Tree of Heaven (Ailanthus altissima)

A path is made by walking on it.

—Zhuang Zhou

7

Merely is its Chinese name.*

Master Zhuang Zhou made it a metaphor for his philosophy.

Its sap smells foul, and the wood is good for nothing,

But these are the merits of its uselessness:

It spreads its seeds in every crack and cranny,

Grows boldly with astounding speed,

Survived the period of Warring States,† and will survive us too.

Why should it not—no one wants it.

It has an enemy, though—

The spotted lantern fly (Lycorma delicatula),

Whose favorite food it is.

L. delicatula is likewise useless,

Unless its use is purely pleasure:

It’s been seen, they say, to copulate for hours on end.

A spotted lantern fly nymph in its final instar, or developmental stage, before moulting—shedding its exoskeleton—and becoming a grown-up. Probably with only one thing on its tiny arthropod mind.

*Ch’un shu (纯属), “merely” or "purely."

†Ca. 480 BCE to 221 BCE in ancient China.

Bearded

Some news is good, some news is bad,

Despair’s advance deliberate.

You can’t escape this idiot state,

Content at dawn, by evening sad.

Too little done and all too late

Stacks peculation's billions up.

With sorrow overflows one's cup.

Tip not the rich man at the gate!

Let’s not complain it's down to fate,

For what's in store's been plain to see,

I think, since apes first crossed the sea—

Avoidable at any rate?

The public thing is out of tricks,

And those to come have rotten luck,

For they’ll inherit all our muck.

The cat knows well whose beard he licks.†

†Old English adage quoted in Robert Graves’ novel The Story of Marie Powell, Wife to Mr Milton (1943).

8-9 June 2025

Dancing in the Forum

Paul Klee, Cat and Bird (1928)

“This here's the rose, dance here!”

—G. W. F. Hegel, Fundamentals of the Philosophy of Right (misquoting Aesop's Fables)

That cat is not Macavity the Mystery Cat,

Who's called the Hidden Paw;*

And no, I've never seen the bird before.

In foro saltare—dancing in the Forum, Cicero calls depravity:†

The Forum's for gladiators mutual slaughter

And feeding losers to the lions—not the fucking polka!

Hic Rhodus, hic salta: Let this be Rhodes, jump here!

Here, kitty, kitty, kitty . . .

You find this puzzling? All will be explained—some other day.

Mystery is art's chief aim, not making pretty.

Those love-sick troubadours steered poetry wrong.

We must update its course—

Emend and tune viable its song.

If we can't, why, World'll sing a different ditty.

*T. S. Eliot, Old Possum's Book of Practical Cats (1939).

†Cicero, De officiis 3.75.

Saturday, June 6, 2025