pavelspoetry.com€¦ · web viewadam sees around him dioramas. antelopes and left-to-right...

PAVEL C (April 6–June 9, 1995) © Pavel Chichikov

ADAM’S MIRROR

Adam sees around him dioramasAntelopes and left-to-right giraffesSuperposed his hand reflects a mirrorFig Religiosa spins its shaftsLions are illusions, birds reflectThe colors of a deviant domainLiberated mass in two dimensionsSimulates the depth of the insaneHellebore is harmless as the roseIlex as nutritious as the pearPhoenix is the everburning sunlightRising from the smoothness of the airBut suddenly the image is the SireSpeaking from the flatness of despairWalking in the evening comes desire:“Adam, my created, are you there?”

Pavel ChichikovApril 6, 1995

1


SONG BIRD

The earth a milkweed husk will beBut still the new bird in the treeSings “Skipio, skipio, skipio, see!”

Though sun be yellow on the grassEnd by end will follow fastA frost of fire burns at last

Sing: Skipio, skipio, skipio, see!

The bird beyond the meadow singsAs if an answer whistlingFrom other worlds another brings

Sing: Skipio, skipio, skipio see!

Other worlds as large aroundAre living in a silver soundInvisible but newly found


“Skipio, skipio, skipio, see!”Indifferent to the life of meAs if Forever on a tree



2


THE RELIC

Each child an ancient from the world’s beginningAn oath of precious flowers made with timeA sequence of creation and a codeOf temporary messages in slime

Immortals bear an infant and the soulEmerges from a chrysalis of spaceBut nothing that dissolves can have so muchOf archangelic merit or disgrace

And if that soul were suddenly to seeWhat elemental increments of joyWere summed together infinitely roundThat neither time nor entropy destroy

Then every infant newly born would beA relic of a small eternity


3


SCAVENGERS Iron angels roost among the fig treesHalos of exhausted vacuum glowPredatory metal preens its plumageCobalt is the feathers’ indigo

Talons prick discharges from the meadowsEarth to earth the wounded copper flowsNickel is the pigment of the pinionsTitanium the muscle of the brow

Every cherub filters radiationSeraphim desensitize and growMortifying silver oxidizesToughened glass, the eyeball of the crow Scavengers of fallen Eden’s sinAre not expelled but firmly soldered in


4


BROTHER

His body like a borrowed suit of clothesMy God how thin the local madman growsBeard grizzled, bones declining, sickly manWho ends this way far worse than he beganA man like us who furnishes a soulTo God but takes by day halperidolHis feet like boats that often run agroundHis vision and his hearing are unsoundWorst of all there’s nothing to deploreSome worm of mind has eaten out his coreThis like envy, influenza, plagueIs illness suffered, diagnosis vagueNot mine but his it is to suffer thusIncessant hell unfitting to discussO God release but do not him destroyThis crucified and mad senescent boyI know too much by looking in his eyesHow consciously my brother madman dies


5


DARK STAR

The soul says to its Master“Speak to me, my Lord,Is it death, or life with You forever?”

The soul perceives a sphereMassive and obscureDarkly spinning there

The sphere occludes the LordInterposed betweenVisible by chord

And the Lord commands the soul:“Remove the sphereAnd you will be whole. “The sphere is your eyeThat turns forever blindUntil you never die.” “Remove the sphere from meBy faith or forciblyAnd I will never see.” “An eye of stoneHas never seen or shoneI am light Alone.” The soul perceives a sphereMassive and obscureSpinning silent there Unaware and blindStraining and confined:“Is it God I find?”


6


LAMIUM

Lamium maculatum\White dead-nettleLight unknowing souls who walk amongTheir ankles brush the leaves but never move themTheir weightless hearts are seldom strong Heartshaped leaves a lacquer-greenCarved erratically their white designWhere the dead ones go the massless movingComplacent nettles of the mind

But when His sacrifice has moved the deadThe sweet thick wind begins to blowLifting up their faces to the loving blindnessThey swell and press the field below They swell and press—the nettles catch themThe painful blood begins to flow


7


STRANGER He crumbles bread—the well-intentioned oneSqueezes olive pits beneath his thumb,Why invite a stranger here for breadWhen only Friday since our Master’s dead ? Shadows grow and fall—do not go henceCover us with night’s deliverance,That day may never come may daylight ceaseSo much better hid from the police. Now the stranger opens up his handsReveals the blackened apertures of woundsAll our napes that bristle with our fearHave understood what consequence is here— Sitting in the shadows of a roomIt is the flesh of Him that we consume


8


CHRIST TRIUMPHANT He struck the marble floor of timeStruck and then the cross withdrewAll the wounds of centuriesResounded bleeding decades through—Seeping minutes stained the wallAnd skies bled hours while the nightsWere sodden with millennia,The clotted blood of appetites—Now Christ triumphant strikes the seaAnd all the sins disintegrateThe eons of the universeAre flashed away by time in spate .


