




 june 1993  volume 1, number 2 ͻ
                                                                            
                                                                            
                                                                            
                                                                            
                                                                            
                       
                                   
                                                    
                                                    
                                       
                                       
                                                    
                                                    
                                 
                     
                                                                            
                                                                            
    
                                                                            
                                                                            
                                                                            
                                                                            
                                                                            
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                               Editor: KJ Gerken                            
                    Associate editors: Paul Lauda                           
                                       Igal Koshevoy                        
                  Contributing Editor: Evan Light                           
                                                                            
                                                                            
                                                                            
                                                                            
                                                                            
                                                                            
                                                                            
                                                                            
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      EDITORIAL..................................... Klaus Gerken

      STORMY NIGHT...................................Klaus Gerken
      WALLS..........................................Klaus Gerken
      HAPPY..........................................Klaus Gerken
      PRINCE OF DARKNESS.............................Klaus Gerken
      TRITE..........................................Andrew Blevins
      ONE LAST QUESTION..............................Andrew Blevins
      THE FOUR WAYWARD ARTISTS.......................Andrew Blevins
      WHORES OF MY MIND..............................Igal Koshevoy
      ANOTHER LIFE DRAINS AWAY.......................Igal Koshevoy
      WHO AM I KIDDING...............................Joseph Hope
      LET'S START A WAR..............................Joseph Hope
      WHY?...........................................Shawn Tribe
      Rainbow........................................Judy Tucker
      Falling Petals.................................Judy Tucker
      Shadows........................................Judy Tucker
      Name That War..................................Igal Koshevoy

      POST SCRIPTUM
           From The Spectator........................Joseph Addison



                   
                                                  
                                          
                                                  
                              

  

       Obviously  things have changed since the last edition of YGDRASIL was
  published: a certain  on-line  network  has  decided,  in  their wisdom to
  remove myself  and  Inez  Harrison  as  the  moderators  of  their  poetry
  conference.   It  is  something which was accomplished in such a tasteless
  and incompetent manner that I  will  not  stain  the pages of this journal
  with a comment, rather I will allow this publication to be  the  voice  of
  all  the  poets  slighted  by,  not  just  my,  or Inez's removal, but the
  ingratitude  and  ignorant  attitude  towards  the  fine  poets  who  have
  struggled to make that poetry conference  the finest in the world.  But as
  Shawn Tribe expressed to me, "They [the conference Admin  Staff]  are  not
  worthy of it." And he is right.  Admin decided some of the words used were
  not appropriate to their "open house", as the Head Moderator called it.  I
  would  like  to  remind  this  person of an old Chinese proverb which goes
  something like this: "If you  hold  an  open  house, do not expect a clean
  floor." I think  the  NET  Admin  staff  owes  Inez  and  every  poet  who
  participated in their Poetry Conference a huge apology: pending that, I at
  least will no longer waste my precious time supporting their "open House."
  They can sweep the floor without me.

       But  enough  with  this  anger.  This edition will carry on where the
  last  left  off.   It  contains  some more fabulous work by Igal Koshevoy,
  Andrew Blevins, Shawn Tribe and  many  other  young poets who I think will
  make a major impact in the world of poetry when they mature  their  craft.
  There  are of course the emotions of youth and the exuberance of youth and
  the voice of youth challenging everything they perceive to be "rotten with
  the world." And they are  right,  there  is  a  lot of rottenness which is
  swept under the carpet these days, as in the past.  It  is  refreshing  to
  see  young  poets  making  a  difference with their words rather than just
  "rock 'n roll" bands spewing  forth  their indignation.  What you see here
  is a poetry vitalized by social commitment,  looking  at  the  world,  not
  through  "rose  coloured  glasses", but through glasses shattered by urban
  violence, poverty  and  fear.   These  are  things  these  poets refuse to
  ignore.  They have been censored by a place they though had given  them  a
  voice,  they  are  here now.  They have a voice, and it is a very powerful
  voice, and it  must  be  heard.   It  will  be  heard.   Here first.  Next
  wherever conscience bleeds the most...


