the legend of Guillem d'Orange

CALM EQUILIBRIUM

The frail forsythia across the drive

is leafing now, sweet

milky gold.  Is life complete,

somewhere – some honeysuckle beehive?

The legend of Guillem d’Orange

seeped into the chansons.

Found its way to Stalin’s

cantons – Osip took an interest (étrange

poète – tel joie de vivre!).  Guillem’s

a distant relative, by way

of Negus ancestry –

West Branch an Ethiopia of idioms

& Quaker scattergood.  Small world

of planetary matrices…

– a world Guillem renounces

(adieu, Charlemagne) for cloistered

Provençal sea-cave.  Knight becomes

monk.  & shall Earth rest,

also? – quaint Jubilee bequest

someone foresaw, 3000 years ago?  Sums

multiply… an exponential calculus

bending toward vertigo.  Yet

Osip & Oscar Cullmann know

an elegant solution to the cul-de-sac (us

vs. Rus… general apocalypse).

The restoration in his Name

returns the Other to the Same –

after a darkened Holy Week’s eclipse

                     *

the Wolf shall lie down with the Lamb

& whom Jerusalem encrypts

shall meet Sophie – who skips

from sepulcher to Ghent (near Amsterdam)

to gaze from candid sheepish eyes

into the crippled stadium

(where waves of human tedium

crash against hate-riddled walls)… & rise!

I see that other monk, Franciscan-

Neapolitan Joachim – his spare

horsehair, daubing seraphim

& golden Thunderbird (tall plummet-plan).

Third Aeon of the Holy Ghost,

gyring… with restoration

in her wings.  A gravitation

from the grave – gift become host;

33 years of absolute devotion

(1099-1132)

framed by crane-bone flute

& Marsden’s Melville-crucifixion.

You wonder at my curious forgotten lore.

It isn’t hard to find.

Her golden fleece, refined

by fire, still shines from everywhere;

sheep in witch hazel, murmur-dove,

pearl beyond price… she is

forsythia of everlastingness –

calm equilibrium of Pax (justice & love).

4.8.20

it's only gravity

SEA-SALTS

… an astronomer consulting the stars to-day would announce

                    that the most favourable day of the year for weighing light is May 29.

                                       – Arthur Eddington, Space, Time and Gravitation

The brightness of the light shines more or less

in various fields of stars.

The Hyades, for instance, are

magnificent – rays bend around the sun’s eclipse

according to their gravity (1132?)

& their displacements make

a parallax, will shake

the skies – like that black hole in Virgo

where the whole cosmos in its photon rings

as in a coelostat on El Principe

looks back from a funhouse mirror

mired in the cryptic gloom one Friday brings

(in April, in RI).  So when Prince Hobo Hal

sets out upon the Ocean stream

paddling his gyroscope-trireme

his dim reflections shade his violet pal

Jean-Jo, behind their glare.  It’s only gravity.

They glide along past green Cahoki-o

beneath a soaring Gateway prow

toward topaz Gulf (ineffable Mardi Gras)

where Jean-Jo’s mild humility

(like unknown soldier or

grey pebble on the shore)

emerges – lightweight solidarity –

& swathes him in a dove-grey cloud

of granite apses, limestone

spires… an airy congregation

of sea-salts (& makes his father proud).

4.7.20

a minuscule Mt. Everest

DEEP BREATH

Woke up this mornin’ with m’mind

set on freedom…

– & why Cahokia, hm?

Why this iron spring, set to unwind

primeval intuition of first peoples?

Perhaps it’s simple logic –

some high One, past magic;

Wakan Tanka, speeding on wind (eagles

& lightning, shattering the oak).

Faint scent of acacia

anchored in Ogygia.

Sophie Lightfoot, before anyone spoke.