9


ASCENSION OF THE BEASTS Mindlessly moving like an animal , like an animal grazingFood, or sex, or sleep digestingMuzzle deep in the brown soilMud-caked flanks and the other herdFrom calf to eunuch-ox progressingAnd then to gasp with dome-like ribsAnd to be buried or consumed by worms and flies and othersStill the shit-caked withers placidly progressNot thinking ever the head moves through the pastureAnd fescue takes the place of islandsBut then that once the herd lifts up its headBellows, dewlaps quivering in outrageAt the brilliant being rising, rising overheadO angels lucid, trumpet-handed onesMeridians of angels curve and spinTo raise the brutal heads and make them sing


10


THE CRATER MANDELSHTAM

South of Moscoviense MareWest of Heaviside, east of massive MendeleevOn the darkside of the moon, it’s trueStraddled there betweenPereplygin and DufayWith Coriolis spinning eastHenderson a stationary epauletteThey placed the poet’s craterAnd here he lives, a skinny, nervous lagWho pulled the Steelman’s cockroach mustache—It is to augur crucifixionsFormer and at present and to comeThat rabble-preaching GodWas bat-pinned to the crossbeams—For Him it was a missionHe to heaven, but the hollow bulls of earthPaw and grumble, stamp and flick their tailsGouge the sand of red Golgotha.“Thunder” they say—“death to comeFor those who disregard our hooves.”Where else can we humans hideBut in a crater on the moon’s darkside?All men will die of hornsUnless they flee to airless places—Uncrumpled cliffs will shield them—In shadows Mandelshtam will scratch on stone And poets won’t be there alone


11


MIGRANTS The wild geese climb the sky-grey hillThey circle upwards, vee-shaped bliss,The sterile motions of the willHave no effect compared with this—Stretching necks, a ten-gram soulEncyclopedic maps terrainInstinctively from pole to poleAnd brings them here to climb again—The will we share between us allIs not our intellect’s insightBut something high enough to fallAnd something innocent as flight—Small heads forward, powerful,Shot from south to north like arrowsLeaders calling: “Follow me”Astonishing the bush-bound sparrows


12


ORCHARDS The seed within the appleAnd the stone within the heartAre both a tree in embryoAscending as they startOne an upright shoot of greenThe other grows insideThe first a seed of blossomingThe other one of prideApple buds are soft as fistsOf babies when they’re bornThe bud of pride is comes shimmeringAs music from a hornThe blossom of the apple treeIs fragrant to the cupThe blossom of the arrogantIs poison to the lipAnd when the apple tree has grownIt spreads a stubborn rootAs generous as raincloudsIs the falling of the fruitBut when the tree of pride is grownIts apples are its sinsAnd all the forest of the deadSurrenders to the winds


13


IMAGO

A tired crow that caws a field of cornUp from earth on Resurrection mornScratching through the tillage of my brainTo dream within the earthly ground againAnother sleep replaced the one I soughtAs if to change the bedding of my thoughtAnd there as catapulted from a slingMy soul shot up in feathers and took wingNot small and stubby winged, weak and lowA metaphoric wren or vireoBut something large and boisterous like a rocA soaring mountaineer, a samson hawkAnd now I counted hills as if the skyHad given drops that still refused to dry And rivers grown metallic in the glareSeemed inches deep and static from the airThe scarflesh of the mountains from the vaultWas blue as gems and white as ocean saltOceans stood as smooth as plates of glassSo high above the earthscape did I pass Would you see the vision that I sawListen as the crows begin to cawEvery scratch and whistle, song and purlIs holograph of all the holy worldEvery patch of garden on the groundIs sympathetic heaven lost and foundAnd we above the earth that footward goCan look beneath, an eagle’s imago


14


SPEEDWELL A three-lobed flower with dependent bladeMolded like a violet spadeA white and yellow target centerBlack runway lines a bee presenterSmall, tenacious, tissue-thinThe root holds on in any windBut how the petals shiver, trembleTrees in hurricanes resembleThree centimeters root to topIf currents move they never stopThey vibrate to address the springAnd to a bee they even singThey whistle like a wind offshoreAnd even like an ocean roar


15


FOUR DRACHMAS I heard them spitA flatulent sound Cold before dawnAnd the snapping brazier “What’s that to you?” he said.“Go quickly.”

I saw the big handCrumple the faceBlood from the noseAnd swollen lips “What’s that to you?” he said.“Each knuckle a drachma.” Fangs of the catTwined with bulletsThe bones of the backRibs to the bone “Hear that?” he said“My cat can sing.”

Hammer and nailsThe woodgrain splitsBlackened crustOn the hammer’s head “A son of a whore,That’s all he’s worth.”The crown He wore.Good Friday on Earth.


