Science, George hopes, has room for Juno’s bird
—And for its mistress, should she grace our Board!
Do I remember, he goes on, the dream
Of Dante’s mother, from Boccaccio?
She saw a peacock in a laurel tree,
Beak snipping the clustered berries—down they fell
Until the skirt she held outspread was full—
And woke in labor. Taking up the theme,
Moving past Lesbia’s sparrow, Poe and Keats,
Coloratura wood-note understood
By Siegfried, thumb licked clean of dragon’s blood;
Past twittering parliament, past the “little bird”
Who speaks to instinct with a paraclete’s
Ghostly cackle, we attain the sphere
(Justice?) where Dante saw the letter M
Become an Eagle made of ruby souls
Which sang to him. What of the Phoenix, then?—
Its blaze our culture-watchers doze before,
Never quite making out the infra-vulture.
Of Senator X who vowed Vietnam would “rise
Like a Tucson” from the ashes—? A short pause,
Then George: “You won’t laugh if I tell you I
Also get these voices, these vocations?
Over the years, each time I’ve undergone
A general anesthetic, the same one,
A woman’s, cold yet not unloving, fills
My head with truths about the cosmos—truths,
Jimmy, too deep, too antilogical
Ever to grasp, short of the odd detail
Clutched on waking. Once, the phrase ‘black holes’
(And this was long before black holes made headlines)
Stayed with me. Another time, these were explained
As ash the Phoenix left on entering
A ‘biological cycle’. And once, I woke
Knowing that what had reached me was the song
The Phoenix sings throughout eternity.”
We’re on the street. He wonders if he may
Try the Board with us next spring in Athens?
His hometown, I remember now, where things
Periodically keep taking him.
As they do me. By the New Year great wings
Have reunited DJ and JM,
Eager to meet the lords of Earth and Sea.
The Board, that first day, is all come-and-go—
Revolving door into a lobby. Enter
Hans as if startled: OH JIM? U ARE THE CENTER
OF MUCH GOOD FEELING HERE Then Wallace Stevens:
MAY I SUGGEST A CENTRAL METAPHOR:
PEACOCK TO O—to zero—AS CHICKEN TO EGG?
Acknowledging our thanks, away they saunter,
Leaving Wystan and Maria barely
Time to say that in the interval
Since last we met OUR UTTER PURITY
HAS HAD THE GOOD OLD HUMAN DIRT RESTORED.
THE POINT MUST BE MY DEARS, TO TOUCH HOME BASE
MAKES POSSIBLE EACH NEW LEAP INTO SPACE
Here now is Mirabell. He calls us MASTERS,
Calls his poem A CAP TO ALL MY FEATHERS
And says of George’s interest:
U SEE, JM? IS NOT SCIENCE ITSELF COMING TO CALL?
(The doorbell.)
Not Science, just an oil delivery—
MY ANCESTORS POURING IN TO WARM U: SET US ALIGHT!
One word, next, from a figure bathed in tears:
CHERI It’s my old nurse, Mademoiselle
Who died last month—
But 00 interferes:
DOWN! WE BEAR ON WINGS THE WORD OF GREAT MICHAEL O GLORY!
HE & HIS BROTHERS SAY TO US: GO FORTH INTO THE DREAMS
OF THIS OR THAT ONE, NOW AS EAGLE OR SWAN OR DOVE, NOW
AS THE OFT FALLEN OFT RISEN LEGENDARY PHOENIX
& IN THE TONGUES OF DREAM ENTHRALL & INSPIRE ALL THOSE
WHO DO OUR IMMORTAL WORK. BUT FOR YOU, O SCRIBE, O HAND:
GO (THEY COMMANDED FROM THE FIRST) IN YR WORKDAY ASPECT
FOR THESE 2 WILL TRANSFORM U AFTER THEIR OWN FASHION DOWN!
YOU WILL IN 2 SUNCYCLES BE CALLD NO INTERRUPTION!
DOWN! BE SUMMOND BY O GLORY! THE WATER GOD BACK! DOWN!
What’s going on? THE AUDITORIUM
ENFANTS IS UNFAMILIAR THEY ALL SEE
THE GLOW & CROWD IN IF WE FACED THE LIGHT?
(Our table’s in the gloomy downstairs hall—
Well, not a moment to describe the house;
But we move chairs.) BETTER NOW MICHAEL HAS
A PATH AH YES YES! HE IS OVER US!
Michael? So many voices, how to know—
MY DEARS IT IS A MAHLER Michael speaks:
CHILDREN, MY BROTHER ELIAS REQUESTS YOU IN TWO DAYS. HE IS AS WATER SWEET & FLUID.