So, in Australian wilderness

& Abrahamic villages –

among Socratic sages

in desert Siberian fastnesses –

with recent atheists, even

– who contradict themselves

if they refuse to delve

into this question… (re the unbroken

unity of truth itself).  The wind

goes rushing thru the room

in a gust of life… boom!

While over on Monk’s Mound

one handful of cruddy clay whorls

into centripetal J

beneath the Milky Way.

A mundus sprinkled with corals

                   *

or small hill – minuscule Mt. Everest

tattooed with a J

for Jonah, Juliet, or Ariadne…

signum of Persephone-thesis – quest

to rectify kerygma-proclamation

past this wind of madness

overwhelming Loch Ness

with malicious Minotaur (declares U.N.).

So take a deep breath, cries Roger,

stepping forward, forehead

like a hatchet, hand

held outstretched (some blind codger).

The tyranny of the Man of Sin,

the Man of Lawlessness

seems universal – nonetheless...

like an acorn made of lead, woven

into the ruddy branches of the human-

strung quartet (Beethoven)...

132… 1132… – how Magdalen

comes running from the limestone

sepulcher!  & how Natasha limped

up to the poet’s temple…

felt knees crumple…

when the continuum of limpid

violins prepared a shroud for Love

& Guillaume wept, also

under the droning falsetto

of Villon’s smoky crossword (O vvv)…

2.5.20

lingo & experience

SMOKING PYRE

O the glittering golden champagne world

the sparkle of human Honigwein!

& Henry skulking on the margin

ever – shy & sluggish, owlish Thunderbird.

At the intersection of Congdon & Morris

in the Honig house, in Providence

whereat Berryman lay, once

with his books, bourbon & cigarettes

a smoking pyre of lingo & experience

where the poet stands – a matrix

Jessifying the cosmos (X

raptor).  & Henry maunders after... silence

& gravity his only friends, he thinks

(1132 feet down, beneath

132 6th St).  Bequeath

his Sloop John B. to them steeply drinks,

drafts of your Ocean State, O bookish

Cesca-Fay!  Where Cautantowwit

calumeets Columbia, knit

together in your Seine – sweet swish-

mel Arno-Androscoggin – rosy net!

As the planet in the distance,

like an intricate replica, spins

its miniature J (illustrious Celt)

you cut your figure on the dancing floor

(smooth sliding all-akimbo

smile) like a capital C, or O

out of Jericho – my Tosca to thy Carib shore.

1.3.20

at the end of summa

SURSUM CORDA

These heart-shaped leaves of the cottonwood –

yellow-black memories,

your excavated face

from the dark archive of branded blood.

Leavings from an old mosaic, my Psyche;

yearnings you magnetized

like a Tombs Angel surprised

me from despair – desire molting to fiery

grace.  Loose, unloose these cords,

sister Cordelia –

churnagogue Jonah,

heart’s winepress of happy candle-words.

I hear hands clap together

this little light of mine

I’m gonna let it shine...

through the funhouse mirror

mend you ways, O Minotaur

sacre du printemps

bête pour FIN DU TEMPS

so you may stand with sisters

brothers   in the great congregation

at the end of summa

when the threads draw

taut (1132)   Rabbi, Rab Ravelin

sursum corda   my clay Columbia

as out of the flaming kiln

the milky waters spill

& your glad-sparrow brother sighs   selah

9.18.19

Rab Ravlin was a weaver bred

SILVER TRACK

Summer’s gliding toward those falls.

The sumac swords are rusted

iron.  Below the nested

locks (St. Anthony), swift sculls

are water-spiders on a dragon’s back.

Hobo Larva... Henry

Woodpecker, monarch (maybe)...

all worm, Noman?  Whose silver track,

mercurial, serpentine?  I was

the wolf in Sheep’s Clothing,

tearing Ariadne’s weaving,

trading lux for lechery (luxurious);

I was the shadow of the waxing moon

purling beneath Pearl Harbor

Day – casting her bitter

part across the bar (Frisco Lagoon).

