to this place of reversal
and I was separated
and in the place of every part
there was the name of fear
and for a vast memorial
there was the name of grief
If you know the prayer
for one who has been so dislocated
please say it or sing it
and if there is among the words
an empty space, or among the letters
an orchard of return
please set my name firmly there
with a voice or hand
which only you command
you righteous ones
who are concerned with such matters
But hurry please
for all the parts of me
that gathered briefly around this plea
are dispersed again
and scattered on the Other Side
where the angels stand upside down
and everything is covered with dust
and everyone burns with shame
and no one is allowed to cry out
ANGRY AT 11 PM
THE THIRD INVENTION
Blindly I worked
at my third invention
taking the chances
of one who is lost,
feeling my way
to a cleaner expression
of the absolute filth
I stumbled across.
And all for the sake
of an interested woman
riding the night’s
last flicker of hope,
some tourist of beauty
in full disappointment,
ready to fall in love
with a ghost.
and here was the ghost
with his third invention
the usual shit
for the highest reward;
and now it was ready,
the third invention.
ready to fall
in love with the world.
And he falls back
and she comes forward;
his third invention
measures them both.
She lies in the arms
of his third invention
and back in his room,
he commences the fourth.
This is the work
of the highest pretension
an automatic ode
to the world.
O deep in the comfort
of full employment,
he’s lost to the fourth
and he’s lost to the third
– 1980
MY MOTHER ASLEEP
remembering my mother
at a theatre in Athens
thirty
thirty-five years ago
a revue by Theodorakis
those great songs
she fell asleep
in the chair beside mine
in the open-air theatre
she had arrived that day
from Montreal
and the play started
close to midnight
and she slept through
the mandolins
the climbing harmonies
and the great songs
I was young
I hadn’t had my children
I didn’t know how far away
your love could be
I didn’t know
how tired you could get
ROBERT APPEARS AGAIN
Well, Robert, here you are again talking to me at the Café de Flore in Paris. I haven’t seen you for a while. I have several versions of that sonnet I wrote after your death but I never got it right. I love you, Robert, I still do. You were an interesting man, and the first friend I really quarrelled with. I’m slightly stoned on half-a-tab of speed I found in this old suit, it must be twenty years old, and I took it with a glass of orange juice. It couldn’t possibly work after all this time, but here we are, talking again. I’m glad you don’t tell me what it’s like where you are because I have no interest in the afterlife. You’re a little pissed off as usual, as if you’ve just come from something immensely boring. Here we are, talking about the lousy deal we negotiated for ourselves. What are you saying? Why are you smiling? I’m still working hard, Robert. I can’t seem to bring anything to completion and I’m in real trouble. The speed is wearing off, or the mood, and I can’t tell you an amusing story about my trouble, but you know what I mean. Of all my friends you know what I mean. Well, goodbye, Robert, and fuck you too. Your disembodied status entitles you to a lot of privileges, but you might have excused yourself before disappearing again for who knows how long.
MY MOTHER IS NOT DEAD
My mother isn’t really dead.
Neither is yours.
I’m so happy for you.
You thought your mother was dead,
And now she isn’t.
What about your father?
Is he well?
Don’t worry about any of your relatives.
Do you see the insects?
One of them was once your dog.
But do not try to pat the ant.
It will be destroyed by your awkward affection.
The tree is trying to touch me.
It used to be an afternoon.
Mother, mother,
I don’t have to miss you any more.
Rover, Rover, Rex, Spot,
Here is the bone of my heart.
– after a photo by Hazel Field
SHIRLEY
Let me go back to Shirley
She knew who I was
before the ascension
of sparks
She led me to
the bicycle of armholes
and in her front
I was the glass baseball
of Ancient Greece
the soaring stones
of my mother’s mouth
Shirley understood
my straw and my lipstick
the lacquered soda of ambition
and the splash of mind
as it all goes by
She was the
Nurse of Laughter
in the Bat-House
She laughed when
I was born as a surprise
in my father’s shaving kit
But enough of you and
you and you
who have captured
all the High Places
I am the veteran
the badge of red
the very friend of Shirley
Return to your
leaves of winter
and your sad jokes
about the reservoirs of
taxation
THE BEST
India has the best Ice Cream
America the best Chocolate
England the best Male Legs
Spain the best Cross
Italy the best Mist
Israel the best Emergency
Canada the best Light
Mexico the best Eagles
Portugal the best Lonely Islands
Egypt the best Minorities
Norway the best Music
Morocco the best Jews
Korea the best Italian Food
I’ve been to too many countries
I died when I left Montreal
I met women I didn’t understand
I pretended to get interested in food
But it was all The Fear of Snow
It was all The Will of G-d
It was all The Heart
swallowing The Other Organs
It was Five Days of Summer
and Two Days of Spring
Mostly it was the Death of my Dog
Sorrow is the time to begin
Longing is the place to rejoice
But I did not begin
and I did not rejoice
I was lazy in G-d
Books lie open all around me
Despite my efforts
they keep coming into my room
And there is a slab of old stone
with cuneiform inscriptions
When I lived in Montreal
I knew what to wear
I had old clothes
and old friends
and my dog had been dead
for only ten or fifteen years
Fortunately there is no Space
for Regret
in The Poverty
of these Reflections
CLOCKWORK
the crow knows
exactly where to sit
on the yellow bench
the wave
exactly where to break
the jaw that will not
unclench
is fastened perfectly
to the writer’s skull
future generations
come like clockwork
under the damp
cement arches
to include themselves
in this well-recorded
afternoon
THE DRUNK IS GENDER-FREE
This morning I woke up again
I thank my Lord for that
The world is such a pigpen
That
