Poems Read online

Page 5


  withexhortation,yellowed

  asscatteredcattle-teeth;

  half-filledwithdust,noteventhedust

  ofthepoorprophetpaynimwhooncelaythere.

  InasmartburnooseKhadourlookedonamused.

  Everythingonlyconnectedby“and”and“and.”

  Openthebook.(Thegiltrubsofftheedges

  ofthepagesandpollinatesthefingertips.)

  Opentheheavybook.Whycouldn’twehaveseen

  thisoldNativitywhilewewereatit?

  —thedarkajar,therocksbreakingwithlight,

  anundisturbed,unbreathingflame,

  colorless,sparkless,freelyfedonstraw,

  and,lulledwithin,afamilywithpets,

  —andlookedandlookedourinfantsightaway.

  TheBight

  [Onmybirthday]

  Atlowtidelikethishowsheerthewateris.

  White,crumblingribsofmarlprotrudeandglare

  andtheboatsaredry,thepilingsdryasmatches.

  Absorbing,ratherthanbeingabsorbed,

  thewaterinthebightdoesn’twetanything,

  thecolorofthegasflameturnedaslowaspossible.

  Onecansmellitturningtogas;ifonewereBaudelaire

  onecouldprobablyhearitturningtomarimbamusic.

  Thelittleocherdredgeatworkofftheendofthedock

  alreadyplaysthedryperfectlyoff-beatclaves.

  Thebirdsareoutsize.Pelicanscrash

  intothispeculiargasunnecessarilyhard,

  itseemstome,likepickaxes,

  rarelycomingupwithanythingtoshowforit,

  andgoingoffwithhumorouselbowings.

  Black-and-whiteman-of-warbirdssoar

  onimpalpabledrafts

  andopentheirtailslikescissorsonthecurves

  ortensethemlikewishbones,tilltheytremble.

  Thefrowsyspongeboatskeepcomingin

  withtheobligingairofretrievers,

  bristlingwithjackstrawgaffsandhooks

  anddecoratedwithbobblesofsponges.

  Thereisafenceofchickenwirealongthedock

  where,glintinglikelittleplowshares,

  theblue-graysharktailsarehunguptodry

  fortheChinese-restauranttrade.

  Someofthelittlewhiteboatsarestillpiledup

  againsteachother,orlieontheirsides,stovein,

  andnotyetsalvaged,iftheyeverwillbe,fromthelastbadstorm,

  liketorn-open,unansweredletters.

  Thebightislitteredwitholdcorrespondences.

  Click.Click.Goesthedredge,

  andbringsupadrippingjawfulofmarl.

  Alltheuntidyactivitycontinues,

  awfulbutcheerful.

  ASummer’sDream

  Tothesaggingwharf

  fewshipscouldcome.

  Thepopulationnumbered

  twogiants,anidiot,adwarf,

  agentlestorekeeper

  asleepbehindhiscounter,

  andourkindlandlady—

  thedwarfwasherdressmaker.

  Theidiotcouldbebeguiled

  bypickingblackberries,

  butthenthrewthemaway.

  Theshrunkenseamstresssmiled.

  Bythesea,lying

  blueasamackerel,

  ourboardinghousewasstreaked

  asthoughithadbeencrying.

  Extraordinarygeraniums

  crowdedthefrontwindows,

  thefloorsglitteredwith

  assortedlinoleums.

  Everynightwelistened

  forahornedowl.

  Inthehornedlampflame,

  thewallpaperglistened.

  Thegiantwiththestammer

  wasthelandlady’sson,

  grumblingonthestairs

  overanoldgrammar.

  Hewasmorose,

  butshewascheerful.

  Thebedroomwascold,

  thefeatherbedclose.

  Wewerewakenedinthedarkby

  thesomnambulistbrook

  nearingthesea,

  stilldreamingaudibly.

  AttheFishhouses

  Althoughitisacoldevening,

  downbyoneofthefishhouses

  anoldmansitsnetting,

  hisnet,inthegloamingalmostinvisible

  adarkpurple-brown,

  andhisshuttlewornandpolished.

  Theairsmellssostrongofcodfish

  itmakesone’snoserunandone’seyeswater.

