Dear readerly readers, with the bonus rubaiyat section published in March I have faithfully translated One hundred quatrains of what was at one time billigits’ gibberish in twenty-fively installents of four.
To equal Omar’s hundred from ninety six, I shall nowly now republish the bonus because everyone in the world, save two, missed it the first time.
There will be more rubaiyats in the future–but the next one will be the Rubaiyat of Dame Daisy Kloverleaf, coming sometime this fall (unlike the wee-winged ones, I like capital letters and punctuationally punctuation marks).
You’re welcome.
Dame Daisy Kloverleaf (soon a Nobel Laureate)
The bonus repeat:
i
willie told the billies a tale deep in gin
about a donkey legend named uncle finn
finn was a humble jackass of no note
but when times got tough he busted the wind
ii
finn flew deep into the darkness of hell
he went in and kicked satans belly bell
yet his legendary tasks had gone unknown
until this magic donkey had to tell
iii
people said finn could not do such bravery
donkeys are useless save in slavery
but after many kicks to the scoffers heads
the people admitted their knavery
iv
spread the story across this land of sin
of the bravest donkey that’s ever been
and may all the knaves say out of respect
you’re a better ass than i uncle finn
Saragun Springs 
Dear Daisy – I have written to the Nobel association and alertedly alerted them to their duties. You should hear any day now. Such wit, such wisdom, such poetic gifts cannot go unrecognised. dd
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Dear Dianely Diane
Thankily thank you,
Daisly Daisy
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Dear Dame Daisy K
In the end (and even not in the end), intuiting that you truly deserve such a prize is far more valuable than actually winning such a prize when you do not deserve it. (And when Samuel Beckett, who did deserve it, heard he’d won the prize, he immediately threw up and went into hiding.)
I think this all has something to do with Karmic Points, which a colleague of yours, Leila Allison, recently mentioned in another venue.
But I must caution you (and this is no joke), that in the not-too-distant past, the All-Knowing Nobel Prize Jurist Horace Engdahl solemnly, ridiculously, and foolishly declared: “American writers don’t really participate in the big dialogue of literature.”
Thus, in the last 30-plus years, only two Americans have received said coveted prize. One of these writers richly deserved the prize, as well as a Nobel Peace Prize to go along with it for his work in the Civil Rights Movement of the 1960s and his work for human freedom everywhere ever since. (The other of these Americans who received the prize in the 21st cen’ was a bad, weak, politically-correct poet who did not deserve such a prize, at all; not even close at any level.)
But if you don’t hear from Horace and his cohorts in the too-near future, just remember that it will leave you hanging with a few other overlooked writers whose not-exactly-faded-away-now names include: Virginia Woolf, Flannery O’Connor, Gertrude Stein, Leo Tolstoy, James Joyce, DH Lawrence, Jorge Luis Borges, Henry Miller, and probably some others I’m forgetting.
And Daisy, I might add that many other great writers like you have masked a profound seriousness and soulfulness with a surface veneer of levity. Their names include the greatest novelist who ever lived, Cervantes, and the greatest essayist of all time, Montaigne, as well as the greatest Shakespeare character ever, Sir Fat Jack.
Can’t wait until you switch from translation to original composition, it’s gonna be a great time! In the meantime, I remain entirely yours forever.
Sincerely,
Bob Dylan
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Mr. Dylan,
Your majestic majesty humbly humbles this ruminant herbivore.
But my ego is positively 4th Street and someday we will form a club in the Steinbeck Hall at the Tortilla Flats seven star hotel.
Yoursly Yours
Dame Daisy pre-Laureate
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…..I forgot to mention Henry James……-Bob
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Dame Daisy
In honor of the Tortilla Flats ******* Hotel I want to add this quotation:
“When you find you can go neither forward nor backward, when you discover that you are no longer able to stand, sit, or lie down, when your children have died of malnutrition and your aged parents have been sent to the poorhouse or the gas chamber, when you realize that you can neither write nor not write, when you are convinced that all the exits are blocked, either you take to believing in miracles or you stand still like the hummingbird. The miracle is that the honey is always there, right under your nose, only you were too busy searching elsewhere to realize it. The worst is not death but being blind…The language of society is conformity. The language of the creative individual is freedom…”
A quotation from one of my favorite writers, Henry Miller.
Thanks again!
Bob
PS,
Robert Frost should stop pissin’ and moanin’ cuz they never gave him the prize…
PPS,
Woulda been funny if Bukowski won the prize and puked all over the podium while delivering his acceptance speech…”Don’t Try”
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