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What Happens When Kafka And Trump Walk Into A Bar (Though Neither Drink)?

~ Frank. Welcome to your world.

~ Thanks, DT. I’ve been living it all my life.

~ I’ve taken some pages out of your books, Frank.

~ I did try to get them burned.

~ You didn’t try too hard.

~ Well – no.

~ You know – neither did I.

~ I know. They all ran to your tune.

~ They did.

~ You were the Pied Piper of Havoc.

~ Worked like a charm, Frank.

~ Yes, DT – yes, it did.

~ They thought I was a bug.

~ Yes.

~ But I turned them into bugs.

~That you did, DT. And turned them against each other.

~ Yes.

~ And stood back, and watched.

~ Pretty well.

~ To the victor goes the spoils.

~ I was astounded – believe me.

~ And they keep making the same mistakes.

~ I know, Frank. I’d laugh if it wasn’t so funny.

~ The one-eyed man is King in the land of the Blind.

~ Yes, Frank – yes. But you know what?

~ What?

~ I’ve got great vision in both eyes.

DE

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Am I Looking Back To Sea?

I had the dream again.
Not a bad dream,
But an odd dream.
I have it often.
I’m on shore, and looking at
The Lighthouse
On Partridge Island.
And
As I sit there,
I wonder what I am doing
On the Island.
(You’d think I could have
Dreamed up a spyglass).
However, now awake,
I plan to turn my dream 
Into reality.
I made everything right

At the Lighthouse.
And I made sure Paw, my cat/kitten,

Black as night

With one white mitten,
Was played with, and fed.
I walked him to my dorey
So he’d know I would be away,
And
Away I went.

It’s a peaceful row,
The sea is calm,
The distance isn’t great.
The biggest chore

Is climbing up
From the rocky shore,
To settle into the comfort
Of the trees.
But, I did,
And I did.
I sat upon
A grassy perch
And looked back
With my spyglass.
What did I expect to see?
What revelation did I hope?

Well – yes – I wanted to see

Paw, my cat/kitten.

And he did not disappoint,
Though he revealed no secrets,

He did the same damn fool
Leaps, and bounds, and rushes
From place to place.
I spied no secret trysts.
I was, however, myself
Taken by surprise,
When Michael, the Mi’kmaq Indian,
Approached my seating place.
He used no stealth,

For I would have never heard him.
He asked no questions.
I handed him my spyglass.
He adjusted it, and peered.
Many minutes passed.
He handed it back to me.
“Wild cat,” he said,
“Got Glooscap in him.”

I’m The Lighthouse Poet Laureate of Partridge Island /1821 – 2024 / A lot of stuff have I seen / A lot of stuff to report}

DE BA. UEL

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Franz Kafka And May Day

In Kafka In The Castle, I fill in the ‘missing’ diary entries from Kafka’s real diary. He either did not fill in these days himself, or he destroyed them. There are some estimates that Kafka destroyed 70% – 80% of everything he wrote.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

30 April 1918

            If one can love and loathe the same thing, I do so with travel. Even as short a trip as the afternoon train to Prague. Regardless of the destination. And I don’t really mind so much, once I’m on the conveyance and moving. It’s having to get ready. It’s having to think about it.

     Ottla – of course – had all my things together and in the waggon before breakfast. I took a last walk around the village, as unobtrusively as possible, for I had said any `good-byes’ I wished to make the day before. And to Farmer L. the day before that. I was tempted to go past Fraulein G’s door – to be able to look at her one last time. She will fade in my mind. Faces and bodies always fade. But I did not.

     I went along the road which leads to Oberklee, and sat beneath my favourite tree for a short while. But, as is my habit, I became late, and had to hurry back to Ottla’s. Before the past and future started to mingle as I stared across fields and hills. O. insisted I have lunch, and then the hired hand drove us to the station. There were a few waves and farewells from people, which I had to return. My fingers to my hat.

     The wait at the station was not long, since the train was on time and we nearly were not. And the ride was uneventful. The day was clear and crisp, and I looked at the farms and countryside with new understanding. New curiosity. I saw where a field had just been started, and could guess which meal the farmer might have tonight. The condition of his boots. The gratitude for this Tuesday sunshine.

     And such things kept me thinking of Prague. Until it was in the distance. Until the landscape changed. Until the outskirts surrounded us. Until Prague filled the windows, swallowed the train whole, scraped us from the living earth. Then I was home.

01 May 1918

            It is like the day after the funeral.

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Shakespeare Birth Date + Shakespeare Death Date = A Couplet

The stage is as bare as my lady’s ass 

In his lordship’s bedchamber.

Rough-hewn in the most knockabout way, 

Leaving splinters in the palace lawns

Of the imagination.

There’s many a dip

‘twixt the trap and the lip.

It fares little better than hastily strewn boards 

Covering parched ground, 

With barely enough elevation 

To keep the understanding masses at bay.

Were one fool enough 

To come from out the wings, 

And at centre front begin a soliloquy 

About the beauty of the wretched arena 

On which he stands, 

To fight the resulting and justified spontaneous combustion, 

There would not be found one drop of piss 

From any a Thespian’s hose.

For who could allow this sacrilege to be spoken? 

Even the flag atop the pole 

Knows that the magic is not yet arrived.

A stage without commercial trappings:

Without solid doors and thick drapes,

Uncluttered by pillars,

And arches,

Tables and chairs,

Windows and fireplaces;

Sans orchestra, sans balcony, sans pit.

A stage revealing all its secrets.

Profound as emptiness.

A stage in wait.

For in this world writ small 

(As in the globe around)

The audience

Has nothing to know/ nothing to learn,

Until the actor makes an entrance 

And prepares

To fight through our eyes and ears

To battle with those thoughts and fears

that lurk in sheltered halls.