  Thefivefishhouseshavesteeplypeakedroofs

  andnarrow,cleatedgangplanksslantup

  tostoreroomsinthegables

  forthewheelbarrowstobepushedupanddownon.

  Allissilver:theheavysurfaceofthesea,

  swellingslowlyasifconsideringspillingover,

  isopaque,butthesilverofthebenches,

  thelobsterpots,andmasts,scattered

  amongthewildjaggedrocks,

  isofanapparenttranslucence

  likethesmalloldbuildingswithanemeraldmoss

  growingontheirshorewardwalls.

  Thebigfishtubsarecompletelylined

  withlayersofbeautifulherringscales

  andthewheelbarrowsaresimilarlyplastered

  withcreamyiridescentcoatsofmail,

  withsmalliridescentfliescrawlingonthem.

  Uponthelittleslopebehindthehouses,

  setinthesparsebrightsprinkleofgrass,

  isanancientwoodencapstan,

  cracked,withtwolongbleachedhandles

  andsomemelancholystains,likedriedblood,

  wheretheironworkhasrusted.

  TheoldmanacceptsaLuckyStrike.

  Hewasafriendofmygrandfather.

  Wetalkofthedeclineinthepopulation

  andofcodfishandherring

  whilehewaitsforaherringboattocomein.

  Therearesequinsonhisvestandonhisthumb.

  Hehasscrapedthescales,theprincipalbeauty,

  fromunnumberedfishwiththatblackoldknife,

  thebladeofwhichisalmostwornaway.

  Downatthewater’sedge,attheplace

  wheretheyhauluptheboats,upthelongramp

  descendingintothewater,thinsilver

  treetrunksarelaidhorizontally

  acrossthegraystones,downanddown

  atintervalsoffourorfivefeet.

  Colddarkdeepandabsolutelyclear,

  elementbearabletonomortal,

  tofishandtoseals…Onesealparticularly

  Ihaveseenhereeveningafterevening.

  Hewascuriousaboutme.Hewasinterestedinmusic;

  likemeabelieverintotalimmersion,

  soIusedtosinghimBaptisthymns.

  Ialsosang“AMightyFortressIsOurGod.”

  Hestoodupinthewaterandregardedme

  steadily,movinghisheadalittle.

  Thenhewoulddisappear,thensuddenlyemerge

  almostinthesamespot,withasortofshrug

  asifitwereagainsthisbetterjudgment.

  Colddarkdeepandabsolutelyclear,

  thecleargrayicywater…Back,behindus,

  thedignifiedtallfirsbegin.

  Bluish,associatingwiththeirshadows,

  amillionChristmastreesstand

  waitingforChristmas.Thewaterseemssuspended

  abovetheroundedgrayandblue-graystones.

  Ihaveseenitoverandover,thesamesea,thesame,

  slightly,indifferentlyswingingabovethestones,

  icilyfreeabovethestones,

  abovethestonesandthentheworld.


  Ifyoushoulddipyourhandin,

  yourwristwouldacheimmediately,

  yourboneswouldbegintoacheandyourhandwouldburn

  asifthewaterwereatransmutationoffire

  thatfeedsonstonesandburnswithadarkgrayflame.

  Ifyoutastedit,itwouldfirsttastebitter,

  thenbriny,thensurelyburnyourtongue.

  Itislikewhatweimagineknowledgetobe:

  dark,salt,clear,moving,utterlyfree,

  drawnfromthecoldhardmouth

  oftheworld,derivedfromtherockybreasts

  forever,flowinganddrawn,andsince

  ourknowledgeishistorical,flowing,andflown.

  CapeBreton

  Outonthehigh“birdislands,”CibouxandHertford,

  therazorbillauksandthesilly-lookingpuffinsallstand

  withtheirbackstothemainland

  insolemn,unevenlinesalongthecliff’sbrowngrass-frayededge,

  whilethefewsheeppasturedtherego“Baaa,baaa.”

  (Sometimes,frightenedbyaeroplanes,theystampede

  andfalloverintotheseaorontotherocks.)

