Yes. part three was lost utterly in a Blog downtime.
So in it's place a poem by Mac
________________________--
Gregory Bateson Died
From Intelligent Design
The scramble and political fray
Agendas on the Earth pounding
Temporary wells of darkness
We all hollow out here
And there.
Bateson called and left a message
We do not take his calls
So caught in our own webs
We cannot see his beauty.
We see the exampled child
In a schoolchair in
Not the sea horse or the
Soft-shelled crab or
The ribbed back of the armadillo.
No.
We invite and like chance
And that alone like some
Death-invited lottery
Lest we have to deal
With You.
I woke up this morning
And before I could argue
You placed your thumbprint on
My reddened pinky finger
As it oozed from some
Quick yellow fire.
You cooed in my ear
A song of love
Then quickly
Retreated.
Gone. Alone.
I hate it when you do that.
Gregory Bateson is your ace
But you turn away from his cards
And decide, on a whim
For some other game
Leaving us to our current hand
Now lost
Just ink on papered cards
I heard the droplet
Hit the bottom of
A cold hard bucket
As those cards were fanned open
You have already moved on.
Okay, okay
Just give me a moment
To catch my breath
I still think Bateson
Is the ace.
But You do not care.
Nice tell.
Here is my ace…
You are weird.
Deeply so.
And Gregory Bateson’s hand
Is much better than mine.
2 comments:
I am going to finish reading the rest of this post later, but there are a few ID sites listed here that might be of some use to further this discussion...
well, i had to do a google on Bateson and have found there is much to learn!
But, your poem does do him justice. Very brilliant man who we don't hear much about.
Thanks for the lesson.
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