Dennis O'Sullivan Day (guest post)

Dear Dead Poets oh excuse me Dear members of the Dead Poets Society!!

What a wonderful time Georgia, our peerless leader Benevolent Bird, our esteemed and
venerable magister
Arthur, and Artisto Marco O’Briano—he said he likes O’s—and I had reading poems by Will
Christman, Hewitt [i
think was O’B’s poet], and ourselves on a variety of nature and non-nature subjects.

We drank small flutes of Mead sitting by the edge of a precipice overlooking the falls at the
sanctuary. It
certainly felt as if we were some resurrected dead poets society from a mighty prep school in
east-central
Massachusetts. Or maybe we were sprites at home for ever.

Thanks to Alan for organizing the event; he has added so much to our group by his interest
in producing
memorized poems contests, readings along the Bozenkill, broadsides, and little books of
poems—Catullus
would say libelli—whose spines are hand-stitched for security and art’s sake.

In between our readings we spoke about—some of us eloquently—that was a joke son!!—the
nature of religion,
the daimon, the spirit of the woods, the world, life, and how structured religions as practiced
by many
somewhere failed to invigorate, give the life they promised to those who need to live.

Mark and Art waxed eloquently on these subjects to such an extent that I rode over to SUNY
to ask for three
credits toward a docorate—which was antithetical to the purpose of the discussion which was
that there was no
external institution or being which/who could certify our experiences and give them greater
or even any
validity. If it were the Sixties I’d’a said: Heavy dude.