<< Previous: Section 2

Next: Section 4 >>

3. The Nature of Man's Life

Now hear the wind.
It whirs sweetly in the garden,
spinning thin on orchid dew due
the luff of time . . .

and on that crystal river
i am frail & anchor, circus animus & annie's man,
livery claribel . . .

sparks no-ing on the see of ho-land,
knowing on the river
no-ing on the high places or in the nederlunder;
no-ing sea
(seariver torn with blackened wind, still currants . . .
still tacking)

Eh, old fellow Lao Tzu?¹
Telos, master,
watt we are to dew

(dew two tack)

O,
watts our source of power
when the wheeeeels no longer tern?
where our whirls?

oh baby i love dem wirlds you got heah!

and reaving a course patter i have fallen into.

The craft so long to lerne . . .

# # #

A man must sail at the wind.

At the well teraphim & horsemen kneel, evoking
with that well of fire
in which is nothing but our eyes ss sss! ssss!

Understand.
You must give yourself into my hand. i am a guide

alas, grief. "Hylas! hylas!"

O woe. O spill of discontent . . .

On the sand Jason and my hero wander,
cawing, calling my name and going home to marry;
but I, Hylas, fall and flow in circles in this beach.
I cannot reach you.

"Hylas, Hylas! my friend! dear Hylas!"

Even Hercules cannot help me.
There is yet no boat nor blood for me

I am swept undersea by this horrible art!

HERCULES (shouting)
"Where are you my friend oh high lass! o o

"o where
Where are those knife-bright eyes we knew?
was he not bear-b-b-buried in that spray-shot cave? sucked down that
tunnnnnnel? --does he not feel b-black tongues
& with b-black fires s-shriek around the f-forks?

Yet here we see still his b-blooms of fire
his b-b-burning s-sunflowers th-thrust out from the s-strand ... "

Tansy. Hellebore. Narcissus.

I was changing even then, into a myriad forms.
I could not fight the ocean.

Even the least of the sailors is marked by my wheel

Slim Echo wanders, staring at a mouse.

"What, what
is that thing,
that white form beside us?"

"What . . . form?"

"That, that cloud where --"

He who squeezed the snakes is blind.

i am s(l)unk away without a word.

# # #

"Do you know me?"

the the d-devil

"Do you know who i also am?"

o, i (k)no(w) . . !

# # #

My splashing & my evil & the devil contest; i struggle
to keep above that hand
that pulls me down

"O those talons, those scratches in my chest!"

The owl, being, & the (k)not are one.

Rebels violently strike, protesting slow vanishing hours.

Awl awl, awk! r conflicks, all.

"is borachio there?" A peace of him.

"Have you been to collect
the nail? It could not
cum till now, the post
has been so mer
ciful.

"But then it's so good
in this cuntry."

Upon my trip hangs everything.
We must not be so cross

: : : : :

: : : : :

My friends,
even in His sorrow we will find the shadow

. . . . . .

I will awake dark shadows behind old shades where
Red swords grind in the sheathes & out, sulphur
Sings in the shade / ice groans

white swords s-slip in the scabbards, out
in the sea we know below us, in the waterfalls of salt

{lento}

in the season of the dripping of the leaves into the well

What lends us to this terrible night?

{meditative}

That season when the tide returns,
we will breathe out
the morning we ingested

& the lotus & the currant will be my spinning emblems . . .
the wheel that crosses us, our Enemy's.

His lines that free us from the pane, ugh, pain

Were we not worthy?

Were we X
(wrung wrong)?

Not knot know?

not sew so . . .

It may be well. all may be well . . . all May
be well enough for death

I am not the first. We are not the breath.
Not to be the breath or knot,
the glass-clear eye of the fish,
the actor in my own roll whether
the die is out, our parties in spin
in that perpetual feast that rolls diurnally
& we the best salmon slow-moving Saturn turns out

What happened to me, god? Where's the rest of me?

Where are my legs?

Hercules, can you help me?

did i slip back . . .

DEAD?

AI! aieeeeeeeeee

o woe
whoa

o heaven can you help us?
o sea, can you say the darkness?

Next: Section 4 >>