What’s Hecuba to him?

Why – nothing!

Merely a name on a page of script.

A cue at which to turn his profile thus.

It is what Hecuba becomes 

To we who wait,

That turns the key

Upon the heavy gate.

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If Your Cat’s In A Jam – Who You Going To Call?

Paw, the cat/kitten,

Black as good-bye,

With one white mitten,

Has disappeared.

I sent a note, 

By boat,

To Sister Darling of

The Rarified Church of the World (reformed)

To come and help me search

Partridge Island.

She arrived with a

Boatful of Evangelists to assist.

Now, put their proselytizing beliefs aside,

And you can’t do better than

A boatful of Evangelists

To get a job done.

They packed seventeen adherents of

The Rarified Church of the World (reformed)

Onto a fishing boat,

And faster than you can say Holy Roller,

A search of Partridge Island began.

They – like me – first started at the Lighthouse,

But to no avail.

Nor any luck at my Lighthouse Keepers House.

So,

They broke into three groups,       

One up each side and shore of the island,

And the biggest group up through the centre.

It’s not a big island,

But – Jesus –

It’s big enough. 

Sister Darling and I

Moved from group to group.

Five and one half hours and four minutes later,

There was a yell,

From the direction of the left shore.

“Come!”  “COME!”

Sister Darling and I ran.

I stumbled, and she pulled me up.

And we ran again.

When we got to the searchers,

They just gaped and pointed.

I hesitated, but Sister Darling

Pulled me again.

And when we reached the place

I gaped myself.

That miserable, cantankerous, intransigent cat.

That insistent insistent insistent animal,

Was guarding a brood of baby rabbits,

Their pecked and ravaged mother at their side.

Paw had become a feral protector.

And would let nothing near.

Until Sister Darling spoke, and cooed his name.

When she touched him, he almost fell over from fatigue.

Those Blessed Evangelists picked up each baby,

And snuggled them carefully into a pocket.

Sister Darling handed Paw to me and

– Sweet Jesus, I confess it –

I was crying.

I’m The Lighthouse Poet Laureate of Partridge Island /1821 – 2024 / A lot of stuff have I seen / A lot of stuff to report}

DE BA. UEL

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An Eclipse Without The Rapture Redux

I did NOT go up in the Rapture, even though I waited around for some time. However it was a darkling event, and well- worth my effort. Not total, so things did not disappear, nor did birds and other animals go off the deep end. The crows, upon occasion, cawed bloody murder. But they often do that anyway.

However, the Eclipse was nifty. One couple gave me a pair of “Resting Eyewear AAS Approved” from Moonviewers .com to wear. And another chap gave me a printed photo of the Eclipse.

So, a good time was had by all. Except – you know – I did not ascend into Heaven.

DE BA  UEL

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An Eclipse Without The Rapture

My father saw a total eclipse. He only describes his age as a child, so I make the guess it was in the 19teens. His one comment about the effects of the darkness was that the cows started mooing, and began heading back to the barn.


My last total eclipse was in 1972. How time and the sun flys. And the moon.

I was at an archaeological dig at Bartibog Bridge, about fifteen kilometers north of Miramichi in New Brunswick. The archeologist in charge of the dig obviously knew of the eclipse (I know I didn’t) and had brought a professional, tripod telescope with him. He had attached a screen over the lens, and everyone was given a chance to take a look. My memories about the whole event are almost as succinct as my father – and at least he talked about the actual event itself. My biggest memory of that day is that I found a bone that might have been human. But – yes – it did indeed get dark, and it could have been three in the morning. I did not find it spooky or otherworldly. 


But I did find out something kinda spooky this morning. The local radio show had an interview with someone who was at the centre of the eclipse in 1972. It was at Arisaig, Nova Scotia, and it was such a favoured location that scientists came from across North America to see it. The fellow who was interviewed, remembered cars and trucks filling the parking lot and the fields around the harbour. Some of the scientists had large pieces of equipment and even larger telescopes (and cameras) on tripods. Hundreds of private cars were parked along the roads. The harbour and the pastures surrounding it offered unrestricted views.  


Also, during the Eclipse story, mention was made of the Carly Simon song  You’re So Vain, with the famous refrain: 

Well I hear you went up to Saratoga 

And your horse naturally won
Then you flew your Lear jet up to Nova Scotia

To see the total eclipse of the sun

Carly Simon was actually interviewed about this, and revealed she used those verses because she wanted a rhyme with the word “Saratoga” and the word “won”. Which, as a writer, pleased me to no end.


The oddity (to me) is that Arisaig is (at least as the sun shines) just up the coast, on The Northumberland Strait, from Bartibog Bridge. And, decades later, Arisaig Harbour became one of the most enjoyable places I would ever visit. And have done so often.


And – of course – I wondered at the time if I might get famous enough for Carly Simon to sing about me.

And now, just after I post this, I am going to walk up a hill with barely a tree on it, and await this eclipse. And see what happens. I should reveal that I have been awaiting the rapture for years.
DE  BA  UEL

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Spring Lets ‘Er Rip A New One

It’s a “kick in the arse” day,

On windswept Partridge Island.

The sun rose with enough red sky

To make even Paw, my Cat/Kitten,

Black as the dwindling night,

With one white mitten,

Shield his eyes.

But then

– Oh, then –

The sky tumbled full of

Dark, hellish clouds,

And then

– Oh, then –

The snow started

To fall

Like there was no tomorrow.

The Almanac tells ya

“Spring has arrived.”

I’ll let Paw tell them

What he thinks.

I’m The Lighthouse Poet Laureate of Partridge Island /1821 – 2024 / A lot of stuff have I seen / A lot of stuff to report}

DE BA. UEL

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Good Friday From A Slanted Angle

Jesus Has Doubts On Good Friday
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