Categories
Poetry Monster

Two Quits And Drum And Elegy Drinkers

A poem by Alan Dugan


1. ON ASPHALT: NO GREENS

Quarry out the stone

of land, cobble the beach,

wall surf, name it “street,”

allow no ground or green

cover for animal sins,

but let opacity of sand

be glass to keep the heat

outside, the senses in.

Then, when time’s Drunk,

reeling to death, provokes

god’s favor as a fool,

oh let a lamp post grow

out of its absence, bend,

heavy with care, and bloom

light. Let a curb extrude

a comfortable fault. Let

“street” become a living room.

Comfortably seated, lit

by the solicitude of “lamp,”

the Drunk and street are one.

They say, “Let’s have no dirt:

bulldoze the hills into

their valleys: make it plain.

Then take the mountains down

and let their decks of slate

be dealt out flat grey.

Let their mating seams

be tarred against the weeds

by asphalt, by the night’s

elixir of volcanoes hotly poured.”

Then the soulless port at night

is made a human, and the Drunk

god: no one else is here

to be so but who cares?

2. PORTRAIT AGAINST WOMEN

Bones, in his falling,

must have hit the skin

between themselves and stone,

but distances of wine

were his upholstery

against the painful crime

of lying in the street,

since “God protects them.”

He rolled onto his back,

his right hand in his fly,

and gargled open-mouthed,

showing the white of an eye:

it did not see the sign

raised on the proper air

that read: “Here lies

a god-damned fool. Beware.”

No: his hand, his woman, on

the dry root of his sex,

debates it: deformed by wine

and fantasy, the wreck

of infant memory is there,

of how the garden gate

slammed at the words, “Get

out you god-damned bum,”

and so he was, since she,

goddess, mother, and wife,

spoke and it was the fact.

Her living hair came out

gray in his hand, her teeth

went false at his kiss,

and her solid flesh went slack

like mother’s. “Now, lady,

I am sick and out of socks,

so save me: I am pure although

my hand is on my cock.”

Then he could rise up young

out of his vagrancy

in whole unwilled reform

and shuck the fallen one,

his furlough in this street

redeemed by her grace.

There would be the grass

to lay her on, the quench

of milk behind the taste of wine,

and laughter in a dreamed

jungle of love behind

a billboard that could read:

“This is YOUR Garden:

Please keep it clean.”

3. COURAGE. EXCEED.

A beggar with no legs below

the middle of his knees

walked down Third Avenue

on padded sockets, on

his telescoped or

anti-stilted legs

repeating, “Oh beautiful

faspacious skies!” upon

a one-man band: a bass

drum on roller-skates,

a mouth-high bugle clamped

to it, and cymbals interlocked

inside a fate of noise. He

flew the American flag

for children on a stick

stuck in a veteran’s hat,

and offered pencils. He

was made of drunks’ red eyes.

He cried, “Courage! Exceed!”

He was collapsed in whole

display. Drunkards, for this

and with his pencil I

put down his words drunk:

“Stand! Improvise!”

4. ELEGY FOR DRINKERS

What happened to the drunks

I used to know, the prodigals

who tried their parents’ help

too far? Some misers of health

have aged out dry; the rest

are sick and out of socks,

their skin-tight anklebones

blue as the mussel shells

that rolled in Naxos’ surf

when Bacchus danced ashore

and kicked them all to hell.

Oh gutter urinal,

be Dirce’s holy stream,

so lightning out of Zeus

can rage on Semele,

invited! Permit her son,

issuant of His thigh,

to rule her family

as Bromios, god of wine!

Oh Dionisos, good god

of memory and sleep,

you grace the paper bag,

stuck in the fork of a crutch,

that holds the secret sons

and furniture of bums,

since wine is the cure of wine.