                                                       
                                     з           ַ ַ ַ / ַ ַ
                                          Ľ       Ľ      


    STORMY NIGHT
    ~~~~~~~~~~~~
    Dried up roses on the mantle shelf
    By candlelight glowing, the good wine is spilled
    There's a face in the window, all that remains
    Of gold rings and diamonds, so little was gained
    The rain beats the city like a forty-night storm
    The rivers are flooded and the roses have thorns
    There's nothing but shadows where shadows are born
         And the curtain is torn...

    The room is so empty that the chill casts a stone
    The brutal perception: a child lost alone
    The sky is on fire, the room is too hot
    The telephone rings chilly - to answer, or not?
    The wind is so hollow, the music collects
    The scars of commitment, where commitment is blessed
    By the one's who are homesick, by the one's who are torn
    Between the lonely living, and the hopeless in death's storm
         And the curtain is torn...


                                            - Klaus Gerken



    WALLS
    ~~~~~
    Walls
    Brick walls everywhere
    Office dividers
    Points of view
    Different records
    Music painting poems
    Different clothes
    Different status symbols
    (Different snobs)
    "My wine is better'n yours"
    Children at play
    Playing just playing
    THIS adult
    And growing up
    Build brick
    Walls -
    Between the shadow
    And the sun
    Between the woman
    And the man
    Between the father
    And his mother
    Between the wife
    And child
    Between the Sunday Sun
    And Sunday Times -
    It's all walls
    Walls Walls Walls
    When we tear one down
    (Walls between these
    "Civilized" communities)
    We are quick to build
    Another one
    (Apathy, Hate, Racism)...
    It only proves one thing:
    We are cowards.
    All of us!
    (And why not?
    The Hero's die...)
    Walls
    If you see a wall,
    It's futile
    Forget about tearing it down,
    Just take a crayon
    And scribble in your finest scrawl
    On it
    One word...Just a
    Word will do...
    What word?
    I leave that up to you...


                                            - Klaus Gerken 11/11/92



    HAPPY
    ~~~~~
    People are so happy
    When they think they're happy
    But they're not
         Begetting simplified solutions
         Begetting winter sun
         These people came undone
    People are so sad
    When they think they're sad
    But they're not
         Letting complicated sequences
         Build a wall around them
         Letting walls of hope abuse them
    People are so silly
    When they think they're silly
    But they're not
         The Devil understands them
         The gods with their minds obscure
         What they think they're fighting for
    People are patriotic
    When they think they're patriotic
    But they're not
         Like lost sailors on the ocean
         Longing for a home
         They hug any shore for even though it isn't home
    People are so diplomatic
    When they think they're diplomatic
    But they're not
         The shadow lies within them
         Their eyes and actions tell the tale
         When their lying fails
    People are so happy
    When they thin they're happy
    But they're not
         They run into the temple
         Splatter incense on their soul
         Their soul deserts them...fools!


                                            - Klaus Gerken  11/11/92



    PRINCE OF DARKNESS
    ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
    He sits in a bar in old Hamburg
    He waits for the darkness to appear
    He lives for the moment no one else thinks real
    He waits for the ships to come in
    He waits for the prostitute
    He waits by the harbour light
    He waits for the rats

    He is the Prince of Darkness
    And there's nothing that he lacks
    He is the Prince of Darkness
    And he carries off your soul
    Beware the Prince of Darkness
    He is a vampire in disguise
    He tells little children lies

    He sits in a bar in any city
    He waits for the darkness to appear
    You see him hunger in the alleys
    Or on the front lawn
    He is the Prince of Darkness
    And he gathers all the rats

    He is everyman
    He sells ice cream on the corner
    He sells heroin on the streets
    He sells cocaine in the hallways
    He haunts the schools for sex
    He is the Prince of Darkness
    Who is next...


                                            - Klaus Gerken  11/11/92





    TRITE
    ~~~~~
    Oh yes I am empty!
    The echoes tremendous, to me,
    Like the moving dust blowing
    In so many empty warehouses,
    Simply...

    Yes, I AM common,
    Trite as rickety rhymes
    From the playhouse
    Of some young dead poet,
    In this room, somewhere,
    Tease me singing:
    "Hickory Dickory Duck,
     I'm afraid, you're really stuck!"

    I laugh, but still,
    By some soul doctor
    I am drained so,
    Gripping our catheter
    Pouring out my creativity
    Now up to my knees
    The rainbow puddle,
    And it is early...

