From "Mr. Standfast"

Yes, they had these kind of folk in the early twentieth century. Much of the novel, Mr. Standfast, spends it's time describing these people of enlightenment. I can't help but remember the "tousle headed youth" that C.S. Lewis writes of in The Great Divorce. So demanding that people read their material and agree that it is great art; and never ought they say otherwise so as to lower the self esteem of these individual children. O, We of our old fashioned gatherings of objective reality that say, "Art has a definition." And with heavy sarcasm I say, "Grace us, new progressed modern mind, with your plentiful wisdom on the things of which you know little!" So anyway, here is the quote of which I speak:

"Aronson, the novelist, proved on acquaintance the worst kind of blighter. He considered himself a genius whom it was the duty of the country to support, and he sponged on his wretched relatives and anyone who would lend him money. He was always babbling about his sins, and pretty squalid they were. I should like to have flung him among a few good old fashioned full blooded sinners of my acquaintance; they would have scared him considerably. He told me that he sought 'reality' and 'life' and 'truth', but it was hard to see how he could know much about them, for he spent half the day in bed smoking cheap cigarettes, and the rest sunning himself in the admiration of half-witted girls. The creature was tuberculous in mind and body, and the only novel of his I read pretty well turned my stomach."

- John Buchan

Lord Ali the Lion (Lord Nevai)

Great Nevai, you troubled man,
A poor profession for one to take!
You left your duties to retrieve the lamb,
Of neglected poetry for poetry's sake.

Dull you knew, but requests came hard,
To blame thyself under govenor's name.
Figured quickly gave action's card,
Swiftly revealed the deciders fame.

Rest now, and rest well poor soul!
Know that we understand your call,
And only wish for your writings infull,
Which presently decay and fame with all.

By Evan Gunn Wilson

To Alexander -

This is a poem I wrote nearly right after I thought of the subject. It is to my first nephew; a creature that has only experienced this life for four weeks now. He abides with his parents on the opposite side of the country so I only know him through pictures. He knows not me, nor right now does he care to know. I have yet to well up any sentiment towards this kid, but perhaps I can start eighteen years from now and buy him his first cigar. Anyway, here goes:

You are the prime of the McEvan Clan,
Since a third generation was our demand.
Though the Wilsons are a pugnacious lot,
We pray you'll be grac'd; your sins forgot.
I know you so little, what is to be said,
But generic blessings that you will be fed.
Likely, I'll see you on occasions rare,
For a couple years you'll do nothing but stare.
Know thyself, and as well know thy name,
Know the man from whence it has fame.
Understand this: to be great is not far;
Live a pure life and then go to war.

By Evan Gunn Wilson

Pretense

I feign,
Thy look in main,
Pos'd with presented cane,
But well they see all me by lane.
She wants a man bearing a soft new vein,
So all these habits will belong to me ingrain'd.
Wilt thou keep with my clumsy walk, and I'll see you humane.
For women of the shallow lot do follow in a doting train,
As I strut with a swarthy walk, dressed full prim for defying all my pain.
Enlightened I am, cool for knowing secrets thee may hope to find; still thee I reign.
They begin to suspect my origins are falsely made to create a man level and sane.
My treatment seen as foolish talk, while deserters (once friends) call out my game.
But thee who had all seen it first did tell it me and made me plain,
Extend your thought for my repute paraphras'd you'd sain,
"Listen, young boy. It is a game where none doth gain;
That if you get wisdom in thy quick brain,
Rejected you become the bane,
Your presence they refrain.
These things inane,
Disdain."

By Evan Gunn Wilson

Love Letters

To Vicky -
"As you wish" cliche' may seem,
But Victoria's love, insubordinate's loss.
And if for other's love you deem,
Bring crusades to you as like the cross.

To your service,
Stu

---------------------------------

To Vicky -

At once when we had parted ways,
Your letters grew in length and mass.
So p'raps Victoria's love I may,
Take it full or leave it pass.

Formerly ignorant of thy love,
Steve

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To Stu -

How may I say with gracious response,
Of your kind, but grovelling tone;
That once I fell for your sweet ringing saunce,
A spine to be had, a submission of drones.

To be taken or left, with respect,
Vicky

---------------------------------

To Steve -

All at once by surprise you took,
My committed love, and received my honor.
Your gallantry met with no lustful look,
I exalt you high for not being the fawner.

At you will and discretion,
Vicky

By Evan Gunn Wilson

Hot Headed, Light Heart

The stubborn cannot view themselves as wrong, but what comes as more significant is whether or not others view them as wrong. The pride of life is a shallow thing and not much can be said about these people other than that their self serving tendencies have done them more wrong than right. Simply, when they become stubborn they are attempting to reverse the mounds of evidence that point towards them being wrong. In the end they only appear as a fool to the world and no dignified creature.

But I write not of that man. He may not learn anything till he admits he knows nothing. I write for another. Not in praise, but a clearing of the perspectives that have misinterpreted his actions. I write for the light hearted stubborn man. He who decides to hold to his position no matter what, while he has solemnly accepted his defeated stance. He loses the battle and still he fights for what he believes, but still he fights with resignation; with a smile on his face that says, "Gentle opponent, you have made me the unorthodox; good sir, you have made me taboo; gracious master, you have made me the insane. I, who am comically loyal to my stance, proved'st me wrong; for I lie here in the dirt and suck up the humors that may only make me weaker. Great victor, may I, by your leave, oppose you still in an arm wrestle that has predetermined consequences? I ask as a light hearted mule."