16


THE GUST I saw the last enfolding sphereWhere every mapless wind draws nearUnmeasured, boundless yet as closeAs chambers where the quick approachI heard the syllable of fateEternal yet proportionateI saw in that unperjured placeThat all living wear one faceMy sin for yours and you for mineBear one identity divineAnd all my love from great to smallImpresses heaven on us allSo like a whirlwind whirling roundHis yes and no a single sound


17


HERMITAGE

A freezing place and yet there goesAmalthea on her toesJupiter’s confiding elfReturns in hours less than twelve—Excited Mimas, Saturn’s cubReflects a wall of light aboveWhere shadows of the other moonsCompete with cloudtops and their runes—I love to sit much closer inThan where the outer moonlets spinAnd watch suspended in the skyA waterfall of storms go byEnfolded in a velvet caulWhere stars forever burn and fall


18


FORSYTHIAFor A.T.

If this spattered world’s a graceOf mud, and heaven’s anti-placeNothing more than Adam’s bootyA shambles of eternityThen how much more must heaven beWhen prison fields are gilded freeAnd violent light throws back the sunFrom each bright spear’s comparison Ramparts of a jail of stateFlower sentries at the gateAngels at the door of blissSpeechless, shining to exist


19


TESTAMENT When in rage I’d gone to townI found the village had shut downInfiltrated by a fogThat quartered like a hungry dogAnd all who’d breathed the opaque mistWere pink and blue as amethystBrittle as an insect’s huskBeneath the everlasting duskThen abuzzing by and byThere came an iridescent flyGreen and violet in the wingMetallic, agile, skitteringFrom dead to dead, on arms and legsTo lay its microscopic eggsThen every egg consumed the meatProducing maggot brood to eatBut who came next to feed on themA prudent man will never nameAnd though I tell you what I sawIt won’t be stopped by force of law Lay every praying human kneeUpon the ground, pray copiously,Let prayers be tears, do not believeThe secular who say they grieveAnd give your faith to Him who gaveYou life by rising from the grave


20


SWIMMER

Everything flows but everything waitsDimensions unseeable measure the fatesOnly one entry to write in the eyeThe human decision to love or to dieNow is the season when Jesus aroseAnd left us eternity’s swaddling clothesRising before us to enter the seaThat wraps all together what is and to beAnd we as the nautilus coiled in the shellThoughtlessly probing the limits of hellAre caught on a wave, a spasm of loveOnward the curve to the freedom aboveMore freedom than nautilids ever conceiveBoundless and endless if only we breathe


21


HIS WIFE IS DEAD His wife had cancer—she suffered and she died.Lingula, the arrowworm, is the oldest living genus.Are these two statements of the same lineage?O my friend, they are the poles of a globeNorth and SouthDeclination and AzimuthAlpha and Omega Let her be seen, my GodAs the sun shines through the world-enfolding seaAnd shows the depths of usThe scale of our AscensionAnd the glistening of her rising soul


22


HYLOBATES SYNDACTYLUS Was that a cry of anguishOf human grief and terror?No—a troupe of siamangSwings from wire to wireHooting in the maple treesAnd upwards in the dawning skyMenkib calls to HassalehAnd Mirach in AndromedaTo Almaaz and Capella—How dark the space between the starsO burning Venus, shining Mars


23


OGRE’S RHYME The warbler’s song, the busy thrushAre heard across the universeRoots of maple and of pearCome up in gardens everywhereAnd if I kill a woman’s sonI take the life of everyone Now full the sunlight and the shadeThe dappled sun and shadow tradeThe stitch of flying cabbage whiteSews up the April morning lightAnd even failing dusk to come’sA cipher of an endless sum I heard a rumor grief is deadGod grinds it up to make His bread


24


VEGA PRAYED On the day of the Cross the sky was dimmedAt noon He saw the stars revealedThough prophets wandered up from the earthTheir graveclothes pissed with yellow dustTalitha beloved raised from deathClung to the foot of the falling BearAnd Muscida to its flaming hair Polaris not yet come to his heightCalled to Yildun to pull him upOff to the west the heart of the SwanVeered to the left on his wing DenebAldafar of the blessed LyreShrieked on Vega’s shining peg The stars cried out in brilliant shameThe sky in fever rushed to His aidHelpless kneeling beneath KocabVega the sorrowful flared and prayedAnd though the Dragon drank from His cupThe people living never looked up


25


CRATERS Raindrops on the river’s skinRepeat themselves again againConcentrically they spread their ripplesIn circles round their vanished nipplesAgain again the circles spreadLike drops the glossy skin has shedExpending on indifferent banksThe latent energy of blanksNo craters carried forward fallThe water yields but covers allAnd this the way of human livesNothing of our weight survivesSurface tension soon resumesThe weaving of the liquid loomThe river in its olive skinRepeats itself again againClouds condense the rising dropsThe rain and flowing never stopsBut if the sun should ever ceaseThe river’s run will find releaseAnd fall until it overflowsAnd go again where rivers go


26


COORDINATES We looked for Him in copper streetsThe full sunlight of the open spacesThe right ascension of all brazen wombsBut not the common shade, the quietness of hyacinthIn the cool declination of the tombs—There He waits for us in casual disguiseHalf hidden by the dimness, calm and wise:“Come further, come further child to seeMy hidden splendid places.Go further? Yes, go further if you please,Nothing there will frighten you beneath the trees.”