    Powerless
    I still mettle
    But so feeble
    Dried and crinkle, finally,
    I STRIKE!
    But only in some old bowling alley,
    I am the pins,
    And tumble in many infertile parts
    Onto that kind of wooden floor...


                                            - Andrew Blevins



    ONE LAST QUESTION
    ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
    Peddling darkness
    and absorbing the storm,
    ailing health
    with a torment adorn

    Crouched waiting it would seem
    arms reaching most painfully towards a dream
    I spy a light in the distance
    my mind spawns a scream!

    Oh for you it is I see
    oh blow the dark clouds away
    with the image of thee,
    let the shine of this image show through
    fill me with a faith
    this ailing spirit can trust true

    I know of the peddling I have done
    the things of wrong
    I see you now shun
    but oh I ask of you,
    In the blur of a watering eye
    to touch you and feel you
    at least once
    before I die...


                                            - Andrew Blevins



    THE FOUR WAYWARD ARTISTS
    ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
    In the vast salt marsh, we,
    who angered the Pharaoh
    are two pairs of outcast artists,
    with our camels, rested upon the delta,
    removed our last goods from donkeybacks,
    and with our tattered kilts below our feet,
    naked, crying inside, we shared only bread, onions
    and a swallow each, of purposely tainted beer
    from a jar sealed with a lump of mud,
    and with no entertainment or servants
    consumed our last meal, in quiet solitude
    while watching evening fall on the Jordan

    Tired of life, yet not tired of art
    we had travelled on foot from the Nile,
    wanting artist's deaths, and knew
    our last weeping would not echo
    through the badlands or the scrub
    as our tainted bodies and weakened animals
    died peacefully, under a salty wind,
    at the breast of the Dead Sea


                                            - Andrew Blevins





            WHORES OF MY MIND
            ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
            created by my imagination
            for my sole pleasure
            do what i want
            then do a bit more

            twisted imagination
            covers up
            reality

            my eternal slaves
            my eternal servants
            my indentured whores

            my beautiful delusions
            never really clean
            dancing in the flames
            of my violent lil' dreams

            light you up
            burn you down
            tear you up to chunks
            anyway i want

            sometimes i really scare me
            sometimes i really feel some guilt
            but mostly i feel nothin'
            but my anger building up.


                                            - Igal Koshevoy (DF&JTB)
                                              April 4, 1993; 05:21am
                                              RADIOACTIVE STUPOR 12:1



    ANOTHER LIFE DRAINS AWAY
    ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
    ...another braindead genius, another fallen hero.
    the desire, why fight it?
    need i fight this losing battle?
    need i fight this lost war?
    just give in, give in and die - like a good lil' soldier.
    it is always there
        waiting.
    can't shut the door on it.
    out, can't keep it out.
    it gets inside
        always.
    and spreads its cold anodized wings
        inside me.
    till i shiver to the bone.

    must my drug be so alluring?
    must my disease be so terminal?
    can't i be an ostrich and hide my head in the sands?
    the sands of time,
        they grind me and tear me away.
    so quickly, so slow - so persistently.

    the procession of Tyme marches on.
    click, click - tick, tock - blam, blam.
    another soul goes to heaven,
    another soul goes to Hell
    in a freight elevator.

    oh why can't i give in?
    it feels so nice to lose a bit of your soul,
        sell it down river,
            lose a little reality that clings like lichen to the
                unbeating heart.
    feels so good
        to lose.
    so good
        to give it away.

    i want to lose:
        everything.
    let it all out
        till i'm as dry as the straw in a deserted basement.
    it's so hard to just say no,
        as it rides through me
            on nerves of steel.
    so hard,
        so good,
            so painful to behold.
    and it flows,
        flows,
            flows.
    close my eyes,
        but still my tears flow down,
            down,
                down.
    i lost.
    i lost another meaningless battle, another meaningless struggle.
    nothing left to do
        but drag the mutilated corpses away
            (feed them to the fires)
                and make room for the blood shed to come.

    blam.
    another soul to heaven?
    no another soul to Hell...
    blam, blam, blam....