It’s thanks to you that I,

in my condition, am

still possible and praising: I

am drunk today, but what

about tomorrow? I burnt

my liver to you for a drink,

so pay me for my praises:

for thirty-seven cents, for

the price of a pint of lees,

I would praise wine, your name,

and how your trouble came

out of the east to Thebes:

you taught the women wine

and tricked King Pentheus

to mask as one of them:

because his father died

to all appeals for help,

the rending penalty,

death at his mother’s hands!,

still fills The Bowery

with prodigals of hope:

they pray for lightning and

a dance to their god damn,

since wine is the cure of wine

and wine the cure wine cured

and wine the cure of wine.

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      External links

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      Poems in English 

      More external links (open in a new tab):

      Russian Commerce Agency

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      Qwant – the best search engine for searches in French, German as well as Romance and Germanic languages.

      Ecosia – a search engine that supposedly… plants trees

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      Yahoo– yes, it’s still around, amazingly, miraculously, incredibly, but now it seems to be powered by Bing.

       

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      Categories
      Poetry Monster

      Two Quits And A Drum And Elegy For Drinkers

      A poem by Alan Dugan


      1. ON ASPHALT: NO GREENS

      Quarry out the stone

      of land, cobble the beach,

      wall surf, name it “street,”

      allow no ground or green

      cover for animal sins,

      but let opacity of sand

      be glass to keep the heat

      outside, the senses in.

      Then, when time’s Drunk,

      reeling to death, provokes

      god’s favor as a fool,

      oh let a lamp post grow

      out of its absence, bend,

      heavy with care, and bloom

      light. Let a curb extrude

      a comfortable fault. Let

      “street” become a living room.

      Comfortably seated, lit

      by the solicitude of “lamp,”

      the Drunk and street are one.

      They say, “Let’s have no dirt:

      bulldoze the hills into

      their valleys: make it plain.

      Then take the mountains down

      and let their decks of slate

      be dealt out flat grey.

      Let their mating seams

      be tarred against the weeds

      by asphalt, by the night’s

      elixir of volcanoes hotly poured.”

      Then the soulless port at night

      is made a human, and the Drunk

      god: no one else is here

      to be so but who cares?

      2. PORTRAIT AGAINST WOMEN

      Bones, in his falling,

      must have hit the skin

      between themselves and stone,

      but distances of wine

      were his upholstery

      against the painful crime

      of lying in the street,

      since “God protects them.”

      He rolled onto his back,

      his right hand in his fly,

      and gargled open-mouthed,

      showing the white of an eye:

      it did not see the sign

      raised on the proper air

      that read: “Here lies

      a god-damned fool. Beware.”

      No: his hand, his woman, on

      the dry root of his sex,

      debates it: deformed by wine

      and fantasy, the wreck

      of infant memory is there,

      of how the garden gate

      slammed at the words, “Get

      out you god-damned bum,”

      and so he was, since she,

      goddess, mother, and wife,

      spoke and it was the fact.

      Her living hair came out

      gray in his hand, her teeth

      went false at his kiss,

      and her solid flesh went slack

      like mother’s. “Now, lady,

      I am sick and out of socks,

      so save me: I am pure although

      my hand is on my cock.”

      Then he could rise up young

      out of his vagrancy

      in whole unwilled reform

      and shuck the fallen one,

      his furlough in this street

      redeemed by her grace.

      There would be the grass

      to lay her on, the quench

      of milk behind the taste of wine,

      and laughter in a dreamed

      jungle of love behind

      a billboard that could read:

      “This is YOUR Garden:

      Please keep it clean.”

      3. COURAGE. EXCEED.

      A beggar with no legs below

      the middle of his knees

      walked down Third Avenue

      on padded sockets, on

      his telescoped or

      anti-stilted legs

      repeating, “Oh beautiful

      faspacious skies!” upon

      a one-man band: a bass

      drum on roller-skates,

      a mouth-high bugle clamped

      to it, and cymbals interlocked

      inside a fate of noise. He

      flew the American flag

      for children on a stick

      stuck in a veteran’s hat,

      and offered pencils. He

      was made of drunks’ red eyes.

      He cried, “Courage! Exceed!”

      He was collapsed in whole

      display. Drunkards, for this

      and with his pencil I

      put down his words drunk:

      “Stand! Improvise!”

