Paradise Now, for Eight
(with apologies to Attila Jozsef 1905-1937) If you want to go to Mount Olympus in the True NorthBetter find the eight pillars of paradise:One, the pantheon of punchlines;One, the concepts of concepts;One, the charges which are levelled;One, a Canadian Shield Rock band;One, the lines of songs that colonize your mind;One, the lands in which we sojourn;One, the sea of language that we share.But those seven pillars of paradise are not enough;We ourselves are the eighth. If you want the wisdom, reality to rightly read Consider eight conceptual precepts:One, Information, you bring to a conversation; knowledge, you take out.One, Ontogeny recapitulates phylogeny.One, The Past is a foreign country, where they drive stick shift, write right to left.One, Popular song hunts and gathers social reality.One, How do you say: “our home, on Native land”, in Sanskrit?One, Co-species.One, Death, the means to end life, and whether the ends justify the means. But these seven conceptions are not enough;Our own perception must be the eighth. If you want to make music in this beautiful worldAssemble a chorus, to sing a litany, with eight memorable verses:One, This magic moment. One, Hey Jude; take a sad song, and make it better.One, After midnight, she’s gonna shake her tambourine.One, What is my life without your love? One, If I were a carpenter, and you were a lady. One, The dawning of the age of Aquarius, during the reign of Trump the nefarious. One, By the time we got to True North, everywhere there was food and conversation. But those seven verses need a refrain:Our whole repeated playlist is the eighth. If you want to be understood in this worldLet eight tongues convey your meaning:One, Hebrew, ancient and modern; One, Yiddish, salty and funny;One, French, past imperfect; One, the Spanish tongue; One, the singing of birds;One, the sounds of silence;One, English parliamentary Shakespearacy, slightly aged, seasoned with Dylan.But these seven languages are not enough;The understandings we share are the eighth.
When judgment must be passed in this worldLet the grand prosecutor lay eight charges:One, for creating poems from stolen conversation, claiming great artists steal;One, for taking you down, to a place near the river, and engaging in consensual acts; One, for evaluating societies while under the influence of her own culture;One, for smoting, with pre-meditation, eight innocent mosquitoes;One, for smoking, in the early morning rain, brisket and rye;One, for taking you disappearing through the smoke rings of your mind. But these seven charges were negated;We the jury, who are eight, gave a positive charge. If you have desires and wants on this earthLet eight want ads be written:One, for a non-human national anthem singer;One, for a cubist watermelon sculptor; One, for a dance prophetess, at the seashore, to shake her tambourine.One, for a percentage miner, to supply sports teams, required to give 200%.One, for the better behaved moral animals of our nature;One, for an actor to play King Louis XIV, with long sword, silk stockings, and a wig; One, for a Victorian maid in black stockings; if canoe misbehaves, to paddle the canoe.Your debutante knows what we need,But we eight know what we want. If you want to laugh in this serious worldLet eight punchlines be delivered:One, Just bring me some soft-boiled eggs! One, Thank you for flying Lufthansa! One, That’s the way the Pope likes it! One, Ours is the best!One, Sometimes they don’t give! One, Bubby says we’re saving it for the shiva! One, Fine, I’ll sit with her going back from your funeral, but it will ruin my whole day!But seven well-timed punchlines are not by themselves enough; we eight have to be good for a laugh. If you seek fellow Olympians, true north seekers, shanti-shantiansOur earthly Olympus will need a party of eight sapiens:One, a Pre-Civil War abolitionist’s daughter, willing to cross the Mason-Dixon line; One, a science fiction Galileo, with telephoto vision, high on still life;One, Shakti, dancing barefoot meditation;One, Dionysus, Admiral of scotch and ritual madness;One, Comedy King, who changed all the bulbs on Manitoba hydro Christmas trees;One, tambourine Miriam, dance revolution the world from the inside out; One, Rumi’s lineal descendant, a bartender of paradise, high on water. But eight Homo Deus are not enough;We’re eight billion, God’s one, Universe infinite.
When judgment must be passed in this worldLet the grand prosecutor lay eight charges:One, for creating poems from stolen conversation, claiming great artists steal;One, for taking you down, to a place near the river, and engaging in consensual acts; One, for evaluating societies while under the influence of her own culture;One, for smoting, with pre-meditation, eight innocent mosquitoes;One, for smoking, in the early morning rain, brisket and rye;One, for taking you disappearing through the smoke rings of your mind. But these seven charges were negated;We the jury, who are eight, gave a positive charge. If you have desires and wants on this earthLet eight want ads be written:One, for a non-human national anthem singer;One, for a cubist watermelon sculptor; One, for a dance prophetess, at the seashore, to shake her tambourine.One, for a percentage miner, to supply sports teams, required to give 200%.One, for the better behaved moral animals of our nature;One, for an actor to play King Louis XIV, with long sword, silk stockings, and a wig; One, for a Victorian maid in black stockings; if canoe misbehaves, to paddle the canoe.Your debutante knows what we need,But we eight know what we want. If you want to laugh in this serious worldLet eight punchlines be delivered:One, Just bring me some soft-boiled eggs! One, Thank you for flying Lufthansa! One, That’s the way the Pope likes it! One, Ours is the best!One, Sometimes they don’t give! One, Bubby says we’re saving it for the shiva! One, Fine, I’ll sit with her going back from your funeral, but it will ruin my whole day!But seven well-timed punchlines are not by themselves enough; we eight have to be good for a laugh. If you seek fellow Olympians, true north seekers, shanti-shantiansOur earthly Olympus will need a party of eight sapiens:One, a Pre-Civil War abolitionist’s daughter, willing to cross the Mason-Dixon line; One, a science fiction Galileo, with telephoto vision, high on still life;One, Shakti, dancing barefoot meditation;One, Dionysus, Admiral of scotch and ritual madness;One, Comedy King, who changed all the bulbs on Manitoba hydro Christmas trees;One, tambourine Miriam, dance revolution the world from the inside out; One, Rumi’s lineal descendant, a bartender of paradise, high on water. But eight Homo Deus are not enough;We’re eight billion, God’s one, Universe infinite.