Of labyrinths and cocks
Since it’s Friday, I’m reading fortunes for myself in a moment of relaxation with Grimaud’s Horoscope Belline.
I thought of the gift of poetry when I saw my cards. I hurried to pick up two of my favorite volumes of verses by Geoffrey Hill, The Triumph of Love and Treatise of Civil Power.
Whenever I open these books, I think to myself, ‘such is the gift of thought at its greatest.’ Mind you, though, some critics decided that Hill is not an accessible poet. ‘Accessible?’ he once retorted with vengeance. ‘Public toilets should be accessible, not poetry.’
Such is the power of the brave going against the undiscerning masses who can’t tell the difference between a poem and a poo. I get stuck on this line: ‘There’s a kind of sanity that hates weddings, but bears an intelligence of grief in its own kind.’
My heart eats this one, Venus style, since it’s Friday, did I not say? I take a sip of tea, top of the line too. Drink it from a favourite cup. One I picked up at an antique shop. Also a gift to a parliamentary, offered at a conference in Seoul 40 years ago. How did this pair, teacup and saucer for sweets, land in Denmark in the middle of nowhere? Don’t ask me, but you can ask Hill. He had a penchant for questions and answers.
Anyway, I’m here to say that we can read the cards in poetic ways, regardless of their looks and intentionality.
Here are some poetic lines that capture all of them on the table:
Enter the labyrinth and read the weather.
Don’t think of Judas and his relationship with cocks.
Think of heritage as a gift. One that’s received, not given.
A legacy you give to yourself in the form of the man who inspires it.
For such is the civil power of Eros at the core of the maze
Keeping secrets at the bottom of bottles floating freely
In an ocean of promised socks.
Of abundance.
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Philosophies
Let’s go with this Hermit as a manifestation of Geoffrey Hill, because, why not?
I invite you to read my book, What is Not, for fresh perspectives on the Marseille Tarot.
