TERRA NULLIUS
all alone now, left in peace
granted simple, soft release.
let the sunlight gently tease
anything not yet in free
immensity, where nothing is,
or any leavings of existence:
thought none; failure nor yet is
all speech vain, ambition foolish:
where one is what one is, asleep
within a dream of life, complete.
ELEMENTS
it is obvious, i guess,
how one pretends
to know nothing
yet tries to lend
the stress of failure
the laws of finish.
what is and seems:
the artist dreams
these two are one.
that they can’t be
brings awkwardness:
a valency or tension,
oppositional energy.
i suppose anxiety
has a chemistry
reactive to thought
which transports
old material,
revives ideas unborn.
if a work admits
due deference
it may live,
being a sign
which inwardly gives
a point beating near
the heart of feeling.
TIP
if you rub
perfume on
your wrists
it’ll bruise
rather touch
the scent
by elbows
and behind
the knees
you’ll be
anybody’s
:-(
i told him i loved him
but he does not love me
i think about him constantly
what harm can there be
in keeping his warm body
safe in the bedroom
of my mind so when
you find me dying
he will be lying
next to me
TO LET
a room is a device
which, like a sail,
harnesses the spirit.
the room must be
a perfect fit
or else it fails
to accommodate it.
LAPIDARY
properly speaking
after digging
this is nothing left
but a spinel
here and there:
these laborious hours
desk-wrecked. i fear
my looking inward
has deprived me
of the world and yet
experience comes close
to killing me, antimony
to my tongue. it is only
when the spirit finds love
the ineffable triumphs
and knowledge is won.
PLEA
i gave a man a watering can
to water my soul.
mother, my thirst is deep:
let me grow!
what is it that stifles me?
holds me back
from being a woman
carnally?
help me.
for when he looked at me
I knew he could look at me
all day!
but I am just a child afraid.
DREAD
6 a.m.
to which is given:
the temperature at dawn.
in addition:
that sequent chandra
in decline.
the earth is whisker quiet,
unethical:
nothing is born
or equal
to anything.
LOVE-LOCKED
though what i say
adds nothing
to the mystery
of love,
these fetters
of unattempted life
imply great passion,-
or perhaps
you are too full
of feckless energy
to be interested in me.
would that this poetry
free the paths of ecstasy;
but these walls of luxury
immure my deepest sigh:
though i long to be with you,
you are nowhere by.
CAT
Her loping gait, the tail’s rhapsody.
Her round moon eyes, gem gold.
COLD CASE
The room reeked
of smoke and beer and sweat.
I hauled the window open.
The ribbon of a breeze
fluttered on my cheek.
It would rain soon.
The world outside
wouldn't be mine
for at least a few more hours.
I went back to bed,
flicked through books,
smoked cigarettes,
trawled the internet:
my mind a waiting room
where thoughts and fantasies
wandered in and out.
This is her world-
and I have to get out of it.
The morning coffee wasn’t much.
It made me think of her.
I peered onto the street.
Does she think of me ?
Sheets of rain divided
all the objects from themselves:
the trees the cars the houses
stood without a function.
I pictured her.
Her life was over.
She would be forgotten:-
that was her punishment.
But her crime, its half-life,
would go on living.
Poisoning the lives
of her victims.
Leaving each to subsist
upon a ruined life.
Some take root again,
most wither.
To live in hope is foolish,
sayeth the foolish-wise.
Yet happiness may often rise
within the most infernal element.
DIAGNOSIS
He pressed hard
three fingers
on my breast.
He found a lump.
He searched for other signs,
but found none. He looked up.
He seemed surprised
at my calmness, for any sign
he found was proof
the cancer had spread.
However, as he went
he smiled for my benefit.
I smiled back. I did not want
to make him anxious.
The doctor stopped.
His arms dropped.
He cocked his head
a little to the door.
I looked down at the floor,
then out at the street:
the rain-whipped branches
of the winter trees
swaying in the evening breeze.
A street lamp flickered green and orange…
Would you wait a minute please?
I must consult a colleague.
When the other doctor entered
she walked straight up to me
clutched my shoulder,
put her fingers on my breast
and pressed.
She paused a second.
It seemed colder when she moved
away to join the other doctor
in the corridor.
