Frank Corcoran

irish composer

MORE TEXTING ( MYSELF, MY CAPTIVE AUDIENCE )

– After Beckett’s line in ‘‘GODOT’’:
“The light gleams an instant”

Tiocfaidh ár lá, yes, do try to hang on to this always, but especially in
the fight for The Faith against all tonight’s Benedictine blandishments.
They, I was there, tunnelled upwards from Norcia’s grand Lower Chapel,
painting their genitalless Gesù at the third curve of the tufa in (their)
eighth century.
All is not lost. Lab – ora!

So therefore: Light = Dante’s ‘‘Prime Mover’’
(-Beckett’s, too, as
it so happened).

It gleams. My violin, bass-clarinet and cello must paint that ‘‘gleeeeeee’’
in full flight and its full-mouth stop.

Genuflecting as profoundly as a Luciferian will ever now, can ever click
the knee-muscle’s innate need to worship. – Now hang on! – WHY? Why
worship?
WHICH super-knee’s what’s behind much Dantesque dishonesty, trickery, archery? Precisely Whose knee? You may laugh. It is forbidden.

What therefore cuts off its gleaming? After, after all, one instant?

We supposed it’s His Prime Mover, – okay? Now watch, ye Benedictines! – Either:

1. its ‘‘gleaming’’ (still gleaming …. ?) is cut off after it has gleamed a full instant, remember; – but by WHOM, pray?

– or: 2. Supposing the light supposes it is worth
only supposing that it gleameth for a mere nothing, a nano -nothing ,
God’s mosquito-inspiring ‘‘instant’’?
This our light therefore decides to
cease now its gleaming, mother?
( ” Whist, alanna, would you stop all your gleamin’? ” )

A kind of Old Hebrew –Irish Divine Self-definition , you guess:
‘‘I gleam that which I shall
gleam?’’

Posted under: Humble Hamburg Musings

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