This Be The Cursed Larkin Heart

Note: This is an unedited first draft that will never be ‘finished’. It bounces off the notion — hard earned by the author — that today’s collective problems will never be addressed properly prosaically. That — at the very least — some fresh lyrical approach to dealing with our horrid momentum is needed to supplement the bootless cries of our well-meaning, but doomed typical lecturers, writers, documentary filmmakers, lyricists and such. The ones who are beating us over the head incessantly with The Obvious, the Negative Obvious in Solitary Confinement on so-called Alternative Media Outlets and elsewhere and otherwise. Bear with me, if you will, for a moment… permitting me to take you along a different path, a different way today. Holding your hand, as it were, as I would like to…. Perhaps the party pleaded for in the previous post should be called the Poetry Party. I don’t know. I need to speak with someone about that. Sing about it. Unedited, YES!

This Be The Cursed Larkin Heart
Dedicated to dealing a death blow to the atomization which is killing us all… lyrically
by Oxman

Forgive the language if it’s offensive in part, please. There are important points imbedded here, and the words used are not employed gratuitously.

When I first met Philip Larkin he hadn’t yet written This Be the Verse (, but we talked about parents and children.

You don’t need a shrink, dear
You have nothing to fear here
In my arms of solidarity….

Now I ask the reader… submit to the reader that whatever is making her, him cringe in recalling childhood memories, viscerally reliving the downsides of being brought up in hurt… that they should consider shaking all that off… by bonding over something outside of themselves. Reinvent oneself?

How to explain? Perhaps a glance at Antoine Saint de Exupery’s

“Love does not consist in gazing at each other, but in looking outward together in the same direction.”

will help. He’s the fellow who wrote that lovely Little Prince. From a lifetime of pain.

No matter, the point being that I believe personal troubles — even one’s that go way back to the womb, one’s formative years — along with societal angst ‘cross the board can be dealt with by bonding over what’s out there (horizontal, away)… instead of focusing exclusively on the vertical, what’s worrisome for an individual in a totally atomized sense.

Even if one doesn’t start with a helluva lot of compassion for others, no matter. For one of the great glories of being alive has something to do with the relief one can feel, the sheer joy to be experienced from… lending a hand, being there when needed… loving unconditionally… someone out there… far away from our own fucked up history… which we tend to recite either out loud or internally ad infinitum.

But I should underscore that it’s not just Freudian-type blah blah which continues to corral people into little pens today… victimizing self-centered or self-absorbed citizens. The tiny little corners in which concerned citizens gather to fight the good fight pose the same basic challenge to me… as I try over and over again to recruit people to move in solidarity on some basis that’s fresh enough to make a difference…. well, they’re atomized too.

They’re atomized with narrow focus, pretty much exclusively addressing issues with blinders on, avoiding the Big Picture. Actually, if you have sufficient dialogue with them you’ll find — quite clearly — that they’re filled with resignation too, every bit as much as quietists… with regard to the Big Picture. They’ve given up on believing that they can actually stop our horrid momentum, vying for burying themselves in good work which does not have to be tested by Big Picture criteria.

I’ll feed the hungry
Relieving this moment’s pain
Receive applause
But make no gain
On a greater plane
Apply a tourniquet on Tuesday
Not stop the bleeding by Sunday
Our deadline

We do have deadlines. And I should discuss them with you at your very earliest convenience. And all of the above in the process.

In closing I’m obliged to spotlight what I consider a very hopeful poem by Larkin, one rarely read, as his negative poetic takes are what’s usually highlighted in high falutin’ academic circles and such. One he himself didn’t rate high, a heartier Larkin:

First Sight

Lambs that learn to walk in snow
When their bleating clouds the air
Meet a vast unwelcome, know
Nothing but a sunless glare.
Newly stumbling to and fro
All they find, outside the fold,
Is a wretched width of cold.

As they wait beside the ewe,
Her fleeces wetly caked, there lies
Hidden round them, waiting too,
Earth’s immeasureable surprise.
They could not grasp it if they knew,
What so soon will wake and grow
Utterly unlike the snow

Update: Just received word that a major earthquake off of Fukushima is likely to generate a tsunami. Look at the third concern addressed in . This is part — only part — of what I refer to when I use the words “Big Picture” above. Read carefully, and you’ll see that Zeese and Flowers are describing something that’s comparable to what’s spotlighted in Peter Watkins’ All this falls into the category of what I call prosaic outreach above. A lyrical angle for movement in solidarity on the ground immediately is absolutely necessary, whether or not it’s what I recommend. Please consider contacting me at for the purposes of discussion. To deal with our collective curse. For Spring to ring in, sing.

Tip-toeing through the tulips here (having a lark) aside, I ask the reader to contact ‘Chicken Little’ yesterday.