Dan Knight’s Introduction to the First Issue of his Short-lived, Extremely Scarce and Very Awesome Magazine in Tribute to R.A. Lafferty : THE BOOMER FLATS GAZETTE

“We few! We happy few!”
- Henry V
Shakespeare

It was never intended that our Fellowship, the Fellowship of the Argo, of Epikt and Roadstrum, of Dana and Okla, should be an exclusive thing. The table was prepared and the bar was stocked for as big a bash as ever was seen. There was something for everyone. A magical feast. Take as much as you want. Stuff your pockets and fill your purse. It would make no difference. There would be just as much when you were done as when you started. This is fish and loaves stuff. (Are not all good stories fish and loaves stuff by their very definition?)

Well, the feast was readied and the invitations were sent out and a most peculiar thing came about. All of the folks to whom they were sent found excuses not to come. The Host was a gracious man. “Perhaps I have not worded the thing properly,” he said. So another round of invitations were prepared and dispatched. Years passed (feasts like this don’t just happen overnight, you know). The Gracious Host is still waiting. The beer is still cold and the pheasant warm. The steaks are thick, the hot sauce is the hottest around, and the bread is fresh, fresh, fresh! But the hall is still empty and perhaps it will always remain so.

Or at least almost so. They would be easy to miss in such a vast place. But here and there, sometimes alone and sometimes in small groups, figures move through the magic place. Tasting. Drinking. Stopping here and there to sample that most prodigious board. And when they meet, at the intersection of the Great Tables, there is much back slapping and laughing and joy at what they have found. Family of the Empty Hall. You can hear them if you listen close by the doors.

But why wait at the door?

Did I not say that the beer was cold? That the whiskey was the whiskeyist and the wine–ah, the wine, there’s been no cheap-jacking about the wine! So come. One day the Hall may indeed fill with guests. And they will require guides. The Invitation is yours. The Fellowship awaits.

BEDE, THE BLIND PREACHER by J.S. Phillimore (1907)

Upon a lonely road at shut of day
Bede, the blind preacher, leaning on a lad
To stay his steps, barefoot (what clothes he had
Fluttering loose in the breeze) took his rough way.

More grisly grew the inhuman wild, and blank :
Nothing but here a pine-trunk, ages old,
There a gray boulder jutting from the mould,
Bearded with shaggy moss and lichens dank.

The lad was tired. Perhaps a bush in reach
Showed tempting berries ; or, for the mere jest,
To fool the blind–“I’ll go,” says he, “to rest,
And now’s your time if you’ve a mind to preach.

“Shepherds have seen us from the high hillside ;
Women are here expecting, children hem
The path, gray elders–speak of God to them,
And of His Son for our sins crucified.

A sudden glamour lit the age worn face.
As springs rock-bound upbursting crack their shell,
So from his wan lips broke the living well
Of inspiration, like a torrent race.

He spoke as faith can speak. The blind man seemed
To read the Apocalypse behind the skies :
Heavenward his frail hand beckoned prophet-wise ;
Tears in his disillumined sockets gleamed.
. . . . . . . . .
Look! now the pale moon drops behind the hill ;
The red gold in the East begins to kindle ;
Night vapours deep in valley bottoms dwindle….
But when the Saint in rapture, preaching still,

Felt his arm nudged, and heard the laughing boy’s
“Enough! There’s no one left–let’s on again,”
And ceased, bowing his head in silence,–then
All round with vast and congregated noise
The stones of the wilderness returned “Amen.”

«Transcribed from Things New and Old, MCMXVIII»

SOME BEAUTIFUL BARDIC POETRY from the book Irish Scholars of the Penal Days written by the Rev. William P. Treacy (1889)

OH, THUS THE BARDS.

Enthroned among the dark-green pines
By no one seen, the linnet sings;
Enthroned among the lone, dark pines
The linnet’s voice now clearly rings;
He recks not who may hear his songs;
He recks not though they be not heard.
He sings of loves, and joys, and wrongs,
He sings for self, the happy bird.

The shepherd on the lonely hills,
At eventide pours forth his strains;
He pipes of meads, and flocks, and rills
And hamlets on the flowery plains;
He dreams not, that deep in the vale,
The toilers pause to hear his voice,
He dreams not that his sweet notes sail
Far off, to make sad hearts rejoice.

