Wednesday, October 26, 2011

Sepulcher

When I am laid to rest, if I exist, if I am I, I would like, in Lawrence Ferlinghett's unforgettable words for. . .

      a very tall and very purely naked
                                     young virgin
     with very long and very straight
                               straw hair
        and wearing only a very small
                                    bird’s nest
       in a very existential place
                     [to keep] passing thru the crowd
                                              all the while
               and up and down the steps
                                in front of Saint Francis
      her eyes downcast all the while
                                   and singing to herself

. . . only I would like him to have short brown hair:

If you find yourself in a reflexive mood today, here are several versions each of two great contralto solos, one from The Mikado by Gilbert and Sullivan (I kid you not) and one from Dido and Aeneas  by Hank Percel.
TheMikado:


Dido and Aeneas:



a modern dance version 

And now JJ tells me it's time to water the plants in front, and water the plants in back, and fill the brides' water dish, an wash the breakfast dishes -- in short, to pay attention the him.  I hear and obey.





Here's the entire Ferlinghetti poem, which has been a part of me for Lo! these many yeas:

They were putting up the statue

               of Saint Francis

            in front of the church

               of Saint Francis

              in the city of San Francisco
   in a little side street
                      just off the Avenue
                                         where no birds sang
     and the sun was coming up on time
                                          in its usual fashion
          and just beginning to shine
                              on the statue of Saint Francis
           where no birds sang

   And a lot of old Italians
                            were standing all around
     in the little side street
                              just off the Avenue
       watching the wily workers
                           who were hoisting up the statue
 with a chain and a crane
                         and other implements
And a lot of young reporters
                            in button-down clothes
 were taking down the words
                           of one young priest
   who was propping up the statue
                                 with all his arguments

   And all the while
                    while no birds sang
                             any Saint Francis Passion
and while the lookers kept looking
                                  up at Saint Francis
    with his arms outstreched
                          to the birds which weren’t there
      a very tall and very purely naked
                                     young virgin
     with very long and very straight
                               straw hair
        and wearing only a very small
                                    bird’s nest
       in a very existential place
                       kept passing thru the crowd
                                              all the while
               and up and down the steps
                                in front of Saint Francis
      her eyes downcast all the while
                                   and singing to herself


Here's a tatue of St. Francis in San Francisco:

Heere's St. Francis, resisting the temptation to masturbate, with a little help from an friendly angel:
I think Caravaggio, but I an't find it again.  Help, please.
What a guy!





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