Search

kafkaestblog

It is a whirlwind in here

Open Search

Kafka Meets A Gypsy And Coin Is Exchanged

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. 

$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$

08 June 1917

A Gypsy confronted me today, and I was in the mood for a bit of sport. Her age was difficult to tell – certainly a decade older than me. In her swirl of shawls and dangling jewellery, heavy make-up on her face, she could almost have been in disguise. She peered at me with an intense sigh, attempting – I am sure – to penetrate my own disguise.

“You are a Jew,” she said.

“And you a Gypsy,” I replied.

She seemed pleased with my response, for her professional smile became real.

“You state the obvious,” she said. “As becomes a Doktor of Laws,”

I replied. “But to your eyes, do you not state the obvious?”

“Are you going to banter with a poor old Gypsy woman, instead of barter? That would make you suspiciously like one of us.” She said this with a growl in her throat.

“The Gypsy and the Jew,” I said, feeling the challenge which I so miss. “Perhaps an opera – but I think it’s been done to death.”

“They will try to do us all unto death,” she said harshly, and turned away.

I had the fear she was going to leave me without another word, but what she did was to spit fulsomely onto the street.

“They can’t kill us all,” I said, but I knew she heard the doubt in my voice.

She slowly faced me again.

“So. Even a Doktor of Laws can have hope. That is refreshing – but foolish.” She took my hand and felt my palm roughly with her thumb, although all the while her eyes never left my face. “You are going to travel.”

“Travel is a vague word. One can go on many types of voyage.”

“And reach many destinations,” she added, still holding my hand. “If you take away my vagueness, you take away my trade.”

“Then let me pay you for your services right now.”

This transaction would make her loose my hand, which is what I wanted most of all. She had frightened me, for her eyes and face were full of truth. I know the truth. I know it when it presents itself, stark and unobscured. I search out truth endlessly, yet still can flee at its approach. As in her eyes. But she gripped me more fiercely, and pulled my hand up.

“The coin, Herr Doktor.” Her voice was now soft. “The coin can wait.”

She at last lowered her eyes and looked closely at my palm. She rubbed the lines and whorls of my skin. She touched her finger to her lips, and spread the moisture along my hand.

“Your lifeline, Herr Doktor,” she took a quick look in my eyes, “of Laws. You deceive with the youth upon your face. Is that not so?”

“If your eyes stop at the mask, then no, the years have not etched themselves deeply.”

“Not on your face, Herr Doktor of Laws.” Her grip was intense. “But on your palm…” She hissed. “You will soon embark upon that final voyage.”

She released my hand, rubbed her fingers across her sleeve.

“But you will not go in haste. There will be many stops along the way.”

Suddenly her face was full of the most beautiful smile, and her laughter was genuine.

“I see you do not complain of vagueness now.” She held out her hand. “The coin, Herr Doktor of Laws. This time I have truly earned it.”

I dug deeply into my pocket, and feared that I may have overpaid her. But, perhaps, that is not possible.

0

Sister Darling Brings Religious Fervor On Walpurgis Night

One chore I have

As Lighthouse Keeper

On Partridge Island,

Is to count the ships

As they come

And as they go.

They signal me with their bells,

And some, with their new-fangled horns.

It was one of those blasts

That took me down to the dock.

And, indeed,

A ship was leaving for sea.

But first,

(Much to my surprise)

It let off

Sister Darling of

The Rarefied Church Of The World (reformed)

” It’s Saint Walpurga’s Eve”, said she.

“What?” asked I.

“Don’t be an oaf.”

She hit me on the shoulder.

“Grab the cat.”

She heads along the shore.

I scoop up

Paw, my cat/kitten,

Black as the Furies

With one white mitten.

And away we follow.

Sister Darling scoots along the

Narrow path beside the water.

And comes to a stop,

Looking far out to sea.

“Start praying!”

Which I do, for after a

Bout of fervent prayer,

Sister Darling wants fervent relief.

She speaks and sputters about

Ghosts, and opening veils, and

Blessed Saint Walpurga, opening

Doors to God.

Blessed Be! say I

Paw and me, we exchange

A certain glance

Knowing we both

Will feast tonight.

I’m The Lighthouse Poet Laureate of Partridge Island /1821 – 2023 / A lot of stuff have I seen / A lot of stuff to report}

DE BA.UEL

0

Tucker Carlson and Don Lemon Walk Into A Bar The Next Day

~ So, Tuck – do they miss you?


~ Not one snivelling son-of-a-bitch.


~ No golden handshake?

~ They didn’t even talk to me.


~ What a way to start the week.

~ How about you, Don?


~ Nobody waved good-bye.

~ So, no golden handshake, neither?


~ I’d be repulsed by their touch.

~ They worshipped us.


~  That’s funny, Tuck.

~ But still true.


~ What is Truth?

~ Who the Tuck cares?


~ Do you remember what Dr. Goebbels said?


~ Hitler’s main man?


~ Yes. Minister of Propaganda.

~  Ah, good times. Remind me, Don.


