Unresting Castles

Unresting Castles
by Richard Martin Oxman and Philip Larkin (from the grave).

Note: This is absolutely NOT a piece for people who are incapable of appreciating poetry.

“Just do the steps that you’ve been shown
By everyone you’ve ever known
Until the dance becomes your very own”
— Jackson Browne, For a Dancer

Dedicated to Vernon Blythe Castle (1887-1918), a British-born dancer who together with his wife, Irene Foote Castle (1893-1969), gained recognition for innovative dancing. To them… and the late, great Howard Zinn and his movement.

“Go on and make a joyful sound” — from Jackson Browne’s For a Dancer

Begin with a study of the word thresh, and then move on to the tweaked poem, if you will. Looking up castle wouldn’t hurt either, I guess.

thresh (thrsh)
v. threshed, thresh·ing, thresh·es
v.tr.
1.
a. To beat the stems and husks of (grain or cereal plants) with a machine or flail to separate the grains or seeds from the straw.
b. To separate (grains or seeds) in this manner.
2. To discuss or examine (an issue, for example) repeatedly.
3. To beat severely; thrash.
v.intr.
1. To use a machine or flail to separate grain or seeds from straw.
2. To thrash about; toss.

The trees are coming into leaf
Like something almost being said;
The recent buds relax and spread,
Their greenness is a kind of grief.

Is it that they are born again
And we grow old? No, they die too.
Their yearly trick of looking new
Is written down in rings of grain.

Pain.

Yet still the unresting castles thresh
In fullgrown thickness every May.
Last year is dead, they seem to say,
Begin afresh, afresh, afresh.

Mesh with me for a moment, please.

What’s at http://oxtogrind.org/archive/483 cannot be separated from poetry.
The poetry of unresting castles, which you all are, threshing.

We must be that sound in the forest which no one can hear because no one’s there.

Together, in solidarity, making a noise which will reach the other buds wherever they are.

“Into a dancer you have grown
From a seed somebody else has thrown”
– from Jackson Browne’s For a Dancer

Blessings,
Richard tosca.2010@yahoo.com
P.S. See the many trees in our forest at http://oxtogrind.org/archive/336. For those who lack hope at this juncture, I ask you to glance at http://www.artofeurope.com/larkin/lar4.htm, and then connect with me. The hope therein is not the false hope of George W. Obama et al. It is the positive potential of our collective lifeblood, our most beautiful poetry. Our very best dances.