Oh, thus the bards in their charmed cells,
Think of their lyres and not of men;
Oh, thus the bards in their hidden cells
Forget the workers in life’s glen;
They sing their songs to please themselves.
And not to please the world’s dull ear;
They sing their songs to soothe their souls,
Not dreaming of the listeners near.

A HYMN TO FAITH.

O! holy Faith; O! Sacred Light,
Forever beam on me;
O like a star, shine on my night,
And light me o’er life’s sea.

The deep I sail is fierce and dark,
A wide, unbounded way,
I cannot steer my wandering bark
Without thy saving ray.

The shore is far away, I know,
And rocks and shoals are nigh,
Among a thousand wrecks I go,
O! star, my starless sky.

I sail, and sail, but know not where—
Before me, death and night;
O! holy Faith, now hear my prayer,
And show thy blessed light.

Shine on the waves that ’round me roar,
Shine on the far-off strand,
Be thou my light-house by the shore,
My sunshine on the land.

THE WORLD.

‘Tis vain to seek for bliss below—
The ancient curse will ever burn;
Our earth is but the nurse of woe—
Who seeks true joys, to God must turn.

Our gardens bear each hateful weed,
While all around the briers bloom;
From Paradise no blissful seed
Was blown afar to Adam’s tomb.

There is no stone on earth to build
A house where drossless joys abide;
There is no gold with power to gild
A peaceful home for human pride.

The world is but a stagnant lake,
Reflecting lovely shores and skies;
Its dazzling stillness dare to break,
And lo! what foulness in it lies.

ROME, THE MOTHER OF ALL CHURCHES.
TO PROTESTANT ENGLAND.

Come back to me, my Fallen child,
Thou art the fruit of Heavenly Love;
I grieve to see thee thus denied:
Come back, come back, my Fallen dove.

A mother’s heart in me thou’lt find,
I’ll think not of thy sinfnl days;
My Daughter, come, —speak not unkind
To her who weeps thy dark, sad ways.

The holy font is near at hand,
I’ve laved in tears a robe for thee;
Thou art a dear though fallen land:
Come back, come back, my child to me.

MY SOUL IS LIKE YON GLOWING FIRE.

My soul is like yon glowing fire,
Burning with a fond desire.
To ascend on high.

My life is like yon taper bright.
Wasting fast its measured light,
Soon, oh, bliss, to die.

My steps are like the dew at morn,
Passing from the rose and thorn,
Passing from earth’s joys and woes.

My heart is like the tiny bark
That flies the waves, when they grow dark,
And seeks in port a sweet repose.

LINES ON FINDING A SINGING BIRD DEAD IN THE SNOW.

What a fount of joy, of rapture,
Was this wood-born child of song! 

Like a smile or ray of sunshine,
Through the air he passed along;

All the Summer he was making
Verses wild, yet sweet of flow; 

Ah! how sad to see his plumage
Flying with the flakes of snow.

Priest and bard would come to listen
To his thrilling matin lay,

And the bard would sit all dreamy,
And the priest kneel down to pray; 

Hear the winds above him sighing!
Do they whisper of his woe?

Like a bunch of bleeding roses
Now he lies upon the snow.

Ah! no more we’ll see him building
Happy homes of down and moss; 

Ah! no more we’ll hear him chanting
On the chapel’s golden cross;

In the earth rich seeds are hidden,
Flowers will come in Summer’s glow; 

But our garden will be lonely,
For its bard sleeps in the snow.

SWEET LYRE, ADIEU

Sweet lyre, adieu, adieu forever!
I lay thee by the lone, green sea,
Its troubled heart shall never, never,
Grow weary of thy melody.

Its winds and waves shall touch thy strings,
And saddest harmonies awake,
Its storms shall sweep thy music-springs,
While ships go down, and brave hearts break.

Sweet lyre, adieu, adieu forever!
The World cares not for songs from me,
I’ll sing no more; but Earth shall never
Be left without sweet sounds from thee!

AWESOME JAPANESE LAFFERTY COVER ART scanned from Dan Knight’s Boomer Flats Gazette.

