Saturday, February 27, 2016


        phOEnix & pOEtry
 Never were there, in heaven nor earth,
Such a love as this, the two are one:
The Phoenix and her turtle dove
(Or, the turtle dove and it’s Phoenix).
It’s all the same, from grave to birth,
All One: onely I, is the Transcendent One!
In perfect love there’s no world-Division!

For each (The Magnificent Phoenix,
And its beloved little turtle dove)
The other so much did love,
That two were one, and, in one, none;
When, all in all, the final word is done.
As each in the other dies, in fiery flame
And, into immortal life, returned again.

 And this forever will always be True
 As we, since ancient times, were told and read!
“Always true,” that is, until—all birds are dead!
Then, ah! How much there is to rue.

Alas, few ‘ve dared speak of it before,
That, almost hidden sound of sorrow,
Deep within the Phoenix ‘s keep,
And pardon us, if we with tears
Must sometimes speak for great
Is the suffering, great is the woe.


Notes: Anyone who has read any of my work on the EO cipher, etc., will see, amazingly, to a scintilla of a detail, the exact logic is implicit in Shakespeare's owne, "The Phoenix and the Turtle," which I developed entirely independently, and it matches to a "T". The above is just my introductory poem to my very brief essay, soon to come, concluding facts from analysis. It's already written, so now I must wait, till the Muse says, "finish it off!"

***Just so the reader knows, it just so happens that. . . "∃ (a backwards E) or existential quantification, the symbol for "there exists...", in predicate logic; ∃! meaning "there exists only one" (or "there exists exactly one") - see Uniqueness quantification." -- Many ways to "skin a cat." Of course, that is onely OnE of my reasons to use the backward "∃."

Monday, February 22, 2016

Cipher In The Hart Continued


“My ashes, as the Phoenix, may bring forth a bird”
3 Henry, VI,  i 4 , Shakespeare

“Then of thy loue, let this the figure be,
If euer there were Phoenix, thou art he.” 
(stanzas, from “Love,” by Unknown One)

© Elwood LeRoy Miller, 22, 2016

Introductory Remarks:

Within the Very hart of the art  
of the mythic bird called Phoenix,
Last night I dreamed I saw him – betwix’t
Ashes and flame, A New Age’s start,
Rising to greet a New World’s day!
Rebirth of Live-Giving Beauty—Poetry!

And in my dream I wondered why, I,
Was being call’d to witness this amazing sight—l.
400 years is a long time to forget, and yet,
It’s as tho’ I did live then, and, indeed, we didn’t:
We didn’t forget, he became for us almost a God,
Not from magical ashes sprung but from the sod!

Yes, yes, we know him by his themes,
The Queen of Heaven, Desire’s Arraignment,
For he is guilty, and clearly tells us so;
And that his name is Unknown Flower,
“Harts-ease,” LOvE-in-Idleness, Sweet William,
St. William, too—all this (as well likes ciphers)!

The complex tuning of a two-note play,
Spells to him, his owne “Victory”: “Io! Io, Io.”
Not LO, LO, LO, for Lord Oxforde, Oh, No! No!
Here we mean “io, io, io” pronounced for EO!
At least that’s the Roman cry, they say.
(I ‘m myself not learned enough to know).
As said, one of the themes of OnE, that cipher,
Is to reveal, as well a cipher is surely intended,
And he reveals it, too, in his long poem “Love.”
Following stanzas from “Love” below here set,
In “Love”—as well. With that we’ll rest a spell.

From “LOVE” (called “Countess of Pembroke Love”)

Some say sweete loue, there is a Phoenix birde,
Of which there was, is, nor will  be but one:
Which Phoenix sure, I thinke is but a worde,
For such a birde, I thinke is surely none:
But that it doeth, in figure onelie tuch,
Some heauenly thing; on earth was neuer such.

[Above we see “one”, he is “one” “OnE”
—he reminds us Phoenix is “but a word”
For a mythical bird, but as a “figure” a “cipher” 
if you will, which is what he means
here, and he goes through his, by long familiar, 
routine of the “one” and “none” and
“never” and “ever”—its really just to “touch” 
matters regarding “heauenly things.”]

For why the birde, is saied to bee alone,
And thou didst male, and femall all create:
And as for birdes were neuer two in one,
That euer trueth in reason did relate:
No, no, the figure surely doeth intende,
More then the world can easily comprehend.

[And again, the reader sees repetition of the same theme,  playing off his name, “ever” and trueth, “veritas” But, he tells us there is a “figure” surely intended that most people in the world will not easily comprehend. The “never” “two in one” and all that business is right here. We developed every detail before finding this poem “Love” and was shocked to see, all the elements brought together!]

