Derivatives With Limits

Derivatives With Limits

A Poem by Robert Ronnow

Working over Birk’s Works and other tunes my saxophonist admires--
Cheesecake, Blackbird--for the theoretical, applied mathematics
inside an abstract, audial harmonization of the Big Bang and The Fall.

The derivative reveals the slope of the tangent along the curve of spacetime.
Follow that rope back and forth from the known to the unknown, your mountain to their shore, an umbilical cord between cities and stories, history and hope, divinity and mortality.

                    *                    *                    *

I never had anything wise or gentle to say to my parents.
About bladder function. They got the same treatment as every other soldier.
Which systems shut down first and how. The mail keeps coming even after you’ve stopped barking.

And what is man made of? Man. Tough it out, laugh about it. Take it out
on your spouse and sons. Democracy corrects itself
through constant criticism, neurotic carping, daily life as low intensity warfare. That’s how we show we care.

                    *                    *                    *

Will my letter to the editor be in the funny pages?
Will I even be able to read it?
Did I send it to the wrong address? I’ve seen my death face and it’s not pretty.

Maybe I can watch your varsity games from a viewfinder in the afterlife.
If I don’t finish The Iliad, maybe there’s a library there.
Maybe. Maybe is a long, long time.

                    *                    *                    *

Homer tries several ways to explain the slaughter:
by describing how a spear pierces a warrior’s jawbone or armor,
how Achilles’ and Agamemnon’s hissy fits contribute to the pain of being a soldier

and how the gods, esp. Zeus, are passionate, confused, obtuse.
A callow youth even as a man. He was afraid and therefore could not comfort or help.
Perhaps he has a question he’d like to ask but isn’t sure what it is or how to ask it.

                    *                    *                    *

The hero loses urinary control.
The virtuoso loses interest in her bow.
The expert neglects to do the research.

How do cancer cells and bacteria cooperate to kill
the host (you)? The way yr mum & pop
f**k you up. It’s unavoidable and it’s not your fault.


© 2023 Robert Ronnow


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Added on March 21, 2016
Last Updated on September 9, 2023
Tags: death, Friend, funny, god, Heart, loss, pain, time, water, passion, Work, hero, soldier, Writing, Bird, Break, confused, deep, Fall, game, help, man, men, poet, wisdom, youth, abstract, Cancer, comfort, essay, kill, letter, mystery

Author

Robert Ronnow
Robert Ronnow

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Quiet Quiet

A Poem by Robert Ronnow





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