THE DOWNFALL OF THE GAEL by O’Gnive, Bard of Shane O’Neill, circa 1560, and translated by Sir Samuel Ferguson

This poem was written by the bard of Shane O’Neill; O’Gnive (now Agnew). He accompanied O’Neill to London in 1562. The poem is written in the difficult Deibhidh metre, the dignity of which is not reproduced in Ferguson’s translation.

MY heart is in woe,
___And my soul deep in trouble,—
For the mighty are low,
___And abased are the noble.

The Sons of the Gael
___Are in exile and mourning,
Worn, weary, and pale.
___As spent pilgrims returning ;

Or men who, in flight
___From the field of disaster.
Beseech the black night
___On their flight to fall faster ;

Or seamen aghast
___When their planks gape asunder.
And the waves fierce and fast
___Tumble through in hoarse thunder

Or men whom we see
___That have got their death-omen—
Such wretches are we
___In the chains of our foemen !

Our courage is fear,
___Our nobility vileness,
Our hope is despair,
___And our comeliness foulness.

There is mist on our heads,
___And a cloud chill and hoary
Of black sorrow sheds
___An eclipse on our glory.

From Boyne to the Linn
___Has the mandate been given,
That the children of Finn
___From their country be driven.

That the sons of the king—
___Oh, the treason and malice !—
Shall no more ride the ring
___In their own native valleys ;

No more shall repair
___Where the hill foxes tarry,
Nor forth to the air
___Fling the hawk at her quarry ;

For the plain shall be broke
___By the share of the stranger,
And the stone-mason’s stroke
___Tell the woods of their danger ;

The green hills and shore
___Be with white keeps disfigured,
And the Moat of Rathmore
___Be the Saxon churl’s haggard !

The land of the lakes
___Shall no more know the prospect
Of valleys and brakes—
___So transform’d is her aspect !

The Gael cannot tell,
___In the uprooted wild-wood
And red ridgy dell,
___The old nurse of his childhood ;

The nurse of his youth
___Is in doubt as she views him,
If the wan wretch, in truth,
___Be the child of her bosom.

We starve by the board.
___And we thirst amid wassail—
For the guest is the lord.
___And the host is the vassal

Through the woods let us roam.
___Through the wastes wild and barren ;
We are strangers at home !
___We are exiles in Erin !

And Erin’s a bark
___O’er the wide waters driven !
And the tempest howls dark,
___And her side planks are riven !

And in billows of might
___Swell the Saxon before her,—
Unite, oh, unite !
___Or the billows burst o’er her !

EPIKTISTES ON TIME from Arrive at Easterwine : The Autobiography of a Ktistec Machine as conveyed to R.A. Lafferty (1971)

“There cannot be any such thing as past time, Gaetan, but this fact is hard to explain,” I issued. “Time is all one growing thing, and its deep roots are no more in the past than are its newest barks. I am concerned with growing bark as the enlivening dimension. We will discover, when the past is sufficiently thickened and understood, that we have already done the great things that seem to belong to the future, that we have already been to the stars and the deepest interior shores : we will understand that all the doings of the world are simultaneous, that all the doings of each single life are simultaneous. We will find that we are still in our in our bright childhood, that we are already in our deepest maturity, that the experience of death is contemporaneous with all our experiences, that we (like Adam) are of every age at the same time.

…

“We will understand that Aristotle and Augustine were later and riper in knowledge and experience than were Darwin and Freud and Marx and Einstein, those early childhood types. We will understand that Aquinas came after Descartes and Kant, that he shaped what they hewed.

…

“We will understand that the first man is still alive and well, and the last man has been born for a long time…”

TEN POINTS AGAINST the New American Bible’s BOGUS EXEGESIS of the Holy Gospel according to St. Matthew

Bogus |ˈbōgəs| Counterfeit or fake; fraudulent; not genuine; pretend; phony; spurious; undesirable or harmful; incorrect, useless, or broken. Origin : 1839, Amer.Eng., apparently from a slang word applied in Ohio in 1827 to a counterfeiter’s apparatus. Some trace this to tantrabobus, a late 18c. colloquial Vermont word for any odd-looking object, which may be connected to tantarabobs, recorded as a Devonshire name for the Devil. Others trace it to the same source as bogey as in Bogeyman. It goes further . . .

