This is a poem that the beautiful Ander Monson has
made a wonderful broadside of.
I hope that you've gotten it.
And if not, that there's a few more for those
who haven't picked one up yet.
And he's done one for Farid as well.
So shout out to Ander.
Great guy numero uno.
Thank you.
This poem is based loosely on a Russian folk tale.
Very old Russian folk tale about a brother and sister.
"Whether the Goat is a Metaphor."
We go on talking and digging a pit in the Earth
to spit roast kid, since anyone working in a lively rhythm
is not attached to the story.
In saving her, he saves himself.
It's getting late.
The story of the boy is that, by drinking water from a hoof,
he's turned into a goat.
If we separate magic from life, we get art.
His sister, long story short, gets
thrown into a river with a stone around her neck.
His weeping stirs the neighbors with a silken net
to scoop her out.
He turns three somersaults of joy,
and lands on two feet as a boy again.
How, in heaven's name, will dinner be served and when?
Separate art from life, we get nothing.
We go on talking and digging.
I've got a million and ten things to do.
Of the multitude of things, it is
emptiness that's necessary now.
Now that you've had time to wash and dress.
As a form of enlightenment, the most unsuspecting guest
is your enemy in armor, or invisible,
who will clap you on the back when you
choke on a bone at the banquet.