Sing Sing Sing: Poems 9780814763285

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SING, SING, SIN G Poems

ELMER HOLMES BOBST AWARD FOR EMERGING WRITERS Established i n 1983 , th e Elme r Holme s Bobs t Award s i n Art s an d Letters ar e presente d eac h yea r t o individual s wh o hav e brough t tru e distinction t o th e America n literar y scene . Recipient s o f th e Award s include writer s a s varie d a s Ton i Morrison , John Updike , Russel l Baker , Flora Lewis , Edward Albee, Arthur Miller , an d James Merrill . Th e Award s have no w bee n expande d t o includ e a categor y devote d t o emergin g writers of poetr y an d fiction, an d i n 199 0 th e jurors, E. L. Doctorow , Deni s Donoghue, Galwa y Kinnell , an d Richar d Sennett , selecte d th e first tw o winners i n thi s category , Bruc e Murphy , fo r hi s collectio n o f poetr y Sing, Sing, Sing an d Joe Schall , fo r hi s Indentation and Other Stories. These tw o works ar e bot h publishe d b y Ne w Yor k Universit y Press .

SING, SING, SIN G Poems

BRUCE MURPHY

NEW YOR K UNIVERSIT Y PRES S NEW YORK AND LONDO N

Copyright © 199 1 b y New Yor k Universit y All right s reserve d Manufactured i n th e Unite d State s of America

Library of Congres s Cataloging-in-Publicatio n Dat a Murphy, Bruce, 1962Sing, sing , sin g : poems / Bruc e Murphy . p. cm. ISBN 0-8147-546O0 ISB N 0-8147-5461-9 (pbk. ) I. Title. PS3563.U72784S5 199 0 811\54-dc20 90-4733 9 CIP

New York University Press books ar e printe d o n acid-fre e paper , and thei r binding material s are chosen fo r strengt h an d durability .

CONTENTS I Estuary, Sunda y Evenin g 3 The pape r i s blindin g thi s mornin g 5 Alone al l da y castin g shadow s 7 Trapelo Roa d 9 The Tha w 1 Ruins, Brookly n 1 Cruelty 1 For Cind y 2

1 5 7 1

n Leavings 2 Library, Universit y o f Chicag o 3 Forgiven 3 Leningrad Symphon y 3 Patience 3 Interpretations 41 Estrangement 4 I misse d th e crus h o f fishe s 4 IX

5 1 3 5 9 3 5

Terminus 4 Return 4 Historia 5 Testament 5 Under th e el m 5

7 9 1 5 7

m Forgings 6 Rheims 6 The grea t conservator y 6 Self-Murder 6 Interrogation 6 Exhibition o f Tortur e Instrument s 7 Heresies 7 Skin 7 Sing, Sing , Sin g 7 The Keepin g o f Secret s 8 The Boatme n 8 Acknowledgments 8

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1 3 5 7 9 1 3 5 7 1 7 9

SING, SING, SIN G Poems

ESTUARY, SUNDA Y EVENIN G

The ma n stand s i n hi s boa t i n hi s oilskin s On a strea m i n Rhod e Island , Casting acros s th e poo l wedge d unde r hi s bo w And drawin g in . A hero n beat s head-lo w Across th e shallows , nec k pointin g straight , Too lo w t o cast a shadow . Th e fisherman Does no t eve n loo k a t th e passin g train . Hard t o describe . I a m gropin g fo r somethin g Lying on the ground in the bottom of my mind. That I glance d u p fro m m y wor k At tha t particula r moment ? Mor e tha n that . The desir e t o b e othe r things . I se e th e angle r cast , an d m y ar m stiffens . The blu e hero n slowl y climbs .

3

The pape r i s blindin g thi s morning . Rather, thi s afternoon . My eye s ar e sore , why — Maybe nobody' s business . Like a da y year s fro m no w In Ne w Hampshire . You coul d g o you r whol e lif e Without seein g a hawk , But her e the y com e an d go , And jus t no w thre e circle d The nea r field . I d o no t mea n This worl d i s passin g awa y Or tha t I a m lonel y i n it . Though m y bod y won' t gro w anymore , I kno w muc h wa s provided , Nothing provide d for .

5

Is i t summer ? The da y i s th e ope n End o f a ba g fille d With ordinar y things . Last tim e I walked b y th e Ogunqui t River i t wa s winter , The gra y boat s wer e gon e But I stil l ha d thei r smel l After twent y years . I remembere d How Po p rowe d u s across, I turne d an d sai d "D o you— w And brother , yo u sai d "Yes. "

6

Alone al l da y castin g shadows , I forge t tha t las t nigh t a ma n pursue d m e Through synopti c dream s lik e Potemki n village s Till I cam e hom e t o a menageri e Of crampe d being s sleepin g o n stairs . Across th e stree t th e tree s Are dressin g themselve s i n flowers, While thos e tha t I hav e seen , That w e migh t se e again , Bloom i n a distant , nameles s city . And th e differenc e grow s les s And less ; today , a t least , The freedo m o f thing s stand s stil l In themselves , an d m y daydrea m o f u s Seems no t fa r fro m th e truth .

