Thursday, November 13, 2014

The Postcard

Written by H.P. Lovecraft in 1927

The Postcard

Did it arrive, then?
I sent you my youth, my song
of the summer's way
with the white gold hair
sunshine gave me in those days.
God's bead of grace acts
exactly like sweat
running down my sacred form.
That's why my soft edge
tastes so much like rain.

October 15, 2010 9:31 PM

The poem is of a postcard and so is the image. Of course the subject discussed by Lovecraft et al. is not the poem. I just like having H.P.'s penmanship on my blog.

Oddly, my grandfather on my Mother's side was nicknamed H.P. also. He was a Dutchman named Hartog Philippus, a family name. I have seen a list of ancestors and those two names appear often in this order and in the reverse.

There was an H.P. who was sent to Auschwitz in World War II as well, not my grandfather. That is about the Jewish side of the family of course. The family has Jews and Christians both, with the Jews being the older part of the lineage. An ancestor came to Holland back in the days of the Inquisition, coming from Portugal. My Grandfather did not like the Catholic Church for a very good reason. The Inquisition killed some of us. He hated Nazis even more for the same reason.

I think this poem may be the best poem I have ever written so far.


  1. Also "Pa" as he was known in the family was a Mason. The Catholic Church has been on record against the Masons also. That didn't help my grandfather to be well disposed toward the Catholic Church on this account either. Also, the Catholic Church did a politically expedient thing concerning the Axis Powers during World War II. Holy Cow. How could my Grandfather H.P. Noordwal be anything other than vehemently anti-Catholic?

  2. You're right. It's a fabulous poem! You are always so concise and yet I am not left wanting. It's like an amuse bouche! Sometimes the bulk of what we send, never translates. I pray youth made it intact!

    1. There is something about how the images are in this one. I can't make this happen. Shit. I mean there is no way to do it again just this way. There is something else here that is not me. Otherwise I would do it over and over. Instead, I substitute clever. It's almost enough.

  3. I could go
    And be there
    With you
    We could send
    Postcards from Rome
    We could summer
    In Austria
    If only time was
    Our friend
    If only you were
    If only you were there
    With me
    Then it would truly be
    We could
    If only you would
    We could hitchhike from Switzerland to Bavaria and
    Back again
    Send a post
    From the south of France
    Or the north of spain
    We could


The chicken crossed the road. That's poultry in motion.

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