Results for category "2011"

Riffs on the lyric Chloris

The lyric Chloris (after Théophile de Viau–1590-1626)

If it’s true, Chloris, that you love me
(and I understand that you love me well)
then the ecstasy of kings
couldn’t rival my happiness
and even the joys of heaven in death
would be unwelcome
Paradise couldn’t surpass the sweet ambrosia,
the fiery nectar of love in our veins
or how your favor for me reflects against eternity
and the love I see in your eyes

The Riffs

                 1.

She hated solitude and wouldn’t retreat
He wasn’t interested in his illness
and wouldn’t discuss it
Mom was always smiling at people
she didn’t want to smile at—she did it for you
He remained in his tent that morning
and sobbed like some broken hearted woman
All felt for him and pitied him
The loss of the orange trees still lingers here
Not one of us will ever come back

                2.

Happiness is insensitivity—
he relies on suggestions, rituals, lightly held beliefs
Nature is wider than her obtuse, anxious, speculations
His loneliness for her is self-imposed
It’s time to leave her now...
They didn’t live together, not right away
May the universe obliterate her lies, or save her
This failure’s so severe, so human
There were no revelations in this ardent, anxious, violence— not for us
She pretends to love but he just can’t see her

                3.

She followed the hearse to the church
but didn’t attend the funeral
out of deference to the family
We’re all bad detectives, bad at discovery
It wasn’t a moral failure
It was a failure of fellowship and good feeling
She looked so small standing alone in that doorway...
Admiration or aversion— you praise, desire, blame or despise
She was attracted to swindlers and was a deep seated grifter herself—
he looked at her then with such love in his eyes

-December 20, 2011-

Limited physical contact…

                1.

We don’t know where we are when
the taste, at last, of death is on our lips and tongue
Our good will and abstract empathies tell us nothing’s ever real
He loves intimately, passionately, without any stop but
in this boundless, burgeoning, heartless, insidious world,
naïve illusion is a luxury

                2.

Knotty abstractions numb his mind
He was taught “all that is, is right”
No pedestal’s broad enough to hold her
Now 56, the old seductive hustle’s
a really hard job for her and she hesitates...
She just can’t bring it off

                3.

His high-toned courtesies, his subtle diplomacies were
perfect models of political diplomatic correspondence
She’s an autumnal leaf – yellowish, dry, cracked
When people don’t do what she wants or expects she shuts them out but
given his peculiar talents and reclusive eccentricities
he really hasn’t done, for her, so badly

                4.

He doesn’t want to see you in that place with those people—
the small continuous, everyday insults eating at you
His grandma used to ask, “What makes you think that you, among all who live
in this stinking world, deserve to be happy?”
She acts like an angry, sullen, survivor but she wants you to know that all of her
violent acts were always provoked, justified, involuntary and, in any event, quite harmless

                5.

He didn’t see his fellow humans much in the balance of things
Sometimes even his friends and lovers were strangers
He shocked the parental parsonage— swore,
smoked his old stinking pipe everywhere, drank Cognac from a flask,
dismissed the locals as “clodhopping fools”
and loudly proclaimed his atheism

                6.

Here’s what’s said in a framed notice hanging on the prison wall:
“Limited physical contact such as
handshaking, embracing (hugs), and
kissing is permitted between an inmate and a visitor
within the bounds of good taste
at the beginning and the end of the visit”

-December 3, 2011-

Broken Patterns

                1.

The pattern’s broken
What’s loved is gone, taken
Her faith failed to prevent her caustic breakdowns
or her eventual car exhaust suicide

Malignant fates—
sailors above deck heard the bubbling cries
of the unfortunates drowned in the seas below, no fear—
we’re all just visitors here

What if the vessel can no longer hold
and the sides leak, collapse and crumble?
Unlikable people behaving implausibly, so
he pays and pays and pays

She can’t get past the disgrace,
the human demotion, the disrespect,
this unsavory person, all of her personal contaminations,
and sickly, damned aversions

                2.

Her body possessed no magic
but enthralled him nevertheless
She breaks the pattern of his
unremitting sadness

He likes the fantasy she pretends to possess
But any day now, just to defy him, she may
twist it, worry it, stomp it, and
thoughtlessly toss it all away

Don’t worry about it
Life’s a kind of jazz, an
improvisation, so to speak, no need to worry—
you either dig it, or you don’t

No critic, he’d stare at a painting for an hour
sometimes with full appreciation, but
found he couldn’t say anything about it
except “wonderful, wonderful”

                3.

The dream is in browns, yellows or grays
peopled by those who say dreadfully little
Alone in a well-lit elevator that never stops and ascends
she hears their voices from across closed doors

645 years of the duchy produced no genius,
only two rulers of any ability, countless dullards and
not a few imbeciles and lunatics
She wears her pain like an old frayed coat

Now he no longer fights to win
He fights to make his victorious enemies pay
Anger makes him want to hurt them
Hate makes him want to see them dead

She was wrong about a lot of things
But she was right about you, bitch
He was just one of many antagonists
whose ambitions matched or exceeded his own

                4.

War is glamorous, heroic, holy, thrilling,
manly and cleansing
War is immoral, repulsive, uncivilized,
futile, wasteful and cruel

A potential competitive advantage can’t
motivate everything and won’t necessarily win
There are plenty of bodies to maim and
strategies are the same everywhere

Our victories are ash in our mouths
Buffeted by deadly events, atrocious blind customs,
humiliated with sorrows and incorrigible violence
they believe the absurdities told to them are real

That emotional son of a bitch, our leader
“I long for the day when we shall attack them with
an overwhelming force and annihilate them
May I live long enough to see them all hacked to pieces”

-November 5, 2011-

Brain Flares

                1.

