medieval eaglet

CZECH MATE

So Janus comes, two-faced & torn

like split Siamese

Dioscuri – full of unease.

The sun (low orange after-burn

flailing to keep from sinking down).

Not President, not King,

but some other Something

wobbling like egg inside a crown –

Huffer-EZ Beast, out o’th’slime.

Trumpeting his name

in blocks of guilty flame,

a mountaineer of lofty crime.

Apocalypse Now was a bad movie.

Calypso (soeur of Circe)

kep’ sous in her purse

for just such a very groovy

way of passing the Gol’mighty Buck

to Time.  MAMMON FOR SALE.

Everybody turn pale,

turn tail... rabbit-tracks in the muck.

                     *

Don’t try t’cross the radiant Kremlin.

Its flush rust-orange flare

steal into every corner

of the dacha, like kitchen gremlin

or turquoise exhaust.  They know your name.

They don’t like your move.

The knight’s in a groove

off L-shaped Room – Lucky Vadim

or Gimpy Natasha (pseudonym

for Czech Mate, starring

Leslie Caron). Bring

him in for questioning.  Da.  Hyim.

True jealousy is Kremlin green.

Not copper, like that lady

bugged with epilepsy,

aboriginal Macadamia (aquamarine)...

                    *

The fire in heaven – constellation

of a million little candles –

leaves no left handles

on the lofty candelabra.  Station

by station, ring by rung, the bell

drones Baselitz (b-flat)

inverting chasmic fiat –

Everywombat’s hurtling medieval

eaglet dissemination

(Fiore Scandal – Foundling

Raptor for Swaddling –

Closed) perplexes simian

foundations.  Eye sore to grub.

A peacock circumference

fans incoherence,

welds magnitudes into one cherub –

angel, messiah... ghost dance

figure for yearning.

Navvy Jonah musta fling

her sweet life-saver (mickle glance).

1.7.17

Twelfth Night hullabaloo

OKLAHOMA COAT

I recall those Tudor trumpeters

fanfaring Henry 5th

at the old Guthrie.  Fife &

drum for Toby Falstaff – his theater’s

in the round, all right.  The sonic boom

of a real cannon shook

us out of our seats.  Look!

that’s Jessica T., with the broom –

playing Cesario! – or is she

Queen of Twelfth Night,

planting a silver bullet

in her wedding cake?  Most probably.

I remember reading The King Must Die.

The rites of succession

were crude by comparison

with today.  His finger in every pie,

the Prince had a plum job – lasted

one whole year.  Then

he fell for the Star-Queen

& they found another sacred bastard.

Today we have the Electoral College.

You must be gerrymandered

in order to graduate her;

everybody obeys the original Pledge

of Allergic, with His 12 Dependments.

& one day Malvolio ate

the bean – it was so great!

Tasted like the Ten Commandments

                      *

wrapped in almond nougat, or agate –

Mal became President!

Chef beyond Precedent!

Crowds thundered – Lock up the Maggot!

The Queen fled into hiding, dragging

little Tom Thumb (her twin

brother) into the griffin-

wagon – where they belonged (Sing-Sing)...

Twin Cities was a refuge, then.

Blue heron, bald eagle...

Nothing felt so regal

in that rickety barn, where it all began –

yet somehow, through dread Minnesota

winters, yon honeycomb

tholos kept warm.

In her threadbare Oklahoma coat

bees nested, Woodpecker feasted,

Thunderbird broke the tree;

a little acorn Charlie-

horse became a baby Easter-

chick.  Her Royal Henress brooded

over all the shady dealings

stumping the common wailings

of the groundlings – trampled by hooded

Midas moony-men (roundheads

of Malvolio’s pale clan).

It was just a party plan.  &

Wise Men had their own (not Herod’s).

1.5.17

Reading Malcolm Woodland, Wallace Stevens and the Apocalyptic Mode. Reminded once again how closely Stevens listened to other poets (from Isaiah to Whitman to...), re-fashioning their terms & phrasing to meet the pressure of his own time & his own concerns & idiom (see especially comments on relation between Stevens' "Martial Cadenza" and Whitman's "When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloom'd"). Every case is different, every situation is particular.

