Mr. Emerson Tries to Complete an Essay

by David Wagoner, _The New Republic_, 24 June 2002, page 36



At his hard desk, no longer wholly conscious
	Of the pen in his right hand, no longer confined
		By the dimensions of the floor and the four walls
But ascending through the ceiling toward the threshold
	Of Transcendental Understanding, he heard
		Ker-luck-a-put, cluck, the chickens, his own
Chickens outside the window, one of which
	Would be reduced to portions of itself
		And stewed for dinner, and though he had lost
The thrust of his hierearchic argument
	For a moment, he took the chicken to be an example
		Of the universally disguised emblems
Of Earthly Duty, and when the door flew open
	To reveal the offerings, on one hand and the other,
		Of carpet samples, one dearer, one less lasting,
He took it as his share in the design
	Of the Awesome Now on which the gods themselves
		Would weave the threads of an instrumental order
From the Raw Mundane to the Ineffable,
	Both necessarily now being postponed
		For his best black mourning suit and a mourning band
Firmly clasped on his biceps and his hat
	Just as firmly set so the narrow brim
		Was central to the brow and the occiput
And crossed both temples equally on the way
	To the carriage, up the step to his plush cushion
		And the funeral of a newly translated cousin.


Dave MB