~ He pointed around the Sports Palace.

~ Ah, those huge Berlin speeches.


~ And he said . . .


~ Yes?


~ “I could make them jump from the windows”.

~ Good Times.


~ Excellent Times.

DE  BA,  UEL

1

Two Crows Look Out To Sea

Paw, my cat/kitten,

Black as the feathers of night,

With one white mitten,

Is starting, at times,

To put me in my place.

He’s a smart little bugger,

So I let him.

We were walking the perimeter

Of Partridge Island,

Which we do

Once or twice

A week,

When he jumped between my feet,

And damned near tripped me.

Which means

‘Stop, you oaf.’

So I did.

On a scraggly branch,

Of one of the scraggly trees,

Two crows were looking out to sea.

Side-by-side

Moving their heads,

Bob to the left

Bob to the right

Exchanging crow croaks,

Ruffling head feathers,

Throats held up in unison.

Seeing what they see,

Telling each other,

Moving, at times,

In tandem,

Along the scraggly branch,

Upon the scraggly tree.

Joy.

I’m The Lighthouse Poet Laureate of Partridge Island /1821 – 2023 / A lot of stuff have I seen / A lot of stuff to report}

DE BA.UEL

0

Jesus Has Doubts On Good Friday

Unicorns are mentioned in The Bible nine times:

Job 39:9 “Will the unicorn be willing to serve thee, or abide by thy crib?”

Job 39:10 “Canst thou bind the unicorn with his band in the furrow? or will he harrow the valleys after thee?”

Psalm 22:21 “But my horn shalt thou exalt like the horn of an unicorn: I shall be anointed with fresh oil.”

Psalm 92:10 “But my horn shalt thou exalt like the horn of an unicorn: I shall be anointed with fresh oil.”

Deuteronomy 33:17 “His glory is like the firstling of his bullock, and his horns are like the horns of unicorns: with them he shall push the people together to the ends of the earth: and they are the ten thousands of Ephraim, and they are the thousands of Manasseh.”

Numbers 23:22 “God brought them out of Egypt; he hath as it were the strength of an unicorn.”

Numbers 24:8 “God brought him forth out of Egypt; he hath as it were the strength of an unicorn: he shall eat up the nations his enemies, and shall break their bones, and pierce them through with his arrows.”

Isaiah 34:7 “And the unicorns shall come down with them, and the bullocks with the bulls; and their land shall be soaked with blood, and their dust made fat with fatness.”

Psalm 29:6 “He maketh them also to skip like a calf; Lebanon and Sirion like a young unicorn.”

In my novel, A Lost Gospel, Jesus (Yeshua) has human doubts about being executed. On the eve of his Crucifixion, he escapes into the trees from those sent to arrest him. There he meets Glarus and two unicorns, who had been present at his birth. Symmetry. She shows him that the night is this night.

“We won’t be going further.” Glarus reigned in her horse, and slipped from its back. “There are voices.”

     “Is it Yeshua?” Ogma was quickly on the ground.

     “He is at hand.” Glarus walked toward the unicorns. “They await me.” She touched Bettine and Sirona. “They take me.”

     “They frighten me.” Sirona stepped back.

     “Your task is done.” Glarus walked past the women. “Stay here with the others.”

     “What of you?” Cowin reached out his hand, although she was not close enough to touch.

     “The unicorns lead me to Yeshua.”

     “Is this for you alone, Glarus of the Mountains?” Ogma took a step toward her.

     “It must be my voice he hears.”

     “We’ll remain here.” Belenus put a hand on Ogma’s shoulder. “Do what is necessary, my sister.”

     Glarus joined with the unicorns. They walked through the grove, toward the voices which rose and fell on the night breeze.      The animals were in front, a pallid moonlight reflecting from their white backs. Glarus paused to listen, and the unicorns stopped instantly, their ears twitching, and their gaze fixed before them. The voices were confused, and yelling at cross-purposes, creating a jumble of noise in the distance.

     Glarus touched the haunch of each animal, solid and silent in the dark. She could hear someone moving through the olive grove, much closer than the clamouring voices in the distance. She was surprised, because the person approaching was not making the sounds of someone concerned with pursuers. She had assumed there would be haste, but now realized there was only uncertainty.

     Glarus lifted her hands, for the unicorns had become hot to touch. She breathed deeply, and loosened her cloak, closing her eyes as the warmth penetrated. Stillness filled the olive grove, and when she again opened her eyes, the unicorns were gone.

     She followed them, her feet seeming to make no noise on the earth. The branches touched her cloak, and the moon revealed the secrets of the night.

     Ahead of her, between two thick trees, a man stood before the unicorns. He had his hands outstretched, and brushed his fingers across their manes. They stepped forward, and rested their heads against his legs. They had closed their eyes. The man looked up from them, and gazed into Glarus’ face.

     “This is the time.” Glarus spoke softly.

     “I know your voice.”

     “You may give yourself.” Glarus stepped closer.

     “My father takes this cup from me tonight?”‘  

     “Yes.”

