Saturday, July 23, 2011

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Poem-a-Day Collection (28)

Posted: 23 Jul 2011 09:30 AM PDT

DailyLit  
28
Poem-a-Day Collection
by Knopf
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Poem-a-Day Collection by Knopf. Compilation copyright 2009 by Knopf.
All Rights Reserved. Sharing not permitted.


Description of Her Eyes

By Franz Wright

Two teaspoonfuls,
and my mind goes
everyone can kiss my ass now

then it's changed,
I change my mind.

Eyes so sad, and infinitely kind.

--

Visit poem-a-day.knopfdoubleday.com for more about this poem and to sign up for Knopf's 2010 Poem-a-Day email.

Buy Franz Wright The Beforelife from IndieBound here.

Buy Franz Wright The Beforelife from Amazon here.

Excerpt from THE BEFORELIFE. Copyright © 2000 by Franz Wright. Excerpted by permission of Alfred A. Knopf, a division of Random House, Inc. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.




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    Robin Hood (27 of 79)

    Posted: 22 Jul 2011 09:30 PM PDT

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    27
    —of —
    79
    Robin Hood
    by J. Walker Mcspadden
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    Chapter VIII: How Allan-A-Dale's Wooing Was Prospered (Cont'd)

    "Courage, lady!" he whispered, "there is another minstrel near, who mayhap may play more to your liking."

    The lady glanced at him with a frightened air, but read such honesty and kindness in his glance that she brightened and gave him a grateful look.

    "Stand aside, fool!" cried the brother wrathfully.

    "Nay, but I am to bring good fortune to the bride by accompanying her through the church-doors," said Robin laughing.

    Thereupon he was allowed to walk by her side unmolested, up to the chancel with the party.

    "Now strike up your music, fellow!" ordered the Bishop.

    "Right gladly will I," quoth Robin, "an you will let me choose my instrument. For sometimes I like the harp, and other times I think the horn makes the merriest music in all the world."

    And he drew forth his bugle from underneath his green cloak and blew three winding notes that made the church—rafters ring again.

    "Seize him!" yelled the Bishop; "there's mischief afoot! These are the tricks of Robin Hood!"

    The ten liveried archers rushed forward from the rear of the church, where they had been stationed. But their rush was blocked by the onlookers who now rose from their pews in alarm and crowded the aisles. Meanwhile Robin had leaped lightly over the chancel rail and stationed himself in a nook by the altar.

    "Stand where you are!" he shouted, drawing his bow, "the first man to pass the rail dies the death. And all ye who have come to witness a wedding stay in your seats. We shall e'en have one, since we are come into the church. But the bride shall choose her own swain!"

    Then up rose another great commotion at the door, and four-and-twenty good bowmen came marching in with Will Stutely at their head. And they seized the ten liveried archers and the bride's scowling brother and the other men on guard and bound them prisoners.

    Then in came Allan-a-Dale, decked out gaily, with Will Scarlet for best man. And they walked gravely down the aisle and stood over against the chancel.

    "Before a maiden weds she chooses—an the laws of good King Harry be just ones," said Robin. "Now, maiden, before this wedding continues, whom will you have to husband?"

    The maiden answered not in words, but smiled with a glad light in her eyes, and walked over to Allan and clasped her arms about his neck.

    "That is her true love," said Robin. "Young Allan instead of the gouty knight. And the true lovers shall be married at this time before we depart away. Now my lord Bishop, proceed with the ceremony!"

    "Nay, that shall not be," protested the Bishop; "the banns must be cried three times in the church. Such is the law of our land."

    "Come here, Little John," called Robin impatiently; and plucked off the Bishop's frock from his back and put it on the yeoman.

    Now the Bishop was short and fat, and Little John was long and lean. The gown hung loosely over Little John's shoulders and came only to his waist. He was a fine comical sight, and the people began to laugh consumedly at him.

    "By the faith o' my body," said Robin, "this cloth makes you a man. You're the finest Bishop that ever I saw in my life. Now cry the banns."

    So Little John clambered awkwardly into the quire, his short gown fluttering gaily; and he called the banns for the marriage of the maid and Allan-a-Dale once, twice, and thrice.

    "That's not enough," said Robin; "your gown is so short that you must talk longer."

    Then Little John asked them in the church four, five, six, and seven times.

    "Good enough!" said Robin. "Now belike I see a worthy friar in the back of this church who can say a better service than ever my lord Bishop of Hereford. My lord Bishop shall be witness and seal the papers, but do you, good friar, bless this pair with book and candle."

    So Friar Tuck, who all along had been back in one corner of the church, came forward; and Allan and his maid kneeled before him, while the old knight, held an unwilling witness, gnashed his teeth in impotent rage; and the friar began with the ceremony.

    When he asked, "Who giveth this woman?" Robin stepped up and answered in a clear voice:

    "I do! I, Robin Hood of Barnesdale and Sherwood! And he who takes her from Allan-a-Dale shall buy her full dearly."

