Recurrence

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Max Ernst

It’s a repetition of the recurrence
Don’t believe the hype
This ain’t no singularity
Nowt new beneath
The gaudy painted disk
That meanders monotonously
Against the banal backdrop
The Ingenue is always searching
In other people’s bathroom cabinets
And the Melancholy Lieutenant
Is eternally on the verge
Of nodding off, drifting away
To a place that only exists
Within the confines of his skull
While the Rebel is forever swerving
Just a fraction too late
On the rain slick Parisian street
The serpent eats it tails
So that whatever happens
Happens again just so
Everything returns
Exactly as it was
And there is no end in sight
Because there was never
A starting point to begin with
It’s the recurrence of a repetition

50 thoughts on “Recurrence

  1. So there’s nothing new under the sun… around and around we go doomed to repeat ourselves, snooping in bathroom cabinets and drifting off to dreamland. Well, what do say we bet it all on black?

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    1. Thank you… this was a late night special…the bathroom cabinet just came to me… the Ingenue and the Melancholy Lieutenant are characters, they haunt me. I have only recently discovered Ernst marvellous late period, simple but stunning art.

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  2. Mr. Cake, the Ernst is stunning, as is your poem. Perpetual repeat, that’s what it is, there’s no getting out, ever! Nice to see the Ingenue and the Melancholy Lieutenant again, yet I suspect they are always close at hand, as is the Rebel. Truly, a captivating poem, crossing over the threshold into a realm of an otherworldly dimension, the stuff dreams are made of. ~ Miss Cranes

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  3. This is a wonderful way to say something so simple yet with so many implications. I think I’m like the lieutenant. At least I’m always drifting inside my head…

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      1. Is he? Hmm. I will have to read him more closely. 😉 That is a worthwhile endeavor- dignity. Who understand anything? Not me…

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      1. Ruskin in “Of Truth of Space” has the triumvirate of unity, symmetry, and truth… (just read that, thought I’d add here. Though he’s referring to Turner’s paintings and observation of nature.)

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      2. Chance is just as slippery (practically the definition thereof). And if you pick it as the “third” in that triad, you are essentially admitting that beyond unity and symmetry the only Truth that remains is Chance.
        (Sophistry for the win.)

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  4. Soothing thought, because you can’t be right or wrong anyway. Everything will happen just the way it has to. That’s how humanity grows and stagnates at the same time, it’s the growing realisation that everything has been there before.

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