7

TRAPELO ROA D

This i s th e way . I kno w thi s roa d b y dusk , The middl e groun d o f elm s an d menta l hospital s Cut ou t agains t bare-backed , patricia n hills . It's th e seaso n an d th e hou r tha t dre w m e back ; Two fall s ag o i n tha t hous e ther e I dran k And rea d awa y a year . I t hang s ther e now , A lightshi p moore d abov e th e ink y bul k o f hil l Where I trudge d u p t o th e countr y clu b And glimpse d th e mea t o f Bosto n i n it s shell . I searche d th e ligh t fo r pearl , But th e nigh t wen t col d an d woul d no t cast . There ar e n o fortun e tellers . Jus t a s well . Below, th e cemeter y hug s th e hill . I sa g an d pul l behin d th e bu s an d watc h The stones , standin g megalithi c i n th e dark . Beyond th e shoulde r o f th e crematoriu m We lef t you . I thin k o f visitin g And coun t th e res t o f u s o n m y fre e hand .

9

THE THA W

i. The rive r la y still , fixe d i n a kin d o f smile . Reflections passe d throug h th e bus' s dirt y glass , I sa w stron g swimmer s strugglin g towar d th e shor e Till the y forgo t wha t the y wer e swimmin g fo r And gav e i n t o th e ice , caugh t i n th e crawl , Rolling t o tak e a breath , lip s rime-cased . The ic e neve r blinks , thoug h th e lan d i s broke n To th e saddl e o f th e town , whos e stead y light s Seem charme d wit h u s bu t win k invisibl y At aviators launche d abov e th e city , Clinging t o th e ai r b y a stor m o f ice , A foo t searchin g th e dar k fo r a stair . The bu s lurche d lik e a n undigeste d bone , Jogging th e drea m o f thos e wh o hav e los t Their rac e an d pi n thei r hope s upo n th e nigh t 11

And th e snow , a solven t turnin g t o oi l The ic e o n th e swimmers ' tongues , thawin g thei r speech , The rive r keepin g fait h wit h thei r voice .

II. Perched o n stools , iner t a s book s waitin g To b e read , thei r eye s scanne d t o an d fr o Like th e bubbl e insid e a level . . . . The su n buzzin g throug h th e tree s alon g This empt y stretc h o f roa d plot s th e day' s Heartbeat lik e a n oscilloscope , no w hide s Behind a fa n o f cirrocumulus . Sparks catc h i n branche s an d ar e gone ; th e fue l Cries ou t t o th e departin g fir e o f love . The kerosen e give s th e lam p it s purpose , Burning th e fragil e net s tha t hol d th e ligh t But d o no t break . Finger s hol d grain s Of charcoa l burne d an d graye d lon g sinc e an d as k The wind , wher e ar e thos e pal e whit e gems ? When summe r went , th e flam e wa s gon e That onc e li t up ou r dus t i n tin y suns. Bending low , I sa w to o lat e i t wa s My ow n shado w growin g acros s you r face . 12

III. An ic e ag e coul d hav e lef t him , froze n t o deat h Before a ligh t cord . Th e kitche n spu n Across th e sky , entere d anothe r sign . His bod y i s a mas t withou t a sail , And shudderin g a t th e bac k o f hi s spin e He feel s hi s ghos t leapin g t o haun t th e house . Eyes fixe d o n th e filament , hi s min d become s A needl e watchin g kilowatt s ru n by . This life has pulled my mind out of its socket, But on my mouth I feel the saving breath Of my dream self Behin d a clou d th e da y Was endin g secretly . H e waite d fo r th e sna p And th e ma d hol e burn t throug h th e celluloid , But i t didn' t come . S o h e dre w himsel f Through th e pinpric k wher e hi s su n ha d been .

IV. Now a s th e Octobe r se a rise s agains t Your legs , th e drea m i s besid e yo u again , Like someon e walkin g almos t i n you r footsteps .

13

Wading throug h salt , reac h dow n fo r tha t flesh, Your ow n touc h a s foreig n a s sand , marvellou s As tha t do g herdin g birds , th e gul l strainin g For ai r wit h vestigia l hands , pitchin g That bal d hea d int o a n or b o f wind ; lik e the m The worl d yo u mak e you r quarr y wheel s aroun d you . Sandpipers heav e u p an d sprin g thei r net , Your fee t transliterat e wha t thei r claw s wrote , How unlik e yo u the y liv e becaus e the y hav e to . The win d pick s u p an d kick s th e se a t o bits , Faint stirring s i n th e hollo w o f a swel l Blowing int o tomorro w an d throug h you .

14

RUINS, BROOKLY N

Our tim e accelerates . McCarren Poo l i s fence d And almos t ancient , thoug h The minimal , cemente d cupol a Is optimistic , consular , Prepositional t o th e barrel-vaulte d Brick massi f below . Through th e feet-thic k gat e I se e a rummagin g cat , displace d Capitoliner, The burned , uninformativ e kios k And a blush o f turquoise — The pool , probabl y empty but for Rainwater, leaves , alluvia . Here i s a hin t o f war . The plac e look s rocketed , Post-colonial. Lik e th e compoun d i n Saigo n That quivere d i n th e pixel s Of m y grandparents ' television . I ha d n o history . Across th e park , a crenellate d factor y 15