TRAIN MOVING NORTH
sitting in a carriage
of a train moving north
is to fixate on thoughts
savaged with regret
and tiredness.
each station
we pull into, we are forced
to recollect, move on again,
all attains a pitch
which mounts
almost to violence.
troubles, guilt, pains,
old faces wax and wane,
until we reach our station.
we poor travellers alight
and wait at barriers until
the clack-clack of ebbing life
echoes into silence.
a cold wind cuts our faces
in the sudden dark.
venus and jupiter,
forgotten, gleer
on the horizon:
we are in a heavy place
of cruelty and death.
the gates open:
but just when
my soul is exiting,
a baby's perfect face
appears before me:
his mother him watching,
the child, asleep, eyelids pulsing,
urged gently over the crossing.
INTERVIEW
i could taste failure
even in my whisky
watered down to nothing.
her clothes smelt disgusting
her face was dirty, puffy, red.
she lit a cigarette and stared.
you are circumspect.
what? i answered,
not knowing what she meant.
you circle your subject
to get an idea of it:
you circle because
your prey is full of strength;
or you circle,
because the animal you hunt
is almost dead.
which am i you think?
i should have answered
in the positive,
but said:
i want to know
if there is anything left.
at once, her eyes
were filled with hatred.
i think that is a fair request,
i added.
what more could be said?
this was not an actress-
no one cared.
as a journalist,
i was being honest:
my readers want gossip-
hagiographic nonsense-
few would wonder
at the depths
of this woman's conscience:
what fears she conquered,
what knowledge
wrested from despair.
SELF-HELP
what has been given me,
all that i have tried to be,
but not am. all this ties me
to a feeling i am trying
to withstand:
that to define me i must
be unplanned, defying
my own sense of self,
my dreams of who i am.
FRIENDS
over both their faces,
a great spreading smile:
for each has seen the other.
two lonely points in time,
once forlorn and bare,
now flourish in love's care.
soon hands and lips are there,
and how their greetings
echo in sweet air !
LIFE LESSON
along a city street,
sprawling;
a young child
in a stroller
bawling;
as if his pain
lay at the heart
of everything.
his parents,
unperturbed,
ignore him presently,
though they bear him
lovingly.
like a nestling
in a tree,
or a diamond
set in jewellery:
the world around,
no less than him:
secure, flourishing,-
not exempt from harm-
though safe enough
for him to learn,
after the tears,
how precious he is,
how much part
of love.
FROZEN MUSIC
there is a moment
when what is immense
is evident
in buildings;
when their rhythms
harmonize
with the grandeur of the sun.
such music is performed
when of an afternoon
light defines a wall
or in the aperçu
given by the window
unequivocal
at dawn.
TENANT
she rented
this room
next door to mine
i often heard her crying
late at night.
whenever she saw me
though, she smiled,
said she wanted
to improve her life,
enrol in courses
to be better qualified.
i remember
laughter
coming through the wall
look, a shopping list
numbers, scribbles
her weekly budget
a picture, names of books
to read, pages ripped
or creased…
recently
at different times
i heard screams
when i saw her
she looked scared
scars across her skin
then she was evicted
we never met again
READING ROOM
ripeness the reward
of patience
the weight of duty
measured by the hours
attendant on that bench
head hung
shoulders hunched
back bent
cycles of deep quiet
parse into him
he contemplates totality
the rush of time
pushing
outward to what is
the beauty
of the rise and fall of light
a great god
sitting breathing
staring deep into the world
light falling on their faces
whose untroubled mien
hints at secrets
not yet betrayed by life
the light stays longer now
it spreads
grows ripens sheds
its warmth
then is allayed
by some hidden intercessory
MANGO
in yellow ochre
a girl just smiled
the umbra
of her face
blushing ripe
a mango
alive with sunny light
HORRORS
1
First time up I found I was middle of the file. That scared me. I felt a target. As if my being end of the line would have helped. Doing time, you come to learn about the futility of resistance and the powerful logic of brute force. You have to find a level in your dealings with yourself in relation to the other men. In time, just through letting yourself be counted, you acquire a certain status. You are done with the truths you held with respect to yourself. You become the bean flicked up and down in the abacus held by the strongest inmates. The way you put it, it sounded like you thought prison was all about holding out. It isn't. Its only in here for the first time I learnt to let go.
