Saturday, November 28, 2009

Mladych Klub

‘what?’ asked the alms man. ‘the absurdity of it’ said Dejesus. ‘of this?’ asked the alms man making a circle with his arms. ‘yes’ said Dejesus. The day began like a daring goose crossing the sideways quacking. You never know when the truck that will smite you is rattling round the corner. Keeps a man two-steps out of the fray dancing. Sils Maria and her lover Klidas spent the afternoon counting tall ships anchored at the Mladych Klub. Jaroslav and Hasek banged up a good-for-nothing first-mate with a lousy outlook on seafaring. ‘what?’ asked Hasek. ‘that no-good-for-nothing stepped on my shoe’ said Jaroslav. His great-granddad fought the Second Battle of Ypres over and over again in his head. His great-grandmamma lit the pilot light with a canary-yellow wooden match, the flames scorching the overhead salt and pepper shelf. Marcelle Spottiswoode fought shoulder to shoulder with his great-granddad, overtaken by gas he fell dead in a man-size trench. His great-granddad had nightmares of men gassed dead falling into trenches. Men smote dead by men with better weapons and bigger helmets. Falling into man-size holes trenched in the dirt by men not yet overtaken dead with gas. His great-granddad fought in the gas trenches in the Second Battle of Ypres.

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"Poetry is the short-circuiting of meaning between words, the impetuous regeneration of primordial myth". Bruno Schulz

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