Orwell’s “1984” Redux–
by 
seanfarragher
|
Posted: Monday, April 25, 2005 Word Count: 387 Summary: "Grant that we may be one flock and one shepherd!" POPE BENEDICT XVI -- 24 April 2005 ------- From 1984: "He sat back. A sense of complete helplessness had descended upon him. To begin with, he did not know with any certainty that this was 1984. It must be round about that date, since he was fairly sure that his age was thirty-nine, and he believed that he had been born in 1944 or 1945; but it was never possible nowadays to pin down any date within a year or two." --George Orwell, 1984. Related Works: “Facts Are Stubborn Things” -- Revised 3 • Broken Photographs, Dutch Art and Time Machines • FOUND POEM & POEM: EUGENE GOODWIN AMERICAN CIVIL WAR DIARY • Hurrah, Hooray, Huzzah • Poems with Anais Nin • Stations of the Cross • Tsunami 12/26/2004 • Wonderful History -- • |
Orwell’s “1984” Redux–
"Grant that we may be one flock and one shepherd!"
POPE BENEDICT XVI
April 4th, 1984.
"He sat back. A sense of complete helplessness had descended upon him. To begin with, he did not know with any certainty that this was 1984. It must be round about that date, since he was fairly sure that his age was thirty-nine, and he believed that he had been born in 1944 or 1945; but it was never possible nowadays to pin down any date within a year or two." George Orwell, 1984.
1. Antithesis
Welcome my children
to the end of the world.
Pray with me for the revival
of glory, murder, surprise,
chance, sex, Mozart and Ice-T.
2. Recapitulation
What glorious music the lie of unity --
Imagine the landscapes, farms,
Metropolis, graveyards and birthing huts--
all of us run in rows, hold hands;
we are delighted, simple soap opera
lovers raised without sex or tension --
no resolution likely, no plots resolve;
we fake the transitions to keep
the horizon empty, -- no mountains
meddle with unity, --if we be one flock,
one shepherd would we ever change?
Who’s the next Galileo, Luther, Voltaire?
How do we grieve when life shortens
to the least surprise, facile magic?
How do we murder the false, invite
the accidental face of "imagine?"
How do we love the color red, yellow, orange
to the exclusion of green, violet, blue –
what grand Mozart do we proclaim
when one melody replaces multiple themes, --
grunts and groans wither on the vine
with hip did e hop hop -- a forgotten blast?
Is not human renaissance worth murder,
evolution, revival, sex, love and inequity?
Should we beware the pied piper
who leads us to zero; you cannot
divide by zero. The quotient
does not exist; we have forgotten
the sunrise, ignored the hurricane.
The surprise we did not plan
will not slip from the battlement
to revised arms of mass confusion.
3. Apocalypse
At first, Morning resumed,
twisted red and black with rage
when the oceans boiled, screamed
last sound of earth; --
madness was cured.
The sheep raced to the cliff,
stumbled; no one heard
the symphony; No one published
body counts or tactical advisory.
The Shepherd was not revived.
History walks invisible without flaw.
Hello “1984.”
##
"Grant that we may be one flock and one shepherd!"
POPE BENEDICT XVI
April 4th, 1984.
"He sat back. A sense of complete helplessness had descended upon him. To begin with, he did not know with any certainty that this was 1984. It must be round about that date, since he was fairly sure that his age was thirty-nine, and he believed that he had been born in 1944 or 1945; but it was never possible nowadays to pin down any date within a year or two." George Orwell, 1984.
1. Antithesis
Welcome my children
to the end of the world.
Pray with me for the revival
of glory, murder, surprise,
chance, sex, Mozart and Ice-T.
2. Recapitulation
What glorious music the lie of unity --
Imagine the landscapes, farms,
Metropolis, graveyards and birthing huts--
all of us run in rows, hold hands;
we are delighted, simple soap opera
lovers raised without sex or tension --
no resolution likely, no plots resolve;
we fake the transitions to keep
the horizon empty, -- no mountains
meddle with unity, --if we be one flock,
one shepherd would we ever change?
Who’s the next Galileo, Luther, Voltaire?
How do we grieve when life shortens
to the least surprise, facile magic?
How do we murder the false, invite
the accidental face of "imagine?"
How do we love the color red, yellow, orange
to the exclusion of green, violet, blue –
what grand Mozart do we proclaim
when one melody replaces multiple themes, --
grunts and groans wither on the vine
with hip did e hop hop -- a forgotten blast?
Is not human renaissance worth murder,
evolution, revival, sex, love and inequity?
Should we beware the pied piper
who leads us to zero; you cannot
divide by zero. The quotient
does not exist; we have forgotten
the sunrise, ignored the hurricane.
The surprise we did not plan
will not slip from the battlement
to revised arms of mass confusion.
3. Apocalypse
At first, Morning resumed,
twisted red and black with rage
when the oceans boiled, screamed
last sound of earth; --
madness was cured.
The sheep raced to the cliff,
stumbled; no one heard
the symphony; No one published
body counts or tactical advisory.
The Shepherd was not revived.
History walks invisible without flaw.
Hello “1984.”
##