Looms Easter n European . Each centur y build s itself , The nineteent h fo r beauty , eternity , Ours fo r use , fo r now . Th e factor y Faces th e Cathedra l Of th e Transfiguratio n o f Ou r Lor d Greek Catholi c an d Russia n Orthodox , Its crosse s strang e an d many-limbe d And ridin g rip e gree n onio n dome s Above th e yello w vicarag e Guarded b y a dog . Built i n th e yea r o f th e revolution . For use, bu t not fo r now . I wal k bac k throug h th e par k Between biliou s trees , Poplars, beeches , o r sycamores — I don' t kno w th e name s Of plants , trees , o r birds . The arborwa y remind s m e o f th e roa d t o Nic e Or Aix , a s i f thos e prune d stem s Had broke n free . Footballers , Lovers, an d I recreat e Like dweller s returne d t o a n abandone d city . Without people , th e pool' s quie t Doesn't mea n anything . It wait s lik e th e Forbidde n Cit y For it s emperor . He canno t find it s center ; He drum s th e col d taffrai l Of hi s ston e boat , til l h e meet s His ow n glanc e i n th e water , an d stops . 16

CRUELTY

I woul d no t hav e sai d anythin g But fo r th e sig n outsid e th e bank , "I a m homeless . I spen d th e nigh t On th e streets, " But fo r twenty-fou r cent s In m y pocke t an d th e toke n I hel d back , But for a Japanese poe t Among th e bookstall s Around th e corner , dea d Hundreds o f years , wh o said , "Gladly woul d I sel l For profi t Dear merchant s o f th e town , My ha t lade n wit h snow, " While abov e hi s tonsure d hea d A ne w skyscrape r Encircles th e air , Skeletal, waiting , And yo u ca n stan d an d watc h The sk y transforme d int o property . 17

I mov e lik e a fis h pas t A ma n i n a gree n coa t His mout h openin g lik e a walle t Smiling speechles s A woma n i n fu r Slit fro m th e war m bod y Of it s origina l owne r Feel her e —Incisions aroun d th e eye s —The scal p —A lon g das h dow n th e tors o —Around th e genital s A nea t figure They ar e laughin g Like sailor s At a pantomim e A drownin g Till th e sai l fall s And the n suddenl y ther e i n m y han d Like a monocl e Staring u p a t m e i n judgemen t A quarte r I di d no t wan t thi s Conscience A piec e o f blac k ta r Rooting aroun d i n m y pal m Like a cro w fo r worm s 18

I approach a square From th e unaestheti c directio n Edifices Scattered lik e a boxer' s teet h Even th e Armor y fall s I pic k u p th e letter s Like kindlin g woo d That spelle d ou t An tie tarn Cold Harbo r Shiloh And th e Wilderness , Deep i n th e fores t Skulls stil l litterin g th e groun d In 196 5 The name s ar e dr y Unlike photographs — Bodies fallin g ou t o f thei r pant s Swollen pul p An eviscerate d mattres s That terribl e realis m So immediat e w e mus t den y i t But canno t "Targeting o f school s Targeting o f hospital s Targeting Of agricultura l center s T h e r e i s a sever e Shortage o f foo d Shortage o f medicine s 19

Shortage o f potabl e wate r Shortage o f parents " I se e agai n th e fac e In a n orphanag e A chil d washin g hi s hai r His fac e turne d whit e Turned t o soap A waterfal l Obscuring th e feature s The eye s The nos e The bro w Only th e mout h lef t Round A grott o hidde n i n a clif f Open an d waitin g But silen t The cit y cling s t o it s Composing stic k Ink doe s no t boi l At roo m temperatur e Unsure Whether t o condem n Or t o sympathiz e With torturer s

20

FOR CIND Y

It's cool . There' s a dis k i n th e window . I wante d t o sa y tha t everyon e i s lik e th e wind , And I canno t hol d them . I though t o f a shel l Pestled b y th e sea , a shee t o f rain , The min d penetrate d everywhere . I though t tha t yo u wer e neve r lik e th e win d Because th e win d wouldn' t hold . Your ski n dam p a s mos s lat e o n a coo l night , Your bod y smalle r tha n mine , you r eye s greener — All tha t happene d later , an d wa s true .

21

LEAVINGS

1. A col d day . W e hav e snow . Mind dissipate s In stea m From manhole s In th e stree t Or, lik e a bal l bounce s hig h And fail s t o retur n

2. Sitting i n a coffe e sho p I se e you r lip s mov e But you r word s ar e lik e th e dron e in a shel l And whe n I loo k i n you r eye s I se e a fe w star s Rushing i n th e wast e space s 25

3. Perhaps I alway s kne w That drea m coul d b e m y life ; A rust y plai n lik e iron , As i f th e se a ha d tur n t o iro n And rusted . I stumbled , a chil d Into th e beginnin g o r th e en d Memory a s yet unpeopled : Here i s onl y spac e Where anythin g migh t be . Bring somethin g ou t o f thi s iro n place .

4. The rai n fallin g i n th e afternoo n Began a s snow . O i s th e shap e o f th e gray , roun d Mouth o f thi s da y In th e metr o A saxophon e tear s up th e track s Words I fea r bur n i n m y pocke t Like a coa l tha t I will no t touc h

26

5. Farther tha n I'v e eve r gon e Farther tha n I wante d The da y seeme d lik e a nightmar e A crysta l o f sal t i n m y ey e The wor d fate — And tha t nigh t I kille d a ma n i n m y slee p

6. In fire m y bod y crumble d Like a lo g whe n flam e unlock s Its hidde n geometr y We wer e drive n u p a lon g roa d Paved wit h anthracit e Under a contuse d sk y I looke d bac k the n o n th e wa y we ha d com e Charred fields sno w And i n th e en d I was no t save d