This, it seems to me, is the real thing, the real work & tradition of poetry, in every era...

Rather tumultuous (weddings, passings) holiday season over now. Reading some books on Wallace Stevens' poetry (The Wallace Stevens Case, by Thos. Grey - on Stevens & the law; and another study of Stevens and "apocalypse" - can't think of author at the moment). Curious about apocalypses, after finishing section of Fontegaia (& the horsemen) not too long ago. Apocalypse means "unveiling". Trying to get myself together toward writing again, not always easy. Also distracted by potboilers (funny old spy novel by Len Deighton my brother-in-law recommended. Remember The Ipcress File, with Michael Caine? It's not that one. Enjoy Deighton's sense of humor.) Boredom & annoyance with just about every snippet of poetry or poetry-reviewing or po-biz reporting I come across : not a good sign. Deep boredom; maybe accidia itself. Or just irritability. This is one reason I need to find a way to write again, that works, somehow. Trying to get my mind around it, in lackadaisical fashion. Good thing nobody's paying me to do this.

Mumbled something here a few days ago contrasting present-day concept of form/beauty with that of Moderns 100 yrs ago - Joyce's autotelic "quiddity" vs. today's "intelligibility". The excerpt from Fontegaia I posted yesterday might suggest I'm not practicing what I preach... what the heck is this strange obscure garbled stuff? Especially if you haven't been following the whole loopy string-along poem...

Anyway, it's a work-in-progress, & there are limits to what I can clarify about it, but... It's from the 2nd section of Fontegaia, which has been focusing on the distinctive Sienese horserace called the Palio. What I've been doing is using features of the race & of Siena/Sienese history in general as a foundation, & also as a jumping-off place (metaphors for other things).

Gradually I'm working toward some structural parallels or analogies between :

- Palio/Siena
- poets & poetry (as horserace)
- history/eschatology (the concept of the "end of time" - Apocalypse, 4 Horsemen of, etc.)

Siena links (in my mind) with eschatology by way of Joachim of Fiore, St. Francis & franciscanism. The Palio race itself is, for the Sienese, a way of sort of "stopping time" - it celebrates & mythologizes the "original" independent city-state & its founding victory over Florence at the battle of Montaperti in 1260. 1260 or thereabouts was also supposed to be an apocalyptic date in Joachim's & Joachimite messianic thinking.

In my private symbolism here in this & other sections of the poem, the contemplative/unworldly loser-poet (kind of an image of poets in America generally) is identified with the visionary saint/hobo (Francis), who paradoxically wins the race by losing it - wins it riding his slow donkey (Francis called his own body - affectionately - his "ass", bearing burdens). Contemplative vision & spiritual poverty are "slow" in relation to the quick foxy worldly utilitarian thinking which surrounds the poet on all sides. & the confrontation between these two mighty forces (worldly & spiritual) has its analogy in the Book of Revelation & the Apocalypse itself - the end of time.

"Ramirez" (in the section posted previously & others) refers to the "outsider" Mexican artist Martin Ramirez, whose paintings of railroads & immured horsemen etc. I'm using as another sort of link in the nexus Francis/hobo/San Francisco/Siena/horsemen/Apocalypse. (As noted in an earlier post, Ramirez, who was famously mute most of the time, sent a message through his family to the wife he had left behind in Mexico - "I'll see you again in the Valley of Jehoshaphat", ie. at the apocalyptic Last Judgement & resurrection of the dead.)

For "Ezekiel" - cf. the Louis Armstrong version of that song (alluded to by Eugenio Montale in his poem "Ezekiel Saw the Wheels". Montale also wrote a poem titled "Palio").

The last line - "Father! the chariots..." - an excerpt (revision?) of prophet Elisha's cry as his mentor Elijah is taken up bodily to heaven in a fiery chariot - "the chariots of Israel and his horsemen!"

There - all clear now?