Part One of a 5-part tone poem written by Antares (the entity formerly known as Kit Leee) at age 22. Resurrected 42 years later as a spoken word project with funky background music by Shpongle & laptop visuals courtesy of Windows Media Player. Thanks, Russell Duffy & Steven Schwarz, for causing me to dredge up my paleoanthropological past for public display. It gave me orgasmic pleasure. Poetry may well be the ultimate form of solitary vice :)
Hail to the power of the printed word
All hail the permanency of the press!
Ah but how evanescent the jewel vision in the mystic lotus...
This is the chronicle of a bubble bursting in the ooze of Chronos:
A word portrait of an old man's waste matter.
And now, for the plot.
There is no furniture in my mind.
I can't sit down anywhere for a smoke.
I can't find a couch upon which to confess my complexes.
I am not at home.
Home as we know it is where the heart is.
My heart might be in my stomach.
On a transplant bench.
On a valentine card.
It ought to be on earth
We're ready to believe that much.
Well, my ears are on my face, and that's a fact
As far as I can tell.
But my face, I've left it in too many mirrors.
Mirrors are easily broken.
Life, feces, forces, lost in the crack of glassy doom
At the back of the classroom.
My mind is a white room.
A black light shines.
My soul is a darkness
Where a white light dwells.
I am day and night.
In a night and a day one could be all Time.
Which isn't much.
Because Time runs out.
Sandflow beachtide hourglass soon gone.
Here's Part Two...
Size is no measure of volume.
One is not less than many.
When one becomes many, many become small.
When small, one is a little too many.
And many are none at all.
Oh what a sudden wonderment you underwent
When you discovered the truth about digits.
Never have you felt dumber or number
Knowing that there are giants and there are midgets.
And that size is no measure of volume.
Here's something else to ponder:
Mass doesn't really matter.
The key to the mystery
Watch where you put your foot.
Don't let the firm ground fool you.
The land yawns.
Your tracks are sucked into the canyons of undersea
You are here by courtesy of the Cosmos, Inc.
Don't insult our presence.
Your absence of faith is a truancy of the spirit.
But hold it!
It's a bit too late
[Written in 1972. First published 1994 in MOTH BALLS, scatological & eschatological poems collected over nearly 30 years]
In 1970, I wrote this bit of doggerel never suspecting that 20 years later, this sort of staccato rhyming by free association would explode into a global art-form called rapping or hip-hop. The title was inspired by the late Charles E. Gaunt III, my drama teacher, nicknamed Chuck the Duck.
Of course, I can't lay claim to having invented the rap form. According to Wikipedia, "rapping can be traced back to its African roots. Centuries before hip hop music existed, the griots of West Africa were delivering stories rhythmically, over drums and sparse instrumentation. Such connections have been acknowledged by many modern artists, modern day griots, spoken word artists, mainstream news sources, and academics."
Anyway, 'Chuck the Duck' was turned into a hip-hop number by the versatile and talented Rafique Rashid - back in the days when we used to hang out together. He still has the original 4-track cassette master. The cassette dub he made for me has yet to be digitized, so I can't upload it online.
A few years later, in 2001, the prestigious Australian a capella Song Company, under the baton of Roland Peelman, actually premiered 'Chuck the Duck' as a six-part polyphonic fugue in Kuala Lumpur.
How on earth did this happen? Roland Peelman had commissioned Malaysian avant-garde composer Saidah Rastam to contribute an original work to the Song Company repertoire - and, of all things, Saidah decided to use 'Chuck the Duck' as the libretto for her astonishingly witty masterpiece.
CHUCK THE DUCK
how now laotse maotse cowboy tung taodung
need ye grow olde if you never been jung
why sigh fakeye take a break snakeye
recall being born forget to die
bake a cake stay awake cry for joy
shout aloud jump about fall on your rump
pigs roast slowest that are most plump
cook a plot write a book rob a crook run riot
keep quiet look tired don't sleep go on diet
smart tart twit her twat now what
big ben beats crime pleasemen cheat time
peahen eats grime in the pigpen
bleed greed breed weed feed your mind
go blind grow grass quit the line feel fine
smoke a toke don't choke vat 69's no joke
ice floe nice shmoe g.i. joe gung ho
edgar poe deathrow
now bow say grace meow ratrace great place powwow flatface
tightroped pooped pope wallops trollops in the craptrap
rubin rude rapes bob hope & raps the cape of good dope
grunt grope chomp chow chew bread it's homemade
dull as lead get weighed your shell be shed
your soul be free so flee fly flow fled
go right ahead mister blister my sister
who can resist her she's such a sprightly maid
but don't sue me if you don't get laid
the mayor learned his trade well
the player played the part swell
they made their cellmates burn in hell
blue petulance expels true flatulence propels
your dad poohpoohs smells bad he's a cad
sells your mum to alan ladd
mum's glum dad's sad you're mad we're glad
platypus flatus & oedipus status are to blame
shame shame! captain ahab's bladder's inflamed
and jacob's ladder can't take the strain
it'll crack that's a fact you'll land smack whackthwack
on your backside & spill your brains
what a pain it's insane too much! you'll be crippled & lame
as such you'll need a crutch:
maurice suggests you stop your game
horace requests a change of name
but boris professes you'll be the same
everything's done where's the fun? there's none
every song to sing's sung every pun to spin's spun
honkytonky monkspunk anybawdy anynun granny franny
jurisprufrock's earthquacker in hanniballoon crunch
sanny franny petticrockers crisco crackers
for cannibaboon brunch
think of gin sink in gum drink some rum dream of rintintin
all's fair balls square scream in fright uptight delight
in lassie's breath & aleph beth
henry stanley & livingstone's bones
huge rods huger cones buck jones &
being alone with death
flint splinter frog frigger
dread fred be bold don't enrol feel blue
see red lose your head regain control
prayers said so stay in bed
flip flop plip plop gyrotop wobbles
stops & drops down manhole &
polecats tapdance on tiptoe
with pipco tadpoles
click clock bloody cop with hickory cock
goebbels shit hot in the pit of the pot of
the ruddy rotten ruck
get pluck come unstuck
let yourself be struck
chuck the duck
As featured on this beautiful double CD from the Song Company released in early 2014.