27

7. Under th e ti n roo f o f January I carr y m y rib s i n fron t o f m e A candelabr a lightin g m y wa y But I don' t kno w wher e I' m goin g My guid e dissolve s i n th e moonligh t

8. Yesterday, tormen t Today a certai n lightheadednes s Now I coul d gathe r Handfuls o f spark s And bin d the m i n m e lik e sheave s Before the y die d I ope n m y mouth t o spea k And i t i s ful l o f bird s

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9. I sa t o n m y be d And looke d blankl y ou t th e windo w Blank Apart fro m mysel f The worl d ha d n o meanin g I waite d fo r lif e To drai n bac k i n That wa s onl y a momen t ag o If that door opens before yo u Do no t loo k fo r th e doo r closin g behin d

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LIBRARY, UNIVERSITY OF CHICAGO

The tentativ e greennes s o f emergin g spring , A beguilin g clou d tha t taunt s a n almos t cloudles s day , The optimis m o f th e occasiona l bris k car . The ai r doe s no t shake , thoug h everywher e Gravity, collapse , an d implosion ; And th e da y goe s o n doggedly , Payed ou t lik e a line . Time grind s a t th e hear t o f a distan t su n But canno t se t a n en d t o anything , Not th e blackene d sta r Nor th e ston e i n m y han d tha t canno t qui t workin g Amid thi s placi d afternoon , A ston e sho t throug h wit h nothing , lik e Today. Th e las t threa d clingin g t o a burnin g spool .

31

FORGIVEN

To stumbl e ou t o n a mornin g lik e thi s And fin d th e da y alread y prepared , I kno w enoug h t o kno w gratitude . Here ar e thing s fo r use — Black coffee , an d cigarettes . The ta p rust s i n th e kitchen , The bone s o f th e nigh t befor e Shift i n th e sink . And a s I si t her e alone , a bir d Comes t o th e porc h i n fron t o f m e And land s i n th e sno w o n a railin g Just th e othe r sid e o f th e screen , Testing th e woo f o f ice . I walke d barefoo t i n th e sno w once , I wade d i n Octobe r pools , learnin g th e ar t Of bein g wher e I don' t belong . What i f everythin g I'v e sai d an d pu t dow n Seems lik e nothin g thi s morning ? I don' t mind . A brow n bir d Pushes hi s breas t i n th e snow , Then flie s awa y lik e bread . I a m vacant , an d happy . 33

LENINGRAD SYMPHON Y

The broke n cu p o f th e nigh t lie s i n shard s Where i t fell , overturned , fille d to o full . With a shea f o f note s I swee p i t away . The da y ca n begi n th e dul l busines s o f rain . The win d touche s th e droppin g sheet s That becom e fo r a moment th e beade d curtai n Of a seraglio , the n jus t drop s again . Remembered thing s overflo w th e cister n That wa s mean t t o hol d them , Mnemosyne , A fugu e burs t lik e a sai l i n th e wind . I gra b on e shin y tatter , shinn y dow n Into fa r field s lon g ago , an d farther , A col d da y o f th e kin d I love , Perched o n th e edg e o f winte r lik e th e bridg e I neve r jumped fro m a s a kid , The wate r mesmeric , th e sun' s reflectio n Set fo r th e smac k o f benediction . Now ther e i s n o deck , n o sea , n o ship , No tattere d sail . On e memor y smear s anothe r As i f a careles s carpente r ha d leane d 35

A plan k o f rough-saw n lumbe r agains t A freshl y painte d wall : Tha t rain y da y w e playe d In a ruine d abbey , a s i t poure d Through th e buttresse d sk y where n o roo f was , Is writte n o n th e bac k o f m y memor y Of th e tw o o f u s bundle d agains t th e Neva , Hugging clumsily , frightened . Among tall , table d field s w e watche d A hawk , circlin g i n th e con e abov e The grav e hills , wher e a visitor , a bridegroom , Looked fo r th e marke r bearin g th e yea r That orphane d him . Th e name s ar e gone , spille d In th e ground , an d eve n fro m hi s heigh t The haw k canno t spo t th e father' s place , And, a s prey avoi d tha t ope n spac e He turn s back t o th e woods t o hun t The brid e walk s amon g million s burie d i n haste , Bodies throw n dow n lik e bag s o f lime . She look s s o beautifu l i n he r whit e dres s But sh e i s freezing , an d cryin g a little . An ange l no t throw n ou t o f heave n descend s To th e blackene d lak e t o loo k fo r a friend . They ar e lost . I n thi s moment , memor y ends . Loudspeakers pronounc e th e symphon y lik e froze n lips . A ma n trie s t o graf t himsel f lik e a shoo t fro m a tree , His son g shivers ou t o f hi s han d i n a blacked-ou t Room, i s playe d b y starvin g wome n an d me n To a n audienc e tha t will g o ou t an d bur y itself . The grave s shal l retai n th e bone s an d las t thing s 36

Lost i n haste : A watc h tha t goe s o n tickin g Underground, th e progra m o f a symphon y Once playe d t o th e tympan i o f bombs , Trapped no w i n m y roo m lik e th e roile d ai r Built unde r a hawk' s brow n wing . Th e music , Feline, give s wordlessnes s a sound , Scenting th e roug h mauv e coat s o f mole s Foraging paranoi d i n th e scraggl y gras s That grow s beyon d th e railroa d tracks , The rail s lef t lik e a pirate' s sig n To indicat e th e los t gol d o f th e su n To anyon e wh o come s alon g a t dusk . The note s fin d m y windo w ope n a crac k To th e winte r ai r an d sli p ou t on e b y one , Head fo r th e tracks . N o on e know s ho w fa r the y g e t