                                             -Igal Koshevoy (4 DF&m&s&S);
                                              March 29, 1993
                                              RADIOACTIVE STUPOR 1:5





    WHO AM I KIDDING
    ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
    My brain is jammed
    My mind reeling
    Tumbling around inside my head!
    I'm in this war
    So I might as well fight
    I'm in this life
    so I might as well live
    I may just be a pawn in the scheme of things
    But I'm important to me!!
    and if I keep telling myself that
    I might actually believe it someday!
    Who am I kidding?
    I don't care about me
    I don't care about money
    or power
    I just want to get through the day
    without the thought of suicide passing through my brain!
    I don't need her
    I don't need friends
    I don't need money
    All I need is a razor blade and a place to lie!!


                                            - Joseph Hope



            LET'S START A WAR
            ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
            Let's start a war
            and just kill
            destroy all people
            do some poetic cleansing!
            Death is the way
            we can express ourselves
            use death to get the point across!
            "Oww!!" He screams
            as he's whipped repeatedly
            tears streaming down his face
            He curses
            His father whips harder
            "I hate you"
            "Good!"
            "DIE!!"
            The bullet flies
            and dADDY dies
            as Mommy nurses her baby's wounds!
            Let's start this war
            so we can end it
            end all the pain
            by killing all
            then we'll live
            just you and me
            left alone to nurse our wounds!!!


                                            - Joseph Hope





    WHY?
    ~~~
    Why?
    Tell me why it is that in an
    art school I cannot choose to
    create what I wish to create?
    Why should I conform to the
    wishes of a Professor's vision
    rather than my own?
    Why is it that they tell me what
    I am to do, and how I am to do it?
    Is art not a personal experience?
    Why should I share my experience
    with you?
    I would gladly share it,
    just do not impose your vision upon me!

    Why?
    Why do they do this to me?
    How can they evaluate what they
    cannot see?
    Why do they insist upon trying to
    change me?
    When they change my art they are
    trying to change me.
    I refuse to conform to the personal
    vision of another.
    I refuse to create in the manner in
    which you do.
    I am not you.
    If they could just open their minds,
    let me walk my way through it,
    I need no guide.
    Help is certainly appreciated,
    when asked for.
    I did not come here to learn how
    you go about art.
    I came here to learn more about
    my art.
    I came here to experience art,
    to consume all I can.

    My peers,
    they have disappointed me somewhat.
    To think I would be able to get
    away from those closed-minded to art,
    those who are closed to the works
    of Picasso and the likes,
    those who can accept and enjoy
    modern art;
    then to find that they themselves
    have closed their minds,
    they have become the infantile
    philistine's who denounce it.
    They see art as a business opportunity,
    I hold a much different view.
    Art is a personal experience,
    if you can enjoy revenue from it,
    that is a bonus,
    not a requirement.
    They have been consumed by a
    commercialized society,
    they hold an unpure view.
    Commercialization is fine,
    as long as it is taken in moderation.

    The world of art has taken a
    downward curve,
    no longer is art a passion,
    no longer is art personal expression,
    art is a business now.
    To the few of us who hold a more
    passionate view of art,
    I bid you not become depressed,
    for although there seems to be
    few of us anymore,
    our presence will always be felt.


                                            - Shawn Tribe






            Rainbow
            ~~~~~~~
            Let life drain
            from your brain
            mingling
            with the rainbow

            The gun
            i used
            has dropped
            from my cold fingers

            Falling
            falling
            through the clouds

            Landing
            in a pile of refuse
            lost and forgotten
            in a garbage dump

            And I?
            i am part of the rainbow


                                            - Judy Tucker



            Falling petals...
            ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
               Fragile Rose
            Alone among weeds
               Your time is coming
            They are closing in
               You wait
            And shiver in the breeze
            As your petals fall...
               Ah, you are no more
               The Weeds
            Strangled
            Your beauty
            Out of existence


                                            - Judy Tucker




             Shadow...
             ~~~~~~
             Shadow rob me of my mind
             I gift you...me
             Then crumble my flesh
             To the fires
             My eyes
             To the birds
             My soul
             To hell
             But leave the bones
             For the lonely to walk upon


                                            - Judy Tucker





                        NAME THAT WAR
                        =============

There is a war where
      they take no prisoners;
      the casualties pile mercilessly up high;
      "Insanity is just another word for survival;
          and Death is the easy way out;"
      you always sleep with the enemy;
      the stakes are too high,
          too damn high;
      the ovens burn night and night;
      the souls are crematories;
      the minds are ovens;
      love is another four letter word;
      feelings kill;
      vision blinds;
      knowledge stupefies;
      everyone loses;
      no one wins;
      no one gets out alive;
      "Fear is the mind killer;"

