of the absolute filth
I stumbled across.
And all for the sake
of an interested woman
riding the night’s
last flicker of hope,
some tourist of beauty
in full disappointment,
ready to fall in love
with a ghost.
and here was the ghost
with his third invention
the usual shit
for the highest reward;
and now it was ready,
the third invention.
ready to fall
in love with the world.
And he falls back
and she comes forward;
his third invention
measures them both.
She lies in the arms
of his third invention
and back in his room,
he commences the fourth.
This is the work
of the highest pretension
an automatic ode
to the world.
O deep in the comfort
of full employment,
he’s lost to the fourth
and he’s lost to the third
– 1980
MY MOTHER ASLEEP
remembering my mother
at a theatre in Athens
thirty
thirty-five years ago
a revue by Theodorakis
those great songs
she fell asleep
in the chair beside mine
in the open-air theatre
she had arrived that day
from Montreal
and the play started
close to midnight
and she slept through
the mandolins
the climbing harmonies
and the great songs
I was young
I hadn’t had my children
I didn’t know how far away
your love could be
I didn’t know
how tired you could get
ROBERT APPEARS AGAIN
Well, Robert, here you are again talking to me at the Café de Flore in Paris. I haven’t seen you for a while. I have several versions of that sonnet I wrote after your death but I never got it right. I love you, Robert, I still do. You were an interesting man, and the first friend I really quarrelled with. I’m slightly stoned on half-a-tab of speed I found in this old suit, it must be twenty years old, and I took it with a glass of orange juice. It couldn’t possibly work after all this time, but here we are, talking again. I’m glad you don’t tell me what it’s like where you are because I have no interest in the afterlife. You’re a little pissed off as usual, as if you’ve just come from something immensely boring. Here we are, talking about the lousy deal we negotiated for ourselves. What are you saying? Why are you smiling? I’m still working hard, Robert. I can’t seem to bring anything to completion and I’m in real trouble. The speed is wearing off, or the mood, and I can’t tell you an amusing story about my trouble, but you know what I mean. Of all my friends you know what I mean. Well, goodbye, Robert, and fuck you too. Your disembodied status entitles you to a lot of privileges, but you might have excused yourself before disappearing again for who knows how long.
MY MOTHER IS NOT DEAD
My mother isn’t really dead.
Neither is yours.
I’m so happy for you.
You thought your mother was dead,
And now she isn’t.
What about your father?
Is he well?
Don’t worry about any of your relatives.
Do you see the insects?
One of them was once your dog.
But do not try to pat the ant.
It will be destroyed by your awkward affection.
The tree is trying to touch me.
It used to be an afternoon.
Mother, mother,
I don’t have to miss you any more.
Rover, Rover, Rex, Spot,
Here is the bone of my heart.
– after a photo by Hazel Field
SHIRLEY
Let me go back to Shirley
She knew who I was
before the ascension
of sparks
She led me to
the bicycle of armholes
and in her front
I was the glass baseball
of Ancient Greece
the soaring stones
of my mother’s mouth
Shirley understood
my straw and my lipstick
the lacquered soda of ambition
and the splash of mind
as it all goes by
She was the
Nurse of Laughter
in the Bat-House
She laughed when
I was born as a surprise
in my father’s shaving kit
But enough of you and
you and you
who have captured
all the High Places
I am the veteran
the badge of red
the very friend of Shirley
Return to your
leaves of winter
and your sad jokes
about the reservoirs of
taxation
THE BEST
India has the best Ice Cream
America the best Chocolate
England the best Male Legs
Spain the best Cross
Italy the best Mist
Israel the best Emergency
Canada the best Light
Mexico the best Eagles
Portugal the best Lonely Islands
Egypt the best Minorities
Norway the best Music
Morocco the best Jews
Korea the best Italian Food
I’ve been to too many countries
I died when I left Montreal
I met women I didn’t understand
I pretended to get interested in food
But it was all The Fear of Snow
It was all The Will of G-d
It was all The Heart
swallowing The Other Organs
It was Five Days of Summer
and Two Days of Spring
Mostly it was the Death of my Dog
Sorrow is the time to begin
Longing is the place to rejoice
But I did not begin
and I did not rejoice
I was lazy in G-d
Books lie open all around me
Despite my efforts
they keep coming into my room
And there is a slab of old stone
with cuneiform inscriptions
When I lived in Montreal
I knew what to wear
I had old clothes
and old friends
and my dog had been dead
for only ten or fifteen years
Fortunately there is no Space
for Regret
in The Poverty
of these Reflections
CLOCKWORK
the crow knows
exactly where to sit
on the yellow bench
the wave
exactly where to break
the jaw that will not
unclench
is fastened perfectly
to the writer’s skull
future generations
come like clockwork
under the damp
cement arches
to include themselves
in this well-recorded
afternoon
THE DRUNK IS GENDER-FREE
This morning I woke up again
I thank my Lord for that
The world is such a pigpen
That I have to wear a hat
I love the Lord I praise the Lord
I do the Lord forgive
I hope I won’t be sorry
For allowing Him to
live
I know you like to get me drunk
And laugh at what I say
I’m very happy that you do
I’m thirsty every day
I’m angry with the angel
Who pinched me on the thigh
And made me fall in love
With every woman passing by
I know they are your sisters
Your daughters mothers wives
If I have left a woman out
Then I apologize
It’s fun to run to heaven
When you’re off the beaten track