Brain flares, shrill voices
   scraps of melody, scorches of memory
   torturous, crowded, pitiless voices, screeches
   in his head, all at once, hot, infected, shrill, soft or loud –
He throws himself in the cold river— they pull him out
   He’s no longer, he can never again be, that man

Her advice—“I wanted to mention
   a few more things for Elise—

Do not let her take too many things
   If she needs two chemises a week, let her bring six
   If she is used to wearing only one, about four will do
   Stockings—six pairs, she only needs two changes of dress
Keep the nice blue one at home it will be ruined
   in the packing, if she has a black petticoat

this will be best for traveling, and then
   she will want just one white underskirt

Too much luggage is inconvenient on a journey”
   Mechanical, blind, we go on
   Still, with her usual decency, uprightness, charm, she adds
   “You know how heavy my heart is
I don’t want to talk of it
   My heart bleeds at once”

                2.

People give, when they give, their own gifts
   The aristocrat admired his brilliance
   But his sarcasm and bad manners “are a disgrace”
   He later said “I leave the world to go the way it pleases
I’m difficult and for that, I have often
   suffered the consequences”

Wild justice, revenge
   When you want it, you really want it

The deepest wounds never heal
   Skin just covers over them in waves
   His comic touch only added a grotesque element
   to the pathos, pain and haze of that sad day
Either learn to develop calluses
   or keep yourself safe at home

We spoke frankly as far as such a thing
   is possible with him

Though they reconciled at their father’s death
   relations between the brothers
   remained entirely superficial
   She wrote “Everyone there assumed I was a normal person
The girls giggling with excitement, the boys proud and manly
   That was rather weird”

                3.

The death count’s wrong, they didn’t live
   Tens of thousands were discharged to die
   Tens of thousands died within the first few months
   Tens of thousands lingered for the first or second year
You understand people too little
   and you trust them too much

She fell in love with fire
   Sick of your ridiculous dreams

Your stupid plans, your empty promises
   Never pretty enough, never really thin
   He painted her portrait, caught the bloom she had
   before the loss of innocence
I know how it feels when you’re in trouble
   and no one’s there

No more edges, you might drown—
   There’s nothing left to cling to

Old men nursing morning beers
   This is where the slaughterhouse was
   The transvestites hung out here, near the sex club
   When she gave up meat she still loved the smell
of the slaughterhouse, the animal blood, its visceral
   wildly cold justice

                4.

“Well I think it looks smart,” she said,
   “That’s the difference between you and me
   Your hair is too long and greasy
   My hair is all done up special
I think it looks smart”
   I thought her sweeter than red lollipops

When she couldn’t move and was waiting to die
   She’d stare at silver balloons outside her window

The wind moves the branches above me
   It bends the leaves
   The sun in the river vibrates in gleams
   of  white light on gray water
As he tells it he always fought harder,
   flew faster, and gambled smarter than anyone else

The balloons were set up outside for her delight
   This house has no woman now

Every lie sickens him more and the longer
   he lives the more they lie to him
   Go out there where no one can help you
   Accept who you are and live
Some things, when you have to ask for them,
   aren’t worth having

-September 27, 2011-

Don’t talk to me…

                1.

Don’t talk to me of love, liar
your desperate, hateful, lies about love

A friend of mine, though much alone,
is rarely, almost never, lonely

He lacks a gene for “loneliness”
What if he breeds?

An acquaintance, a French teacher,
finds no task too dry, tedious, or dull

She lacks a gene for “boredom”
What if she breeds?

If they breed together their offspring may happily—
Don’t talk to me of love, you bitch, you liar—

never, or rarely ever, suffer
the hurts of loneliness, the heaviness of boredom

                2.

I go to the prison to visit him
But before I can they make me change my pants

You can’t wear khaki pants to prison visits
That’s what prisoners wear, it’s forbidden

What if I’m old, sick, alone and have no home?
Where will I go?

Wholly unreliable, regardless of character
and rights of others,

incapable of discrimination and jealous
to do something overwrought, dangerous and sensational

A completely despicable leader, yet heartily admired,
untrustworthy, weak, vicious

When things go bad they really go bad and
they go bad fast

                3.

On that day it was sunny
so I rode my bicycle

No, on that day it rained so I couldn’t ride it
No, on that day it was sunny, but

I didn’t feel like it so
I didn’t ride my bicycle

What an impudent dash it was past the trees
With his bad eyes the world began to shimmer

and spin in the distance
He would judge where he was by other means

not all of them visual or fall in wet grass
He would reach for those mountains alive

with an outstretched hand, so close
did they seem

                4.

The heart of the dog-fish cut from its chamber
continues to beat on the boat deck

Not for long—violent emotion,
gentle release—not for long

Fields thick with the dead
Torn and discolored bodies swell in rank

humidity, turn black in the sun, many look upward
their dead eyes open to brute light

We fought in wet grass, we bled...
My advice— give up this absurd fascination

with dank, bloated corpses—
We will, without mercy, kill

enemy snipers wherever we find them—
Study viruses instead

                5.

Don’t bore me with talk of your love again
or even simple human relationships

She asks, “Do you know who I am?”
“I think so, you may be my wife” he said

Her hurts were no less heavy or sharp
when imaginary

There are no human relationships, not really
We merely compare notes

Purple and copper stained hair, sweet legs
a world weary expression soon to be earned

Those in love are ill and must be forgiven
So this is what it was like, prehistory—

When they met again they’d engage in rudimentary, guarded courtesies—
everyone was cold, hungry, odious  and young

-August 20, 2011-