Wednesday, 9 March 2011

Chris Port Blog #115. The Third Déjà vu

© Chris Port, 9th March 2011
(with apologies to William Butler Yeats)

[and fond thanks to Cooper,
the worst gun dog and best fun in the world]

Walking and walking on the narrowing beach
The gun dog flips an ear, the gun winds screech;
Castle walls slip; a moat has overflowed;
Mere entropy is howling at the stones,
The soapsud tide is foul, and every turd
A crowning glory, anointed underfoot;
The mad have heard the future, while the herd
Are full of it, pocket bells jingling.

Surely Apocalypse Now was a film;
Surely this third déjà vu is a film.
This third déjà vu. Quicker than retina
The mind’s afterglow of some childhood lava lamp
floats in my eye: long ago in a silent car
A boy white as milk like a cub weaned from the darkness,
A window gaze reflective as the moon,
Is shifting his cramped thighs, while all about him
Sit shadows of the adults like Hitchcock’s crows.
The rainblows beat the panes; but now he knows
That twenty empty years of questioning stares
Were just their nightmares, stoning him awake.
And what salt breeze, cut to the bone at last,
Now pushes his back towards the answer?

*      *      *      *      *      *      *      *      *      *

The Second Coming
by William Butler Yeats, 1919

Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.

Surely some revelation is at hand;

Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again; but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?

*      *      *      *      *      *      *      *      *      *

Propellerheads featuring Shirley Bassey 

The word is about, there's something evolving,
whatever may come, the world keeps revolving
They say the next big thing is here,
that the revolution's near,
but to me it seems quite clear
that it's all just a little bit of history repeating

The newspapers shout a new style is growing,
but it don't know if it's coming or going,
there is fashion, there is fad
some is good, some is bad
and the joke is rather sad,
that its all just a little bit of history repeating

.. and I've seen it before
.. and I'll see it again
.. yes I've seen it before
.. just little bits of history repeating

Some people don't dance, if they don't know who's singing,
why ask your head, it's your hips that are swinging
life's for us to enjoy
woman, man, girl and boy,
feel the pain, feel the joy
aside set the little bits of history repeating

.. just little bits of history repeating
.. and I've seen it before
.. and I'll see it again
.. yes I've seen it before
.. just little bits of history repeating