Gentle reader, if you have the intestinal fortitude to dare compare side-by-side Saint Thomas Aquinas’ Catena Aurea (a verse-for-verse compilation of Patristic commentary upon the Holy Gospels) with the New American Bible’s BOGUS “introductions, footnotes, and explanatory material…added to facilitate devotional reading…and for purposes of study.” you will discover that the NAB’s notes are the most sustained assault upon the plenary inspiration of the Sacred Scriptures ever delivered under “official church” auspices in the English-speaking world. The following TEN POINTS are but small inklings of a whole galaxy of disorders found within this truly “New” and “American” bible. The following study was done using the 1986 edition of the New American Bible New Testament.

1. The word “Catholic” is not mentioned once. Only the “Matthean church, Matthew’s church, Matthew’s community.” 

2. Not one Church Father, Doctor, Saint, Pope or Council is named or quoted. (Excepting one inconsequential remark from Eusebius’ Ecclesiastical History & Nostra Aetate)

3. A Preponderance of citations from Pseudepigrapha, Gnostic texts, the Essenes of Qumran and the Dead Sea Scrolls.

4. An unusual amount of notes concern :
Rabbinic traditions
Rabbinic prayers
Rabbinic literature
Jewish legends
Jewish writings
Jewish beliefs
Jewish notions
Jewish usage
Jewish sources
Jewish stories
Jewish practices
Josephus
the schools of Hillel and Shammai
and the Mishnah of the Babylonian Talmud. 

5. An overweening emphasis on the hypothetical so-called Gospel of Q.

6. A fanatical obsession for pointing out the most minute Discrepancies.

7. The mysterious and oft’ mentioned but never cited “Some scholars… Many scholars… Most scholars… Majority of scholars.”

8. The seldom cited “Many important Textual witnesses.” 

9. St. Matthew the Evangelist is accused of :

“editing, deliberately introducing, modifying, linking, changing, portraying, adding, showing, composing, inserting, expanding, retrojecting, following, accommodating, arranging, assuming, taking, touching, omitting, intending, extending, heightening, setting, claiming, wishing, meaning to, inverting, substituting, attributing, introducing, combining, softening, supporting, retaining, picking up, leaving aside, reducing, weakening, silencing, specifying, summarizing, presenting, ascribing, eliminating, designating, shortening, concentrating, eliminating ambiguities, serving to justify, intending to justify, basing on, removing, recasting, reformulating, abbreviating, doubling, placing, making it so, interrupting, asserting, drawing from, drawing upon, drawing out, formulating, interpreting, turning, giving, depending, incorporating, pointing, deleting, establishing, distinguishing, repeating, associating, commanding, using, utilizing, avoiding, putting, emphasizing, inexactly alluding, curiously omitting, qualifying, altering, rewording.”

10. While these “Omniscient” Modernist Exegetes are so cocksure of all their impudent figments and phantasies, at the same time they pepper their language with doubt and uncertainty about the authenticity or actual meaning of the Scriptures.

a greater or lesser degree of probability
many answers
far from certain
may have been due
probably from
probably at least
a plausible suggestion
may have
seems likely
probably is meant
probably expresses
probably has to do
probably applies
probably reflects
probably closer
probably due to
probably not due only to
but it is probably
is much disputed
seems to have
there is the same confusion
a plausible view
meaning is obscure
the view held by many, others, however, hold…
is doubtful
is perhaps
some think
may be the reason
very uncertain
there are several possibilities
several meanings given
there is a problem in knowing
could have
it is difficult to know
a different view
it seems plausible to maintain
there is some evidence
understood by some
suggests that
may be because
possibly because
some propose
there is much confusion
although some accept
there are others who believe
this view is now supported
probably made because of
may indicate that
can mean that
for some this is
probably composed
although there is no clear evidence
is vague
reasons against considering this
it is uncertain whether
may reflect
possibly this refers
as many think
may refer to
a fact that may be explained
there is reason to think
has been understood as
while it is questionable that
the difficulty raised by this
perhaps it means
some see
some indicate
probably because
it is disputable
probably based
seems to be due
probably an inexact allusion
etc.