These are the facts, nothing here but the facts. I was on the road to Damascus via a street in the West Village in New York City, when, in an instant, barometric pressure had dropped 100 MB. Darkness enveloped an eleven-o’clock-morning sun. It may have been a trick of the mind, or some kind of serious panic disorder. Although I could no longer see, I pictured myself a child on a visit to my great grandmother's house in La Salle, Illinois. In my head I felt as though a tornado was approaching...
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THE OLD KING’S
LAMENT [ZAFAR’S LAMENT]
When
we first had met
Time
had brought me into my later years. I
was a man of a “certain age.”
Now,
older still, it matters not
How
much longer my life extends. The
moments remaining are way too few.
Soon
I die and with me go the memory of those days,
When
you were with me in the sun, And
I could have you within my reach throughout the night.
You
meant more to me than all the prize Which
once was mine and mine alone in the treasury.
Bitter
my fate then that
I
am not allowed to cry at greater length.
Never
shall I have the hours enough To write all
the poems of my lament, My
having lost your love, What
woe my life has been without you.
This
lease of breath,
Though
well beyond the count of years That
any man, even a king, might expect,
Now
I know too short, indeed!
*The lines above represent an original love poem. Shah Zafar
was properly know as Bahadur Shah II. His pen name was Zafar. He
was the last Mughal Emperor. For both his Urdu and his English
verse translation from which I have adopted some sentiments and lines
see,
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HAD I BEEN BORN PERFECT
Remember
I told you how I handled Gregory? He
was a bad case, eh, What
with his doing 8 bags o' dust at a time, And
then visiting local bars, so sick, Upchucking
right on the patrons' jackets, While
they sat there, all innocent, People
on their stools were having a drink!
I
didn't talk to him for years, Refused
all contact, I was afraid, People
had not realized how great my fear. He
occupied my thoughts night and day.
I
thought he might wind up in jail, Or
dead, or a victim hooked up, Like
some medical experiment, Doctors
without options, practicing Last
resort medicine, wires and tubes, And
a parent witness to nightmare, The
nasty ordeal when intervention Takes
place during hospital emergency.
It's
not death, for death is but a word. It
is the way of it. I feared.
I
called it love, my having nothing, Absolutely
nothing to do with him, Until
he went for help, because he seemed Unable
to help himself, and cease The
shit with which he played.
I
did not know what else to do.
Once
he called me and said, 'Dad,
I've got the monkey off my back!' But
I hung up the receiver, Didn't
let him explain. I
couldn't take it, no more rot!, I
knew he was still in the circus.
And
Billy, a surrogate son, You
know the story, I … I treated him the same, The
same cold shoulder, not talking to him Months
on end, until he realized our friendship Depended
on his treating his own two boys, Like
a proper father. I wanted him to put His
children first in life, and I meant it.
Forget
about my smile and easy charm, It's
never smart to test my resolve.
2.
But,
darling, when it comes to dealing with you, I
find no form of human love prevails. No
mere earthly style or mode of affection works!
Oh,
the poetry! Look
to the poetry I write for you. My
heart wells up, the warmest regard, Right
up to the breaking point, In
poem after poem I tried to portray How
great, how utter the abandon, I
declared, were fate to bring us to a terrible juncture, A
crossroad where all choice reduces To
either my life, or yours,
Gladly
would I give up mine, I would die for you.
To
proclaim the veracity of your physical beauty I
wrote, RED ROOF INN.
I
spent a year and wrote, NOW VOYAGER for you.
The
time, when in Brooklyn I found you, That
early, that rainy morning, I
knew you were treasure. You,
the reason, I wrote, SERENDIPITY!
And
that I might attest to your strength of character, Express
my fondest feelings for you, I
wrote, then, over and again, I rewrote, DREAM
CHILDREN, verse which pictured you In
future time the mother of our two children.
How
tender and constant the thoughts! You on my mind Beseeching
you, and ever so softly, so gently I
sought to play upon the strings of your heart.
And
the letters, they are all love letters, And
we have a pile of them.
When
in this correspondence, I said it wrong, Overstepped
the line, wanted propriety, And
for those errors in judgment and phrase, The
anger, when I fell, put my own bruised feelings Before
yours, did not consider your own hurt first, And
failed to acknowledge the great gift, Your
being in my life that day.