27


SIN IS THE PROCESS OF FORGETTING Every common human limbDraws sinew that was pierced of HimMind-defending bone of skullWas what the Romans hoped to cullBut He that slipped away at dawnWill take us too to be rebornNot only spirit—flesh and fireLive with Him if He requireSo if I disbelieve my debtIt is because the flesh forgetsAs numbly living flesh may beWhen sleepers dream but never see God give continuance of breathIn sleep—if not, a fleshly deathTo come to Him whose hand was rawFrom plane and adze, from drill and saw


28


THINGS Things I cannot seize awakeAre those which sleeping I may takeAnd that which waking never tryI do asleep—for instance fly—So those awake may scoff at sleepWhile those who slumber laugh and leap


29


MERCY He always looks intently through a mirrorWhen he walks he wades through legion sandShuffles and defends a private desertIgnores the flapping voices of command—They dazzle overhead from left to rightStained wings that beat invisibly like prismsAnd all the scattered chalices of lightPour channels of their iridescent chrisms—Thin as painful straw he comes aboutBending to a wind I cannot knowBut when I met him in the street todayO miracle of God—he said hello


30


IN THE FIELD I saw a woman with a kerchief goingAlong a field of dandelions growingAnd as she reached the one she touched its bubbleThe kerchief hid her face as she bent doubleAnd then she pulled the weed to make her salad(To gather humbly so’s considered squalid)Still I would not compromise to knowThe face of she who harvests where it growsShe has the facelessness of working MaryThe mother of a Lord proprietary(Who gave eternal life for mortal wrongOf spittle, nail and flagellating thong)She has no face or name—she is the earthWho harvests from herself and gives it birth


31


IN THE TREE In the bows of liquidambarBirds angelical are perchedCircles going round toward heavenCrows and eagles, albatrossTerns and warblers, nightingalesJungle fowl, finch and doveBush-bound flyers in the lowerCranes and plovers keep aboveAll are sitting, all are singingAll are spinning toward the skyEach is calling, pealing, squealingAll in chorus vocalizeIt is the tree that turns them slowlyRunning sap, immense and holyBright the bathing of the nightLiquid amber, morning light


32


THE SPHERE I saw the Godstuff dripping downFrom ledge to ledge a holy riverGolden, viscid heaven-syrupExuding from a sacred giver But no He said it is delusionI have no part to bleed and runI am entire in an atomWhole and One without confusionEvery world subsumes in MeAll instants and eternityEvery drop that leaps and livesContains entire what I giveTo you a soulThat holds Me whole


33


SENTRIES Trees though wood and pith, though leaf and boughKnow more than all the bloodmade living knowThey breathe the heavy wind, lean from the north,Inhale the blackened vapor flowing forthBut when they smell a rising capricornThe lunar-handled sunlight brings them dawn,In May they toss their stationary feathersLike ancient colts who gambol in all weathers,Reins of autumn carry them a message:Retreating sap and equinoctial dressage But when the Savior mounts and rises upHe’ll use a raging easterly as stirrup,Straddle east to west and bring thanksgiving:Trees will know before the other living


34


SUNLIGHT SunlightOn a carpet of royal blueStretches and yawnsHunting shadows—Whom by who?


35


UP THE HILL A clock shows twelve hoursBut means twenty-fourLook out the windowOr else you ignoreWhat analogy’s forAll that we know’sAnalogical showJudy slaps PunchJack loses his lunchA fool in his frightTurns day into nightAnd Jack with his JillAssembles a hillHe tumbles his fill


36


THE BREAKING A blessed angel showed meA roundel of the breadThat filled our Savior’s bellyAnd fed us afterward Morsel gave to morselInheritance of wheatAliment and a treasureA password at the gate Bread from bread inheritsA morsel on the tongueNever blessing said hereAs of the banquet sung Bread from the beginningNever cuts it staleAs bread is never lackingSo never love will fail You are served the roundelBread to others giveFeed as you were givenBreak and you will live


37


SWORD The sword of Michael which I wearBut seldom draw is sharp as airFlashing penetrates the brainsOf regiments of falling rainsBends like fire yet is hardAs any lightning spikenardSplits the whetstone and the cloudThe coffin and the coffin’s shroudA hilt of ivory takes the gripHorn the pommel, star the tipRigel on the jeweled sheathSpica catches light beneathTruth Anointed is the nameWhenever thrust and driven homeLying’s head that has one toothI sever with the sword of truth


