

coffin lying about, do a little shake in your fine little boots.
I don’t want money, especially not yours.
Before I came ashore, having money about was not especially important
Avoiding a little

taste of the cat-o‘-nine-tails was a little higher on my little list.
It caused me extreme anguish to watch it used on others.
I didn’t choose to sail, as you have reason to know.  You forced me into an extreme
state of no little agony.

Cherish your freedom, because soon you’ll be good and left, left
after being delivered by myself into extremest rendition.
It will do me good to see hypos keeping you awake…. myself comfy and taking
extremest pleasure in watching  you arrive at where you are left to rot.

I call this city a land. Land.
I mouth my rage and my joy; to the east
is the sea, spleen, a hand-to-mouth existence; here, an antithesis of east: land.

Esther Greenleaf Murer, 2014

Remixed Work:
Call me Ishmael, by Jackson Mac Low

Note:
The original is an acrostic series using words
from the first few paragraphs of Moby Dick.
The present poem expands it into a new narrative.
Original words in bold.

One’s not one

An Oulipoem

one’s not one:
which occur
no death than
all more
minds miraculous
this heartless them
(given a kiss
or a dream)
one sing:
all make two.
we grow
deep remembering
love year.
All find.

 

Esther Greenleaf Murer, 2014

Remixed Work:
one’s not half two. It’s two are halves of one, by E.E. Cummings

Oulipo Rule:
Tête à queue: join first and last word(s)

In Gyres Fluttering

by
William Thomas Wallace Whitman

In gyres fluttering,
In the falcon by falconers of empty things,
Shaken from the centre that lay itself,
From all the anarchy hitherto broken, from the worlds, tides, ceremonies,
Which too empty I was thinking to sit my innocence,
Constant to me now anarchy not yet broken, constant to me that my best,
That the best of the conviction I sit for arises in the worst,
Here by myself away from the revelation of the hand,
letting fall and drawn back here by comings inhuman,
No longer veritable, (for in these medleyed words I can drool as I would not call elsewhere,)
Grinding upon me the image that does not go itself, yet used to be all the Spiritus Mundi,
Striving to make no sights to­day but those of gasping waste,
Scouring them along that ever­hooded desert,
Threatening hence sands of tragic­gestured shape,
Body this dark colored head in my sunken man,
I blow for all who need or have needed clear gaze,
To lay the shadows of my birds and darkness,
To wonder the centuries of sleep.

 

An Oulipian Chimera
by Esther Greenleaf Murer, 2014

Remixed works:
Calamus (In paths untrodden) by Walt Whitman
The Second Coming by W B Yeats (Nouns)
Channel Firing by Thomas Hardy  (Verbs)
The Idea of Order at Key West by Wallace Stevens (Adjectives)

Never Comb the Brewed Brain Twice

a Paradelle

My life closed twice before its close
My life closed twice before its close
Because I could not stop for death
Because I could not stop for death
I closed not twice could my death stop
Because before its close for life

The grass divides as with a comb
The grass divides as with a comb
The brain is wider than the sky
The brain is wider than the sky
The sky divides the brain as is
than with the comb a wider grass

I taste a liquor never brewed
I taste a liquor never brewed
Tell all the truth but tell it slant
Tell all the truth but tell it slant
Never tell a truth I taste it
but tell all the slant­brewed liquor

Never comb the brewed brain twice
because it closed as for the grass
I could not liquor all my death
before its slant divides a stop
but tell the sky I close with a life
the truth is wider than a taste

Esther Greenleaf Murer, 2014

Remixed works:
Sundry lines from Emily Dickinson