There is a war where
      "Blood flows apon the plains in tides;"
      pain has no meaning;
      we all want MORE;
      bullets are the least of your worries;
      there is no such thing as a non-combatant,
          no civilians;
      it's for the love of God;
      suicide is an excuse for wimps;
      "pity" is a sign of weakness;
      blood is the only currency;
      you can't find no understanding;
      "mercy" is a disease to be weeded out with a chainsaw;
      madness is rampant;
      lunacy is abound;
      the only thing given is pain;
      "Hero" is not a word in anyones' vocabulary;
      everything is more than just a pain in the neck;
      it's in the name of humanity;
      everything is "so hard to come by,
                                         and so much harder to hold;"

There is a war where
      Hell is the only destination;
      knives can only inflict meager flesh wounds;
      "I need all the love that I can get;"
      "I need all the love that I can't get to;"
      it's on the edge of insanity;
      everyone is trapped, inside;
      each road is a Highway of Death,
          and all roads lead down - straight down;
      everyone's "comfortably numb;"
      the world is cold,
          "I'd buy another if it wasn't for the money;"
      everyone is "Another black hole in the killing zone,
          a little more mad in the methedrome."

There is a war where
      "...all you've got to do is follow;"
      the old are crated up and shipped in coffins too early;
      the young are decimated, and then thrown into the fire;
      everyone is a soldier, warrior, general,
          and most important, a kamikaze;
      no one is spared;
      "Pain is the game;"
      murder is survival;
      killing is existence;
      all are spies;
      "First and last and always, till the end of time;"
      every street is Detonation Blvd.;
      "it goes on and on and on ... and on ...."
      everyone is a stranger passing through an inhospitable town;

There is a war where
      Hell is a way of life,
          and peace is a drunken daydream;
      "reality" is a word you can only be used in quotes;
      The Horsemen ride a fortnight each night;
      "Hell sets you free;"
      agony and defeat are a way of life;
      "glory" is nothing more than five meaningless characters;
      wish turns to sadness;
      the word "guilt" isn't in the dictionary,
          because what's the use for a word for something that never departs;
      everyone just steps aside;
      Sorrow is a dead monkey on your back;
      Killing is the Business;
      "It all seems funny, kinda like a dream - so sad, so sad;"
      Fear is a death sentence of the meek;
      the sweet untimely whore, takes me home;
      "honor" is an atrocity;
      everyone is sick;
      we are all evil;
      all are in a state of COMA;
      the bells toll for no one;
      they have been fighting for over five million years;
      "Time is having its way with you;"

Here is a war where
      we're all right next door to Hell;
      "You can sell one another for 15 cents,
          well, buy my mother - that's common sense!"
      the acrid, metal rain of shrapnel falls night in, night out;
      there is pain, yet no gain;
      lifejackets are only wishful thinking;
      they all burn alive;
      it's the ultimate war of attrition;
      cries of the wounded are only silenced with gunfire;
      Denial is a necessity,
          it's not just a state of mind anymore....


                     "What the fuck is the name of this war!?
                     "What is this age-old, ancient curse, this pestilence!?
                     "HUH!?"

Well, I don't know,
        but what I do know is
                 that some bastard had the nerve to call it
                                                                  "life."


                                             -Igal Koshevoy
                                              December 13th, 1992
                                              MECHANIX 1:1






   ͸ ͸ ͸ ͸      ͸ ͸ ͸  ͸ ͸    ͸
   ;    ͸           ͸     Ѿ    ;           
       ; ;           ; ;             ;   
  

      From THE SPECTATOR No. 34; Monday, April 9, 1711

           "Parcit Cognatis maculis similis fera..." -Juv.

      The Club of which I  am  a  member,  is  very luckily composed of such
  Persons as are engaged in different Ways of Life, and deputed as  it  were
  out  of  the  most  conspicuous  Classes  of  Mankind:  By this Means I am
  furnished with the greatest Variety of Hints and Materials, and know every
  thing that passes in  the  different  Quarters  and Divisions, not only of
  this great City, but of the  whole  Kingdom.   My  Readers  too  have  the
  Satisfaction  to find, that there is no Rank or Degree among them who have
  not their Representative in this Club,  and that there is always some Body
  present who will take Care of their respective Interests, that nothing may
  be written or published to he Prejudice or Infringement  of  their  Rights
  and Privileges.