      4. ELEGY FOR DRINKERS

      What happened to the drunks

      I used to know, the prodigals

      who tried their parents’ help

      too far? Some misers of health

      have aged out dry; the rest

      are sick and out of socks,

      their skin-tight anklebones

      blue as the mussel shells

      that rolled in Naxos’ surf

      when Bacchus danced ashore

      and kicked them all to hell.

      Oh gutter urinal,

      be Dirce’s holy stream,

      so lightning out of Zeus

      can rage on Semele,

      invited! Permit her son,

      issuant of His thigh,

      to rule her family

      as Bromios, god of wine!

      Oh Dionisos, good god

      of memory and sleep,

      you grace the paper bag,

      stuck in the fork of a crutch,

      that holds the secret sons

      and furniture of bums,

      since wine is the cure of wine.

      It’s thanks to you that I,

      in my condition, am

      still possible and praising: I

      am drunk today, but what

      about tomorrow? I burnt

      my liver to you for a drink,

      so pay me for my praises:

      for thirty-seven cents, for

      the price of a pint of lees,

      I would praise wine, your name,

      and how your trouble came

      out of the east to Thebes:

      you taught the women wine

      and tricked King Pentheus

      to mask as one of them:

      because his father died

      to all appeals for help,

      the rending penalty,

      death at his mother’s hands!,

      still fills The Bowery

      with prodigals of hope:

      they pray for lightning and

      a dance to their god damn,

      since wine is the cure of wine

      and wine the cure wine cured

      and wine the cure of wine.

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          External links

          Bat’s Poetry Page – more poetry by Fledermaus

          Talking Writing Monster’s Page

          Batty Writing – the bat’s idle chatter, thoughts, ideas and observations, all original, all fresh

          Poems in English 

          More external links (open in a new tab):

          Russian Commerce Agency

          Dealing Monster

          Doska or the Board – write anything

          Search engines:

          Yandex – the best search engine for searches in Russian (and the best overall image search engine, in any language, anywhere)

          Qwant – the best search engine for searches in French, German as well as Romance and Germanic languages.

          Ecosia – a search engine that supposedly… plants trees

          Duckduckgo – the real alternative and a search engine that actually works. Without much censorship or partisan politics.

          Yahoo– yes, it’s still around, amazingly, miraculously, incredibly, but now it seems to be powered by Bing.

           

          Parallel Translations of Poetry

          Poems by Author and Category

          The Poetry Repository – an online library of poems, poetry, verse and poetic works

           

           

           

           

           




          Categories
          Poetry Monster

          To Sayf Al Dawla

          A poem by Alan Dugan


          Resolutions are measured against those who make them; generosity in accordance with the giver.

          ***

          Littleness is magnified by small men, while grandeur is deprecated by the great.

          ***

          Sayf al-Dawla imposes upon the army his will, yet seasoned armies cannot achieve it.

          ***

          He asks from men all that he has in himself, though even lions would not claim to match that.

          ***

          Dose al-Hadath know of its red color? Or which of the two pourers was a cloud?

          ***

          White-streaked clouds had watered al-Hadath before his arrival; when he approached, it was inundated with skulls.

          ***

          The enemy came at you, hauling their weapons as if they traveled on legless horses.

          ***

          When their ranks caught the light, their swords remained unseen, since their shirts and turbans were also made from steel.

          ***

          You stayed where you were, when doing so meant certain death: as if perdition itself slept while you stood in its eyelid.

          ***

          Wounded and fleeting, heroes passed you by, while your face remained bright and your lips, smiling.

          ***

          You surpassed the bounds of courage and understanding, until people claimed that you knew the unseen.

          ***

          To you belongs the praise for these pearls I pronounce; you are the giver, I the arranger.

          ***

          Oh, Sword never sheathed, whom none can doubt and from whom there is no refuge.

          ***

          Blessed are warfare, glory and eminence; blessed are your subjects and all of Islam, for you are safe!