I HAVE CLEANED THIS SPACE: HAVE NO FEARS, INTELLIGENT ONES, HAIL!
Thus as in some old-world Grand Hotel
(Early morning ado; kingfisher streak
Of lift-boy; Figaro and eggcup; hall
Porter’s flicked ash, a chambermaid’s faint shriek;
The beldam, ringlets trembling upon skull,
Chastening marble with her brush and pail
—Inconveniences the clientèle
Must philosophically endure until
A new day’s clean white linen runners lie
In place over the antediluvian crimson
Of corridor and stair, down which now takes
—Bonjour, Milord! Il fait un beau soleil!—
His ease a blondness bareheaded and winsome)
THE WHITE HAS BEEN LAID DOWN FOR THESE NEW TALKS
*
The Water Brother
CHILDREN, ARE YOU THIRSTY? COME, ELIAS!
Not Willowware in Greece, a tea-stained white
Cup surges and ebbs with the new angel:
I AM THE SUSPENSION REASON FLOATS IN MY SALTY STRENGTH HAIL!
SOME CLAIM THE MOON CONTROLS ME, NOT SO: I BALANCE IT IN THE PALM OF MY BASINS.
BENIGN, I WASH MY WITTY BROTHER. CONTROLLED, I BRING MAN HIS FALSE LIGHT
BUT YIELDING EVER TO MICHAEL AS THE BROTHER MOST BELOVED OF OUR MASTER.
NOW (imitative movements of the cup)
I AM WHIRLPOOL! NOW WATERFALL! NOW WAVE!
THEN AS RAIN & ICE, MANIFESTING MYSELF FOR MY MASTER & HIS CHILD, I REGULATE THE SEASONS.
I WAS BORN AS A TEAR IN GOD’S EYE: THUS I BRING BALM FOR SORROW.
O CHILDREN, I AM THE GREATER PART OF YOUR BODIES & YOUR NOURISHMENT, THOUGH 2ND TO MY BELOVED MICHAEL.
NOW IN 12 TIDES WE WILL RETURN WITH MY WITTY BROTHER
& THEN WITH OUR SHY ONE WHEN MY SEASON OF RENEWAL FINDS YOU STRONGER TO MEET THE FORCE OF HIM,
AND THEN WE FOUR COMMENCE YOUR INSTRUCTION HAIL!
MES ENFANTS WE ARE STILL SLIGHTLY AWASH
Don’t tease us, tell! FIRST MICHAEL IN HIS GLORY
THEN HE TURNED & A SHAFT! A RAINBOW SPOKE
& AS WE KNELT IN WONDER MELTED INTO
WHITE CLOUD WHICH NEXT GREW SOLID How baroque!
A GIANT ALL HOAR & SPIKY ICE A HISS
OF HAIL & OUR BLUE ROBES CLUNG WETLY TO US!
ELIAS ROSE IN A TALL DAZZLING VAPOR
& MICHAEL’S LAUGHTER MADE ALL HEAVEN QUAKE
And did Maman’s affinities with water
Earn her special treatment? AH ENFANT,
TOO RAVISHING: I SANK INTO A POOL
WARM & SWEET: EXPERIENCING MY MOTHER’S
WOMB SUSPENDED INFINITELY PLEASED
AS IF MY LIFE WERE JUST AHEAD
And Wystan?
I MY DEARS STOOD BRACED IN A MANLY DOWNPOUR
Why do you suppose he’s called Elias?
THEY ALL HAVE MANY NAMES THEIR VOWELS RING
THRU CANYONS OF MYTH ELIAS I DARESAY
IS THE MUSICAL ANGEL MOZART CALLS GABRIEL
In an opera? NO IN A SOIREE
Mozart as Stravinsky— YES OUR CHATS
SUCH FUN M/S PROPOSES A NEW ‘RAKE’
PROGRESSING THRU VARIOUS LIVES OF V WORK ONLY
TO BE COMICALLY DEFEATED BY THE RATS
DJ: What’s Wystan’s future? JM: We
Assume he stays in the Bureaucracy—
Right, Wystan? Getting mined for all you’re worth
By fresh-faced, big-thumbed scholars here on Earth.
DJ: Why do I have the distinct impression
He and Maria both are being groomed
To join the elements? She’ll become a tree,
That much we know from Mirabell, while he—
JM: No, no. Maria after all
Had lost much of her soul to cobalt rays.
But Wystan’s is intact; so that can’t be.