2
Year after year he had visited the area, but this time around, despite returning to the same coordinates, he could establish no connection with the past. The rules which built reality had shifted. The heat forced one at every point to stand still and contemplate the next move in advance. The fall of darkness offered great release. An unknown creature whooped from a thicket on the pampa. The animal bore purple stripes down her thighs. Her breasts formed of pink sponge like protuberances. He wrapped bandages around the wound in her side still swollen from infection. The panier of water he urged gently to her lips. One day he would understand what all of this meant. His repulsion of her body lessen. Her monstrous form provoke desire.
3
The question as to whether I should stay or not was decided for me by the junta. I applied for a leave of absence which was not granted. I asked many people but none remembered her. I saw how in death just as in life a memory is betrayed. What law or spiritual jolt had imposed such fear ? The city was engulfed in suffering but none of it visible. Yet I noticed how the young men wrung their hands. How the women bowed their heads and kept their distance. I guessed her body had already been disposed of. I asked about its where abouts but no one knew. Its difficult to speak about that time in my life. The events of those days are like objects whose definite outline or mass is obscured under a heavy blanket. I'm not sure for how long she was tortured. Perhaps over a period of five days. Her hands were swollen blue her wrists tied off with wire. The pelvis smashed legs broken one foot dangled by a tendon, its shoe half off. Her eyes frozen in a penetrating sideways glare like fear expressed in stone.
4
A knock on my arm. A woman begging. Her clawed hand an image which repels me. Her child tugs at my trousers. Sluggishly incanting. The poor use the language of infants yet we refuse them.
5
The windscreen had shattered on impact and the woman in the front passenger seat flung onto the road ahead. The car steering wheel was embedded in the ribcage of the deceased driver, his head snapped backwards. A toddler screamed from a baby seat behind, now pushed forward so that the infant's writhing hands were wedged against his own face.
CHAMBER MUSIC
I haven’t told you
what i think,
if that man
must be silenced,
as i was silent
all the years
he taught me
how to sing.
The crotchets
on the stave
spread panic
in my brain,
yet to sing them
was to gain
a place
away from him.
He would clasp me
by the wrist, pull
my zipper
down an inch,
run a finger
down my prick,
say how grown up
i seemed.
He was quick to warn
since i was growing tall
how my instrument
would crack
like a porcelain
knick knack,
but saying that
how nicely i performed.
DEUCALION
I think of you often, Deucalion. Of how you cared for me when my mind was torn apart on seacoast rocks. Your eyes were massy, bold. They saw into my heart, so sad and lost. The fingers of your hands like the kind roots of the fig, wrapped around me; lifting me gently from that bloody rock, Tarpeian scourge, which I had known so long. You kept me hidden, sang to me, kept me safe inside your soft membrane, through which I watched the silhouettes of waving trees, heard the call of insects and the pulsing of bio-machines. I felt your presence so often in those days, so often at night when my sobbing caused the soft walls to reconvolute, I would hear you sighing too. We belong too much to others, Deucalion.
CREMATION
he weeps softly
beside the nadi
the sweep
of blessedness
receiving the body
the wood was costly
but his brothers body
is safely interred
in god
CHRYSANTHEMUMS, 1882
nothing here
gives much away
but a print
of chrysanthemums
by claude monet
surprises me
in this cafe
a clutch of women
console each other
his brush
snatches light
to express it in colour
the speech of the women
old yarn
stuck
in the weave of time
his signature
of bold carmine
only an eye
by god
but what an eye
just let him try
then he’ll see
he'll see
the woman carrying
a scar too monstrous
to rescind
to ease her suffering
the women share feelings
the flowers meet themselves
in a pool of being
until at last,
given sight
they are speaking.
THE HAUL
you are a strong man
now a wobbly puppet
betrayed
by some compound of fear
your friend
still sober
marches behind
brandishing
three items in silver
a trumpet
and two candlesticks
which will soon be tossed
into the furnace of addiction.
THE WIDOW
you at least
were willing to allow
my hysterical release
kneeling down
crushing the flowers
dirt in my fist
i saw you saw
the amethyst
tepid on my breast
the wedding stone
which would atone
for my recklessness
but of all men
I loved him best
who lies in ashes
which now I pour
on my head
over me for him
in the precipice
between
the living
and dead upon
our memorial bed