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Page 218

Overwhelmed by our barriers -- as mentioned
in another universe (with an uncanny likeness to this one, alas),
long ago on a far far distant page in this very volume --
we can hunker down in our desert canyons and play
smaller games (shall I be the God of that red ant hill
forever? As the walls close in on me, I can find room
to play by becoming an electron) or give up on all games?

Or we can confront our old abandonments and understand them --
after all, we allow our barriers to overwhelm us
only to prevent ourselves from harming others; yes,
we become harmless drunks and even psychotic killers
(inviting others to control for us what we demonstrably
cannot control -- ourselves) because we want to HELP, to be of USE
(United States of England?); so when we discover
that our old failures to help were not based on evil,
only on misunderstanding, we trust ourselves again
to learn new games.

But quite apart from such fastidious (but lasting) remedies,
it is a sinful delight to arc the gap to total freedom, nowhere
I would live, but infinitely refreshing for a brief visit, and how
invigorating, from the sticky webs of my games, to know
I can, at will, renew myself; for what could be freer
than the instant of creation out of nothing (not from
my spidery guts, like the cobwebs of my old games) --
the creation out of nothing of something, anything?
(God knows what -- and I know; how redundant!)

There's a balancing point, a moment of knowing
at the instant it is. You know at the instant
you perceive it as creation and become aware of,
for example, giving voice to my voice. There is no joy,
no freedom, no INSTANTNESS (Yare! Yarely now)
like the instant of creation.

(You're not God!
Iamb so!
Y'are not!...)

["Yare" – another old word. Look it up – quick! --
and when you do, give it my love.]

Note: The other universe referred to at the start of this poem is the preceding poem.

End of stanza 3: "God knows what – and I know; how redundant!" – redundant because I am God? Not exactly, but God of the universe I create (as artist), perhaps. But what limits the extent of the world I can create? I suspect there are no limits that one can't come to surpass. But I'm not serious about that. (Stress "serious".)

"Yare" (ready, active, quick, etc.) is a key thematic word that zips about in and out of Shakespeare's Antony and Cleopatra like a visiting hummingbird. It's Cleo's word at first, too light for heavy Roman Antony, but it becomes Antony's as well. Also see Hamlet ("The readiness is all") and King Lear ("The ripeness is all"). "Iamb so!" because "yare" comes to me from Shakespeare's iambic drama.

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