37

PATIENCE

I labore d fo r thei r kin d o f patience , The master s o f th e drypoin t art . To kno w wher e th e lin e break s lik e crack s i n ice , To sto p an d res t an d stil l kno w b y hear t In a n hou r ho w th e worl d fi t together , Numbered lik e a renaissanc e anatomica l Drawing. An d whe n han d o r min d straye d fro m order — To cu t deeper . Th e plat e turne d bac k th e chise l And I foun d n o willin g grai n fo r this : I' d bee n Looking a t th e cit y fro m th e bridg e When th e cal l came , "Jump , jump." Trucker s urg e Me whil e belo w a ma n pour s gasolin e On a n ope n flame, burnin g cinder s o n th e tracks , Railroad me n plungin g pitchfork s int o burnin g sacks .

39

INTERPRETATIONS

Shelley recognize d tha t th e worl d i s unfinishe d Though thing s temp t u s wit h a kin d o f perfection , an d w e ar e More porou s tha n water , tha t change s everythin g b y reflection . A fog-boun d fisherma n work s i n th e evening , net s lik e gangli a Feel th e sea' s bed , it s breas t heavin g wit h salt , bu t h e ma y Only wan t th e cloud s t o lif t an d sho w th e shore ; hom e an d profit . In a roc k poo l mussel s bunch , blu e stoics , clenched . I cros s an d com e upo n th e plac e wher e I finishe d The Portrait of the Artist, perplexe d b y a n imag e o f conscience , And ther e i s nothin g ther e t o sho w tha t anythin g happened . But thi s alterit y i s ours , an d i t i s w e wh o mak e Our ow n unbearabl e absenc e fro m th e world . Yet i n a rus h a pregnan t wor d venture s memor y And th e presen t i s swolle n o r diminished ; I ca n recal l th e blac k volcani c beac h o f Inisher e

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Without eve n botherin g t o clos e m y eyes , an d th e sla p Of bon e an d shallo w drum , th e harp' s crescen t plung, Ring i n m y ears—bu t yes , I know , silently , And i f al l th e whil e I hav e bee n lyin g here , You ma y sa y tha t thi s ligh t o n m y be d fro m th e othe r roo m Is mor e rea l tha n th e larges t error s o f history . But ou r head s billo w wit h abstractions , churche s becom e museum s Of atheism , concentratio n camp s ar e mad e ou t o f stadiums , And th e plagu e fo r whic h som e las h themselve s encourage s other s To mak e love . Th e fisherma n stare s i n th e hold , th e catch , th e silver , And doesn't notice th e rockin g anymore , o r i f it's himself o r th e se a That moves , o r th e boat , o r th e worl d goin g unde r i n th e light .

42

ESTRANGEMENT for O. M.

I hun g b y m y hand s til l a rop e wen t slack . I sa w mysel f i n a clearin g Hewing a t a bloc k o f fire. When th e light s com e u p i n th e world' s theate r We wil l thin k o f ho w w e wer e happ y Imagining w e wer e th e one s o n th e stage . So muc h elapsed , bu t onl y th e rin g Of th e tre e show s wher e It shrugge d t o itself .

43

I misse d th e crus h o f fishe s I misse d th e ag e o f th e grea t bird s And th e Pleistocen e epoc h I staye d awa y During th e mas s extinction s I cam e onl y lat e t o th e Cenozoi c By sevent y millio n year s We don' t kno w ho w lon g w e hav e I us e m y appendi x fo r a watch Someday I wil l li e dow n i n mu d And no t ge t up . Late r An unimaginabl e bein g Will flic k m e casuall y int o th e fire Or ther e wil l b e onl y silenc e Over th e coa l bed s I mus t i n th e mea n tim e Be a n earth-ma n Or a t leas t tr y To touc h wit h th e loam y han d To fee l agai n The stame n o f tongu e

45

TERMINUS

In dream s I wande r continent s Long broke n u p Take train s tha t follo w schedule s That neve r wer e know n Through invisibl e station s Prisoners o n a railwa y sidin g Between th e deat h o f wakin g And th e deat h o f death — I stan d b y a woma n stronge r tha n I a m And wan t simpl y t o reac h fo r her . I canno t carr y you bac k fro m th e worl d Behind th e world . M y hand s Stay i n m y pockets , w e stud y The dir t on ou r coats . No on e know s what becam e o f u s And i t doesn' t occu r t o inquir e After dreame d peopl e There i s beyon d th e image' s pluperfect , As whe n w e loo k a t a photograp h

47

And say , "Bu t tha t wa s before . . . " We stan d ther e lik e a cenotaph . I d o no t kno w th e en d But tha t i t i s far , fa r Elsewhere, a s tha t othe r tim e When I wok e lat e a t nigh t i n tear s And coul d no t remembe r why .

