- Book Interview: The Altar of the Only World by Sharanya Manivannan
- Smoke from This Altar by Louis L'Amour: | diapepfaperso.cf: Books
- Smoke from this altar
- Seek and Ye Shall Find!
Share this poem:. Raj Dronamraju. The Bride Of Empathy Jilted At The Altar - Poem by Raj Dronamraju I now understand why people smoke Even though I never desired to myself I can see the way they try to work something out of their anxious profiles To cope with their biggest pressure situation which is getting along with other people The bride of empathy, mothballed appearance, cobwebbed in a decaying mansion Like something ghastly and gothic Driven to this by attempting to understand other people Driven to this by attempting to feel what other people feel Have a handful of moldy wedding cake And repeat "cake" when they complained or asked for assistance Repeat back what you said to show you understand this The best man carried the ring in his pocket He ended up using sympathy not empathy to try and get a refund.
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- Smoke From This Altar, Book by Louis L'amour (Hardcover) | diapepfaperso.cf;
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Raj Dronamraju's Other Poems. Related Poems. As if standing before the gates of hell Kafka says. In my neighborhood I knocked at the gate.
In my neighborhood the answer was yes. In my neighborhood I entered no longer an Innocent. In my neighborhood I became one of them one of them. No longer rinsed in the blue space of flames. I became one of them my neighborhood my neighborhood. The world Kocot evokes is one where humility will come to us, whether by external force or by inner choice.
Will we be debased like the too proud Babylonian King Nebuchadnezzar, who lost his mind, crawling through fields and eating grass like an animal for seven years? The scalene waves riding over the cemeteries. And we will have to get down on all 4s. And we will have to get down on all 4s and eat those grasses.
Book Interview: The Altar of the Only World by Sharanya Manivannan
For ever and ever. Grasses grasses. Which blades to lick. My life is an evil river in my neighborhood. My life is a penitential rite in my neighborhood. My life is the Holy Spirit in my neighborhood. My life is the Word bisected into time. My life is the Word bisected into flesh. Fruit of the vine and work of human hands. Unseen nightlong real. The landscape of religious horror is a place Kocot knows from the Bible, especially from Lamentations and Revelation. In both these books, horror and devastation are unleashed in multiple landscapes, both literal and figurative, sometimes simultaneously: the bottom of the ocean; an otherworldly court of God; or a familiar place turned foul and corrupt.
The hands of compassionate women. Have boiled their own children;. They became their food. In the destruction of the daughter of my people. He makes the deep boil like a pot: he makes the sea like a pot of ointment. It leaves a shining wake after it; one would think the deep to be white-haired. On earth it has no equal, a creature without fear. It surveys everything that is lofty: it is a king over all that are proud. Though far less common in the Christian scriptures, the horrors of apocalypse reach their Biblical climax in the Revelation to John:.
So the first angel went and poured his bowl on the earth , and a foul and painful sore came on those who had the mark of the beast and who worshipped its image. The second angel poured his bowl into the sea, and it became like the blood of a corpse, and every living thing in the sea died.
Smoke from This Altar by Louis L'Amour: | diapepfaperso.cf: Books
The third angel poured his bowl into the rivers and the springs of water, and they became blood. It is what they deserve! The fourth angel poured his bowl over the sun, and it was allowed to scorch people with fire. The fifth angel poured his bowl on the throne of the beast, and its kingdom was plunged into darkness; people gnawed their tongues in agony. For all of its mythic grandeur and intensity, the apocalypse is a somewhat standardized literary form.
Smoke from this altar
In Kocot, the interpreting angel seems to be Michel Foucault. In early Christian communities, the genre became something of a dog and pony show.
The book of Revelation ends with the decisive victory of God after the epic clash between God and Satan. The Word will cross the forest like a gazelle. And bisect itself into time once again. This victory is brief yet powerful. For Kocot, the triumph comes in tender passages of regret, remembrance, and reverence. She even has a moment of forgiveness towards the human inability to transcend sin. Who is the most wounded bird of all. Who weeps in secret in her raggedy shawl. A lot of the time. I think irony is really the culprit. Kocot sees something similar in her own poem.
I was thirty when I wrote that and I saw people my age burning themselves out at these crazy jobs. The poem is also a mourning song for the end of a certain mentality. A culture going through its death throes often invokes the illustrious dead. There are stories of battles between Native Americans and settlers in which the natives, nearly decimated and totally surrounded, threw down their weapons and began a ghost dance to summon the spirits of their ancestors. It was just where I was at when I wrote it.
It was so bizarre and frightening. I also feel so ashamed of it too. She wrote moving poems to her dead father and a lovely sestina in the voice of a woman in a straight marriage speaking to an ex-girlfriend. If its title poem is any guide, the fizz of her earlier poetry returns, along with the wall of cuteness:.
Seek and Ye Shall Find!
Then there was the smudge of elements. On an empty Sunday, a long bird flying overhead.
Freedom came gusting in, the yonder of his reflections. You are all potential, the coin before it's been called,. The future without a gloaming. You eat in my house and in a full saloon-.