Thursday, September 24, 2009

Pity ye not The Mayfly.


Well Mrs EEjit vetoed my witty ditty about Teddy on the grounds of insensitivity and bad taste, so that's the end of that ,unleess you find me in the gutter one saturday morning looking for a couple of euro and an early house, in which case I will recite it to you for a few yo-yo's. The good news(for me) is that i stayed up till the small hours drinking and cracked out a new poem which hopefully can be boxed off in time for the Monday showdown. I was also thinking about this 'every day is sunday' hypothesis and how they disguise the rest of the 'week' not to look like sunday.But this is obviously a huge effort so they've decided it would be easier to make sunday look like the rest of the imagined week.All the shops are now open on a sunday and it's business as usual on the day of rest.And who says day ends at night? Seconds minutes hours day years are all man's invention's to mark his passing through the one eternal moment.So we are all living in one lifelong, perhaps eternal, moment, the very same moment that saw the rise and fall of the dinosaurs, the building of the pyramids and man stepping onto the moon.I mean the imagined concept of time is relative ,even in our constricted comprehension time is a notion and it's (virtual) parameters all relative.Never mind how long is a piece of string, how long is a piece of time? If you were on holiday in Corfu reading a book under a shady olive tree , overlooking a bluey green sea basked in 80 degrees of heat ,a cool breeze tickling your naked toes and a magnum of champagne in an ice bucket , half an hour would not seem long enough.If however you were buried up to your neck in human excrement and someone was poking red hot needles into your eyeballs accompanied by Richard Clayderman on the piano, half an hour might seem a very very long time indeed-it's all relative. The Mayfly for example lives, within the (human) confines, for but a day and invokes great sympathy for it's seemingly all too brief life.However to a Mayfly a lifetime is a lifetime, it has no concept of life been short (that's all relative).So I wouldn't feel too sorry for it at all.Not only that but the sole purpose of the mayfly is to procreate and it has been blessed with TWO lots of equipment with which to do it. The Mayfly's mouth is only vestigial, it's too busy F***in' to be feedin'.

Have a nice day.

23 comments:

Sandra Leigh said...

Eejit, you will be pleased to hear that I, too, have been working on my poem. It is waiting in the wings, ready to be published early on Monday - maybe even in its current form.

Too bad about the Teddy ditty - and I enjoyed this post - it reminded me of Eliot's poem about the moment of the rose and the moment of the yew tree.

John Hayes said...

Einstein had a much less vivid take on relativity involving either talking with an attractive woman or touching a hot stove (if my memory serves me right). Your comparison is much more memorable than Einstein's, esp. the piano part.

I can see that it would be possible to go very bad places with Ted Hughes, especially if tipsy.

The Weaver of Grass said...

Your sense of humour eej - it creases me every time. I laugh out loud and Mr Weaver comes to see what is funny - and I have to say it is usually you!
Those two poems are very addictive - I have now read them in almost all the places you specified (note I said almost)- they are marvellous examples of old Ted's work and I love them. Now I begin to wonder what Monday will bring forth.

Totalfeckineejit said...

That is great news Sandra Leigh ,I'm honestly looking forward to reading it.I'm more excited(and conversely worried) about this task than any of the others and can't wait to see the results.Tanx a million for joining in, the whole thing is nothing without people having a go. Don't know the Eliot poem,Iam particularily unwell read, but will look it up!

Totalfeckineejit said...

Thanks John, in all honesty I've never read Einsteins theory but I will now. All joking aside it is possible to go (and they surely did)to some really, really, dark places with poetry in general, let alone Ted Hughes.

Totalfeckineejit said...

That is a real compliment, weaver, thank you.And they are great poems aren't they?Can't wait to se what you(and hopefully others) come up with on Monday.Pip, pip!

Rachel Fox said...

Bad taste and the Ted poems seem to be going hand in hand...wait till you read mine...

See you Monday.
x

ArtSparker said...

Noone could accuse you of thinking small.

the watercats said...

EXACTLY!.. :-P
Mayflies rock!

Dominic Rivron said...

Talk of Richard Clayderman and excrement reminds me of one of my favourite Far Side Cartoons (it's near the bottom of the page).

Heather said...

Oh Feck - it's a good thing you have Mrs.Eejit to try to keep you out of trouble! The poor woman must be run ragged sometimes. I may not have a poem for Monday - this week's homework is probably beyond me.

Totalfeckineejit said...

Now that's intersting Rachel. looking forward to reading.

Totalfeckineejit said...

Some, ARtSparker, might argue nobody could accuse me of thinking- period! :)

Totalfeckineejit said...

And dragonflies, Watercats, my favourite flies!

Totalfeckineejit said...

Dragonflys?

Totalfeckineejit said...

Tanx Dominic , I once was given a Far side desk diary and it was deadly funny with a cartoon for every day of the year.If anyone would like to buy me another this christmas that would be mughty fine!

Totalfeckineejit said...

I could not survive without Mrs EEjo that's for sure, Heather. There's plenty time left for the pome,something will come to you and if it doesn't there will be another feckin task for the following weekand probably the week after and after that and...... :)

aleph said...

but life would be an endless torture for a puritan mayfly that aspired to live its short life devoted to holiness. ah! everything is so so relative.

Sandra Leigh said...

This is the poem to which I referred. It is part of Little Gidding, Part IV of Eliot's Four Quartets.



All shall be well, and
All manner of thing shall be well....

We die with the dying:
See, they depart, and we go with them.
We are born with the dead:
See, they return, and bring us with them.
The moment of the rose and the moment of the yew-tree
Are of equal duration. A people without history
Is not redeemed from time, for history is a pattern
Of timeless moments. So, while the light fails
On a winter's afternoon, in a secluded chapel
History is now and England.

With the drawing of this Love and the voice of this
Calling

We shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time.


If you like, you can find the whole poem at http://www.tristan.icom43.net/quartets/gidding.html

beedlemama said...

Mrs Eejit sounds like a fine lady! Lucky you. Love this post and must get on this poetry buzz.. too busy f'ing to be feedin' now theres a line....

Totalfeckineejit said...

The holy Mayfly, aleph, I hadn't thought of that. Doh! :)

Totalfeckineejit said...

Thanks for posting this,Sandra, it is a lovely and pertinent poem.I'll look up the rest of it now.

Totalfeckineejit said...

She is a very lucky woman,beedler.You have plenty of time to get a pome written by monday.And yes I think I would like that line on my gravestone.