  Thesilkenwaterisweavingandweaving,

  disappearingunderthemistequallyinalldirections,

  liftedandpenetratednowandthen

  byoneshag’sdrippingserpent-neck,

  andsomewherethemistincorporatesthepulse,

  rapidbutunurgent,ofamotorboat.

  Thesamemisthangsinthinlayers

  amongthevalleysandgorgesofthemainland

  likerottingsnow-icesuckedaway

  almosttospirit;theghostsofglaciersdrift

  amongthosefoldsandfoldsoffir:spruceandhackmatack—

  dull,dead,deeppeacock-colors,

  eachriserdistinguishedfromthenext

  byanirregularnervoussaw-toothedge,

  alike,butcertainasastereoscopicview.

  Thewildroadclambersalongthebrinkofthecoast.

  Onitstandoccasionalsmallyellowbulldozers,

  butwithouttheirdrivers,becausetodayisSunday.

  Thelittlewhitechurcheshavebeendroppedintothemattedhills likelostquartzarrowheads.

  Theroadappearstohavebeenabandoned.

  Whateverthelandscapehadofmeaningappearstohavebeen

  abandoned,

  unlesstheroadisholdingitback,intheinterior,

  wherewecannotsee,

  wheredeeplakesarereputedtobe,

  anddisusedtrailsandmountainsofrock

  andmilesofburntforestsstandingingrayscratches

  liketheadmirablescripturesmadeonstonesbystones—

  andtheseregionsnowhavelittletosayforthemselves

  exceptinthousandsoflightsong-sparrowsongsfloatingupward

  freely,dispassionately,throughthemist,andmeshing

  inbrown-wet,fine,tornfish-nets.

  Asmallbuscomesalong,inup-and-downrushes,

  packedwithpeople,eventoitsstep.

  (Onweekdayswithgroceries,spareautomobileparts,andpumpparts,

  buttodayonlytwopreachersextra,onecarryinghisfrockcoatonahanger.) Itpassestheclosedroadsidestand,theclosedschoolhouse,

  wheretodaynoflagisflying

  fromtherough-adzedpoletoppedwithawhitechinadoorknob.

  Itstops,andamancarryingababygetsoff,

  climbsoverastile,andgoesdownthroughasmallsteepmeadow,

  whichestablishesitspovertyinasnowfallofdaisies,

  tohisinvisiblehousebesidethewater.

  Thebirdskeeponsinging,acalfbawls,thebusstarts.

  Thethinmistfollows

  thewhitemutationsofitsdream;

  anancientchillisripplingthedarkbrooks.

  ViewofTheCapitolfromTheLibraryofCongress

  Movingfromlefttoleft,thelight

  isheavyontheDome,andcoarse.

  Onesmalllunetteturnsitaside

  andblanklystaresofftotheside

  likeabigwhiteoldwall-eyedhorse.

  OntheeaststepstheAirForceBand

  inuniformsofAirForceblue

  isplayinghardandloud,but—queer—

  themusicdoesn’tquitecomethrough.

  Itcomesinsnatches,dimthenkeen,

  thenmute,andyetthereisnobreeze.

  Thegianttreesstandinbetween.

  Ithinkthetreesmustintervene,

  catchingthemusicintheirleaves

  likegold-dust,tilleachbigleafsags.

  Unceasinglythelittleflags

  feedtheirlimpstripesintotheair,

  andtheband’seffortsvanishthere.

  Greatshades,edgeover,

  givethemusicroom.

  Thegatheredbrasseswanttogo

  boom—boom.

  Insomnia

  Themooninthebureaumirror

  looksoutamillionmiles

  (andperhapswithpride,atherself,

  butshenever,neversmiles)

  farandawaybeyondsleep,or

  perhapsshe’sadaytimesleeper.

  BytheUniversedeserted,

  she’dtellittogotohell,

  andshe’dfindabodyofwater,

  oramirror,onwhichtodwell.

  Sowrapupcareinacobweb

  anddropitdownthewell

  intothatworldinverted

  whereleftisalwaysright,

  wheretheshadowsarereallythebody,

  wherewestayawakeallnight,

  wheretheheavensareshallowasthesea

  isnowdeep,andyouloveme.