     “They won’t kill me in this place?” Yeshua glanced around the olive grove.

     “I have but followed the unicorns.” Glarus touched them. “They have led me here to take away your doubt.”

     “We’ve met before.”

     “A baby in a stable.” Glarus smiled at him. “You have become more than memory.”

     “Do you still have spice upon your cloak?” Yeshua turned from her. “Behold. These men and their hatred approach.” He put a hand on each of the ivory shafts. “You must be gone.” Yeshua stepped aside. “Call them.” He smiled. “They are yours again.”

     “Haah.”

     The unicorns pawed at the ground near Yeshua, then went toward Glarus.

     “More than memory.” She looked at him closely. “And more than just a man.”

     Glarus put a hand on each unicorn’s back, and together they returned the way they had come.

DE

0

All I Want Is $100,000 Up Front – Is That Asking Too Much?

What are they going to do when I get into the finer details?

So – this happened.

I answered the phone yesterday. There was a five second delay which (really) lets you know you are in a queue. Suspicion created.

A garbled voice ( I honestly couldn’t tell if I was experiencing an accent different from mine, or if they were in a large room with lots of speakers – I suspect both at the same time) inquired about my book, using the correct title. Gotta admit, that did catch my attention.

Was I the author?

Yes?

Did I want to sell a lot of books?

Yes.

They could do it!

Then, what I assume was a company name, was mentioned. I never did hear the name distinctly enough to know what it was, though mentioned four or five times. It was never clear what its function would be.

But – you know – they mentioned the title -correctly- a number of times.  And, in all truth, I figure I should be making more money.

So, I asked questions. Not very deep questions, but I should know something.

They seemed to know next-to-nothing about the publishing world. They did concentrate on “promotion”, which would, I readily admit, help.

World-wide promotion. Somehow.

So, knowing that they had a stellar product to sell, I just went to the end result. I would consider their proposals for the up-front price of $100,000. A nice round figure. Easy to remember. I could picture the cheque.

This seemed to confuse them.

A few more entreaties were made. An additional publishing term or two. Alas, it was still all garbled. I pointed out that I could still not fully understand them.

I noted they made no counter-offer (not that it would have done any good). $100,000 SVP.

So, I was told to wait until I could speak with a supervisor.

The supervisor did not seem to have an individual office. Same garble and/or background noise.

How could he help?

$!00.000 please. I was tempted to add (and I’m all yours). But I did not (though surely it was implied).

The call ended.

Since there seemed to be no knowledge of traditional publishing (which is how my book is published) I assume this con is directed to Indie authors. Beware, y’alls.

DE

0

How Does Palm Sunday Become A Religious Event On Partridge Island?

Without Any Announcement,

And No Invitation,

Sister Darling

Of The Rarefied Church of the World (reformed)

Arrives on my Lighthouse Keeper’s dock,

Through the kind ministrations of


An outgoing fishing boat,

To deliver to me


An actual frond of Palm.

Paw, my cat/kitten,


Black as an upcoming tomb

With one white mitten,


Has much sport with it,

As does Sister Darling have with me.

She will be unable to visit


On the Sunday next,

As there will be “Hallelujah,


Praise the Lord”,

Services to perform.


However,

She will still hear


Such praises,

Today.

I’m The Lighthouse Poet Laureate of Partridge Island /1821 – 2023 / A lot of stuff have I seen / A lot of stuff to report}

DE BA. UEL

0

What Calls You Into The Dark On Partridge Island?

It’s one of those nights,

Black as Paw, my cat/kitten,

With one white mitten.

Paw knows it, too.

A calm night

Or – more –

Becalmed.

Something has stopped

While on its way

Past Partridge Island,

Coming in from the sea

Or going out to the sea.

As it passes,

It hovers,

It ponders,

It sucks in the air

And holds its breath.

Neither the one of us

Want to go out

To see what it is.

Paw sits with

His back to the door.

And I

Will put off

Trimming the wick

Until Paw

Turns around.

I’m The Lighthouse Poet Laureate of Partridge Island /1821 – 2023 / A lot of stuff have I seen / A lot of stuff to report}

DE BA. UEL

0

World Class Poetry For World Poetry Day (Don’t Argue With God)

My book of short stories, The Elephant Talks to God, consists of many conversations that an Elephant has with God. In one of the stories, he breaks out into {his version of} poetry.

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

The monkeys, in the trees,

Cause a breeze, when they sneeze.

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

I nudged the boulder with my shoulder.

It was older, and much colder.

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

It is a stone, which has grown

In a zone, all alone.

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

It is a thrill, to have free will,

That is until, others say `nil’.

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

That’s not my last, don’t be so fast,

My muse to cast, into the past.

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

The rock of ages, dissolved in stages,

And proved the sages’, `noblesse obliges’.

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

It’s just a guess, I do confess,

That more is less, in the wilderness.

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

God – as God is wont to do – did have the last word.

Poems are made by fools like thee,

But only I can make a tree.

0

Blog at WordPress.com.

Up ↑