And continues, after a few stanzas:

And didst thou die, to compasse thy desire?
And thy desire, but to preserue thy loue?
And, could in thee, loue, kindle such a fier?
To leaue thy life? Thy constant loue to proue?
Then of thy loue, let this the figure be,
If euer there were Phoenix, thou art he.

[Above he makes, yes, it is he, he is the PhoeNix. It was and is ever (euer) the Phoenix—and if there ever was one, he’s it. And he was right about that. Only a Phoenix would have known he was OnE, who else would?

 And since thou didst, the sweete example giue,
By theine owne death to show thy dearest loue:
That we might learne the onely way to liue,
Is, by the crosses comforts to approue:
O let my soule, seech her sacred rest,
But in the ashes of the Phoenix nest.

[He prays that he seek (“seech”) his sacred rest
“But in the ashses of the Phoenix nest.”

Only a Phoenix sleeps in the ashes of a Phoenix!

And nearer the very end of the poem, within a couple or so stanzas, this:
Condemed for His Offense

I must confesse my conscience did condemme me
Of such offence, as I could not denie:
And of such crime, as thou mightst  well contene me,
When by my due, I had deseru'd to die:
But when thy mercy did my sorrowe see,
How in the pity she did pleade for me.

[Indeed, he even goes through the horrors with QE again, and his being condemned, pleading for mercy, and all that, all a repetition of the exact words I used for Lord Oxfords speech before the Queen on these very matters with the exact same conclusion that history gives]

Behold, quod shee, the true repentant hart,
Which bleedes in teares with sorrowe of her sinne:
What passions haue perplexed eury part,
When penitence doth pitties suite beginne:
Where true confession, doth submission proue,
And true contrition, creis to me for loue.

CONTINUING. . . Then, of all things, we have a series of riddles, the first of which reads:

The First Riddle.

Within a gallant plot of ground,
There growes a flowre that hath no name,
The like whereof was neuer found,
And none but one can plucke the same:
Now where this ground or flowre doth growe,
Or who that one, tis hard to knowe.

The  Answere. And then another

The Second Riddle.

Within a field there growes a flowre,
That decks the ground where at it growes,
It springs and falls, both in an howre,
And but at certaine times it showers:
It neuer dies, and seldome seene,
And tis a Nosegay for a Queene.

[And there is our Unknown Flower business, and, again, the exact words I use my play of 2001, exact! Where “Anomos” (Lord Oxford”) is told he is now the Unknown Flower!  And it continues, in another mode, but as a continuation of the same story]:

Blest be the ground that first brought forth the flowre,
Whose name vntolde, but vertues not vnknowne:
Happie the hand, whom God shall giue the powre,
To plucke this flowre, and take it for his owne:
Oh heauenly stalke, that staines all where it growes:
From whom more sweet, than sweetest hony flowes.

Oh sweete of sweetes, the sweetest sweete that is:
Oh flowre of flowres, that yeelds so sweete a sent:
Oh sent so sweete, as when the head shall misse:
Oh heauens what hart but that will sore lament:
God let thee spring , and flourish so each howre,
As that our sweetes may neuer turne to sowre.

That we may wish that it may euer groe,
Amid delgihts where we desire to wait,
Vpon the flowre that pleaseth euerie eie,
And glads each hart; God let it neuer die.

Wherewith me thought alowde I cride, Amen:
And therewithall I started out of sleepe:
Now what became of these faire ladies then,
I cannot tell, in mine I onely keepe
These ridling toies which heere I do recite:
Ile tell ye more perhaps another night.

Same Here, “ile tell ye more perhaps another night.”


Sunday, February 21, 2016

Cipher In The Heart: Oxford/Shakespeare


Lord Oxford & Shakespeare:

Elwood LeRoy Miller, Feb. 21, 2016


 Now come we here to make our final pass,
 And, in this pass, we let our passions pass,
 No more to dwell on dark-things of history,
 But, to let be that fraud, that sure calumny--
 Those, O dastardly perfidies—Let us not dwell,
 I tell myself, no more! Now, onely simple truth.
 Our story ‘s simple,  very clear and easy to tell:
 De Vere was truly the OnE and onely, forsooth:
   Th’ evidence confirms, we think you’ll agree
   And Truth being True, we’ll state it in poetry.    


