Essays of Multiple Sorts ~~Two~~
(Various Nonverse Attempts)
by
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I suppose that a rose flutters. Many a day enjoys that possibility. All in all, such precepts presume and prick. Where am I perhaps going with this? I detect a supposedly fluttering joy. Now let us ask ourselves something. Let me propose something important and possibly destined.
Nature must persistently knock if Nature is a knock, knock, knock. When we gather the petals of a rose together, any fragrance that emerges may help sort things out. Each day stays daylike from dawn to dawn. No matter how the dog days come, here we are.
Intimidate you I will not, nor can I. The apparatuses of Nature proclaim your appearance all too darling for anything but songs that do not singe. By the lakes are proofs of your sweetness. Alas, I suppose too much. Our eyelids forever flutter, and we may be too hip to be happy.
In time the truth will come far further out. Life will be a route that rots not. Oh, these sounds Time reddens life much, and I truly begin to feel incensed at my sorrow. In the inveteracy of daytime is an evidently shattering little enjoyment.
Fun things are said to keep happening. That is, the saying of fun things is for the purpose of repetition, and some folk say that (yes ) fun things keep happening and sharpening; also, the rose among us is clearest proof.
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About the Book
Essays of Multiple Sorts ~~Two~~ involves an attempt to improve older texts by a process of editing. The individual pieces are decidedly outside of what generally might be considered verse formats. Some of the offerings might seem wonderfully brief, whereas at least several might seem decidedly toward verbose. Though apparently likely to fail rather badly, the author tried to accomplish some valid orchestrations of English.
About the Author
Bruce Hamilton, a rather solitary Californian, attended Yale College for two years. He assiduously has devoted most of his literary practicing to such basic pieces as limericks and sonnets. His recent “literary hero” was and still is Jorge Luis Borges, toward whose pessimisms about language and literature he remains sympathetic.