Langweiligkeit
Note to reader: Langweiligkeit is a German word, whose English equivalent is rarely used: Boringness. I use the term with Hegel's Phenomenology of the Spirit (1807) in mind. Hegel writes about the death of the gods and the death of God. After the gods have been erased from consciousness, the world becomes boring. That state of boringness is modernity’s fundamental characteristic, notes Hegel. I take up the issue in this poem. Note that once the gods are killed off, man turns on himself, as in this poem. We see this experience very strongly in Nietzsche, who turned his radical vivisection on God, on every thing people held of value, and then on himself. He became unable to function. Hegel and Nietzsche are, in my judgment, the two brightest, most powerful intellects of the 19th century. We live in their shadows. They both live in my thoughts.
A. Song of the death of gods
The stars of heaven
Have disappeared from our sight;
Daylight has arrived,
The new world’s enlightenment,
Eclipsing stars, planets, moon.
And the world has become
Langweilig, boring to us,
Who endure the light--
Sunlight, artificial light,
And false lights we make ourselves.
The gods have vanished,
Exiled from our learned minds,
Aphrodite gone,
But Eros, reduced to lust,
We permit to play around.
No more creation,
All’s been made by random chance,
And we, you and I,
Are cosmic mistakes or jokes,
Concocted by randomness.
Eat, drink, be merry,
For tomorrow you may die,
And then stark nothing,
No consciousness of anything:
All “Unbewusst, höchste Lust.”
So sings Isolde
Over Tristan’s dead body
As she also dies.
And the curtain is lowered,
Signifying nothingness.
How dark is our world,
When the gods were taken out,
Replaced by one God,
Who in due turn was murdered,
Left to decay in churches.
Where have you all gone,
Wonders of the living world,
Gods and goddesses,
Most lovely Aphrodite,
Who sang songs in lovers’ ears?
Ugly is music
When the Muses cease singing,
And man the maker
Replaces man who wonders
In awe of cosmic beauties.
How weary, stale, flat
And unprofitable has grown
Our too modern age,
When we’ve only diversions
To keep us from mere boredom.
Illusions alone
Give meaning to many lives,
To the ungrounded,
Who slide into nothingness,
Pursuing their empty dreams.
Without illusions,
What gives meaning to most lives?
The pursuit of fame
And fortune—for what vain purposes?
And pleasure after pleasure,
Lover after lover,
That ceases only in death;
Fleeting illusions
Are all that keep many here,
Weakly tethered to the air.
Without drugs and pills,
Booze and desserts, who could bear
Time’s brief emptiness,
Before the mortal body
Is laid upon a hard slab?
B. The soul turns against itself
And you, little man,
What are the stale illusions
That lighten your way
From nothing to nothingness,
From consciousness to your death?
Consider your life,
And how you propped yourself up,
Trying to survive
The vicissitudes and pains
Of a life not nobly lived.
Examine yourself,
Reflect on how you endure;
With what illusions
Are you dulling your life’s pains?
What fantasies fascinate?
Drunk on love again?
Alcohol was not enough?
Whom did you ensnare
In your craven heart’s cravings,
Before the bird flew away?
What were you seeking?
Do you even know yourself?
Release from your pains,
From your heart’s old sufferings
That have ever pursued you?
You cannot escape
Your self and your sufferings,
So why not own them,
Face your inner emptiness,
In all of its ugliness.
Are you now cornered?
Where are all your illusions?
What savior will come
And free you from your trapped self?
Where are your vain wishes now?
Empty is the man
Who breaks from reality.
Naked is the man
Whose illusions drop away,
And who must face truth’s floodlight.
What? No argument?
No way to deceive yourself?
No one to cling to?
Would you choose to end your life
Rather than to change your ways?
Foolish little man
How high you soared on love’s wings
Without admitting
That your wings were stolen goods,
Your flight a flight to nowhere.
You sought to escape
From your tortured inner life;
And now you are trapped,
A caught and caged little bird,
Without your own song to sing.
C. Song of my Soul
You have gone too far.
I’m not a caged little bird,
Nor were wings stolen;
A friend made me wings for flight,
And I await love’s breezes.
I still hear Muses
Singing in the soul’s dark night;
I can see the gods
Shining in the starry skies;
And beauty over-awes my soul.
The world’s not boring
To a soul willing to love;
Love can be deceived,
And foolish with affections
When cravings devour unchecked.
But well-restrained love--
The greatest gift of the gods--
Breaks the cage’s bars,
And carries the bird skyward
Towards the governing sun.
I was made to love,
Created in Love’s image;
Even though I’ve failed,
And in truth not loved so well,
Love still blesses my efforts.
Love renews one’s loves;
When our efforts fall far short,
We are not condemned,
But reinvigorated
By Love’s powerful mercy.
I shall live to love;
Empowered by acceptance
Granted by Love’s friends,
I shall fall, rise, fall again,
And rise to love’s pure callings.
Lest illusions rule,
I shall seek Love’s wise counsel,
And prune from my heart
Selfish cravings that arise,
Refusing their loud demands.
And cravings will come,
Betraying love’s holy call
To give, not to take,
Deeming your friend’s true welfare
More important than your own.
Who loves selfishly
Lives in a shabby bird cage;
The zealous lover
May well venture out too far,
But Love’s wisdom will check him.
