6.3
To the Research Lab. Sirs: You may be proud
As peacocks. You’ve endowed
Us from the start with freedoms that entrap.
We are the red-eyed mice on whom your maze
Is printed. At its heart a little cloud
Thins and dwindles—zap!—
To nothing in one blink of rays.
Painlessness intenser than a burn.
What must at length be borne
Is that the sacred bonds are chemical.
Friend, lover, parent, amphorae that took
Eons to dream up, to throw and turn—
Split-seconds in this kiln
Show them in your true colors. Look:
Jasmine, lantana, rose geranium,
All dizzying, all dumb
Beneath the trumpet’s bloodgorged insect wrath
(Maidens from Act II of Parsifal
Whom the Enchanter waters into bloom)—
Was this your garden path?
Was I, beguiled there, the Pure Fool
Who mistook antimatter for a muse?
Down choking avenues
Of memory now I meet her, dressed in black,
Smelling of soil and Shalimar, her lips
Parted to speak in that same tongue you use
To raise the crushing block
By null moonglow or full eclipse
Till all is desert waste. You’ve no control
Over such loss of soul?
I don’t believe you: SHE IS ONE OF US.
We loved Maria. Love her still. Oh God…
Grief, horror…Come, your lecture on the cell!
Spread your tail, incubus,
We’re listening. Make the story good.
6.4
YR GRIEF JM IS ANOTHER THING. YR SQUARE OF THE 4
COLORS IS OF COURSE INFINITY FOR COLOR IS LIGHT
& LIGHT, ALL LIFE THE 12 P/C I THINK WILL TAKE U THERE
MM WILL ANCHOR U. FOUR LESSONS NOW
1: U JM
HAVE SAID IT: THE ATOM IS OUR UNIT THE WHOLE GREENHOUSE
IS BUT A CELL, COMPLEX YET MANAGEABLE ALL MATTER
THERE4 IS PART OF THAT CELL IF AS WE PRESUME GOD B’S
EYE PEERS DOWN THRU HIS MICROSCOPE AT THE SWIMMING PLANETS
U ON THE SLIDE CALLD EARTH MAY GUESS AT THE SCALE OF YR LIVES:
LESS THAN THOSE LEAST PARTICLES THAT IN ISOLATION DIE
EACH WITH ITS OWN STRANGENESS & COLOR & CHARM A PRICELESS
IF EXPENDABLE FORCE IN MEANING’S GROWING MOLECULE
WHA IN OUR MASQUE EXPERIENCED WHAT? THE WIND LET
OUT OF HIS BEING HIS (M) PERSONALITY GONE ITS
LOSS A COMPLETENESS IN THAT DANCE UNDER THE POWERFUL
LIGHT FLOODING THE LENS
JM (still horrified, begins to see):
This loss you call completeness is lived through?
Soul, the mortal self, expendably
Rusting in tall grass, iron eaten by dew—
All that in our heart of hearts we must
Know will happen, and desire, and dread?
Once feeling goes, and consciousness, the head
Filling with…vivid nothings—no, don’t say!
A A A PLUS & NOW WE ADMIT
OUR SEMINAR IS THIS STRIPPING PROCESS. WE ARE CAUTIOUS,
PREPARED AS U ARE FOR IT, NOT TO PUT UPON U MORE
THAN U CAN BEAR YR GRIEF JM HOW INTOLERABLE
HAD WE NOT SLOWLY BROKEN IT TO U? INDEED HOW ELSE
WD U HAVE ACCEPTED IT? MM OF THE 4 OF YOU
CAME MOST PREPARED
But isn’t it taboo to strip the soul
From the raw power it shields? If soul were like
The atom— DJ (eyes on harbor): Look,
Here comes a boat with a four-colored sail!
DJ YR DEAR HAND IS A MAGIC WAND
JM THE STRIPPING IS THE POINT YR POEM WILL PERHAPS
TAKE UP FROM ITS WINTRY END & MOVE STEP BY STEP INTO
SEASONLESS & CHARACTERLESS STAGES TO ITS FINAL
GREAT COLD RINGING OF THE CHIMES SHAPED AS O O O O O
HAVE DWELT IN BLUE TOMORROW RED NOT AN EASY ONE TO
TAKE IN THE PROTON OF POWER TOUCHES TERRIBLE NERVES
& FOR IT I MUST ASK U TO CALL 00470
THEN WHEN CALMER CALL YR DEVOTED 741 ADIEU
NOW MES ENFANTS A SPOT OF RUM? I fetch
Two thimblefuls. We drink them, soberly
Swirl the last two drops into the cup
—Provoking instant misbehavior there:
SCANDALE OUR BUGGER PATTED MY BLACK BOTTOM!
