A short entry today, and most of the words are not my own. [This entry actually gained a great deal of length post-poem. Do not take what I say to heart. Trust only what's italicized and you will have fair weather at The Palinode.] A favourite poem, and oh so applicable:

The Fury of Aerial Bombardment

You would think the fury of aerial bombardment
Would rouse God to relent; the infinite spaces
Are still silent. He looks on shock-pried faces.
History, even, does not know what is meant.

You would feel that after so many centuries
God would give man to repent; yet he can kill
As Cain could, but with multitudinous will,
No farther advanced than in his ancient furies.

Was man made stupid to see his own stupidity?
Is God by definition indifferent, beyond us all?
Is the eternal truth man's fighting soul
Wherein the Beast ravens in its own avidity?

Of Van Wettering I speak, and Averill,
Names on a list, whose faces I do not recall
But they are gone to early death, who late in school
Distinguished the belt feed lever from the belt holding pawl.

Richard Eberhart, "The Fury of Aerial Bombardment"

I think I learned this poem somewhere in the midst of elementary school, in an anthology called Sound & Sense. I liked the anthology so much I bought a secondhand copy in highschool. Wait - I stole it from the English department in highschool. I don't think I actually spent money on anything but American cigarettes between 1986-1989. Camel Filters, Pall Malls, Winstons. An occasional pack of Marlboros from a store that sold contraband smokes (Marlboros were and are unavailable in Canada for some strange reason). I quit smoking in August of 2000. Anyway. I remember the texture of the book's cover: stiff, slightly tacky to the touch, covered in a thin layer of plastic that appeared to have been heat sealed. The only other book I remember having that sort of cover was Brian Froud's The World of the Dark Crystal, which was full of beautiful illustrations. The designers behind the movie had embedded a triangular geometric pattern in the contstruction of the creatures and the architecture. I was twelve or so, and the totality of the design fascinated me endlessly, until one day I became fascinated with the plastic film on the cover and peeled it off. Big mistake. The cover was horribly sticky and gathered dust. Within a month my book was coated with bits of dust and fuzzies. I also had a Dark Crystal comic book, which featured various words in the language of the Skeksis (remember those nasty bird-things? they were nasty) and the Ursus (nice sloth-things). Most notably I recall that a trial for Skeksi leadership, in which they recapitulate the original (originary? Did that world ever get its deconstructionists?) trauma of the broken crystal by hacking at a block of stone with a sword, was called "Haskeekah" or something similar. The challengers would swing at the stone and scream out "Haaaaskeekah!". Whoever did the most damage to the stone was the winner (natch). I loved that word; it seemed to sum up the intent and the desperate need of the action. Anyway. I watched the film years later on video, and I discovered that the Skeksis call it "Trial By Stone" in the movie. I was disappointed, although it made sense, since they'd been speaking English throughout the movie and probably figured there was no need to stop at that moment. But rituals deserve ritual names, nicht wahr? I also recall thinking that the provenance of that trial was ambivalent - is it the contestant that determines the outcome or the stone? That looks like utter nonsense written down.

parode - exode