Now crickets rattle in the looming dusk,

a chorus, waiting in its wings.

1132, the catgut sings –

our heavy grave (in one cicada husk).

Only the lightest antigravity

can spark the dark menorah

in the heart of King Henrah.

Lonely almond of sheer pity

welling forth Father of Waters...

what was Magdala stone

becoming human Union

(steely pontoon, welding 4 quarters).

9.16.19

transcendental & irrational path P

THIN BANDS

The outer circle of this diagram

is drawing to a close.

The path P we chose

here loops into its ruddy oriflamme.

An old man’s line of numbers,

transcendental &

irrational.  Thin bands,

ketched for riding heavy combers –

sea-path between good & evil.

One people’s destiny

doubled in duality;

twin circles on their parallel

                **

emerge (amid stars & stripes

& iron bars).  History

halts here : between Rimini

& Ravenna (Venice-Paris) overlaps.

The pilot at the wheel of Providence

eyes the prow of his canoe.

Her figurehead (1132)

blooms from the sepulcher – immense

Redemption, like a Stonehenge grail

from 44 B.C. to 4.14.

Melchizedek stands in between.

The plummet-eye of Joachim sets sail.

3.14.19

autumn in my heart

SWEAT EQUITY

Like falling from a winter bridge

in Minneapolis.

Absolute zero-ness.

11.32 ft/sec (straight-edge

it, carpenter).  A little life-saver –

gold bubble of air

in the wooden measure,

Chris (dolphin fin-waver).

The little tree, the little almond

eye of Providence.  A

sort of weathered prudence

from rough planks – sweat-bond

of every laborer in vineyard

or in field – Georgia

footprint, selah

in every cemetery, bard.

Like this confusion of nature

circulating good will.

Invasive humble

habitat, Roma imprimatur...

signature of spiral J

(Ojo de Dios,

owl o’Sophia)

out of the oak-knot, honeybee.

Lightning furnishes the room.

So fall into my heart,

Julie (where start

the roses on their river-loam).

11.24.18

personae taking shape

SOFT GLANCE

On the high ridge of River Road

Henry seeks his throne –

little Sophie-chair (long gone

from her gazebo octagon). O Lord

Apollinaire of Poetry, what now?

Is the Great War ended?

Are the lads mended?

Have we entered the Third Aeon?  No,

not yet, vows Joachim (1132).

When Eagle molts

to Coulombee, & bolts

from heaven like a swallow blue...

the eye of Providence triangulates

over an Isis-pyramid

of West Branch clay – hid

from Cahokia to now, he states.

Hobo slumps closer to the river, sound

asleep.  He dreams of her,

who dreams of him – somewhere

over the Franklin Bridge (an Indian mound).

Henry, fragment of Osiris –

iris from Rhode Island –

sees her too.  Sand

curves through silent Providence...

soft glance of Magdalen, absorbing

mourning (wrung like tears,

like rain).  Those anxious piers...

Hart’s, John’s... frame her redeeming orb.

11.18.18

St. Henry's Day

GRACIE MANSION

Hobo (the Holey Roamin’ Umpire)

waits on a pitch from Sleepy-Eye

Hank.  It is his day.

Home plate always Big Mother Star-

Fish play (a hide-seek curve ball –

Dad’s Scrambled Hamlet).

Around 9 innings yet.

Black diamond in Elkhart... St. Paul

stole bases off that pokey Cobb

(guess – tie).  The Twins

still mirroring last year’s

lost wins.  The ball can wobble

1132 feet per sec – 33 miles

per the union (1099).

Hank Aaron was my man.

Hit the dead aim toss, all smiles –

black pay-dirt (out of Elkhart minors

graveyard).  Rod bloomed,

the whole world boomed –

from Thunder Winnebago Hen (majors,

truly) into found pro (his Red-Eye Land).

Only a game, anyway.

