We are a commune of inquiring, skeptical, politically centrist, capitalist, anglophile, traditionalist New England Yankee humans, humanoids, and animals with many interests beyond and above politics. Each of us has had a high-school education (or GED), but all had ADD so didn't pay attention very well, especially the dogs. Each one of us does "try my best to be just like I am," and none of us enjoys working for others, including for Maggie, from whom we receive neither a nickel nor a dime. Freedom from nags, cranks, government, do-gooders, control-freaks and idiots is all that we ask for.
Goddess of the murmuring courts, Nicotine, my Nicotine, Houri of the mystic sports, trailing-robed in gabardine, Gliding where the breath hath glided, Hidden sylph of filmy veils, Truth behind the dream is veiléd E'en as thou art, smiling ever, ever gliding, Wraith of wraiths, dim lights dividing Purple, grey, and shadow green Goddess, Dream-grace, Nicotine.
Goddess of the shadow's lights, Nicotine, my Nicotine, Some would set old Earth to rights, Thou I none such ween. Veils of shade our dream dividing, Houris dancing, intergliding, Wraith of wraiths and dream of faces, Silent guardian of the old unhallowed places, Utter symbol of all old sweet druidings, Mem'ry of witched wold and green, Nicotine, my Nicotine:
Neath the shadows of thy weaving Dreams that need no undeceiving, Loves that longer hold me not, Dreams I dream not any more, Fragrance of old sweet forgotten places, Smiles of dream-lit, flit-by faces All as perfume Arab-sweet Deck the high road to thy feet
As were Godiva's coming fated And all the April's blush belated Were lain before her, carpeting The stones of Coventry with spring, So thou my mist-enwreathéd queen, Nicotine, white Nicotine, Riding engloried in their hair Mak'st by-road of our dreams Thy thorough-fare.
Ezra Loomis Pound (1885-1972) was indeed an eccentric, self-obsessed, difficult person who died a recluse after finally being released, after many years, from St. Elizabeth's Psychiatric Center in Washington. A rebel without a cause. He had been deemed a traitor to the US during WW2. But who knew he was an expert fencer, and W.B. Yeat's fencing coach? Or that he was William Carlos William's college pal at Penn? I didn't. He has always been more influential than read. An "imagist" poet, his definition of the literary image remains the best: "an intellectual and emotional complex in an instant of time." Bob Dylan learned story-telling from Woody Guthrie, and "imagism" from Rimbaud, Pound, William Carlos Williams,T.S.Eliot, and the old-time bluesmen like Robert Johnson...not putting him in that Pantheon, but he has music, too.