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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=426710" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Brahm</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">A spectral film that came and went, <br>In its elusive way gave vent <br>In some unreal words which meant; <br>'I think therefore I am.' <br>That phantasm only thought it thought; <br>A vain conception crudely wrought; <br>An egotistic sham. <br>Which brings us up against the fact <br>By Chunder's attestation backed — <br>There is no Substance, Thought, nor Act <br>Nothing exists but Brahm. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">This quaint contraption here below <br>Is not a magic shadow show <br>Where phantom figures come and go, <br>As held by old Khayyam. <br>A show has time and space enough, <br>But here we only have such stuff <br>As dreams are made of — mental fluff <br>And visionary flam, <br>Throughout the universal scheme, <br>Be sure things tare not what they seem, <br>(To quote a well-known psalm) <br>They're only whimsies of a dream <br>A transient dream of Brahm. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">All through the cycles of the Past <br>At which Notation stands aghast <br>He has subsisted, first and last, <br>Lone, functionless and calm. <br>Nothing extraneous can obtrude <br>Upon his Sabbath quietude, <br>Or discompose his tranquil mood, <br>For nothing is but Brahm. <br>'The Past and Present here unite <br>Beneath Time's flowing tide' (to cite <br>A Bard of Uncle Sam) <br>For Time stretched out in aeons dim <br>To Apprehension's very rim, <br>Is insignificant to him <br>A Bagetelle to Brahm. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">For once in his negation deep, <br>He somehow chanced to drop asleep; <br>And through that forty-wings there ran <br>A flitting dream. So time began — <br>He dreamed this stellar lens of ours, <br>Which mocks at telescopic powers <br>Innumerable suns sublime, <br>At furious speed yet keeping time! <br>And so remote that to the eye, <br>They look like fixtures in the sky, <br>But that's a trifle. Round about <br>A million light-years further out, <br>The wisps of nebular portend. <br>Sidereal schemes without an end <br>And this is no poetic flight <br>Nor idiotic blatherskite, <br>Nor what is termed a cram. <br>However vast these plans may seem, <br>They're only figments of a dream <br>A trifling dream of Brahm. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">He dreamed our System's fiery gas <br>Condensing into solid mass; <br>And during several billion years, <br>Evolving planetary spheres. <br>But take this globe, alone, to prove <br>How things have moved — or seemed to move. <br>He dreamed some pulpy form of life: <br>Mutation slow; and savage strife: <br>With Nature's forces all in play, <br>And Darwin's system under way; <br>While bits of hide and tufts of hair <br>For countless centuries fill'd the air; <br>And only those were left alive <br>Whose fitness caused them to survive. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Monsters that lived in Gulfs of slime <br>With names that balk and baffle rhyme <br>Prodigious sloths, whose daily food <br>Was half a ton of leaves and wood — <br>Grim saurians of terrific strength, <br>A quarter of a mile in length, <br>Unsightly bats, with twelve-foot wings, <br>And endless tribes of fearsome things <br>Cull'd down, in point of fact, so fit <br>That they should thrive in Sheol's pit <br>And breathe its exhalations thick, <br>Holding their own with Ancient Nick. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>And so, while ocean bottoms rose <br>To stand awhile as high plateaus <br>And mountains sank beneath the main, <br>To rise time after time again: <br>And rocks were formed, and strata rent <br>And Polar ice-caps came and went; <br>And geological ages pass'd <br>Each an improvement on the last; <br>And on the wrinkled crust of earth <br>More decent forms of life had birth;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Man was evolved a product queer; <br>A breed that it would pay to sheer; <br>And which it might be safe to say, <br>Has reached a higher stage to-day <br>Since restless generations gone <br>Have passed a few ideas on. <br>But, bear in mind, this human race <br>Diverse in colour, smell, and face; <br>These off-shoots from the simian stem <br>The Sons of Japheth and of Shem, <br>The progeny of Ham. <br>With mongrel races that infest <br>The isles and mainlands, east and west, <br>From Chili to Siam, <br>Are less than ripples in a stream, <br>They're only ripples on a dream <br>Namely the dream of BRAHM. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Even that race, divinely nursed, <br>Which for its virtues has been cursed <br>And booted into seven times seven <br>By every nation under Heaven <br>The seed of Abraham; <br>And those brave lions in their den <br>Each one a match for aliens ten, <br>With fist or rifle, bat or pen <br>I mean God's modest Englishmen, <br>Whose very fog is balm; <br>These are less tangible withal <br>Than shadowy rabbits on the wall <br>Nothing exists but BRAHM. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Our swarming brethren of the North <br>Whatever you may judge them worth <br>Sling Muck and Soogoo Ram, <br>Are fantoids like yourself and me, <br>Though differing somewhat in degree <br>Nothing exists but BRAHM. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">That Fatman, dining at his club, <br>On costly wet and sumptuous grub; <br>The pilgrims in the roadside pub; <br>The washerwoman at her tub; <br>And Jacky in his native scrub, <br>On bandicoot and yam <br>Are momentary sports of thought <br>That flicker out and come to nought <br>In this brief dream of BRAHM. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Illusion in the very air <br>(If such an envelope were there); <br>And things that seem to claim your care <br>Your Wife, with her untidy hair: <br>And Grandma, in her easy chair: <br>And baby in the pram — <br>Are all a visionary crew <br>Which fact need never worry you, <br>For you're an apparition too, <br>Nothing exists but BRAHM. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">But flies are in the ointment sweet, <br>And jumpers in the cheese we eat, <br>And maggots in the treacherous meat; <br>And mildew on the jam. <br>That is to say, we might complain <br>Of many a kink in things mundane; <br>Of barbarisms that still remain <br>For instance 'Sport' imposing pain; <br>Monarchial 'loyalty' inane; <br>The gnats at which the Wowsers strain; <br>The camels that they entertain: <br>Sectarian bigotry insane. <br>The ruthless quest of sordid gain — <br>A sad, perennial stream of bane, <br>Which only in a sense profane <br>We're competent to dam. <br>The feckless poet's cult of grog: <br>The idle bummer's cadge for prog; <br>The stern official's odious 'gog' <br>The flunkey's meek Salaam — <br>Such provocations, daily met, <br>And grounds of meddlesome regret, <br>Shall find their panacea yet; <br>With ratling promptitude you bet, <br>In this same dream of BRAHM. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Unquestionably, no one knows <br>The likely period of his doze; <br>But this we know that when he wakes <br>We vanish in a brace of shakes; <br>Without dismay or qualm. <br>The earth, the sun, and every star <br>Shall vanish like the freaks they are; <br>The corn and oil, the flower and grass, <br>The fig and vine, shall simply pass, <br>The eucalypt and palm: <br>The microbe small, the ponderous whale; <br>The greyhound swift, the tardy snail; <br>The lion and the lamb; <br>The sand and granite, quartz and schist, <br>Shall vanish like a so-called mist <br>Which the fictitious sun has kiss'd <br>(Of course they never did exist), <br>NOTHING EXISTS BUT BRAHM.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Joseph+Furphy">Joseph Furphy</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=426710" data-title="Brahm de Joseph Furphy" data-description="A spectral film that came and went, 
In its elusive way gave vent 
In some unreal words which meant; 
'I think therefore I am.' 
That phantasm only thought it thought; 
A vain conception crudely wrought; 
An egotistic sham. 
Which brings us up aga..."></div>
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