The Lord is such a monkey when
You’ve got Him on your back
The Lord is such a monkey
He’s such a woman too
Such a place of nothing
Such a face of you
May E crash into your temple
And look out thru’ your eyes
And make you fall in love
With everybody you despise
NEVER MIND
The war was lost
The treaty signed
I was not caught
I crossed the line
I had to leave
My life behind
I had a name
But never mind
Your victory
Was so complete
That some among you
Thought to keep
A record of
Our little truth
The cloth we wove
The tools we used
The games of luck
Our soldiers played
The stones we cut
The songs we made
Our law of peace
Which understands
A husband leads
A wife commands
And all of this
Expressions of
The Sweet Indifference
Some call Love
The Sweet Indifference
Some call Fate
But we had Names
More intimate
Names so deep
and Names so true
They’re lost to me
And dead to you
There is no need
That this survive
There’s truth that lives
And truth that dies
There’s truth that lives
And truth that dies
I don’t know which
So never mind
I could not kill
The way you kill
I could not hate
I tried I failed
No man can see
The vast design
Or who will be
Last of his kind
The story’s told
With facts and lies
You own the world
So never mind
THERE IS A MOMENT
There is a moment in every day when I kneel before the love I have for you. Then I remember that I am still that man. And I know that my life’s work is to be that man, who leans over a white tablet humbled in his constant and signifying love for you. It is eight twenty-seven in the evening. Once again the thought of you has rescued me from the puzzle of my indifference
and the hard wheel
in the chest’s centre
becomes a soft wheel
G-d lies down next to His lamb
so the creature can
gather itself
His Queen is massaged
by a thousand versions
of Her most devoted drone
and there you are
smiling at someone else
in my vision of the lost kitchen
and that is the way
I finish my work
until it starts again
NIGHTINGALE
I built my house beside the wood
So I could hear you singing
And it was sweet and it was good
And love was all beginning
Fare thee well my nightingale
’Twas long ago I found you
Now all your songs of beauty fail
The forest closes ’round you
The sun goes down behind a veil
’Tis now that you would call me
So rest in peace my nightingale
Beneath your branch of holly
Fare thee well my nightingale
I lived but to be near you
Though you are singing somewhere still
I can no longer hear you
THE FAITHLESS WIFE
after the poem by Lorca
The Night of Santiago
And I was passing through
So I took her to the river
As any man would do
She said she was a virgin
That wasn’t what I’d heard
But I’m not the Inquisition
I took her at her word
And yes she lied about it all
Her children and her husband
You were meant to judge the world
Forgive me but I wasn’t
The lights went out behind us
The fireflies undressed
The broken sidewalk ended
I touched her sleeping breasts
They opened to me urgently
Like lilies from the dead
Behind a fine embroidery
Her nipples rose like bread
Her petticoat was starched and loud
And crushed between our legs
It thundered like a living cloud
Beset by razor blades
The trees grew wild and high
A file of dogs patrolled the beach
To keep the night alive
We passed the thorns and berry bush
The reeds and prickly pear
I made a hollow in the earth
To nest her dampened hair
Then I took off my necktie
And she took off her dress
My belt and pistol set aside
We tore away the rest
Her skin was oil and ointments
And brighter than a shell
Your gold and glass appointments
Will never shine so well
Her thighs they slipped away from me
Like schools of startled fish
Though I’ve forgotten half my life
I still remember this
That night I ran the best of roads
Upon a mighty charger
But very soon I’m overthrown
And she’s become the rider
Now as a man I won’t repeat
The things she said aloud
Except for this my lips are sealed
Forever and for now
And soon there’s sand in every kiss
And soon the dawn is ready
And soon the night surrenders
To a daffodil machete
I gave her something pretty
And I waited ’til she laughed
I wasn’t born a gypsy
To make a woman sad
I didn’t fall in love. Of course
It’s never up to you
But she was walking back and forth
And I was passing through
When I took her to the river
In her virginal apparel
When I took her to the river
On the Night of Santiago
And yes she lied about her life
Her children and her husband
You were born to get it right
Forgive me but I wasn’t
The Night of Santiago
And I was passing through
And I took her to the river
As any man would do
TRAVELLING LIGHT #31
I’m travelling light
So Au Revoir
I’ll miss my heart
And my guitar
It’s lovely here
So far away
I could
n’t take
Another day
The songs won’t come
But if they did
I’d go back home
So G-d forbid
I guess I’m just
Somebody who
Has given up
On me and you
I’m not alone
I’ve met a few
Who were travelling
Travelling Light
BACKYARD
Sitting in the garden
With my daughter’s dogs
Looking at the oranges
And the sky above
Flowers with their shadows
Moving two by two
Listening to the traffic
Hearing something new
Then I start to struggle
With a feeble song
Which will overcome me
Many miles from home
WHEN I WENT OUT
When I went out to tell her
The love that can’t be told
She hid in themes of marble
And deep reliefs of gold
When I caught her in the flesh
And floated on her hips
Her bosom was a fishing net
To harvest infant lips
A soft dismissal in her gaze
And I was more than free
But took a while to undertake
My full transparency
Ages since I went to look
Or she would think to hide
Torn the cover torn the book
The stories all untied
But someone made of thread and mist
Attends her every grace
Sees more beauty than I did
When I was in his place