I
implore you please forgive.
Whenever
I lacked intellectual power, Whatever
defect of moral character foiled me from Exercising
both the restraint of my tongue And
the rush of my fingers upon the keyboard, Where
had been my even basic sense of compassion? Still
it was you -- your well being foremost in my life. My
intent was proper, though my behavior poor, My
expression amiss, my communications hasty, And
ultimately for my behaviors there are no excuses, However
I had meant the best for you.
Yet
today as well as it had been then, I
wish you forever well.
Still
I doubt all my love allows you any easier a sleep. I
wonder what technique, What
kind of human love might lessen The
pain, the disorder troubling you, And
calm the upset, which at end has us delivered To
this grisly end, the final stages of our romance?
Here
I pray to God.
I
fall to my knees -- such the will to believe -- Ask
that Munificence be granted, The
Almighty do, on earth, All
those things that I had failed to do for you. God's
will be done.
3.
Had
I been born perfect.
How
I now regret, when as a child, I
wasted time playing with crystal sets, And
in the basement of my parents' home, Spent
hours profligately upon Imaginary
laboratory tables with chemistry, Meaningless
experiments with liquids and powders.
Had
I been born a man wise enough, The
kind of guy who might do you real good, I
would have had you in mind right from the start, I
would have abandoned my attempts at writing. I
would have turned about, Learned
the illusionist’s trade, And
trained until I possessed every trick in the book.
Then
I could live within the mirror, Work
the conjurer's art so that when you went to look, When
you fixed a gaze upon your own mirror image, Instead
of you, the reflection staring back, My
picture of you, the way I see you, The
enchantment, my awe, which is you, Whenever
you stand before me, The
image of you so bountiful and pure, You,
the brilliance at center of my sight.
Had
I been able to practice real magic.
There
would be light, love, and just approval, And
it would be my voice ringing through The
reflecting glass, no more whisper of doubt, My
wizardly spell, the timbre of my incantations,
Banishing
any word of fear and sadness, an end to frailty, Now
instead in your head the lyrics to hymns of all courage.
I
would rid the mirror's display of fault and distortion. We
would come to see a world without poverty, And
know only hugs, freedom and peace.
Were
that the case, Had
fate conspired to have me born A
man capable of grand devotion, The
kind of guy who might do you real good, I
would have abandoned my attempts at writing, Wasted
no time upon fruitless experiments I
would have turned about, set myself on right course, Learned
the illusionist’s trade, And
trained until I possessed every trick in the book. Then
I could live within the mirror, I
could dispel all bad images from from its surface, Let
you see how great your love's delight.
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COFFEE-HOUSE LOVE POEM
Another early Sunday
evening has arrived.
You, you are gone, abroad; I sit here by myself and
drink coffee.
Tonight, instead of us
sharing our dinner together, I write verse about how
much I miss you.
The notion, that adage
about absence making The heart grow fonder is
nonsense, To me, it amounts to no
more than a hill of beans!*
I am no fonder, no fonder
of you than I was Ten minutes ago at the
start of this poem.
Today I am no fonder of
you than I was yesterday, No fonder of you than I
was last week,
Than I was seven weeks
ago, When you departed on
business, Left me in this big, old
town, alone. During that time, since
then, my love,
My love for you has not
grown even an iota.
Tonight I am simply sad.
I am lonely. I feel terrible without
you.
*A colloquial
American expression as in “it ain’t worth a hill of beans,”
Humphrey Bogart says it to Ingrid Bergman at the end of the film
Casablanca.
The phrase then gained world-wide notice.
“Ilsa, I’m no good at being noble, but it doesn’t take much to
see that the problems of three little people don’t amount to a hill
of beans in this crazy world”.
http://www.indiaeveryday.in/video/u/StanleyPacion.htm?ss=true Tweet As of this date my YOUTUBE Channel has received 172,000 + Single Page Uploads, Visits!A Google Search of the termsStanley Pacion YouTube Channel yields a result count of 2,200,00. HAD I BEEN BORN PERFECT
Remember I told you how I handled Sammy? He was a bad case, eh, What with his doing 8 bags o' dust at a time, And then visiting local bars, so sick, Upchucking right on the patrons' jackets, While they sat there, all innocent, People on their stools were having a drink!