38


MAN AND MOUSE Straighten your back, young ferretThe mouse is full of lust and you may eat itBlood is wet and cartilage is dryLeave behind no morsel for a flyBut as for me I’d rather now abstainThan hunt without a conscience or a nameThe eyes of stoats are luminous but emptyAnd death an endless self-sufficient plentyNo, a feeble consciousness of follyPetulance and moisty melancholyAre ludicrous but just sufficient soulTo compensate for always growing oldShort fangs, weak limbs, and rudimentary furThat’s best of bargains, hominoidal cur

Pavel ChichikovMay 2, 1995

39


FALLING The snows of yesteryear seem white and coldAs those three months ago or ten years oldBesom dust, impassive was the elmWordless pain of wood to overwhelmYolk of egg is yellow, spinach greenTaste of salt and sugar strong againEverything compressed so death amongComes small enough to hide beneath my tongue The snows of yesteryear are falling nowBitterwhite I eat them for a showWrapped around my knuckles like a snakeSqueezing till my bobble fingers acheThe cold is milky white and kitten greyInnumerable flakes fall down to play


40


SONG OF THE CREATUREFor Rachel

There’s a creature on the floorSnore snore snore snoreThere’s a creature on the floor Snore snore There’s a creature on the floor

Maybe it’s been there before But the light in here is poor Snore snore It has long and hairy earsSnore snore snore snoreIt has long and hairy earsSnore snoreIt has long and hairy earsAs long as donkey’s yearsWhat is it isn’t clearSnore snore It has leather for a noseSnore snore snore snoreIt has leather for a noseSnore snoreIt has leather for a noseA whistle when it blowsAnd an engine I supposeSnore snore I’ll tiptoe back to bedSnore snore snore snoreI’ll tiptoe back to bedSnore snoreI’ll tiptoe back to bedPull the covers overheadAnd make believe it’s deadSnore snore So let’s all shut our eyesSnore snore snore snoreSo let’s all shut our eyesSnore snoreSo let’s all shut our eyesAnd think of our surprise

41


To see the creature riseSnore snore Do you think it is a dogSnore snore snore snoreDo you think it is a dogSnore snoreDo you think it is a dogOr just a hairy frogThat’s sleeping on a logSnore snore We’ll see it when it’s lightSnore snore snore snoreWe’ll see it when it’s lightSnore snoreWe’ll see it when it’s lightIf it has a tail I’m rightA frog can never wag in delightSnore snoreA frog can never wag in delight


42


LYRIC ANTHEM It will not be a last quiet morningFlickering Antares rising from the seaOr chanticleer whose tense elastic neckStretching toward the sunward planetsWho trumpets fanfares to the buoyant sunBut evening, perhaps of early MayWhen Thrush, one bird within a treeInvisible, unwinds a skein of woolEndless gracenotes twisted round a wandSmall and yet sufficient nowAbove the buried prophets of the Lion GateAnd Master Christ above GethsemaneAscends on what should be submissive cloudsWhich somehow press against the windGreat ships impending seaward to the one small song—I hear it now, the dusk retains it long


43


ALONG ABOUT DAWN Along comes the postman, although I cannot see himImpervious to light, although the sun shines through himA satchel on his shoulder, full of all aliveAnother crams the corner, it’s honey in the hive Heavy is the world, but death has on his shoulderAll that ever live, although the world grows olderThe dead have one address, where everyone is sortedThe clever, the absurd, the born and the aborted Tell me what you see—is anything revealedNothing on the page—and everything concealedRead the manuscript, ciphered in advanceSweat and blood and water, siphoned with a lance Death is just a worker, cheerful, unambitiousNothing of him grim, nothing of him viciousHe only forwards love—renunciation grievesApostolic curses, honesty of thieves


44


GEESE Now and the end of time are the sameEach minute is a wave that crosses every other waveEverything waits—birds, garden, the heavy wheels of clouds re muffledAnd the daisy on a single stalk a watchtower—We’re here to listen—watchers, geese of the forumWho pluck the blades of grassSnip snip snip they pull, blunt tails upwardTheir heads as serpentine as addersBut only they are moving as they grazeSnip snip they loop their white necks downwardQuiet now the sun recedesSmaller birds adjust their folded wingsAnd shadows melt like phantoms, nothing livesExcept on sufferance of what returns


45


THE FITTING

Death is a tailor, kind and cleverDiscreet as a rose, strong as foreverWith chalk and cord he measures for measureBrown the bolt or blue as weather Strong and cool, shiny and dullA suit of sleep he cuts me wellFrom crotch to heel, from shoulder to kneeWhatever my figure he cuts to me A bolt of cloth, needle and threadWhat he needs I can afford,A weave of earth he cuts to meThe suit of death fits perfectly


