Professor Lucifer in the Arena of Angels
“. . . Zooplasty on a grand scale, Uncle’s
yen to adorn the soul with sense beyond
Xs sewn for eyes on sock dolls (Jacko’s
watch, a parallax in that lax, cross-eyed
vision: sight sans insight, its dazzled look
under scrutiny), hence, mind, rather, how
the mind, being an appendage to the
soul, is in the scheme of things meat met with
raison d’être for a treat, then the barbe-
cue where for dessert there shall be apple
pie flown back from Eden, a rare entrée
of undetermined fare preceded by
none other than a gangrene salad, a
much-maligned primordial soup, and, at
last, appetizers beneath a spell of
knelling, metaphysical handbells—no
jumbo tolls, no subliminal signal
invoking a horde of winged dogs to the
hunt. O, my incalculable lovelies,
gods of the loft that in such myriad
forms are but air, stacked vapor, and old light
everywhere but where you are, which of you—
deaf ears, hollow eyes, numb tongues, and no thumbs—
can tell me whereabouts besides the foul
bowels I shall make the incision, what
angle take to free from flesh the angel?”
by Karl Elder
For online definitions of “zooplasty,” see here. -Eds.
qarrtsiluni 
Whhhooooooo!
Socks knocked off, adjectives abject and inadequate.
The gods of the English language are dancing in heaven because Professor Lucifer is on the prowl. Elder gives the vowels and consonants a world-class workout. The bells of St. Mary’s couldn’t ring more resonantly than his words. Such repetitions, such echoes, such rhythms! Is the poet having fun or is the poet having fun? And when poets have fun of so great a caliber, we know we are in the presence of serious work. Who said, “Whoopjamboreehoos!”? Tom Sawyer? Huck Finn? I say it in response to this poem. You know about elderhostel. Now know about Eldermusic.
Elder has chosen a challenging form, and he still manages to keep a sense of playfulness. His use of sound and rhythms are simultaneously controlled yet aesthetically pleasing, and they continue to resonate with readers long after they’ve read the poem. Writing abecedariums is quiet a feat, but Elder seems to do it effortlessly.
Wow, that’s pretty bad. This is what gives contemporary poetry a bad name.
That’s great! It’s like Wallace Stevens and George Bush had a love-poetry child and taught it to tink-a-tank-tunk, gorge on burning bushes, and stall the evenings until the cauldrons were earled.
Darl R. Leek
That’s awesome!
Huge Karl Elder fan. Hope to see more of his work on your site.
*nodding head*
1st three lines really got me. Loved stacks of vapor and the play on angles. Inspired me to try one of my own.
Riveting – troubling. Imagery that imbedes itself into your head and then explodes.
revisiting Milton in the first person.