     I last Night sat very late in Company with this select Body of Friends,
  who  entertained  me  with  several Remarks which they and others had made
  upon these my Speculations, as  also  with  the various Success which they
  had met with amongst their several Ranks and Degrees  of  Readers.   WILL.
  HONEYCOMB  told  me,  in the softest manner he could, that there were some
  Ladies (but for your Comfort, says  WILL.   they are not those of the most
  Wit) that were offended at the Liberties I had taken with  the  Opera  and
  the Puppet-Show: That some of them were likewise very much surprised, that
  I should think such serious Points as the Dress and Equipage of Persons of
  Quality, proper Subjects for Raillery.

     He  was  going on, when Sir ANDREW FREEPORT took him up short, and told
  him, that the Papers he hinted  at  had  done  great Good in the City, and
  that all their Wives and Daughters were the better for them:  And  further
  added,  that the whole City thought themselves very much obliged to me for
  declaring my generous Intentions to scourge  Vice and Folly as they appear
  in a Multitude, without condescending to  be  a  Publisher  of  particular
  Intreagues  and  Cuckoldoms.  In short, says SIR ANDREW, if you avoid that
  foolish beaten Road of falling upon Aldermen and Citizens, and employ your
  Pen upon the Vanity and  Luxury  of  Courts,  your  Paper must needs be of
  general Use.

     Upon this my Friend the TEMPLER told SIR ANDREW, That  he  wondered  to
  hear  a  Man of his Sense talk after that manner; that the City had always
  been the Province for  Satyr;  and  that  the  Wits of Kings Charles' Time
  jested upon nothing else during his whole Reign.  He then shewed,  by  the
  Examples  of  Horace, Juvenal, Boileau, and the best Writers of every Age,
  that the Follies of  the  Stage  and  Court  had  never been accounted too
  sacred for Ridicule, how great soever the Persons might be that Patroniz'd
  them.  But after all, says he, I think your Raillery has made too great an
  Excursion, in attacking several Persons of the Inns of Court; and I do not
  believe you  can  shew  me  any  Precedent  for  your  Behaviour  in  that
  Particular.

     My  good  Friend  SIR  ROGER DE COVERLEY, who had said nothing all this
  while, began his Speech with a Pish!  and told us, That he wondered to see
  so many Men of sense so very serious upon Fooleries.  Let our good Friend,
  says he, attack every one that  deserves  it: I would only advise you, Mr.
  SPECTATOR, applying himself to me to take care how  you  meddle  with  the
  Country Squires: They are the Ornaments of the English Nation; Men of Good
  Heads  and  sound  Bodies!   and let me tell you, some of them take ill of
  you, that you mention Fox-hunters with so little Respect.

     Captain SENTRY spoke very sparingly on this Occasion.  What he said was
  only to commend my Prudence in not  touching upon the Army, and advised me
  to continue to act discreetly in that Point.

     By this time I found every Subject of my Speculations  was  taken  away
  from  me,  by  one or the other of the Club; and began to think my self in
  the Condition of the good man that had  one Wife who took a Dislike to his
  grey Hairs, and another to his black, till by their picking out what  each
  of them had an Aversion to, they left his Head altogether bald and naked.

     While  I  was  thus musing with myself, my worthy Friend the Clergyman,
  who, very luckily for me, was at  the Club that Night, undertook my Cause.
  He told us, that he wondered any Order of Persons should think  themselves
  too  considerable  to  be advis'd: That it was not Quality, but Innocence,
  which exempted Men from Reproof: That  Vice and Folly ought to be attacked
  where-ever they could be met with, and especially when they were placed in
  high and conspicuous Stations of Life.  He further added,  That  my  Paper
  would  only serve to aggravate the Pains of Poverty, of it chiefly exposed
  those who are already depress'd, and in some measure turned into Ridicule,
  by the Meanness  of  their  Conditions  and  Circumstances.  He afterwards
  proceeded to take Notice of the great Use this Paper might be  of  to  the
  Publick,  by  reprehending  those  Vices  which  are  too  trivial for the
  Chastisement of the Law,  and  too  fantastical  for the Cognizance of the
  Pulpit.  He then advised me to prosecute my Undertaking with Cheerfulness;
  and assured me, that whoever might be displeased  with  me,  I  should  be
  approved  by all those whose Praises do Honour to the Persons on whom they
  are bestowed.

