Saturday, November 28, 2020

My Captain (in memoriam Robin Williams)

Two years later a great man passed away; I had always loved Robin's energy, his terrific sense of humour, his zaniness, his, well, humanity and I was wrenched when I heard he had died. I know over time it became a bit clearer that this wasn't necessarily wholly due to bipolar but here was a man who suffered from similar condition to me and I knew, I knew how terribly cruel this accursed infirmity affected the sufferer. Robin Williams brought so much happiness to so many, and the world, the horrid world paid him not back in kind. 

This poem has long lineage in that it's example of contemptus mundi, something Sir Walter Raleigh exemplified as figure I was examining in my Shakespeare book at the time. But there is more. There is love. And although I would eventually derive this from Christian source, for now I found it in the work of none other than David Icke whose brilliant book Infinite Love is the Only Truth, Everything Else is Illusion was directing my thoughts in the long poem upon which I was still working. This is spiritual successor to that earlier piece Perdition, My Captain...

Bipolar punched me in the face.
I would have laughed,
For I felt sure its power to drain my soul had
In these last nine years since last relapse.
But now I was in trouble.
Anxiety had me pinned to the chair,
Stress and Pressure held fast my arms and legs,
Whilst beside me Love lay twitching.
Confidence, Self-Esteem, Strength and Joy had all been killed before her,
Shot a single bullet to the forehead,
But Love,
Love had suffered a harder fate,
Hung by Despair until the point of expiration,
Drawn around the room by Doubt and Paranoia,
Her body cut in quarters quite by Guilt,
Her innards cutlassed, dragged and yanked out by Regret,
Then burned before her own sight on the open stove,
Stoked by a stupid steward,
I think his name was
Fine to look on from afar,
Appealing on approach,
Pleasant at introduction,
Civil in discourse,
Wholly threatening and disruptive in action.
Tripping of the ankle,
Thwacking of the knee,
Twisting of the elbow,
Throttling the throat,
World led these crooks and villains who had abused Love,
And his chief torturer in the matter was Illness.
Illness barged amongst the others,
Pulled me roughly from the chair
Across the floor towards some device of torment;
I bashed my shins on World, the stoker,
And he branded me accordingly.
Now I bore another of life’s scars...
...though this time I felt small pain.
You see,
Something strange happened then:
It was a murmur,
A whisper,
No, less,
The slightest puff of air blew my eye,
Whereupon Love stood up!
Good grief,
And now I understood the very nature of that phrase itself,
For on the moment of my strapping to the rack by Illness,
Love ate World entire!
Then, unsatisfied that glut, she thereupon set sights on Illness,
Quite subsuming his malevolence.
Regret was next,
That diabolic trinity together, apart.
At that, Despair was so distraught he hanged himself the rafters,
Point his expiration Joy and Strength and Self-Esteem and Confidence,
All their wounds did heal,
And each floored respectively the rest these felons who had flooded us with their foolishness.
Pressure collapsed,
Stress constricted,
Anxiety choked,
And Bipolar...
Well that capricious c**t chuckled in conceit even as it capitulated this quarter,
Knew it would be back,
Pushing me my corner,
There to punch, kick, cripple, kill.
Yet always would I so be able tag-team Love,
For in Her suffering did she fight the fiercest fray this day,
Before or after, also, even, for...
Depression ever claws at higher ground,
Repelled by Captain Love eternal crowned.

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