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The Origin of Specious “…disreputable to your character as a clergyman thereafter.” His father’s prescient warning. After the Darwin Exhibit We fondle our confessional cant not thinking of standing in line to see the works of god on the walls drink grape grown on his coattails roast beef on buns large as life brew beer by monks - doing god's work? yet recall why i landed here: fear? I don't. Emily saw something in it: "Returning to a different route The Spirit could not show For breathing is the only work To be enacted now." He mailed it in. Victoria's Secret is out. With beetles Fossils and ferns Galapagos turtles Remnants, a life In search of Truth His Bible well-traveled - Truth writ in blood: Genesis through Jesus, Tennessee to Kansas. Where's his Soul? D- Where art Thou? Didst thy finch’s beak Flee His Tree? He Shakes the branch whose Apples grace our Fall. |
Additional Notes:
For Mr. Scheffer, Doctor of Letters.
This Poem was Critiqued By: James C. Horak On Date: 2005-12-01 21:15:55
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.92000
A reader would have to know a bit about Charles Darwin to fully appreciate this poem. I am relieved
your complexity takes away the presumptions placed upon him by those that attribute so much in error
regarding his work. To imagine him with "Bible well-traveled" is the kind of illusion that did indeed
fit a man far from athieism.
More than all this, your poem handles the orthodox as they need be handled...obscuring intention just enough
to avoid the crass oversimplifications triggered on uninformed emotion. We go where truth leads us or we
fall prey to the common den of hackdom, inspite of those that would defame us out of nothing more than
dishonest resentment
Your last line, "He shakes the branch whose/Apples grace our Fall", is your best and superlative. Capitalizing
Fall, you are either devout yourself, or a fan of John Milton's.
I think you over contemporize with "Victoria's Secret." It tends to disjoint a little an otherwise well crafted poem.
It is well that your perplexity with contradiction cuts both ways, as you spy the monk brewer's profession
and the suggestions of "Body and Blood of Christ" taken literally. Would the zealot move with the same
ardor to examine Mr. Darwin and his truths, he would to resolve such quandary.
But then there are so many vices in life to blind one from truth, ignorance being the worst. Your informed
appreciation of Mr Darwin grants you far more than poetic license.
An excellent poem.
JCH