48

RETURN

I foun d m y way bac k When I truste d th e worl d To a narro w rope . I rod e i n it s darkene d ca r But staye d awake. When w e wen t down , I sucke d ai r fro m th e ceilin g Till re d hand s reache d ou t And hel d m y face , And anothe r mout h breathe d In m y mouth . I cam e ou t int o cobal t rai n That wa s light , And th e biosphere , An eyeli d risin g fro m slee p Under a windo w afte r rain . We ha d forgotte n th e word s For eac h other , ther e wa s onl y The sound , "Shh , shh. " 49

HISTORIA

Summer. Laughte r ripple s Like a loose patc h And th e ta r pape r glow s Like vellum , bu t i t won' t Take th e ink , it' s soake d With creosote , an d th e wor d o n m y lip s Dries unwritten . Toda y I visite d The tailo r an d th e pharmacis t And rea d th e memoir s Of th e dead . Nex t month , There'll b e n o slackening . I put a chair up o n th e roof , And soo n I'l l hav e a littl e table . I'll loo k lik e a ma n sittin g On ho t cloud s studying , But eve n eigh t woode n leg s And tw o perspirin g fee t Can't resis t agains t nothing . Here i s th e winte r w e decante d Through gauze , But wher e ar e th e dreg s And th e bur r o f tannin ? 51

Smokestacks acros s th e rive r Rake lik e th e funnel s o f a grea t ship . I can' t wai t an y longer . Out i n th e stree t ther e ar e No aborigina l people s And we'v e erase d al l clue s To thei r hol y places . A woma n test s th e nam e o f he r birthplac e In th e conqueror' s language , We hid e i n th e fog , a wor d She mus t as k me . I sa y i t mean s The opposit e o f stone; And "t o express, " To replac e on e thin g wit h another . Just a littl e whil e longe r And we'l l pas s ou t o f thi s century . Time wil l mak e of f wit h th e witnesses , But someon e wil l say , "Wa s i t necessar y To murde r s o many ? An d i t wa s Our rac e tha t di d thos e things. " And th e voic e o f th e consciou s hear t Will cr y ou t lik e a n orga n Buried separately . The body' s swolle n lik e a ra g Stiff wit h salt , an d In a n unuse d hous e The mothe r collect s th e murderer' s things . Even h e doesn' t kno w himself , And glare s a t th e coffi n Bearing th e nam e o f another . 52

"One la w fo r th e lio n an d o x i s oppression. " But on e la w fo r th e o x i s oppression . Look fo r th e blesse d falle n frui t And yo u wil l find a severe d digit . Look a t th e sun , an d yo u wil l no t find anything . Look a t th e moon , an d yo u wil l no t find th e sun . Who a m I ? That' s fo r you t o decide . All I ca n sa y is , ge t awa y fro m here . Like th e figure I sa w In a calligrapher' s pictur e Who ha d travelle d fo r hundred s o f year s With onl y th e symbo l Of hi s immortality , A hug e peach .

53

TESTAMENT

I wante d t o hol d everything . I fel t righteou s ange r That I found n o for m That wa s m y own , tru e name . I looke d a t live s That woul d b e hypocris y Without th e stopga p Of ignorance , an d wante d To pou r fire o n th e world . From tha t I learne d That som e o f m y strengt h Comes fro m evil . I fled fro m desir e Into history . I foun d m y generatio n Doesn't exist .

55

Under th e elm , No wa y t o describ e i t Not th e tree , no r tha t tree , Nor, a tre e i n th e park . But a styl e set s in — Perfection's abandoned . A thum b o f branch , And a t th e end , leafles s Twigs, sketchin g winter .

57

FORGINGS

January. A fe w leave s bar e The tre e o f th e Ne w Year . In a roofto p flat, gree n ligh t Conceals a n Atti c fir e Opposite th e mendican t Modeled i n steel . Th e fria r Meditates col d step s afte r The masse s an d th e bing o hours : This shado w worl d tha t is , i s Nothing bu t substanc e fo r th e rule — Form ben t o n a n order , Still i s ster n a s fire . Anathematized, hi s bod y think s Mysteries, evil , a go d Back-arched an d almond-eyed , Who know s wher e hi s sou l is ,

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Flesh free d fro m th e spiri t In th e portic o wit h nothin g Inside. Ther e i s No othe r plac e tha n this .

62

RHEIMS

I steppe d dow n pas t closin g tim e With th e scruffy , off-seaso n tourists . The monumen t t o Jeanne D'Ar c Lay i n th e squar e lik e a stee l bird . I fel l b y th e cathedral , Of whic h I recal l Only th e preservationist' s scaffold , And wen t hom e t o th e violet , empt y room , Grown silen t an d maliciou s i n memory , Beheld agai n th e charne l house , Plague face s gaspin g aroun d th e courtyar d Carved i n lindenwood , whil e i n The townhous e basemen t Glowed th e blood-re d Cardinal , 63

Iberian, o n loan . Some o f us pressed o n Without itineraries , plans , money , No longe r t o remembe r landscapes , Forgettable cities , th e camer a Like a woun d reopening ; The pa n int o th e grain y room , Everything immense , Detailed, obtuse . Alone , Your thinkin g dub s you r voice .

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The grea t conservatory , A stac k o f letters . There's a breez e And a crushe d smel l t o th e textur e Of th e drape s fo r whic h No mor e tha n th e wor d ease l Is necessary . The worl d ha s gon e out , The wor k wait s fo r someon e To d o it , th e impasto, To hav e don e wit h The artis t fo r the y Were alway s bot h ther e Already. The unvarnishe d colors . A stac k o f letter s At th e en d o f life . We'll en d u p With eac h other's , A crow d o f mirrors , al l thos e "You"s tha t mea n "me. " Anyone coul d writ e m y story . 65

SELF-MURDER

Go on foreve r Dividing i n half—you'v e Got mat h agains t you , Hunter travelin g i n circles , Doubling bac k t o thi s on e Same spot . Alway s initiatin g A searc h fo r a soun d Lost i n a carton o f gestures , Nailing board s i n a n X Over th e pas t Stron g languag e Won't exercis e him . My poem s mus t b e writte n By somebody , a n ol d ma n In a whit e bear d Trapped betwee n dishonestie s And schizophrenia , Who become s th e subject , A phalan x o f word s enclosin g His nothingness , th e circl e The los t traces .