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          Copyright ©: 


          Translated by Nancy Coffin

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              External links

              Bat’s Poetry Page – more poetry by Fledermaus

              Talking Writing Monster’s Page

              Batty Writing – the bat’s idle chatter, thoughts, ideas and observations, all original, all fresh

              Poems in English 

              More external links (open in a new tab):

              Russian Commerce Agency

              Dealing Monster

              Doska or the Board – write anything

              Search engines:

              Yandex – the best search engine for searches in Russian (and the best overall image search engine, in any language, anywhere)

              Qwant – the best search engine for searches in French, German as well as Romance and Germanic languages.

              Ecosia – a search engine that supposedly… plants trees

              Duckduckgo – the real alternative and a search engine that actually works. Without much censorship or partisan politics.

              Yahoo– yes, it’s still around, amazingly, miraculously, incredibly, but now it seems to be powered by Bing.

               

              Parallel Translations of Poetry

              Poems by Author and Category

              The Poetry Repository – an online library of poems, poetry, verse and poetic works

               

               

               

               

               




              Categories
              Poetry Monster

              Swing Shift Blues

              A poem by Alan Dugan

              What is better than leaving a bar

              in the middle of the afternoon

              besides staying in it or not

              having gone into it in the first place

              because you had a decent woman to be with?

              The air smells particularly fresh

              after the stale beer and piss smells.

              You can stare up at the whole sky:

              it’s blue and white and does not

              stare back at you like the bar mirror,

              and there’s Whats-‘is-name coming out

              right behind you saying, “I don’t

              believe it, I don’t believe it: there

              he is, staring up at the fucking sky

              with his mouth open. Don’t

              you realize, you stupid son of a bitch,

              that it is a quarter to four

              and we have to clock in in

              fifteen minutes to go to work?”

              So we go to work and do no work

              and can even breathe in the Bull’s face

              because he’s been into the other bar

              that we don’t go to when he’s there.

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                  External links

                  Bat’s Poetry Page – more poetry by Fledermaus

                  Talking Writing Monster’s Page

                  Batty Writing – the bat’s idle chatter, thoughts, ideas and observations, all original, all fresh

                  Poems in English 

                  More external links (open in a new tab):

                  Russian Commerce Agency

                  Dealing Monster

                  Doska or the Board – write anything

                  Search engines:

                  Yandex – the best search engine for searches in Russian (and the best overall image search engine, in any language, anywhere)

                  Qwant – the best search engine for searches in French, German as well as Romance and Germanic languages.

                  Ecosia – a search engine that supposedly… plants trees

                  Duckduckgo – the real alternative and a search engine that actually works. Without much censorship or partisan politics.

                  Yahoo– yes, it’s still around, amazingly, miraculously, incredibly, but now it seems to be powered by Bing.

                   

                  Parallel Translations of Poetry

                  Poems by Author and Category

                  The Poetry Repository – an online library of poems, poetry, verse and poetic works

                   

                   

                   

                   

                   




                  Categories
                  Poetry Monster

                  Remembering An Account Executive

                  A poem by Alan Dugan


                  He had a back office in his older brother’s

                  advertising agency and understood the human asshole.

                  He turned his father’s small inheritance over and over

                  on hemorrhoid ads between three-hour lunches

                  at the Plaza every day and cocktails at five-thirty

                  with different dressy women waiting in our front office.

                  We joked that he fucked them up the ass to make more customers

                  and were nauseated by him because he picked his ears

                  with the lead end of his lead pencil as he argued and argued

                  hemorrhoid copy with us on nauseating Mad. Ave. mornings.

                  Why argue? It must have been for executive power-feelings

                  because the copy never changed. Every week, the poor

                  bleeding assholes bought the shit. When my mind

                  began to get fucked and go as black as his inner ears

                  I quit as broke as I began, remembering his prophecy:

                  that the last working television set in the world

                  would be showing a hemorrhoid ad for ANUSALL

                  at Armageddon, that it would have been written

                  by him, that he would be watching it at 6:00 P.M.

                  in the bomb-cellar lounge of the Park Plaza Hotel

                  with a blonde’s ass in one hand and a scotch in the other,

                  and that he would die happy, with his old man’s

                  money intact and his asshole too, unlike us prat-boys.

