⟁

Five Bloody Cannons

“Into the crowned knot of fire
And the fire and the rose are one.”

-T. S. Eliot, ‘Little Gidding.’

I.

More than to explore
discovery, once won
recovery, what’s lost

division, scattering of parts
fragmentation of the arts
and crafts
built and launched
find land at last

to reach
feel, fumble
to face fears
and breach
as years cascade
tumble
shape and smoothe
and tame and humble
tire:
the costs the journey
demands, requires

here lies hope
prospects as desperate as grim
rafts built by lashing them
to float toward
seize the wind
that howled, roared
the gyre turned
but we pushed forward

that we would stand
beaten, bloodied
feet on sandy beach
and what in sight
hard won, in each
laboured breath
a hint of death.

II

On arrival
to set about, assemble
arrange
ponder patterns
seeing strange sights
what repels, attracts, unites
the words to speak
to make concrete
to take each piece
to seek the site of sound
delight:
when found, the fit
will light the way
will test the wit

where relation is warm
calculation cold
precise, decision
concise, controlled
things in place
no room for error
the terror of time
the horror of space
the fear:
some dissonance lurks
somewhere near

when all laid out
fit together
no thought for doubt
for fear
forever

III.

Once I saw
could not unsee
divisions uniting
untying me
ceaseless, untiring
scent of science
a conspiracy of salience
so rich as to sicken
slick and stinging
lightning bringing
sharp tastes
in thrall of the thrill
which weakens the will

while at the helm
of overwhelm
blinded by the sight
of sound
barriers broke
the voice of the void,
creation, spoke:

laugh
(always laugh)
for laughter
is a sweet destruction

what sets apart:
what craft carries
your beating heart
shining shapes
which tell the youth
all the hopes
the dawning truth
the twinkle in the eye
the proof
the spark:
to set afire
a burning art

IV.

Subtle hints
a fleeting glimpse
shadows seen
“strike” said he
they struck.

a tail arrives
whispered words
courage now
the hour approaches
wake, and take
command
canon be damned
a plan demands
a hand that can recall
the words
and how to say them all

I slept, I wept
sweat from the heat
try as I might
could not repeat
the night’s tale told
in the cold of sleep

such force, remorse
a sorry story
stars in the heavens
to prove, confirm
make mere mortals
squirm, move, shift
let time swallow
the leavings left
we walk, we talk
we part, believing
we will meet again
some evening
then I wake from dreaming:
having had the experience
but missed the meaning

V.

Delivered:
ends which bend
to begin again

dare we face a place
a frontier, a sphere
where the seer says
to go ahead
to melt your mind
leaving everything behind
with no goodbyes to anyone
but leap into the abyss
to dance with chance
laughter ever after
or melodious screams
no clever knowing:
where we’re going
only being

to land:
where you stood
now there you stand
the waste, vast,
function of speed
blinding, fast
slow to show
beauty between

go on:
ever through
the once upons

we find ourselves
in places which remind ourselves
of tales we’re told
we tell ourselves
against the cold
the warmth of spring
of dawn of old
the very things
giving life
enlivening

Andrew McLuhan
March 3-9, 2021

---

writer (‘written matter,’ Revelore Press 2021)
Bloomfield, Ontario
@amicusadastra