I know my challenge:
To refuse selfish demands,
To restrain excess,
To learn to wait patiently,
To trust that Love will triumph.
I need to trust you,
My friend, whoever you are,
That you will follow
The call of truer love, too;
I leave you free to depart.
True love does not grasp,
But leaves the beloved free:
“The Lord has given
The Lord has taken away,
Blest be the name of the Lord.”
—Wm. P. McKane
18 January 2020
The stars of heaven
Have disappeared from our sight;
Daylight has arrived,
The new world’s enlightenment,
Eclipsing stars, planets, moon.
And the world has become
Langweilig, boring to us,
Who endure the light--
Sunlight, artificial light,
And false lights we make ourselves.
The gods have vanished,
Exiled from our learned minds,
Aphrodite gone,
But Eros, reduced to lust,
We permit to play around.
No more creation,
All’s been made by random chance,
And we, you and I,
Are cosmic mistakes or jokes,
Concocted by randomness.
Eat, drink, be merry,
For tomorrow you may die,
And then stark nothing,
No consciousness of anything:
All “Unbewusst, höchste Lust.”
So sings Isolde
Over Tristan’s dead body
As she also dies.
And the curtain is lowered,
Signifying nothingness.
How dark is our world,
When the gods were taken out,
Replaced by one God,
Who in due turn was murdered,
Left to decay in churches.
Where have you all gone,
Wonders of the living world,
Gods and goddesses,
Most lovely Aphrodite,
Who sang songs in lovers’ ears?
Ugly is music
When the Muses cease singing,
And man the maker
Replaces man who wonders
In awe of cosmic beauties.
How weary, stale, flat
And unprofitable has grown
Our too modern age,
When we’ve only diversions
To keep us from mere boredom.
Illusions alone
Give meaning to many lives,
To the ungrounded,
Who slide into nothingness,
Pursuing their empty dreams.
Without illusions,
What gives meaning to most lives?
The pursuit of fame
And fortune—for what vain purposes?
And pleasure after pleasure,
Lover after lover,
That ceases only in death;
Fleeting illusions
Are all that keep many here,
Weakly tethered to the air.
Without drugs and pills,
Booze and desserts, who could bear
Time’s brief emptiness,
Before the mortal body
Is laid upon a hard slab?
B. The soul turns against itself
And you, little man,
What are the stale illusions
That lighten your way
From nothing to nothingness,
From consciousness to your death?
Consider your life,
And how you propped yourself up,
Trying to survive
The vicissitudes and pains
Of a life not nobly lived.
Examine yourself,
Reflect on how you endure;
With what illusions
Are you dulling your life’s pains?
What fantasies fascinate?
Drunk on love again?
Alcohol was not enough?
Whom did you ensnare
In your craven heart’s cravings,
Before the bird flew away?
What were you seeking?
Do you even know yourself?
Release from your pains,
From your heart’s old sufferings
That have ever pursued you?
You cannot escape
Your self and your sufferings,
So why not own them,
Face your inner emptiness,
In all of its ugliness.
Are you now cornered?
Where are all your illusions?
What savior will come
And free you from your trapped self?
Where are your vain wishes now?
Empty is the man
Who breaks from reality.
Naked is the man
Whose illusions drop away,
And who must face truth’s floodlight.
What? No argument?
No way to deceive yourself?
No one to cling to?
Would you choose to end your life
Rather than to change your ways?
Foolish little man
How high you soared on love’s wings
Without admitting
That your wings were stolen goods,
Your flight a flight to nowhere.
You sought to escape
From your tortured inner life;
And now you are trapped,
A caught and caged little bird,
Without your own song to sing.
C. Song of my Soul
You have gone too far.
I’m not a caged little bird,
Nor were wings stolen;
A friend made me wings for flight,
And I await love’s breezes.
I still hear Muses
Singing in the soul’s dark night;
I can see the gods
Shining in the starry skies;
And beauty over-awes my soul.
The world’s not boring
To a soul willing to love;
Love can be deceived,
And foolish with affections
When cravings devour unchecked.
But well-restrained love--
The greatest gift of the gods--
Breaks the cage’s bars,
And carries the bird skyward
Towards the governing sun.
I was made to love,
Created in Love’s image;
Even though I’ve failed,
And in truth not loved so well,
Love still blesses my efforts.
Love renews one’s loves;
When our efforts fall far short,
We are not condemned,
But reinvigorated
By Love’s powerful mercy.
I shall live to love;
Empowered by acceptance
Granted by Love’s friends,
I shall fall, rise, fall again,
And rise to love’s pure callings.
Lest illusions rule,
I shall seek Love’s wise counsel,
And prune from my heart
Selfish cravings that arise,
Refusing their loud demands.
And cravings will come,
Betraying love’s holy call
To give, not to take,
Deeming your friend’s true welfare
More important than your own.
Who loves selfishly
Lives in a shabby bird cage;
The zealous lover
May well venture out too far,
But Love’s wisdom will check him.
I know my challenge:
To refuse selfish demands,
To restrain excess,
To learn to wait patiently,
To trust that Love will triumph.
I need to trust you,
My friend, whoever you are,
That you will follow
The call of truer love, too;
I leave you free to depart.
True love does not grasp,
But leaves the beloved free:
“The Lord has given
The Lord has taken away,
Blest be the name of the Lord.”
—Wm. P. McKane
18 January 2020