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                      External links

                      Bat’s Poetry Page – more poetry by Fledermaus

                      Talking Writing Monster’s Page

                      Batty Writing – the bat’s idle chatter, thoughts, ideas and observations, all original, all fresh

                      Poems in English 

                      More external links (open in a new tab):

                      Russian Commerce Agency

                      Dealing Monster

                      Doska or the Board – write anything

                      Search engines:

                      Yandex – the best search engine for searches in Russian (and the best overall image search engine, in any language, anywhere)

                      Qwant – the best search engine for searches in French, German as well as Romance and Germanic languages.

                      Ecosia – a search engine that supposedly… plants trees

                      Duckduckgo – the real alternative and a search engine that actually works. Without much censorship or partisan politics.

                      Yahoo– yes, it’s still around, amazingly, miraculously, incredibly, but now it seems to be powered by Bing.

                       

                      Parallel Translations of Poetry

                      Poems by Author and Category

                      The Poetry Repository – an online library of poems, poetry, verse and poetic works

                       

                       

                       

                       

                       




                      Categories
                      Poetry Monster

                      Prison Song

                      A poem by Alan Dugan


                      The skin ripples over my body like moon-wooed water,

                      rearing to escape me. Where could it find another

                      animal as naked as the one it hates to cover?

                      Once it told me what was happening outside,

                      who was attacking, who caressing, and what the air

                      was doing to feed or freeze me. Now I wake up

                      dark at night, in a textureless ocean of ignorance,

                      or fruit bites back and water bruises like a stone.

                      It’s jealousy, because I look for other tools to know

                      with, and other armor, better girded to my wish.

                      So let it lie, turn off the clues or try to leave:

                      sewn on me seamless like those painful shirts

                      the body-hating saints wore, the sheath of hell

                      is pierced to my darkness nonetheless: what traitors

                      labor in my face, what hints they smuggle through

                      its arching guard! But even in the night it jails,

                      with nothing but its lies and silences to feed upon,

                      the jail itself can make a scenery, sing prison songs,

                      and set off fireworks to praise a homemade day.

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                          External links

                          Bat’s Poetry Page – more poetry by Fledermaus

                          Talking Writing Monster’s Page

                          Batty Writing – the bat’s idle chatter, thoughts, ideas and observations, all original, all fresh

                          Poems in English 

                          More external links (open in a new tab):

                          Russian Commerce Agency

                          Dealing Monster

                          Doska or the Board – write anything

                          Search engines:

                          Yandex – the best search engine for searches in Russian (and the best overall image search engine, in any language, anywhere)

                          Qwant – the best search engine for searches in French, German as well as Romance and Germanic languages.

                          Ecosia – a search engine that supposedly… plants trees

                          Duckduckgo – the real alternative and a search engine that actually works. Without much censorship or partisan politics.

                          Yahoo– yes, it’s still around, amazingly, miraculously, incredibly, but now it seems to be powered by Bing.

                           

                          Parallel Translations of Poetry

                          Poems by Author and Category

                          The Poetry Repository – an online library of poems, poetry, verse and poetic works

                           

                           

                           

                           

                           