  TheProdigal

  Thebrownenormousodorhelivedby

  wastooclose,withitsbreathingandthickhair,

  forhimtojudge.Thefloorwasrotten;thesty

  wasplasteredhalfwayupwithglass-smoothdung.

  Light-lashed,self-righteous,abovemovingsnouts,

  thepigs’eyesfollowedhim,acheerfulstare—

  eventothesowthatalwaysateheryoung—

  till,sickening,heleanedtoscratchherhead.

  Butsometimesmorningsafterdrinkingbouts

  (hehidthepintsbehindatwo-by-four),

  thesunriseglazedthebarnyardmudwithred;

  theburningpuddlesseemedtoreassure.

  Andthenhethoughthealmostmightendure

  hisexileyetanotheryearormore.

  Buteveningsthefirststarcametowarn.

  Thefarmerwhomheworkedforcameatdark

  toshutthecowsandhorsesinthebarn

  beneaththeiroverhangingcloudsofhay,

  withpitchforks,faintforkedlightnings,catchinglight,

  safeandcompanionableasintheArk.

  Thepigsstuckouttheirlittlefeetandsnored.

  Thelantern—likethesun,goingaway—

  laidonthemudapacingaureole.

  Carryingabucketalongaslimyboard,

  hefeltthebats’uncertainstaggeringflight,

  hisshudderinginsights,beyondhiscontrol,

  touchinghim.Butittookhimalongtime

  finallytomakehisminduptogohome.

  Faustina,orRockRoses

  TendedbyFaustina

  yesinacrazyhouse

  uponacrazybed,

  frail,ofchippedenamel,

  bloomingaboveherhead

  intofourvaguelyroselike

  flower-formations,

  thewhitewomanwhispersto

  herself.Thefloorboardssag

  thiswayandthat.Thecrooked

  towel-coveredtable

  bearsacanoftalcum

  andfivepasteboardboxes

  oflittle
pills,

  mosthalf-crystallized.

  Thevisitorsitsandwatches

  thedewglintonthescreen

  andinittwoglow-worms

  burningadrownedgreen.

  Meanwhiletheeighty-wattbulb

  betraysusall,

  discoveringtheconcern

  withinourstupefaction;

  lightingaswellonheads

  oftacksinthewallpaper,

  onapaperwall-pocket,

  violet-embossed,glistening

  withmicaflakes.

  Itexposesthefinewhitehair,

  thegownwiththeundershirt

  showingattheneck,

  thepallidpalm-leaffan

  sheholdsbutcannotwield,

  herwhitedisorderedsheets

  likewiltedroses.

  Clutteroftrophies,

  chamberofbleachedflags!

  —Ragsorraggedgarments

  hungonthechairsandhooks

  eachcontributingits

  shadeofwhite,confusing

  asundazzling.

  Thevisitorisembarrassed

  notbypainnorage

  norevennakedness,

  thoughperhapsbyitsreverse.

  Byandbythewhisper

  says, “Faustina,Faustina…”

  “¡Vengo,señora!”

  Onbarescrapingfeet

  Faustinanearsthebed.

  Sheexhibitsthetalcumpowder,

  thepills,thecansof“cream,”

  thewhitebowloffarina,

  requestingforherself

  alittle coñac;

  complainingof,explaining,

  thetermsofheremployment.

  Shebendsabovetheother.

  Hersinisterkindface

  presentsacruelblack

  coincidentconundrum.

  Oh,isit

  freedomatlast,alifelong

  dreamoftimeandsilence,

  dreamofprotectionandrest?

  Orisittheveryworst,

  theunimaginablenightmare

  thatneverbeforedaredlast

  morethanasecond?

  Theacutenessofthequestion

  forksinstantlyandstarts

  asnake-tongueflickering;

  blursfurther,blunts,softens,

  separates,falls,ourproblems

  becominghelplessly

  proliferative.

  Thereisnowayoftelling.

  Theeyessayonlyeither.

  Atlastthevisitorrises,

  awkwardlyproffersherbunch

  ofrust-perforatedroses

  andwondersoh,whencecome

  allthepetals.

  VarickStreet

  Atnightthefactories

  struggleawake,