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INTERROGATION

He doesn' t d o Anything. H e is . He canno t add , Divide, o r subtrac t He claim s h e mad e u p Everything, bu t can' t Bear t o b e alone . He hear s voice s Telling hi m t o kil l Himself. I n hi s Nervousness, h e repeat s That lin e abou t "One han d clapping, " But i t doesn' t help . That littl e roo m

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Is everywhere . I Sense him , feelin g Like a criminal . H e Answers lik e a ma n Who doesn' t kno w Who h e is .

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EXHIBITION O F TORTURE INSTRUMENTS

The Breas t Ripper , Iron fangs , The Judas Seat , Harnesses an d gag s an d Pyramid staine d With bloo d an d excrement . The flails o f braide d Steel an d stars, Oil an d sal t ready . The ax e an d woodsman' s saw . In woodcuts , homosexual s And adulterer s halve d Upside dow n t o kee p th e brai n alive . The plai n wago n whee l With th e bande d edg e Crushing shoulder , elbow , Knee an d hip . Th e braidin g In th e spoke s o f th e jelly. The element s themselves — In on e tow n alone , More tha n dail y burnings . 71

And wate r That leave s n o marks , The funne l cramme d i n th e throa t And th e inverte d body , The silen t collaps e Of th e organs . Still i n use . The skul l crusher , Now padde d o n th e chin-plat e To eras e th e mark s On th e explode d head . To crush . T o spatter . T o rip. To peel . T o mak e The absolut e hel l Of wha t ha s happened .

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HERESIES

The Inquisitors , ingeniou s Artisans, invente d nothing . Not th e evi l the y were , Nor th e evi l the y worme d ou t Of thos e wh o woul d ow n nothing , Who defile d thei r order , Who retire d fro m th e world , And thos e wh o retire d Even fro m holiness . Generations o f truth-teller s Living truth , dyin g Truth, wishin g th e deat h Of it s other . And stil l t o as k th e valu e Of trut h i s immoral . We coul d neve r affor d truth .

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SKIN

At fourtee n I rea d ho w wallet s And tobacc o pouche s were mad e From th e scrotum s o f America n Indian s By th e U.S . Army . I n schoo l We learne d abou t "th e openin g Of th e West. " W e hear d It wa s necessary . They migh t eve n hav e sai d T h e r e wer e abuses. " Stringing fingers And collectin g penises . Ten year s late r i n a museu m The photographi c histor y o f war : A U.S . cavalryma n gutted , A high-profil e Salvadora n Whose killer s peele d hi s face . At Auschwit z a mountai n Of eyeglasses . W e learne d To forge t histor y throug h a thousan d Disappearances, w e rea d The confession s th e Inquisito r 75

Wrote himself . Though w e don' t lik e Their methods , we'r e mad e From th e sam e materials , Like skin .

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SING, SING, SING

I lov e th e musi c o f horns , The frenz y o f horns . I learne d The ero s o f swin g From m y father' s ol d records . I dream o f th e coo l o f 193 8 And m y parent s ar e childre n Again; bu t whe n the y las h int o "Sing, Sing , Sing " I se e million s Of refugees picke d u p By tha t ancien t recorder , That wen t o n afte r th e evenin g Had ende d a t Carnegi e Hall , Building thoug h it s meanin g Cannot b e born . I lov e My fathe r i n a pictur e wit h a pon y On Murph y Day , a hug e picni c Sometime i n th e Forties , The fiel d shimmerin g aroun d His croppe d head , an d h e Slightly shy , paine d b y th e camera , One han d ligh t o n th e sid e Of hi s spotte d cartoo n horse . 77

Was i t spring ? "I n Ma y an d Jun e Of 194 4 mor e tha n fou r hundre d Thousand Jew s fro m Hungar y Were gasse d an d burned. " The brutales t boo k I could forc e o n m y students , And th e respons e Of th e gir l wh o sai d she' d lik e Concentration cam p memoir s "With a mellowe r perspective. " Always th e stor y I canno t recite , My granduncle , suicide d b y Society's shame , it s crim e And botche d operations , Its morality , it s Go d wh o rain s Blood, exterminates , punishe s Saul's greed y mercy , Go d Who murdere d eve n himself . Crippled, mutilate d fo r mer e words , I nam e you , Clarence , wh o coul d Have live d bu t for tha t on e Who employ s poet s t o celebrat e The sanctit y o f life . I spi t On "th e sanctit y o f life " And eve n tha t i s no t th e whol e Untruth o f m y worl d That shit s o n life — No othe r worl d beyon d u s Or i n us , n o heaven , n o self , Only this , wha t w e invente d Go d To delive r u s from.

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What hym n i s sun g behin d Its mas k wit h th e stee l tongu e For stiflin g cries , i n it s underworl d Where ther e i s n o rive r To giv e speec h back ?