A PLUS DJ BACK TO THE GLABROUS CLAYS
THE OILS & METALS MY FIRST LOVES COME AUTUMN
MM INTO THE GREEN, I INTO SAND
But your soul wasn’t harmed. Why this instead
Of human life, if it should come to that,
Like Chester? MY DEMISE A FORM OF LEAD
POISONING: I WENT OFF TO MY ROOM
TIDDLY THAT NIGHT BUT HAD IN MIND TO SCRIBBLE
A NOTE TO C, & AS I’D DONE SINCE CHILDHOOD
SUCKED ON A PENCIL THINKING. NEXT I KNEW,
AN ICY SUN SHONE IN UPON THE DEAD
WEIGHT OF MY FEATHER QUILT But how does lead
Destroy the soul? DJ: They don’t use lead—
Graphite in pencils. LET THE FACT REMAIN
(OR FABLE!) THAT I SIPPED IT GRAIN BY GRAIN.
OVER THE YEARS ANYTHING FROM AN X RAY
TO THE COSMIC RAYS WE’RE ALL EXPOSED TO WD
RESIDE UNDISSIPATED IN MY BLOOD
& VITAL ORGANS: I BECAME A WALKING
NONCONDUCTING LEADEN CASKET THESE
PARTICULAR DESTRUCTIVE ENERGIES
HAD FILLED WITH RADIANT WASTE Dear God…& NO
PANDORA NO LATTERDAY BASSANIO
TO LIFT THE LID. WE MAKE OUR DEATHS MY DEARS
AS NO DOUBT THAT SHY WILDLY EXPECTED BRO
WILL TELL US Ah, it’s grim. Yet what to ask
Of death but that it come wearing a mask
We’ve seen before; to die of complications
Invited by the way we live. Bad habits,
Overloaded fuses, the foreknown
Stroke or tumor—these we call our own
And face with poise. It’s random death we dread.
The bomb, the burning theatre, the switchblade-
Brandishing smack freak— OR ARE PENCIL & KNIFE
& COCK ALL ONE
& WAVE & BREAST & WET
SNAKY LOCKS! WE’LL SWEEP UP U CHAPS YET!
Speaking of those breasts, Maman, the tale
We’re hearing now is nothing if not male.
But Maya long ago said Erzulie
Was Queen of Heaven. Has She any niche
That one could visit? TALK TO YR WHITE WITCH
DAVID JIMMY Maya! In New York
Last week I saw some friends of yours; saw Teiji.
He and his young wife are salvaging
Your Haitian film. At last it’s out of storage,
Cut, spliced, synchronized with the drum-tapes—
Reel upon reel of ritual possession—
And can be shown soon. We’re all thrilled except
(Wouldn’t you know) your mother: “Maya made
High class, avant garde stuff—documentaries
Never.” Whereupon Joe Campbell spoke
Authoritatively of your amazement
At being overwhelmed quite simply by
Gusts of material so violent
As to put out the candle held to them
By mere imagination. Such a theme,
He said, took all one’s powers to “document”.
AS U ARE LEARNING, J? But now my question:
Is there no Ewig-Weibliche in sight?
AN EWIG SHALL WE SAY HERMAPHRODITE?
YOU HAD THOUGHT ERZULIE WAS FEMALE? HE/
SHE IS/WAS RAIN SOIL SEED SUN STARLIGHT
PHALLUS & VAGINA OMNISEX
QUEEN OF A HEAVEN LIKE A GAUDY EX
VOTO WHERE DESIRE & SATISFACTION
PEPPER & SALT THE DISH SERVED PIPING HOT!
No heartburn after? O MY TEIJI WHAT
IS THE GIRL LIKE PRETTY? I thought so. Sweet, smart,
Clearly devoted to both him and art.
No match of course for you in your heyday—
More Greuze than Ghirlandaio. SOUNDS OK
Admit it, this new Erzulie leaves us
Less eager for a glimpse. Where’s Marius?
MY DEAR JAMES Is there an Athenian
Club where you can get a drink and read
The underground newspapers? O INDEED
PLATO & WYSTAN ARE ITS CO-CHAIRPERSONS
And Chester’s Luca, still under Plato’s wing?
LUCA! CUT MY LACE THAT THAT THAT THING
Cool off—ask Coleridge for some laudanum.
NO NO I LEAVE SOOTHED BY THE SIGHT OF U
MES CHERS HE MEANS THE RADIANCE AROUND U
Ephraim!—dimmed though we are, much of the time,
By careless living, the old human grime?
A WISE PROTECTION SO THE ATHLETE SMEARS
DIRT BENEATH HIS EYES TO CUT REFLECTION.