46


NAMING Amaranthaceae—Love-lies-bleedingBeasts and flowers Adam namedAlways since the serpent’s feedingHas Love-lies-bleeding been enflamed Crimson panicles extendedSpikes of bleeding toward the groundAlways since his love existedLove-lies-bleeding flowered wounds Amaranthus—Love-lies-bleedingAdam named for how he lovedSeed unseeing, lip unfeelingMoved to grief and still unmoved


47


EYES Man’s a wolf to Man the poet saidSnout to snout they go, and head to headFang slashes fang’s carnassial rootIn willingness to plunder, stab and shootI saw such redness in the eyes of sorrowNot even wolves would ever call it marrowCommonplace betrayal drink the bloodThat predators would never lick as foodBut here’s the worst—I saw the faces flushOf human children bloodened for the lustTo work the birds and branches as their slavesBuy and sell the oceans and the wavesThey’d flog the sky, decapitate their motherHang the Christ, the body of their brother


48


THE PUZZLE Julian saw the Christ, who held the world,No bigger than a hazelnut or pearlThe universe of God but not duration,Space or any metric of creationIt was all thought and thing and everyoneAs cradled in the fingers of the Son There was a sparrow perching in a treeBright and small and grey and light was sheAnd Julian contemplated what she meantTo be so wise and lively innocentBut then it might be God who watches therePerched behind the branches of a fir He is, who knows, among us even nowFor who can know what Godhead might allow


49


THE KENNEL Our sentimental fury drives us madPoor me that I be loved less than anotherCannibal of misery the dogFears he may regurgitate his brotherTeeth of ivory, heart of plumber’s leadLung and brain of mortar mixed with strawFlank of steel, rectum of the forgeCorrosion foaming from an iron jaw Freak and scavenger, hyena of the soulWhelp and swallow living infants wholeDemand of Christ no more than all His loveDemented beast descended from aboveAnd yet no more than this—our Brother waitsTo feed the stray arriving at the gates


50


RUNNING Enough to see a sheet of paper blueTo think of oceans running wetly throughKnow the pipe and screaming of the gullThe pressing underfoot of every swellThe stinging and the driving of the sprayThe scoring of the surface of the wayThe pitching and the rolling of the trueOceans on a drawing of the blue— Now I will unfold a paper mapAnd hold the salty ocean on my lapSmooth the tossing currents of the seaHere it is and ever will it beHere it is until the ocean diesBut now it’s running, running with it I


51


THE DONKEY

I saw a donkey mincing down the aisleEars akimbo, human being styleNot led he was by halter or by rope He wore the very semblance of a copeAnd on his head a double-earhole mitreGold it may have been, but somewhat lighterA beast of God, this son of equidaeWho could not either celebrate or lie And who do we resemble when we doLie and celebrate—the One we slewDid He like us beat beggars till they limpedVolunteer an arsonist or pimpTrip the sightless stumbling into treesSteal the food of starving refugees?What is our human fond resemblance inTo One who was like us inside the skin? I told a dying one to clasp and prayThe crucifix and Mary in her MayA cloud oblivion appeared aboveSharp and cold as any winter loveBloodless was the face, withdrawing stiffInhuman as an ocean-rooted cliffBut then the stiffened heart began to moveI heard the charming sound of little hooves


52


EQUATION What’s the great sleep—down the white riverA stream from a stream the earth will deliverCommons of time—the beetles will feastOn every banquet and every beast

Down to the choir—the church of the wellsRound the black spire the sound of bellsWater of sacrifice—drowner of hellsReleasing the dead like bees from their cells

All who are living—flayed of the fireSkin of complicity—coat of the liarOnly the Savior is left to desireLove comes singing up from the choir Love comes chanting up from the streamColumn of grace—daughter of dreamCommons of charity—banquet of blissNever times never is always like this


53


A GAME OF CHANCE They lived inside translucent diceAdam, Eve—who thought it niceTheir world was neatly-sided sixNot hard to map, not hard to fixRoughly square inside each dieFlat as windows earth and skyOne to one they’d tap and waveAnd thought the other very brave But then the dicey sky would rumbleDie to die their worlds would tumbleUpside down and downside upSide to side inside a cupEarth and sky exchanged their placesAdam, Eve fell on their facesTipped and rose and fell againUnsafe for Adam and his woman The world is smooth from flag to groinEarth and sky immensely joinInvisible the cosmic flangesMetric rules accept no changesYet from time to time the worldFrom out the cup of night is hurledBy force invisible and greatAnd purposes we cannot state


54


ELEMENT A grain of love, a nugget in a panLowest falls when pebbles wash awayLove the sifted meteoric stoneYellow star of bright mobility Love refined’s no alloy in a bondOr joins demeaning compounds in a ringAtemporal a spinning shell of fireElectrons make the yellow of it sing Unrefined beneath congealing stoneBound in lava broken by the sunLove in faulting mountains tumbles downBeds the gravel where the rivers run Unsettled is the weather of the rockEnvy rolls in sinusoidal wavesLove, if I were miner of despairI’d find you in the deepest of the caves


