Friday, January 20, 2017

Jack Scott writes

Lake of the Lost Fisherman 

My Pandora’s Box was open,
all its creatures streaming out
into the darkness of this night,
some lingering to haunt me,
though hovering round the fire,
innocuous because of it,
its spell enfolding me,
blanket of heat and light
warding off depression
and other shitty forms of karma.

While I was sitting fireside,
a cosmic simplicity
came to me:
I am not Superman.
The future is ahead.
It will happen;
That is that.
Who needs a crystal ball
when you can have a camp fire?

My tent became diaphanous with dew
in the early sun.
The surveyors were all gone
when I got up.
I left all my gear in place,
set out to find a doctor
in the nearest town 
and also to get gas.


  1. When Prometheus gave people fire, Zeus ordered Hephaistos to make a beautiful woman, Pandora (all-gifts) and gave her to Prometheus' brother Epimetheus to marry, along with a sealed vase (not a box) with orders not to open it. When Epimetheus was sleeping, Pandora broke the seal and opened the vase. Out flew everything that could plague mankind, but inside the box remained hope.

    Pandora's Box

    Pandora had a box.
    Filled with all the things.
    She was told not to open.
    For devasty it brings.

    But overwhelmed with curiosity.
    She lifted up the lid.
    And out escaped everything.
    But she was just a kid.

    She didnt know what would come out.
    Jealousy, greed, wrath, and pain.
    She didnt know what would happen.
    Hurt, lies, cruelty, and hate.

    She quickly closed the lid.
    And checked to make it tight.
    Trapped inside was hope.
    And all the things right.

    All that was left in Pandoras box.
    Was happyness, joy, and love.
    To fight off all the other things.
    With the help of the lord above.

    No one knows what happened.
    To Pandoras box.
    My theory is its buried.
    Shut with many locks.

    Holding in it treasures.
    That we cannot explain.
    Pandora had the right idea.
    To release all that pain.

    We have to have bad things.
    To appreciate the good.
    Otherwise there worthless.
    Like a rotten piece of wood.

    People tell this story.
    In many different ways.
    The reason for emotions.
    That we cannot explain.

    --Silence Dogood

  2. from The Masque of Pandora

    The storm is past, but it hath left behind it
    Ruin and desolation. All the walks
    Are strewn with shattered boughs; the birds are silent;
    The flowers, downtrodden by the wind, lie dead;
    The swollen rivulet sobs with secret pain,
    The melancholy reeds whisper together
    As if some dreadful deed had been committed
    They dare not name, and all the air is heavy
    With an unspoken sorrow! Premonitions,
    Foreshadowings of some terrible disaster
    Oppress my heart. Ye Gods, avert the omen!

    PANDORA (coming from the house).
    O Epimetheus, I no longer dare
    To lift mine eyes to thine, nor hear thy voice,
    Being no longer worthy of thy love.

    What hast thou done?

    Forgive me not, but kill me.

    What hast thou done?

    I pray for death, not pardon.

    What hast thou done?

    I dare not speak of it.

    Thy pallor and thy silence terrify me!

    I have brought wrath and ruin on thy house!
    My heart hath braved the oracle that guarded
    The fatal secret from us, and my hand
    Lifted the lid of the mysterious chest!

    Then all is lost! I am indeed undone.

    I pray for punishment, and not for pardon.

    Mine is the fault not thine. On me shall fall
    The vengeance of the Gods, for I betrayed
    Their secret when, in evil hour, I said
    It was a secret; when, in evil hour,
    I left thee here alone to this temptation.
    Why did I leave thee?

    Why didst thou return?
    Eternal absence would have been to me
    The greatest punishment. To be left alone
    And face to face with my own crime, had been
    Just retribution. Upon me, ye Gods,
    Let all your vengeance fall!

    On thee and me.
    I do not love thee less for what is done,
    And cannot be undone. Thy very weakness
    Hath brought thee nearer to me, and henceforth
    My love will have a sense of pity in it,
    Making it less a worship than before.

    Pity me not; pity is degradation.
    Love me and kill me.

    Beautiful Pandora!
    Thou art a Goddess still!

    I am a woman;
    And the insurgent demon in my nature,
    That made me brave the oracle, revolts
    At pity and compassion. Let me die;
    What else remains for me?

    Youth, hope, and love:
    To build a new life on a ruined life,
    To make the future fairer than the past,
    And make the past appear a troubled dream.
    Even now in passing through the garden walks
    Upon the ground I saw a fallen nest
    Ruined and full of rain; and over me
    Beheld the uncomplaining birds already
    Busy in building a new habitation.

    Auspicious omen!

    May the Eumenides
    Put out their torches and behold us not,
    And fling away their whips of scorpions
    And touch us not.

    Me let them punish.
    Only through punishment of our evil deeds,
    Only through suffering, are we reconciled
    To the immortal Gods and to ourselves.


    Never shall souls like these
    Escape the Eumenides,
    The daughters dark of Acheron and Night!
    Unquenched our torches glare,
    Our scourges in the air
    Send forth prophetic sounds before they smite.

    Never by lapse of time
    The soul defaced by crime
    Into its former self returns again;
    For every guilty deed
    Holds in itself the seed
    Of retribution and undying pain.

    Never shall be the loss
    Restored, till Helios
    Hath purified them with his heavenly fires;
    Then what was lost is won,
    And the new life begun,
    Kindled with nobler passions and desires.

    --Henry Wadsworth Longfellow


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