                          Categories
                          Poetry Monster

                          Portrait From The Infantry

                          A poem by Alan Dugan


                          He smelled bad and was red-eyed with the miseries

                          of being scared while sleepless when he said

                          this: “I want a private woman, peace and quiet,

                          and some green stuff in my pocket. Fuck

                          the rest.” Pity the underwear and socks,

                          long burnt, of an accomplished murderer,

                          oh God, of germans and replacements, who

                          refused three stripes to keep his B.A.R.,

                          who fought, fought not to fight some days

                          like any good small businessman of war,

                          and dug more holes than an outside dog

                          to modify some Freudian’s thesis: “No

                          man can stand three hundred days

                          of fear of mutilation and death.” What he

                          theorized was a joke: “To keep a tight

                          asshole, dry socks and a you-deep hole

                          with you at all times.” Afterwards,

                          met in a sports shirt with a round wife, he was

                          the clean slave of a daughter, a power brake

                          and beer. To me, he seemed diminished

                          in his dream, or else enlarged, who knows?,

                          by its accomplishment: personal life

                          wrung from mass issues in a bloody time

                          and lived out hiddenly. Aside from sound

                          baseball talk, his only interesting remark

                          was, in pointing to his wife’s belly, “If

                          he comes out left foot first” (the way

                          you Forward March!), “I am going to stuff

                          him back up.” “Isn’t he awful?” she said.

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                              External links

                              Bat’s Poetry Page – more poetry by Fledermaus

                              Talking Writing Monster’s Page

                              Batty Writing – the bat’s idle chatter, thoughts, ideas and observations, all original, all fresh

                              Poems in English 

                              More external links (open in a new tab):

                              Russian Commerce Agency

                              Dealing Monster

                              Doska or the Board – write anything

                              Search engines:

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                              Qwant – the best search engine for searches in French, German as well as Romance and Germanic languages.

                              Ecosia – a search engine that supposedly… plants trees

                              Duckduckgo – the real alternative and a search engine that actually works. Without much censorship or partisan politics.

                              Yahoo– yes, it’s still around, amazingly, miraculously, incredibly, but now it seems to be powered by Bing.

                               

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                              The Poetry Repository – an online library of poems, poetry, verse and poetic works

                               

                               

                               

                               

                               




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                              Poetry Monster

                              Plague Of Dead Sharks

                              A poem by Alan Dugan


                              Who knows whether the sea heals or corrodes?

                              The wading, wintered pack-beasts of the feet

                              slough off, in spring, the dead rind of the shoes’

                              leather detention, the big toe’s yellow horn

                              shines with a natural polish, and the whole

                              person seems to profit. The opposite appears

                              when dead sharks wash up along the beach

                              for no known reason. What is more built

                              for winning than the swept-back teeth,

                              water-finished fins, and pure bad eyes

                              these old, efficient forms of appetite

                              are dressed in? Yet it looks as if the sea

                              digested what it wished of them with viral ease

                              and threw up what was left to stink and dry.

                              If this shows how the sea approaches life

                              in its propensity to feed as animal entire,

                              then sharks are comforts, feet are terrified,

                              but they vacation in the mystery and why not?

                              Who knows whether the sea heals or corrodes?:

                              what the sun burns up of it, the moon puts back.

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                                  External links

                                  Bat’s Poetry Page – more poetry by Fledermaus

                                  Talking Writing Monster’s Page

                                  Batty Writing – the bat’s idle chatter, thoughts, ideas and observations, all original, all fresh

                                  Poems in English 

                                  More external links (open in a new tab):

                                  Russian Commerce Agency

                                  Dealing Monster

                                  Doska or the Board – write anything

                                  Search engines:

                                  Yandex – the best search engine for searches in Russian (and the best overall image search engine, in any language, anywhere)

                                  Qwant – the best search engine for searches in French, German as well as Romance and Germanic languages.

                                  Ecosia – a search engine that supposedly… plants trees

                                  Duckduckgo – the real alternative and a search engine that actually works. Without much censorship or partisan politics.

                                  Yahoo– yes, it’s still around, amazingly, miraculously, incredibly, but now it seems to be powered by Bing.

                                   

                                  Parallel Translations of Poetry

                                  Poems by Author and Category

                                  The Poetry Repository – an online library of poems, poetry, verse and poetic works

                                   

                                   

                                   

                                   

                                   




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                                  Poetry Monster

                                  On Looking For Models

                                  A poem by Alan Dugan

                                  The trees in time

                                  have something else to do

                                  besides their treeing. What is it.

                                  I’m a starving to death

                                  man myself, and thirsty, thirsty

                                  by their fountains but I cannot drink

                                  their mud and sunlight to be whole.