    So the twain were declared man and wife and duly blessed; and the bride was kissed by each sturdy yeoman beginning with Robin Hood.

    Now I cannot end this jolly tale better than in the words of the ballad which came out of the happening and which has been sung in the villages and countryside ever since:

    "And thus having end of this merry wedding,
    The bride lookt like a queen;
    And so they returned to the merry greenwood
    Amongst the leaves so green."




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    Paranoia (027 of 170)

    Posted: 22 Jul 2011 09:30 PM PDT

    DailyLit  
    027
    —of —
    170
    Paranoia
    by Joseph Finder
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    COPYRIGHT
    Paranoia by Joseph Finder. Copyright 2004 by Joseph Finder.
    All Rights Reserved. Sharing not permitted.


    Part Two: 13 (Cont'd)

    I got a burger and Diet Pepsi and he got some kind of mysterious Asian stir-fry thing. It was ridiculously cheap. We looked around the room, holding our trays, but Mordden didn't find anyone he wanted to sit with, so we sat at a table by ourselves. I had that first-day-of-school feeling, when you don't know anyone. It reminded me of when I started Bartholomew Browning.

    "Goddard doesn't stay at Motel Sixes too, does he?"

    "I doubt it. But he's not too in-your-face about his money. He won't take limos. He drives his own car—though granted he has a dozen or so, all antiques he's restored himself. Also, he gives his top fifty execs the luxury car of their choice, and they all make a shitload of money—really obscene. Goddard's smart—he knows you've got to pay the top talent well in order to retain them."

    "What about you Distinguished Engineers?"

    "Oh, I've made an obscene amount of money here myself. I could in theory tell everyone to go fuck themselves and still have trust funds for my kids, if I had any kids."

    "But you're still working."

    He sighed. "When I struck gold, just a few years after I started here, I quit and sailed around the world, packing only my clothes and several heavy suitcases containing the Western canon."

    "The western cannon?"

    He smiled. "The greatest hits of Western literature."

    "Like Louis L'Amour?"

    "More like Herodotus, Thucydides, Sophocles, Shakespeare, Cervantes, Montaigne, Kafka, Freud, Dante, Milton, Burke—"

    "Man, I slept through that class in college," I said.

    He smiled again. Obviously he thought I was a moron.

    "Anyway," he said, "once I'd read everything, I realized that I'm constitutionally unable not to work, and I returned to Trion. Have you read Étienne de la Boétie's Discourse on Voluntary Servitude?"

    "Will that be on the final?"

    "The only power tyrants have is that relinquished by their victims."

    "That and the power to hand out free Pepsis," I said, tipping my can toward him. "So you're an engineer."

    He gave a polite smile that was more of a grimace. "Not just any engineer, take note, but, as I said, a Distinguished Engineer. That means I have a low employee number and I can pretty much do whatever I want. If that means being a thorn in Nora Sommers's side, so be it. Now, as for the cast of characters on the marketing side of your business unit. Let's see, you've already met the toxic Nora. And Tom Lundgren, your exalted VP, who's basically a straight shooter who lives for the church, his family, and golf. And Phil Bohjalian, old as Methuselah and just about as technologically up-to-date, who started at Lockheed Martin when it was called something else and computers were as big as houses and ran on IBM punch cards. His days are surely numbered. And—lo and behold, it's Elvis himself, venturing into our midst!"

    I turned to where he was looking. Standing by the salad bar was a white-haired, stoop-shouldered guy with a heavily lined face, heavy white eyebrows, large ears, and a sort of pixieish expression. He was wearing a black turtleneck. You could sense the energy in the room change, rippling around him in waves, as people turned to look, whispered, everyone trying to be blasé and subtle.

    Augustine Goddard, Trion's founder and chief executive officer, in the flesh.

    He looked older than in the pictures I'd seen. A much younger and taller guy was standing next to him, saying something. The younger guy, around forty, was lean and really fit, black hair run through with gray. Italian-looking, movie-star handsome like an action hero who was aging really well, but with deeply pitted cheeks. Except for the bad skin, he reminded me of Al Pacino in the first couple of Godfather movies. He was wearing a great charcoal-gray suit.

    "That Camilletti?" I asked.

    "Cutthroat Camilletti," Mordden said, digging into his stir-fry with chopsticks. "Our chief financial officer. The czar of frugality. They're together a lot, those two." He spoke through a mouthful of food. "You see his face, those acne vulgaris scars? Rumor has it they say 'eat shit and die' in Braille. Anyway, Goddard considers Camilletti the second coming of Jesus Christ, the man who's going to slash operating costs, increase profit margins, launch Trion stock back into the stratosphere. Some say Camilletti is Jock Goddard's id, the bad Jock. His Iago. The devil on his shoulder. I say he's the bad cop who lets Jock be the good cop."




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