Commentary by Tark Mackintosh
‘God’s Poem’ This poem was famously read at the Annual Goldstrikers Gala of December 1935, but not by Professor Stout. The Goldstrikers founder and Editor-In-Chief of The Goldstruck Digest (1930’s University of Santa Barbara literary organ) Dr. Poots himself recited the lines, to the sarcastic howls and jeers of invited members and guests. Professor Stout had been tossed after an exchange of words and a short scuffle from the banquet hall premises by Dr. Poots’ burly poet henchmen Charlie ‘Spats’ Mallone and Harvey ‘Hounddog’ Harrison, successful authors in their own right and former collegiate boxing middleweights.
empyrean air Rarified air, such as would be breathed that night by Dr. Poots, bodyguards, and truly good-looking women and well-dressed fellas who had actually been invited to the event. Professor Stout kicks off this poem with the figure of God tearing an unblemished page from his own manuscript, perhaps the Book of Life.
esthetic That is to say, aesthetic, pleasing to God.
rhymes God rhymes the word rhymes with chimes. Immaculate! Clearly there are bells constantly ringing in the celestial spheres. It is bright up there, and the place is rocking.
the coming years Forever and ever.
while writing As Professor Stout’s own would shine, according to later reports from family members, while scribbling in his studio, taking frequent hits from the sideboard.
ink was gold A metaphor: God’s ink was yellowish, sparkling, and not cheap.
A blank… / The gods of the future God cleverly left a space on the page he had ripped from His notebook for future poets such as Professor Stout to fill in, like a cosmic Mad Lib.
thrilled The heavens trumpeted with God’s penmanship, as the Goldstrikers Gala members trumpeted in derision as Dr. Poots declaimed these lines.
zephyrs / wind More trumpeting.
no title… / gods on earth God just decided to let His little poem flutter to earth without a title, where it was picked up off the ground by Professor Stout, who promptly called it ‘God’s Poem’, in case we were wondering who was his Muse. None other than God Himself, yowled the gathering at the banquet hall, clutching their sides, and it was apparently some time before the company could calm down, and return to the programmed, serious poetry.