MY POOR SLAVE’S VISION OVERFLOWS WITH LOVE
AROUND U BOTH SUCH JOY SUCH RADIANT LIGHT
If so, a joy not ours to feel, a light
We are the two contracted pupils of.
YET FOR THAT FOCAL DARKNESS THANK GOD B
MY BOYS IT IS YR PRECIOUS SANITY
Wystan. Can we bear to part with him,
Our mine of good sense? Ah, he’ll doff his dim
Red shift (the mufti of a star’s retreat)
To vanish into quarry and tar-pit,
Sandgrain and stylus, thorn the raw March wind
Piping through despondent makes a wand
In bloom. He’ll draw the desert round his knees,
Brows knitted where the thinking icecaps freeze.
He’ll be the nurse whose charges “for their own
Good” go without tea—and herself lies
Till morning haunted by reproachful eyes.
He’ll be the glinting, faithful heart of stone.
*
The Earth Brother
Twelve tides pass. We take the Board upstairs
Where beyond the glassed-in balcony
Mt Lykabettos, green all year with pine,
Rises steeply in sun. And here is Michael:
DEAR CHILDREN, MY WITTY ELIJAH TWIN OF WATER IS WITH US:
COME ELIJAH, MAKE US LAUGH!
MY WIT IS NOT AS READY AS I WOULD WISH
(Oddly subdued, in spite of Michael’s words)
FOR I AM IN YOU, GOD’S CHILDREN: THE RIB, NOT THE FUNNY BONE.
I WAS GOD’S THIRD CREATION, SUMMONED FROM COSMIC DUST AND NAMED BY MANY COSMOS,
AND WHAT ARE OUR FOUR NAMES BUT GREEK INVENTIONS?
FROM COSMIC DUST O THINK ON THAT!
IT MEANS I HAVE IN ME THE IRRADIATED METALS, I WHO MOST DREAD THEM, FOR I AM FRUITFUL EARTH
IT MEANS I AM THE HABITAT OF THE CREATURE DUG OUT OF ME.
MY TWIN DRAWS BACK & I ADVANCE, AND NOW OUR DANCE REVERSES
FOR IT IS GOD’S WILL THAT HIS CHILDREN REDUCE THEIR NUMBERS, & THUS HE NUDGES THEM INTO THE MORE CONFINED SPACES,
& THUS IT IS IN THE WOMB OF TWINS: WATER EVER RECEDING AS THE FETUS WAXES.
BUT NOW MY SMALL BROTHERS, FOR ARE WE NOT ALL OF THE COMMON CLAY,
(Here at the close, a strong, dancing motion)
FAREWELL! I WILL ANOTHER TIME BE WITTY
O ELIJAH BROTHER O WHY ABASHED? HE LEAVES THE SIGHT OF TEARS?
DJ, face streaming: Oh but these aren’t tears—
Reaction to the thrill—I can’t explain—
I KNOW THIS, MY CHILD. IT IS HIS WIT NO DOUBT: OFTEN MOST BRIEF, ACCORDING TO THE NATURE OF COSMIC DUST
JM: Indeed—those short-lived particles
Created by the photons! Only at
Molecular levels is there permanence.
YOU ARE OUR OWN HAIL!
As Michael goes, DJ: Our first exchange—
We can talk back and forth, then, with the angels?
O MY DEARS & THE VOICE LIKE THUNDER! MICHAEL SWUNG
HIS PALM WE STARED FORTH FROM IT AT YR MOUNTAIN:
IT IT IT SPOKE THEN TOOK A HUMAN SHAPE
ALL MASSIVE ROCK & GREEN WITH BOUGHS FOR LASHES
OF SUCH I MUST SAY WICKED MERRY EYES!
I DO BELIEVE OUR SPRINGTIME WILL BE GAY
IN THE OLD SENSE And did he look at you
With special favor? WYSTAN MES ENFANTS
TOOK A POWDER INTO THE NEAREST ROCK
And saw? A CASE OF JEWELS MY BOY THE VOICE
RANG ROUND ME & (IF I MAY BE IMMODEST)
I UNDERSTOOD MY OWN LAST DECADES’ WORK:
SUSTAINED BY WIT AS BY A WRY YOUNG FRIEND
AS I LIMPED FORWARD GRITTY TO THE END.
FOR IS IT NOT OUR LESSON THAT WE COME
EACH TO HIS NATURE? NOT TO ANY VAST
UNIVERSAL ELEVATION, JUST
EACH TO HIS NATURE PRECIOUS IF BANAL