I didn't talk to him for years, Refused all contact, I was afraid, People had not realized how great my fear. He occupied my thoughts night and day.
I thought he might wind up in jail, Or dead, or a victim hooked up, Like some medical experiment, Doctors without options, practicing Last resort medicine, wires and tubes, And a parent witness to nightmare, The nasty ordeal when intervention Takes place during hospital emergency.
It's not death, for death is but a word. It is the way of it. I feared.
I called it love, my having nothing, Absolutely nothing to do with him, Until he went for help, because he seemed Unable to help himself, and cease The shit with which he played.
I did not know what else to do.
Once he called me and said, 'Dad, I've got the monkey off my back!' But I hung up the receiver, Didn't let him explain, I couldn't take it, no more bullshit, I knew he was still in the circus.
And Billy, a surrogate son, You know the story, I … I treated him the same, The same cold shoulder, not talking to him Months on end, until he realized our friendship Depended on his treating his two boys, Like a proper father. I wanted him to put His children first in life, and I meant it.
Forget about my smile and easy charm, It's never smart to test my resolve.
2.
But, darling, when it comes to dealing with you, I find no form of human love prevails. No mere earthly style or mode of affection works!
Oh, the poetry! Look to the poetry I write for you. My heart wells up, the warmest regard, Right up to the breaking point, In poem after poem I tried to portray How great, how utter the abandon, I declared, were fate to bring us to a terrible juncture, A crossroad where all choice reduces To either my life, or yours,
Gladly would I give up mine, I would die for you.
To proclaim the veracity of your physical beauty I wrote, RED ROOF INN.
I spent a year and wrote, NOW VOYAGER for you.
The time, when in Brooklyn I found you, That early, that rainy morning, I knew you were treasure. You, the reason, I wrote, SERENDIPITY!
And that I might attest to your strength of character, Express my fondest feelings for you, I wrote, then, over and again, I rewrote, DREAM CHILDREN, verse which pictured you In future time the mother of our two children.
Oh, the tender thoughts! You on my mind Beseeching you, and ever so softly, so gently I sought to touch upon the strings of your heart.
And the letters, they are all love letters, And we have a pile of them.
When in this correspondence, I said it wrong, Overstepped the line, wanted propriety, And for those errors in judgment and phrase, The anger, when I fell, put my own bruised feelings, Before yours, heart, and failed to acknowledge the gift, That your inspiration had brought me to new life, I implore you please forgive.
Whenever I lacked intellectual power, Whatever defect of character blocked Good sense to say it right with care, Still it was you -- your well being foremost in my life. My intent was proper, I wanted the best for you, And you know it! And though I wish you forever well, Such a love you might not find again.
Yet I doubt all my love allows you any easier a sleep. And one wonders what technique, What kind of human love might lessen The pain, the disorder troubling you, And calm the upset delivering us To this grisly end, the final stages of our romance?
Here I pray to God.
I fall to my knees -- such the will to believe -- Ask that Munificence be granted, The Almighty do, on earth, All those things that I had failed to do for you. God's will be done.
3.
Had I been born perfect.
How I regret, when a child, I wasted time playing with crystal sets, And in the basement of my parents' home, Spent hours profligately upon Imaginary laboratory tables with chemistry, Meaningless experiments with liquids and powders.
I wish that I had I been born perfect, A man fit, capable of grand devotion, The kind of guy who might do you real good, I would have turned about, Practiced the illusionist’s trade, And trained until I possessed every trick in the book. Then I could live within the mirror, Work the conjurer's art so that when you went to look, When you had fixed a gaze upon your own mirror image, Instead of you, the reflection staring back, My picture of you, the way I see you, The enchantment, my awe, which is you, Whenever you stand before me, And you and I would never loose that magic, That image of you so bountiful and pure, No confusion, still and quiet and safe, You, never fade away from the center of sight.
There would be light, love, and just approval, And it would be my voice ringing through The reflecting glass, your search at end, No more whisper of doubt, all courage, End to frailty, sadness no more, We would come to the world without poverty, And know only hugs, freedom and peace.
Were that the case, Had fate conspired to have me born perfect, A man fit, capable of grand devotion, The kind of guy who might do you real good, I would have turned about, Practiced the illusionist’s trade, Trained until I possessed every trick in the book. Then I could live within the mirror…
