his end upon his beginning, his beginning upon his end.
But he had not given much thought to the matter.
Nor to The Grail, the ecstasies of Love and War, Origins of The Sacred.
Nor to Rudeness and Civility - siamese siblings obstinate, obstreperous, quarreling.
Nor to the Give and Take of things that change, though the reciprocity be unequal,
grafting the river from its natural course to be, as all things, something other than itself.
In March of course, inasmuch as Nature befuddles itself as Man does himself, with dedication and routine.
Snow was no longer snow, grown to ice in an artic night preceding diffluent day.
And there was no mail: phlegmatic substance of the sum to him,
since supermarket broadsides and working-class advertisements from working class stores
working hard to appear not working-class
and so to give the working-class and in particular the poor working-class
some concept resistent to reason of being not working-class
and in particular not poor working-class, did not absorb him.
promising an image with malice refusing, or, in aging, only reluctantly when at all donating to consciousness.
It was a time of that type of time when images erase
leaving vacant sounds, and words that were words neither still nor rouse.
that he glimpsed something godly behind his ungodly creature.
Afterglow, he knew, knowing in his manner of knowing.
And in his manner of knowing he knew his departure to Nothingness came not on his death by natural means,
but that his death came upon This his coming to Nothingness.
And to Nothingness he had come by natural means; so to death he came by slaying himself: a natural means for he who by natural means had come to Nothingness.
And there has come a time - a time not so much of that far off type of time but still another hereafter type of time
- an anemic night in July or August, a burning night wishing for November,
and mopping plowed heads some one of them shall mouth of him ,
"oh he had an illness of some kind a disease, poor man and really so young a man
why i could have been his mother i wonder whatever became of her i understand he once had a sister too and a brother poor man".
Now. Had he been a different man with a different manner of thought,
the better for it he would feel should one of them exegete in formal eulogy
"he did not deny his death, his dying, his deadness,
his end upon his beginning , his beginning upon his end,
nor his aspiration, his inspiration, his expiration;
but he did rage all the moments of his dying locomotion in the dying of his light
he was a wise man early at his end and knew death's petulance and his word not a candle's worth."
But then had he been this different man with this different manner of thought
he'd have known in his different manner of knowing
all it could ever come to is some one them vomiting to his wife,
his neighbor, no one but himself, with specific gravity,
lilting at his sagacity "he always well almost always looked healthy
i mean he walked on his two feet never a cane
he slept a lot though i always thought he was probably a nice man
a bit lazy you know he didn't work
was too young to retire but i don't think he took the hand-out welfare
you know poor man why'd he do it had some sickness must have been"
John K. Terwilliger
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