[Fragment 55]

A.E.M. Baumann

© 2018

hatterscabinet@gmail.com

 

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About The Knossian Oracles


 

Note to the Reader

Epigraphs

 

The Knossian Oracles

      Περὶ Ποιητικῆς . . .

            1   2   3

      Daedalus in Tartarus

            4   5   6

      L'Origine, Salomé I

            7   8   9   10   11   12   13   14   15

            16   17

      L'Origine, Salomé II

            18   19   20   21   22   23   24

      The Night Sea Crossing

            25   26   27   28   29   30

      The Garden of Venus

            31

      The Incantations of Isis and
      Osiris

            32   33   34   35   36   37   38   39

      Imago Dei

            40   41   42   43   44   45   46

      The Seven Dreams of Paris

            47   48   49   50   51   52

      The Axiom of Maria
      Prophetissa

            53   54   55   56   57   58   59   60

            61   62   63   64   65   66   67   68

            69   70   71   72   73   74   75   76

            77   78   79   80   81   82   83

 

And the Light Falls, Remir

      Mystery

      Arcanum

      Alchemy

      The Occult

      Love

      Art

      Grace

 

Notes

      Translations

      Table of Fragments

      An Incomplete Bibliography

 

 


 

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What shall I do with you, my little miu?

Come you to trouble me this cloudless day?

Or to pace me as I walk my avenue?

I know by your tail’s turning you’ve been at play –

but the sun is hot upon my cheeks, my hands,

each reaching step warms my sandaled feet;

bright on my breasts and bright over these lands,

the sand dunes graced by a drape of fire-wrought beads.

Listen. The trailing of my skirt’s a song

of solitary note and singular word:

I mean to hold it constant down this long,

doubly canaled road, to temper the surd

of my brushing of my thighs. The Nile runs high

but warmly, and calmly. And I but wish to walk

the broad way back slowly, then lounge – and lie –

on my priestesses’ thighs. My oath.

But you must, so talk.

You tease, as is your wont, but will smile when I share

this tale, begun, as is my wont, when I fared,

idly, the world’s clerestory, where from

I chanced upon a fair form:

two bodies entwined, limb and hair and breath,

crept to and fell upon a beach

of pillows from out a sea of sheets,

emergent from the waters of their mutual deaths.

39