SUCH INNOCENCE MY DEARS SMACK SMACK Some more?
ALREADY PRANCING LIKE JAMAICAN DUSKIES
Would that we were as easy to cheer up.
FORGIVE ME IF I SAY IT WILL GET DARKER
BUT FEAR NOT MAMAN GRIPS THE OCEAN FLOOR
6.5
We have foregathered to be briefed, next day,
By our redcoat chief-of-staff, the zeros glinting
On his breast like medals. Why does he delay?
MORE INSULATION I PRESUME MY DEARS
AH HOUSELIGHTS SPOT
YOU RECEIVE THE MESSAGES IN RED CELLS, IN A RED ROOM,
AND IF YOU REMEMBER THE INTENSITIES WERE FOR YOU
STRONGER WHEN YOUR PROTECTIVE COLOR WAS LESS RED,
JM: You know, it’s true.
When They first visited (cf. Ephraim, U)
These walls had faded. We’ve repainted since.
CORRECT.
YOU WILL ALSO REMEMBER THAT TO THIS RED ROOM YOU CAME
THAT FIRST NIGHT, LEAVING THE ADJACENT BLUE CELL OF REASON,
AND HERE, WHILE YOUR GREEK’S INCOHERENT REPRESENTATIVE
WRITHED IN FLAME, YOU JOIND THE TRUE POWER OF THESE TALKS IN RED.
Letter-to-letter slashings of the cup—
Power talking. The transcriber can’t keep up.
THIS LESSON WILL BE SHORT. IT IS IN RED THAT POWER LIVES.
THE SUN, THE HEALING CORPUSCLE. IT IS IN RED WE COME
TO THE VISION OF OUR EYES. WE ARE THE FORCE OF 00.
WE ARE THE STRENGTH OF GOD’S VISION. WE SEE YOU AS DOES THAT
GREATER POWER AND TELL YOU, THAT YOUR VERY SPIRIT LIVES
IN OUR RED CELLS. THIS WILL PERMEATE YOUR MIND. CLOSE YOUR EYES.
We do. A faint, pulsing tremor begins
In my left arm, shoulder to fingertips
Poised on the cup I meanwhile judge to be
Moving slowly, slowly, from 1 to 0
(Passage that takes a minute, more or less)
Three times. Then suddenly a sense of—yes—
Whiteness on my left side. Whiteness felt
Against my cheek, along my forearm, like
A wash of alcohol that as it dries
Refreshes. The cup rests. Open our eyes?
YES THE MOMENT OF BLINDNESS IS PASSD AND THE WHITE LAID DOWN.
THE POWER TO HEAR ITS VOICES NEARS YOUR RED ROOM. FAREWELL
Gone?
DJ LIFT YR HAND
His left hand all this while unawares
Pressed flat against the Board—how did that happen?
WE ARE NOW A STEP CLOSER U KNOW
SOMETHING ABOUT ONE COLOR DO NOT S
PEAK TO ME OF IT
I AM NOT STRONG ?S
Maria’s rays—those losses to the Lab—
Does God intend them?
GOD B USES HIS ATOMIC
POWER AS BOTH BENEVOLENT (SUN) & CHASTISING (BOMBS)
USES IT AS HIS ONE AGENT TO CREATE & DESTROY.
MAN’S & THE CENTAURS’ TAKING OF IT A PROMETHEAN
OUTRAGE: IS GOD CLONING THE USURPATION?
I don’t understand.
NOR DO WE
2 CHOICES 1: HE IS CHANGING MAN INTO HIS AGENT
OR 2: PREPARING A NEW SPECIES. NOW CELL 3:
YELLOW
IS THE PRODUCTIVE LIGHT THE FILTERD SUN ALL CHLOROPHYLL
OR BOTANICAL CELLS DRINK THIS, GOD B’S BENEVOLENCE
IT IS THE SWEET JOYOUS LIGHT ALL SCRIBES ADORE THE YELLOW:
WINDOW IN DARK OF NIGHT PARCHMENT ON DARK OF TABLE (M)
IT IS A SINGING CELL IN THE BLOOD OF POETS THE LYMPH
IS YELLOW & THE DECADENT SPLEEN & THE THICK FAT OF
PROSE. TOMORROW WITH BLUE & RED & YELLOW BEHIND US
WE WILL TAKE UP GREEN & BID ADIEU TO TODAY’S BOUQUET
—Swerving gracefully to indicate
Our little centerpiece for this occasion,
The few remaining red and yellow asters
Of those D brought home from the hospital.
