Hermione and Her Little Group of Serious Thinkers/Some Beautiful Thoughts
SOME BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS
(As Expressed by Fothergil Finch, the Vers Libre Bard)
OH, the Beautiful Mud! I always leave it on my boots! It is sacred to me. Because in it are the souls of lilies!
The Hog should be a sacred beast. Hogs are beautiful! They are close to the Mire! Oh, to be a Swine!
What is more eloquent than a Sneeze? The Sneeze is the protest of the Free Spirit against the Smug Citizen who never exposes himself to a cold. Oh, Beautiful Sneezes! Oh, to make my life one loud explosive Sneeze in the face of Conventionality!
What is so free, so untrammeled, so ungyved, so unconventional, as an Influenza Germ? From throat to throat it floats, full of the spirit of true democratic brotherhood, making the masses equal with the classes, careless, winged, ungyved! Oh, the Beautiful Germ! Oh, to be an Influenza Germ!
What is so naïve as a Hiccough! Oh, to be ingenuous, unspoiled, beautiful, barbaric! Oh, the hiccoughs, the beautiful hiccoughs, the hiccoughs of Art uttered against the hurricane of time!
Bugs are Beautiful! Oh, the beautiful, sleek slithery bugs. Oh, to be a water-bug of poesy skipping across the flood of oblivion! Oh, to be a Bug!
I went down to the waterfront where they sell fish and there I saw a fisherman who had caught a Dogfish, and he cursed, but I said to him, "Do not curse the Dogfish! The Dogfish is Symbolical! The Dogfish is beautiful! Beautiful!"
Oh! the lovely Garbage Scows! I went down the bay, and there I saw them dump the Garbage Scows! I said to the man who sailed my boat: "What does the Garbage Scow mean to you?" He was a Philistine; he was Bourgeois; he was Smug; he was Conventional, and he said: "A Garbage Scow means a Garbage Scow to me!" But I said to him: "You are Academic; you are Conservative! Garbage Scows are Lovely Symbols! Oh, my Argosies of Dream! Oh, my Beautiful Garbage Scows! Some day even the Philistines of benighted America will see the Spiritual Significance of the Lovely Garbage Scow!"
I found a Glue Factory, a Free Untrammeled Glue Factory! It was expressing itself. It was asserting its individuality. It was saying to the Blind Complacent Pillars of Polite Society: "My aroma is not your aroma, but my aroma is my own!" Oh, the Courageous Glue Factory, the Free, Unfettered Glue Factory! A thousand Glue Factories, from Maine to Oregon, are thus rebuking Class Prejudice and Bourgeois Smugness. Like Poets, like Prophets of the New Art, they stand, Glue Factory after Glue Factory, Expressing their Egos, Being Themselves, undaunted, unshackled, strong, independent, virile! Oh, to be the Poet of the Super Glue Factory!
With violets in my hands I wandered to the wilds, and there I met a Buzzard. He was Being Himself! I wove a wreath of the violets and I crowned the Buzzard, and the Buzzard said, "Why do you crown me?" And I said, "Oh, Lovely Buzzard, are you not Being Yourself? Are you not rebuking the Trivial Conventionalities of Our Organized Society? I know your Dream, O Buzzard! Accept this Crown of Violets from our little group!"
Come with me to the zoo, and we will bare our Souls to the Hyena, and the Hyena will commune with us, and we will know the Meaning of Life! Oh, the Lovely Hyena!