55


THE POINT OF ARIES I heard the warbling vireo and thenThe silver of the carolina wrenCalm until the sunlight with a rushDecanted to the mockingbird and thrushSuch liquid of arpeggios of lightTransposed by song and ecstasy of flightThat even stars descending toward AntaresLingered at the vernal Point of Aries

Those who listen now will listen longTo every flowing passage of the songThose who sing beside the morning hostWill never sing the monotones of ghostsBut rhapsodize with Father Spirit SonNot silent like the planets wander on


56


PLANISPHERE I carry round a healthy head of brainsOverweighted, foldy-topped and greyLike every other humanoid complainMay God prop up this feeble form of clayToo much, my Lord, it breaks my porcelainShards my fragile human heart away Rocks my neck, a flagpole in the sandMy planisphere of God’s imaginationMake me uncompunctioned and unsinnedHardened in the fire of your handMake me uncompressive as the windResistant as the ocean to the land Bear up, He said, a reach of Prussian blueAnd caps of ivory sugar come in viewPlanets, deserts inconceived, untrueA widow and her children in a shoeAll this I see emergent from the glueInstalled inside the cranium of you


57


THE SMELL OF OLD INSANITY The smell of old insanityGreen the bottle flies that swarmThoraxes of gleaming glassFacets made of silicon Parasites commensal onCorpses of the underclassMaggots of uncommon harmWeevil on nobility Sweating out the sun of rage—Is that the cause of death’s old age?Flies corrupt, Ba’alzebubsStretch their frontal legs to rub Feeders on the living deadStraighten out the jointed legPlastic turrets of their eyesReflect the facets of surpriseEvery bristle on the tongueDraws nectar from the human lungBut those who rot will rise againWith souls and clever fingers tenThe seep of liquid stanch and healSo all insensible shall feelAnd common flesh’s parasitesBurn out their eyes on heaven’s lights


58


DINOSAURSFor Rachel

Bones bones bonesFrom temperate to tropic zonesSome that flew and some that swamBig as houses, small as lambsHorns and frills on neck and spineHow wonderful is God’s designBones bones bones But now I see them live and freshAround their bones the living fleshFire in their seeing eyesLashing tails—o great surpriseTo see Apatosaurus’ sizeOr skin with bumps and lumps and checksThe many teeth of old T. RexFor these are more, much more than bonesWe dig from the Jurassic stonesThese are tokens of the wonderGod has given us to ponderHow He makes from only stonesFlesh and fire, lovely bones


59


THE LOSS Many seas will come to passSoft as silk and hard as glassWear away both silt and sandBut never by my own commandNor will I smelter wrong and rightOr lift my soul by appetiteNo more than I can measure allDiameters of drops that fallOr rise from chaos by my willOr make a psalm from what is still

Out of darkness there is sightOut of God alone is lightAnd those who think they shine by dayHave given life and light away


60


IN HOLLOW’S ARM He took the cross in hollow’s armAs if it were a celloHeld the bow of afternoonAnd played so black a long concertoThat all Golgotha’s limestone crackedAnd earth came rising soonTo hear the day’s legato Flowing bloodThe harmonyThat came from Him aloneWhite the water of the tuneThat fell from Him that afternoon


61


SAMARAS An ash tree with a triple trunkGabriel by God was givenGrey the bole of heaven’s FatherTall the pillar of the SonRising up a middle columnSpirit of the first creation Seeds of opposites the greenAnd pendulous samaras hungEvery wind could make them stirWhen sky was blowing from its lung Now the seventh quiet cameUndershade the silence grewTall of wing the triple treeKnew unmoving Mary knew Did her will by whisperingMary telling Gabriel“All that you have covered hereGrows in heaven from a hell” “Never so,” said Gabriel,“Never grew so tall a treeTriple is the gate of hellBut every seed will be a key”


62


THE PHOTOGRAPH I saw the face of CharlemagneAs if a photo of DaguerreHad sieved through vapored mercuryReceived a beam of light through airFrom Aix as he sat ruling there—Time had pressed its filthy meshAcross the furrows of his fleshAnd tired sacs of swollen sagHung from his eyes and underbrowAs if I’d seen him living now—Living was fatigue and painHis ivory daughters now unvirginedAnd noble Saxon AlcuinDead though still the king must reignWithout his counsel or his guerdon—Now of all who’ve ever livedI saw the carving light detailThat life bears down the borrowed hostOf eye and face—all flesh must failReal faces and the soul in eyeThough God-beloved the flesh must die—But there I also see the printIn every atom God has sentOf each entire living faceA holographic supertraceThrough time and love, through mind and spaceAnd all who meet through love will seeThat never past or future beWhen all who love are those who liveAnd all who never die—love give


