Poems 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,

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