     The whole Club pays  a  particular  Deference  to the Discourse of this
  Gentleman, and are drawn  into  what  he  says,  as  much  by  the  candid
  ingenuous  Manner  with  which  he delivers himself, as by the Strength of
  Argument and Force of  Reason  which  he  makes  use of.  WILL.  HONEYCOMB
  immediately agreed, that what he had said was  right;  and  that  for  his
  Part,  he  would not insist upon the Quarter which he had demanded for the
  Ladies.  SIR ANDREW gave up the City with the same Frankness.  The TEMPLER
  would not stand out; and was  followed  by  Sir ROGER and the CAPTAIN: Who
  all agreed that I should be at Liberty to carry the War into what  Quarter
  I  pleased; provided I continue to combat with Criminals in a Body, and to
  assault the Vice without hurting the Person.

     This Debate, which was held for the  Good of Mankind, put me in mind of
  that which the Roman Triumvirate  were  formerly  engaged  in,  for  their
  Destruction.   Every  Man  at  first  stood hard for his Friend, till they
  found that by this  Means  they  should  spoil  their Proscription: And at
  length, making a  Sacrifice  of  all  their  Acquaintance  and  Relations,
  furnished out a very decent Execution.

     Having thus taken my Resolutions to march boldly in the Cause of Virtue
  and  good Sense, and to annoy their Adversaries in whatever Degree or Rank
  of Men they may be  found:  I  shall  be  deaf  for  the future to all the
  Remonstrances that shall be made to me on this account.   If  Punch  grows
  extravagant,  I  shall  reprimand  him very freely: If the Stage becomes a
  Nursery of Folly and  Impertinence,  I  shall  not be afraid to animadvert
  upon it.  In short, If I meet with any thing in City, Court,  or  Country,
  that  shocks  Modesty  or good Manners, I shall use my utmost Endeavour to
  make an Example of it.   I  must  however entreat every particular Person,
  who does me the Honour to be a  Reader  of  this  Paper,  never  to  think
  himself,  or  any one of his Friends or Enemies, aimed at in what is said:
  For I promise him, never to draw  a faulty Character which does not fit at
  least a Thousand People; or to publish a single Paper, that is not written
  in the Spirit of Benevolence, and with a love of Mankind.


                                            - Joseph Addison














                                                                            
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   ۳    ۳  ۳ ۿ        ۳   ۳ ۳  ۳ ۳ ۳
                          

         ۿ ۿ ۿ ۿ ۿ ۿ ۿ ۿ ۿ
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         ۳ ۳ ۳ ۳  ۳ ۳ ۳ ۳  ۳  ۳    
         ۳ ۳ ۳ ۳  ۳ ۳ ۳ ۳  ۳  ۳ ۳      ۳ ۳
         ۳ ۳ ۳ ۳ ۳ ۿ ۳ ۿ
                




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            THE AFFLICTED, a poem by KJ Gerken
            THE CONFERENCE ANTHOLOGY edited by KJ Gerken
            FRAGMENTS OF A BRIEF ENCOUNTER, poems by KJ Gerken
            THE BREAKING OF DESIRE (1986), poems by KJ Gerken
            DIAMOND DOGS (1992), poems by KJ Gerken
            FULL BLACK Q (1975), a poem by KJ Gerken
            KILLING FIELDS (1992), a poem by KJ Gerken
            ONE NEW FLASH OF LIGHT (1976), a play by KJ Gerken
            FURTHER SONGS 1986, songs by KJ Gerken
            THE WIZARD EXPLODED SONGBOOK (1969), songs by KJ Gerken

            Coming soon: POEMS OF DESTRUCTION, poems by KJ Gerken
  

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  All poems copyrighted by their respective authors.   Any  reproduction  of
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  YGDRASIL A Journal of the Poetic Arts: Copyright (c) 1993 by KJ Gerken

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