                                  I do not understand these presences

                                  that drink for months

                                  in the dirt, eat light,

                                  and then fast dry in the cold.

                                  They stand it out somehow,

                                  and how, the Botanists will tell me.

                                  It is the “something else” that bothers

                                  me, so I often go back to the forests.

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                                      External links

                                      Bat’s Poetry Page – more poetry by Fledermaus

                                      Talking Writing Monster’s Page

                                      Batty Writing – the bat’s idle chatter, thoughts, ideas and observations, all original, all fresh

                                      Poems in English 

                                      More external links (open in a new tab):

                                      Russian Commerce Agency

                                      Dealing Monster

                                      Doska or the Board – write anything

                                      Search engines:

                                      Yandex – the best search engine for searches in Russian (and the best overall image search engine, in any language, anywhere)

                                      Qwant – the best search engine for searches in French, German as well as Romance and Germanic languages.

                                      Ecosia – a search engine that supposedly… plants trees

                                      Duckduckgo – the real alternative and a search engine that actually works. Without much censorship or partisan politics.

                                      Yahoo– yes, it’s still around, amazingly, miraculously, incredibly, but now it seems to be powered by Bing.

                                       

                                      Parallel Translations of Poetry

                                      Poems by Author and Category

                                      The Poetry Repository – an online library of poems, poetry, verse and poetic works

                                       

                                       

                                       

                                       

                                       




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                                      Poetry Monster

                                      On The Civil War On The East Coast Of The United States Of North America 1860 64

                                      A poem by Alan Dugan


                                      Because of the unaccountable spirit of the troops

                                      oh we were marched as we were never marched before

                                      and flanked them off from home. Stupid Meade

                                      was after them, head on to tail, but we convinced

                                      him, finally, to flank, flank, cut off their head.

                                      He finally understood, the idiot, and got a fort

                                      named after him, for wisdom. He probably thought

                                      Lee would conquer Washington from Appomattox

                                      if he, Meade, should march his infantry behind

                                      him, Lee. Ah well, the unaccountable spirit of the troops

                                      triumphed, Meade got his fort, Grant got his presidency,

                                      Sherman got his motto, what was it? War is heck?, Lee got a military school

                                      for the education of young Southern gentlemen, and the Union

                                      Army was taken over by Southern noncommissioned officers

                                      in the wars against the Indians to the west. I know all

                                      about this, I know who won, I served under them

                                      for three hundred and fifty years in World War II,

                                      just long enough not to be called a rookie but a veteran,

                                      and realized the rank and order of my enemies:

                                      first, the West Point officers; second, the red-neck sergeants;

                                      third, the Nazis and perhaps the Japanese. I won

                                      all of these wars as a private soldier, for a while,

                                      and am happy to have done so: without me

                                      Hitler and Hirohito would he ruling the world

                                      instead of America and Russia, but I still will not

                                      drive through Georgia with New York license plates.

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                                          External links

                                          Bat’s Poetry Page – more poetry by Fledermaus

                                          Talking Writing Monster’s Page

                                          Batty Writing – the bat’s idle chatter, thoughts, ideas and observations, all original, all fresh

                                          Poems in English 

                                          More external links (open in a new tab):

                                          Russian Commerce Agency

                                          Dealing Monster

                                          Doska or the Board – write anything

                                          Search engines:

                                          Yandex – the best search engine for searches in Russian (and the best overall image search engine, in any language, anywhere)

                                          Qwant – the best search engine for searches in French, German as well as Romance and Germanic languages.

                                          Ecosia – a search engine that supposedly… plants trees

                                          Duckduckgo – the real alternative and a search engine that actually works. Without much censorship or partisan politics.

                                          Yahoo– yes, it’s still around, amazingly, miraculously, incredibly, but now it seems to be powered by Bing.

                                           

                                          Parallel Translations of Poetry

                                          Poems by Author and Category

                                          The Poetry Repository – an online library of poems, poetry, verse and poetic works