If somebody tries to say

who started it... sweet Joanny Hand

of Gracie Mansion, twirling down

on Monday morning

(twilight grey).  So swing

on, Homer Hank – de day’s yo own.

7.15.17

Weldon finds his shoes

O FLOWER

                                   For a Tear is an Intellectual Thing

This evening light over the sink

& clutter of Mom’s pots

dish soap, what-nots

stillness of an eye that doesn’t blink

pupil of an unseen commonwealth

Lincoln-logos of a realm

Time cannot overwhelm

where Walter nurses back to health

Hart’s broken farfalla-tower

& Weldon finds his shoes

again   & Berryman his

balance on that bridge   O Flower

Joy   Out of these winter fields

where Bruegel-raven   zig-

zags   over leafless twigs   &

Guillaume’s pink turban   slowly   heals

Your graven images of gravity,

Henry   my autumn fall

1132   a burial

at sea   the perspicacity

of buoyant Jonah   one grey gull 

white-feathered underneath

lights on a wave   breathe,

Dove   lift down from empty skull

my ashen diamond   the snow skims

sparkling   under the sun

& from bright gatherings one

Flamant beams   whose warmth redeems

7.27.16

casket from Samarkand

GREAT RECKONING

Crusaders racing to the Tomb,

an historical pinpoint

in 1099.  Where He went

at 33 (a little room

for some great reckoning).  Daggers

in the eye turn every way –

shark swordfish play

for nightmare realms, & beggars

follow San Francisco up a narrow

fuse (to blessedness).

Stigmata (foolish meekness,

humble mulishness).  A wheelbarrow

carries mild infant Majesty

into his palmy kingdom,

spiky Jerusalem

(sea-rose of sandy history,

Rome’s  crabapple).  The viney mind

demands firm scaffold,

grid to climb, hold

fast – casket from Samarkand,

mercurial chasm, golden

kaleidoscope... meanwhile

one half-moon wafer-smile

of blinding white sail’s sudden

eminence rides on gray wave –

the plummet of an eagle

etches his grave seal,

marking 1132 (full fathom five).

7.15.16

Dartmoor pixie cross

What I wrote yesterday about the architecture of human/natural cosmos...

this weight-balance of relations...

maybe what I mean is "specific gravity". Maybe poets sense the cosmic harmony or design intuitively, by the sound of weight, or the weight of sound.

1132 : mysterious number in the works of James Joyce (& also Henry). Rate of falling bodies (32 ft/sec? something like that)

from the Charles Olson Library :

Olson 1132 Hallucinogenic mushrooms of Mexico and psilocybin : a bibliography / R. Gordon Wasson. 
Olson 1133 Myth and ritual in Christianity. 

"Mammon Lujius", in FW: MMLJ, Matthew Mark Luke John. "Lujius" an inversion (as is rhyme-scheme in Forth of July a.k.a. Stubborn Grew/The Rose book 3, July) - an inversion of "Julius". July begins on 7/15 - St. Henry's Day or St. Swithins' - the date on which in 1099 the crusaders entered the Holy Sepulchre. 33 years later (age of Christ): 1132, Joyce's motif date in FW : birthdate of Joachim of Fiore, theorist of the Age of the Holy Spirit. Christ-Finnegan wakes from the sepulchre (time-age reversal) after 33 years (1132). July plays verbally & thematically with inversion of Caesar & Caesarism throughout - going from July 15 toward Ides of March & April 15 (death of CESAR Vallejo & Abraham Lincoln on Good Friday). Julius to Jewel-eye to (trickster) jew-lie to J-muse. Recapitulation/inversion of western history.

(note recurrent motif of "132" in Stubborn & sequels: 1-3-2, the waltz-step. Number of rooms in the white house. Number of acres in North Main Cemetery (Providence). Square footage of Grace Church (center of downtown Providence). Number of Beethoven's greatest string quartet. Address of Francesca Tagliabue. a-one and a. . . )