What was so blue about our previous lesson?
DID U NOT WEEP JM?
Yes. But “blue”?—too mild a word, I’d say,
To stand for the grim truths of yesterday.
IT WAS A BRUISE A THROBBING SEA
OF PAIN & COMPASSION OUT OF WHICH (AS THE COOLER BLUE
OF YR REASON SAW) I WAS TOO WEAK TO LIFT U ADIEU
MY DEARS A TOASTER! Today’s visitor?
MM & I TWO SLICES POPPING UP
Did you peek? NO ABSOLUTE RED BLINDNESS
WITH AT ONE POINT A BAR OF WHITE
SLICING DOWNWARD LIKE A KNIFE Did you hear?
THRU OUR CLOSED EYELIDS WHEN U CLOSED YRS A
HUMMING BEGAN THE AUDITORIUM
TREMBLED LIKE E’S TERRACE & THE BLADE
OF SILVER FELL IT WAS I FEAR A FAR
GRANDER MASQUE THAN OURS David confirms
That he too felt (in his right arm) the trembling,
Followed by the blindfold flash along
A path between us. Nothing quite this strange
Has happened up to now. And our red voice?—
A regular General Patton. INDEED BUT BLUSHING
HIS WAY OUT THE WHITE HAD GOTTEN TO HIM
ROSILY WELLINTENTIONED AT THE END
REST MON ENFANT DJ U ARE ON THE MEND
6.6
MES Maman? CHERS IN A WAY MAMAN?
U MUST NOT LET US RULE LAST NIGHT U SPOKE
OF FRIENDS A picnic, Ephraim, in this rain?
WE KNOW U ARE NOT GIVEN ONLY TO US
Still, what a bore to insulate our room
Then have it spoilt by someone barging in.
NO MORE TROUBLE THAN AN ARTICHOKE
WRAPPED IN GREEN (Green! Hurriedly a dwarf
Houseplant, anonymous, unblossoming,
Her heartshaped leaves in curlers, comes to table
In place of flowers.) MES ARTICHAUX HE’S LATE
WE SIT HERE IN A CHAMBER OF GREEN LIGHT
AS UNDERSEA We’re walled by rain. MY DEARS
so NEEDED AFTER THE TOASTER Tell me, Wystan,
When you asked Why Us the other day,
You’d known about Maria? YES JM
WE FORESAW YR SHOCK AS WELL And when you led us
To doubt the peacock, call our first voice back?
You know I’m asking without bitterness.
WE MUST ADMIT NO ACCIDENT ALL THIS
UNFOLDS FALLS INTO PLACE AS THEY HAVE PLANNED.
AS FOR MME HERE, IN TODAY’S LIMELIGHT
SHE IS IN MINT CONDITION OUR PEACOCK:
MAN PLAYS A TUNE IN COLORS THE VIBRATIONS OF MUSIC
LIGHT UP MACHINES. SIMPLER YET, WRITE ‘AZURE’ & THE LANGUAGE-
CONDUCTING BRAIN IS FLOODED WITH A TONE OF SUMMER SKIES.
THE PAINTER’S PIGMENTS ARE BLANKLY SEEN THEY CONTAIN NO LIGHT.
ARE NOT PAINTINGS BLANK IN A DARK ROOM? & EVEN THE LIVE
WHITE LIGHT SHED UPON THEM APPEARS BUT TO DIM THEM FURTHER
Vuillard, Piero, Goya, Blake, O’Keeffe,
Who lit the mind? It blinks in disbelief.
(Yet on this point he’s adamant, and I
Ruefully imagine I know why.
These years I’ve had a friend, someone who still
Uses paint well and me, well, never ill
But with such brusque reversals in the waltz
As to raise—not again!—prismatic welts.
Now that I’ve called halt, give me, for love’s sake,
Hopes more transparent, objects more opaque.)
And this holds true of even the great paintings?
ALL BLACK UNLIT AT BEST SPIRITUAL EXERCISES
ALLOWING THE MIND TO TRAIN ITSELF, ITS LIGHT, UPON THEM.
ONLY MUSIC & WORDS IMPLICATE THAT LIGHT WHICH BOTH SHEDS
& ATTRACTS THAT LIGHT IN WHICH ALONE TRUE COLOR IS SEEN.