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THE KEEPING OF SECRETS

No mother , no t a genius , no , Nor a tragi c figure . An empirica l Being, a huma n being , An anima l tha t live d At th e en d o f th e twentiet h period . My body was produce d From th e carbo n o f things , Spent entities , an d the n Produced it s mind . I gathe r unde r m e th e embittere d Chromosomes, a fistfu l o f straw s Equal to cast fortune s Or unequal , t o dra w lots . I looke d dow n i n m y bod y And sa w a wal l there , And agains t i t th e spirit , The shado w o f matter . $**£

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Slate, Oil . "Wha t lie s Beyond th e unconscious, " I thought , an d it s imag e Was not o f structur e Or a languag e o r a hors e Bursting u p fro m a roo t cellar . It wa s a windo w o f man y Colored pane s o f glass , The re d conscienc e scattere d In th e indigo , Pieces tha t shatte r The light , an d th e shiftin g Shapes wer e shado w And handhold s In wisteria . *** *

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I wis h I coul d remembe r What I trade d fo r life . The huma n bod y isn' t anythin g Like wax : mor e tears . It tell s tim e b y di e siz e Of ou r clothes . I aske d wh y I wa s Meant t o exist , bu t wh y I neve r aske d th e questio n Of anothe r perso n Never entere d m y mind . What thes e few second s Have meant . Lik e rai n she d Upward fro m deser t To a thunderhead . * * **

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i

Stayed hom e today , thoug h I wasn't sick . Ho w coul d I Explain a mountai n o f inference s Or feeling s life-givin g an d deadly ? The tongu e pocket s th e eye . Jus t A possibilit y i s enoug h t o stav e In th e life-home . And the n a serie s o f Coincidences: i t bega n t o sno w Amid th e hummerin g o f bell s And glockenspiels , th e quelle d Quiet in , an d no t in . The Empir e Stat e bega n To fad e a s th e stor m grew , Was gon e i n a minute . In th e nex t yard , th e smal l Pig-dog gnawe d b y a felle d Tree, a hug e roo t leadin g Deep i n th e groun d wher e The rai n ha d sucke d it . The sno w thinned , flakes Came ou t slowe d a s stars , The Planet s hummed . The templ e lightened , ony x Wings folde d agains t it s bod y Warning me , no . An d m y othe r Eye hel d th e foreground , Open boat s painte d o n glas s Heading ou t i n a risin g sea ,

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A figur e i n th e lugge r pointin g Across th e quarter , other s Brailing a line , th e dee p gree n Of symphonies , th e dar k for m On th e horizo n i n th e las t snow . *** * ** * Easter. I' m alon e i n th e house . How wil l I g o o n writin g As a n ol d man ? Thi s mornin g She aske d m e wha t go d I Believed in — A go d wh o doe s no t kno w If h e exists , i f ther e i s Another worl d behin d ours , Where we'v e bee n los t In ou r thinking , w e wh o mad e An unconsciou s forgettin g We spli t th e eart h In thousand s o f pieces . Some can' t remembe r They're animals , tha t We don' t kno w wha t "human " means . I can' t remembe r m y dreams — Perhaps ther e I conquere d Images o f killing . The plane t roll s i n it s sweat , Minds g o out , on e canno t hea r anymor e Animals breathing . Bu t i f man-and-woma n Drink fro m th e bod y Of th e murdere d earth , the n 84

Perhaps tree s wil l gro w Into masts , an d mill s Grow wings . I' m gettin g dresse d For som e kin d o f ceremony . The poe m take s shap e lik e a huma n fac e As i t wakes , onl y monstrou s In size , withou t border s Or edges , lik e a glacie r That pick s u p a thin g Now, a thin g there : I ca n appreciat e The wonde r o f th e alchemist s And th e doctor s o f th e subtl e body , The mysteriou s marriag e tha t come s Upon th e peacefu l i n death . But I kno w deat h come s mostl y no t From th e underworld , bu t a huma n hand .

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THE BOATME N

The glas s cloc k burn s o n th e mantelpiece , Somewhere th e hou r o f th e wedding , somewher e Someone dreamin g th e advanc e o f th e barnacl e To th e mountain , an d th e sigh t o f You, crawlin g a t a snail' s pac e uprive r In ou r lapstrak e skiff , you r immens e strengt h Built b y th e Bosto n an d Maine , fis h packin g And th e army , cancelle d b y th e tide . I'm learnin g tha t lif e i s deat h cryin g Over you r slat e hands , thing s happen , Leaving th e current , w e ar e alway s Children gatherin g pinecone s fo r th e fir e And runnin g outsid e t o watc h th e sparks , Pushing of f i n a gra y rowboa t For th e fa r shor e i n ou r grandfather' s time . He wa s s o ol d I passe d throug h him , I aske d hi m abou t wa r h e tol d m e abou t wave s Fifty fee t tal l an d torpedoes , whic h i s t o sa y Death, whe n i t wa s stil l th e yolk , Before i t was forbidden , befor e ou r parents ' History refused t o spea k t o us, 87

Father wh y di d I hav e t o wai t To find mysel f i n a drea m Climbing wit h yo u an d ou r Polynesia n guid e Up a hil l encruste d lik e a humpbac k whale , In flood time . Afte r th e recessio n o f th e se a We cam e dow n t o spea k wit h corpse s Just stirring , vulnerabl e an d blind .

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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

"Estuary, Sunda y Evening, " Paris Review no. 109 , winte r 1989 . "Patience," Pequod, nos. 28-30 .