This supplication is all that must be understood when dealing with this man. How is he treating the loss? Does he attempt to return to it later to convince you still that he was right? Does he become embittered? No. Not this man of whom I speak. The experience for both parties should walk warily; all things said should be taken in good faith, provided that it is a discussion between Christians. And it should be noted that no hard feelings are solidified by the light hearted mule; but merely he plays a game.

Why is he this way? It is annoying. Well, quit being annoyed. He practices. Practice makes perfect. What is he practicing for, that warrants such blatant stubbornness? Sophistry. He wants to become a sophist. The sophist is a master of argument. His skill and talent in this typically cursed practice is so tuned, so precise, so threatening that he is able to argue any point regardless if he believes it, or regardless if it is objective truth. We will argue it and win. So, the youth that attempts such goals will lose and he will know it, but his stubbornness teaches him. It presents himself opportunity to practice (all in good fun and light hearts, if I can't stress that enough) the art of sophistry.

The Light Heart of the Youthful Opinionated

Tender young man on leave of thought,
Presents his case to the tiring room;
Not long after he starts, receives a shot,
Demoralized falls by that elder fume.
"Get thee gone, Boy! And do not Loom!",
Their aged epithets blocks his say,
Goes on, resigned, but seen to bray.

The rumors begin to flourish about,
That this young man's stubborn mind,
Cannot admit his wrong to the rout,
And rather is as the prideful kind.
But these family, friends he finds,
Cannot conceive the joy he brings,
For his opinions light hearted sings!

By Evan Gunn Wilson

The Buzzard Must Eat as Well as the Worm

The buzzards must eat as well as the worms,
And here lies sustenance for thy mind.
So as the soldier knows and fighting learns,
He gives as much for little returns.

Here is the camp for their way, their kind,
Discipline exhales in uniform breath.
Signed away their lives, and souls they find,
Being of service, their enemies they bind.

Then war, then life, then peace brings death,
And the weakest of minds begin to break.
Though we at our end, gripping our sneath,
Live to know our victory's breadth.

This is the nature of the great nations and all,
For governments fight for the people's turn.
Even when lovers quake, so we appall,
The buzzard must eat as well as the worm.

By Evan Gunn Wilson

The Eulogy for America

Friends! Americans! Countrymen! Lend me your thoughts! I come to celebrate our nation's freedom, not to praise it's founding. The rebellion of our fore fathers lives on as sin for them alone and does not descend on us. Though, we inherit the good oft interred by the wearing of their bones. So let it be with Washington. And the Democrats have told you that America is ambitious. I believe it were so, but only then was it a grievous fault. And the LORD had blessed it as his merciful answer, though we deserve less. The Democrats are perhaps honorable in their intentions, save some individuals. I write to speak of my nation's freedom for it has provided and been just to me; but the Democrats say that it has been ambitious, and the Democrats have thoughtful intentions. America has brought many immigrants home to our largest city, to whom we provided jobs so as to be their own dependents. And our prosperity fills the pockets of the middle class man. Does this in America seem ambitious? And when the poor have cried our presidents have wept; I had expected that ambition was made of sterner stuff. Yes, Democrats say that America is ambitious, and Democrats are nobles, save those certain that are not. many of you read in history books near our Independence Day, that some of the founders wanted to make a king for America; at which point a refusal was made for democracy's sake. Was this ambitious? Yet, Democrats say we are and have been ambitious, and they are noble men. I write not to slander our opponents, but rather I write what I know of history. You all did love America once, and not without cause. What cause withholds you then to mourn for the recessive state? This judgement is brought on by brutish beasts, and men have lost their reason! But in years past the word of the president might have stood against the world. But here we people lie, apologizing to the world with none too rich to do the empire reverence. But hear my words! If I were disposed to stir your hearts and minds to rebellion and rage I shall do my president wrong and my LORD, God and Savior wrong. I had rather be rid of my freedoms than to wrong any of my authorities. But have patience good Americans. It is not meet for you to rebel, but wait for our organized rebellion that by allowance of democracy happens every two years. You are not dumb. You are not lifeless. But you are men, and being men hearing the will of our founders, it will inflame you; it will make you mad. Perhaps, it is better you know not by me that you are heirs to opportunity, but think upon it yourself how your governors once loved you. At once when our rulers stab at the heart of the nation then falls America, then I, then you and all of us have fallen down; all the while socialism flourished over us. I hope you feel a dint of pity; not for thyself but for others and their misguided ways. These I have are gracious drops. And now kind souls, as you think upon it, weep when you behold what has been made of the freedom offered the world. Again I say, Let me not stir you up to mutiny, that I could not handle being causal to such defiance. They who have made it this are noble. More noble than I. And what private obligations they abide in, I know not what convinced them to this way of thinking. And need I remind that I only speak right on about what I and you know and see.

For all the good our nation has done and we that inherit the abundance; here was a country. When comes such another?

By William Shakespeare and Evan Gunn Wilson

The Monarch of God to His Enemy

The war and battles achieved no less,
Than to present the world that you are my guest.
To strike fear in their minds with the damage we wake,
And remind their empire that I may take.

The men of my army do salute at my presence,
And love to serve in our most brutish events.
The wives of my men see their provision,
So, their love for them coincides my vision.

Though, my dastardly vision! What shall I call it?
Daring world conquest, but the gnostics had fought it.
Those devilish "lovers", our conscience they tease,
They'll equalize all and then dub it peace.

I smote them down; their ideals lay in graves,
So thy only hope is to pray to him who saves.
I have no boundary. I have no wall,
That I am monarch, the be all end all.

Frankly, I suggest you surrender soon,
So come to me, or you'll die at noon.
I'll be waiting here for my God's command,
For he made gods as no other can.

Sincerely, in great respect and love,
Your Plague

By Evan Gunn Wilson