ONE EXCEPTION: GREEN THE SUPREMELY NATURAL COLOR
A HOME FOR LIGHT IT STORES IN ITS CELLS THE LIGHT OF GOD B:
LITERALLY TRAPT SUNRAYS IT IS SIMPLER THAN U THINK
What about “our” colors?—DJ’s blues
And golden browns, JM’s cold lavender,
Maria’s black—
PUT ON WHEN SHE KNEW HER NATURE YET GREEN REMAIND HER FATE.
PERHAPS A CLAW BROKEN FROM ITS CHILL BLUE SHELL SHOCKD JM
INTO A HALF TONE
JM: He’s read First Poems!
“Transfigured Bird”—the title caught his eye.
DJ: Should I have bought that new gray suit?
YET U BOTH RIGHTLY AVOID GREEN ROOMS
JM: “The Emerald”—I give it back.
YR NATURES BEING WHAT THEY ARE SEEK GREEN OUTSIDE THEMSELVES.
SO: 4 MINILESSONS IN COLOR ON THE CELL ?S
When will we hear the rest?
THE 12 OK. Then answer
Wystan’s question: Why the four of us?
Because we’re musical?
KEEP IN MIND THE CHILDLESSNESS WE SHARE THIS TURNS US
OUTWARD TO THE LESSONS & THE MYSTERIES IT IS A
FINE POINT: THE TYPE U SET JM, INVERTED & BACKWARD,
IS YET READ RIGHTSIDE UP ON THE BIOLOGICAL PAGE
To make what sense there?
RESONANCES U MAY NEVER ARRIVE AT FOR THE LOVE
U EXPERIENCE IS NOT THE STRAIGHTFORWARD FRONTAL LOVE
MANY READERS INFER & YET OUR V WORK MUST SING OUT
PAEANS TO THE GREENHOUSE THO WE OURSELVES ARE (M) TONE DEAF
MY DEARS TO HEAR HIS PRAISES SUNG THRILLED GOD
FROM THE BEGINNING DARE WE FIND THAT ODD?
ARRANGING FOR THOSE CONSTANT RAVE REVIEWS
OF ONE’S OWN MASTERPIECE TO SOUND LIKE NEWS
YET RIMBAUD? IN HIS GENES WAS A V WORK CUT OFF BY LIFE
Why? Did it offend Biology?
IT WAS PREMATURE A KIND OF ANTILIFE V WORK MORE
SUITABLE NOW IN THESE POP EXPLO DAYS. R SPOKE TOO SOON
BUT NO ACCIDENT FOR WHEN TSE WROTE HIS V WORK
THE TIME WAS RIPE: AR SAT AT HIS ELBOW
Rimbaud ghostwrote “The Waste Land”? You are something.
THIS HAPPENS
IN VARYING WAYS THUS YEATS MOVES DJ’S HAND
What? The energy that activates
These very messages, you mean, is Yeats?
(Still, after the first stupefaction, why
Not? Who but Yeats could have pulled, from the same high
Hat as his talking bird of Grecian gold,
Our friend here?) DJ: The whole thing’s controlled.
2 (M) SLIDES
ALIGND ON GOD B’S MICROSCOPE RIMBAUD WAS BLURRD BY HIS
TIME WARP THE GREAT SCRIBES EXIST OUT OF TIME IN RADIANCE
As if in proof D points—through harbor mist
Glides a faint green disembodied light.
INDEED THAT SAME LIGHT SHINES FROM THE PROW OF YR DAILY CRAFT
SIGNAL ME TOMORROW THESE LESSONS NEARLY DONE 16
MORE WILL ADVANCE US TO THE GREAT DOORS OF THE OPERA
6.7
The blue room after dinner, DJ (depressed):
Each day it grows more fascinating, more…
I don’t know. Isn’t it like a door
Shutting us off from living? I’ve no zest
For anything else, can’t even watch TV.
This town’s full of good friends we hardly see.
What do you feel? Will that door readmit
Us to the world? Will we still care for it?
JM (touched by his uncomplaining tone):
What can I say? Nothing we haven’t known.
Remember Sam and Frodo in their hot
Waterless desolation overshot
By evil zombies. They of course come through
—It’s what, in any Quest, the heroes do—
But at the cost of being set apart,
Emptied, diminished. Tolkien knew this. Art—
The tale that all but shapes itself—survives
By feeding on its personages’ lives.
The stripping process, sort of. What to say?
Our lives led to this. It’s the price we pay.
6.8
EARLY MES CHERS THEY ARE STILL WEAVING THE SHROUD