On one of my many jaunts to the local Goodwill I discovered a strange little tome wrapped in red fiber. It was one of several in a series of abbreviated texts, chapbooks perhaps, each bound in a different colored fiber. I snatched up all the little books, each embossed with a gold roman numeral on the front, for less than a trade paperback. Unfortunately they were only part of a complete set and seeing as that there is little publishing information contained within their pages, I am at a complete loss to identify them. I will try to provide more information in the future, however what I can surmise now is that these wee journals are old; the print is faded, the pages are made of a heavy stock and give off a foul, stale odor, like musk or fungus. Contained within these pages are random musings in poetry/prose format. Some of the passages are titled, others are not. There are no table of contents or page numbers to speak of, nor introduction or conclusion.
I've only had time to skim through the red book and have included two of the more interesting passages in this post.
The first has no title, just a quote:
"When the heart speaks, few listen.
When the mind speaks, few comprehend."
All that sparks the soul is spoken for
The thoughtless status quo maintained
with a slogan sought within the mantra
"mundane".
yet...
there must be those who hear the sonnets
must be some whom sing in praise
in twisted timbre
of forgotten things
of past denials
and occult meaning.
These secret songs, above, below,
inaudible betwixt the twain
for the chosen heard
in reverent mind
the illumined heart will sing.
Like the previous verse, the next one begins with a quote. Its tone is somewhat more ominous, but the imagery is bit less obtuse:
"In the lonliness of birth,
so we expire."
Against my best defenses
a void awaits
at every angle
and every moment.
As inevitable
as the gravity
of hope imploding
an infernal expanse
breeds
nourished by anxiety
sated by fear
its twisted bowels
hunger still.
Against my greatest show of strength
a ravenous maw persists
as ever
vigilant
...infinite.
I will post more as time permits.
I think I can shed some light on these obscure tomes...
ReplyDeleteThe first book is an extremely rare volume of poetry by Edward Pickman Derby entitled Azathoth and Other Horrors. The volume was published in 1908.
The second could be Justin Geoffrey's The People of the Monolith published in 1921 by Golden Goblin Press.
Good comparisons, however the second bit of verse may actually be a translation from a lost Hyperborean dialect found in Liber Ivonis, a text written by a man referred to singularly as Eibon. The tome often praises a deity known only as Zhothaqquah, whose cult can traced as recently aa the early 1920's when the poet Justin Geoffrey made reference to a similar being in his story "The People of the Monolith". I quote:
ReplyDelete"They say foul things of Old Times still lurk
In dark forgotten corners of the world.
And Gates still gape to loose, on certain nights.
Shapes pent in Hell."
Interesting....