2 ToNeS

[Playing around, the Muse’s imps tease me, with urging me—I mean it, actually “urging” me—to throw in one of their ditties, which is: to note that spoken “Two Tones, One Tonge” spoken in ordinary fast speech, sounds like Chinese!  Chinese, which Lord Oxford had an interest in, and, of course, especially Chinese poetry—how do I know this? Read the Arte of Englishe Posie, 1589—in any case, maybe my Chinese Muse is chiming in, which well may be the case, to remind me, that—spoken at ordinary pace in Chinese language spirit, “TwOOO TOOOnnNe, OnnE ToonG” gives two tones—forget the one tongue. Can one had a “ha, ha,” in an important document?—A decipherment, I am aware, which may be one of the most famous in history—certainly literary history!]

 Playing With An Odd Creature:
Turn-around ‘s ‘Vere Play: EO=OE

To discredit these findings, much needs be explain’d,
How two such different persons could have one plot;
That in One word Two names are somehow wrought,
But, One, as word, is nothing, a zero that be retained.
And, in that zero, is the very word and name of cipher,
Exactly the same. It is the truth we’re here to discover.   

[Note: the above & immediately below, refers to the fact that both Shakespeare and Earl of Oxford (OE), uses the exact same unique cipher to discuss why they can’t reveal their names—as odd as that one is. The issue is dealt with at length—the two names are the names of many things, Oxford’s name, Edward and Oxford, and de Vere, etc. and Shakespeare is another of two names, etc. Discursive discussions follows elsewhere. No further commentary will be given here.  If the reader encounters a “both” it’s a reference to theat. elm]

But, each to the othere never can be its owne
For In both cases, in both cases, too, the truth
Can’t ere be told: ‘Cause there’s none, forsooth!
Why? Because in both cases, one is always none!

How can such an odd creature, as that One,
Hide its unknowne identity, you ask?
Why, there is nowhere for suche a thing to bide,
As One is None, nothing ‘s got nowhere to hide!

And then the GENIUS THOUGHT occurred to hime,
As one-in-one, he suddenly heard, two songs, one hyme
As no WORD  must tell his hidden name, “Well then!
If it’s all the same, I think use “OE”, my dipthong,”
He, to himself, did saye, for I have vow ‘d only
To not reveal by WORD my name, cause of my blame;
The Truth behind the reason that I must be unknown.

The Dipthong is my Saviour, there no “word” here,
And yet it be, and Heaven’s owne will, certainly,
That he, with such an extreme high-called destiny,
Can merely sing the soul of me,
The Phoenix bird is here, de Vere. That’s history.
“Aye, and there I’d be, not “e” or “o”
Or “o” or “e”, or any such sound that be,
But hidden in the sounding slide,
Of its own sounding of its sound,
As a dipthong, would have it for its owne song.
For a dipthong is no word when heard—
And the hearing of it, is its own nature—
If you like. Let that then your pleasure.

“Two tones, one tonge, and none a word,
That is how I’ll carry on the name of Edward,”
He said, and, like a true penitent, that he was--
Over and over he rehearsed the story, word
For word, he did tell again, the same old story
—“One more of the same”  and o’re and ore —
Till, frankly, it even got to be a bit-o-a-bore!

Then, suddenly, he was free to be,
The Greatest Wonder of them All
Ever and onely One, for such is the tale ,
Of OE, who took that Sun-struck name,
Of that glorious bird of mythic Arabie,
Who lives and dies in its own Oneness—
Never are there two—always onely one,
Born from the ashes of his own firey death,
Such the greatest Poet ever says his breath
Is of the same nature as that which is eternal
Where lOvE sits, too, within, ever as supernal.

And so in 1592, he wrote-up his cipher plan,
In a poem called “Love” he detailed the plot.
To be, he revealed, what he willed  be forever
Preserv’d, forevere, living as a mythic ciphere.
It’s “The PhOEnix” that’s where Ever is not!
Now, he would give his code, tell the world—
That he ‘s a person, too, has a name, Edward!

And so, in 1593, he took to write a book, indeed,
Named, if you can believe, “The Phoenix Nest.”
And thus dared to write, and more daringly told,
His Phoenix code, of himself as OE, we attest.  
He would so everywhere—in epitaphs, elegies,
Myths, too, would tell  Of the Queen of Heaven
And her deadly, punishing, Arraignments,
In everything he could—like man possessed,
Indeed, he was, but not because. . .
In any case, he declares himself guilty and sworn
Never to reveal if ever he was born.
That is, he said, himself, his “extreme destiny.”
To that, and hard facts of life we can all agree.


 [One genius for that, we agree, but two—
With the same plot, each, the same game?
The same maxtix of “one” and, O, my Lord,
Someone hold my hand—if that is true!
And each adopted the same bird, too,
The Phoenix—Greatest Mythic Miracle?]