63


LAST PSALM Necessities of darkness for those who sayI myself am God—there is no other wayBlindness on blindness piles the darkness upAnd there black fires of impenitence eruptBlunder upon blunder—all six ways of griefStolen my soul—and I myself a thiefNow in surrender—iron inward rollsCrushed is the cell and infinitely coldCompressed my heart to a singularityNo lawful bondsman comes to set me freeThen I will appeal—since I cannot blameHoly, holy, holy is your Name


64


There white death in a chair to seeThe books in the hospital libraryWheeled she was, a pallid girlBald and limp as a naked dollShe stopped behind—I did not turnHer face and cross to see and learnBut sat to read a book of saintsWhere slaughtered Jesus bled in paintShe wasn’t frightened—more frightened ITo hear such cheerful death roll by“Find me The Little Princess’” saidThe maiden dying white not redGod save a wasting such as thisThat turns so pale a cheek to kiss


65


PROGNOSIS The doctor says you’re dead—bang!Next year or the year after nextHe finds few platelets in your bloodAnd every plug of marrow’s hexedBut you keep on living—ten years nowThe sow of death has yet to farrow Ohio mud is grey and sinceTwo hundred bushels an acre cornCan be raised in exceptional yearsAnd every sow a farrow bornYou keep on living—ten years nowEight years at least from death to borrow Fish once more for pickerelAs the great pike rises from the lakeCalm and big Lake ErieLet the fish the baited hookGrasp with green prognathous jawAnd die according to the law


66


THE CITY Seven strides from the Gate of ZionI saw the golden Gate of LionsAnts not thick as through as leavesStormed the morning in chitin greavesDescendent not from Ham or ShemThey built their ant JerusalemWith twigs and pebbles, sand and spittle,And built it big though they were little,Two sandy pyramids were highAs sparrow’s knuckle, lizard’s eyeAnd down the axis of each moundThere ran a tunnel dark and round. “We are the Solomons of skill,”Gnashed a worker’s mandibles,“We live for three weeks, maybe longer,With every egg our city’s stronger—Our queen a blind one yet all-seeing,Her pheromones our very beingHer customs rational, and bestWhen meat is short we eat our guests—Delightful is our moisty deep,Follow me, the way is steep.”Squatting down I saw entireThe cosmos through a magnifier.


67


BLIND EARTH Swan upon swanRummaging the black waterShuffling the pleated ripplesWith a black horn, fold upon fold—The greasy bottomDrifts from the sides of the mandibles, loose and warm,Short legs push backwardWebs between claws and digitsAnd the neck curves, bends, presents the dark headTo the speechless glass of God—This, not a marriageIs the swan’s mysteryThat Cygnus on a lakeStrains the silt of heaven


68


MIND READING Some are sea pinks, some are rosesBefore and after yarrow growsStalks a random toss disposesFortune fancies them in rows Budlets of the flower’s chancesSome are rue and some are pinksLeaves may grow as spades or lancesInflorescence cannot think Still as if a glove had tossedThe inclination of its wishEach stochastic earth’s embossedUpon the leather of its fist Every thing is of a mindBut those who disbelieve concealThe gamble of a growing kindThe chaos of an open field Come my lady, black-eyed susanHolds the gallant hand of sageLily of the trumpet blossomCurtsies to her saxifrage


69


PAROLE Strange prison, where we furnish like the freeBut light is barred across the window seaAll together live in rooms observedInvisibly by instinct long preservedLove’s creation secretively waitsTo be revealed behind a screen of hatesAbsent lovers if we have them readCensored letters disciplined by need—Term of sentence? here until release,After not before existence cease But then I heard a whisper in the wallA wind from every corner of the Fall“Free although incarcerated knowA penitential heart is My parole”


70


THE CALF The earth relaxed and groaned and lay downA painted cow of light and shadowsHer slimy nostrils streams in spateHer warm sides shifted, breath and windSummer milked her swollen hillocksThe copse of felled trees bristled bellsBut who would keep, my herdsman Christ,The cow of snowwhite milk alone?A round calf nuzzled between her legsSwaying she came from between the starsScraped the hollows of undulant dusk As barned in light her suckling moonYou pulled the rivers from her bag of hills


71


END OF THE STORY Unsuited to an acorn lifePig of Penville took a wifeA simple farmer’s daughter’s girlShe liked the tail of him to curlO Pig of Penville said his queenI would not mind if you were leanStill and all I like you bestedPuffy ribbed and lardy chested As he grew jiggly, round and graveHe never learned to scrape and saveBut all provided for his livingWas given him, though unforgiven—Later in the dusk of autumnA knife and tub the farmer brought ‘imAnd though he was a son-in-cornBlood makes pudding, head is brawn Now forever Penville PigYour memory swings high and bigAs if a signpost on a tavernShowed the swine a crowned sovereignRoot and puddle, snout and tuskTrough and gammon, meal and ruskNo disappointments are allowedWhen pigs are coddled, slopped and sowed The pig attained a fleshly gloryTo end a parabolic storyBut will it be the end of usThat pigs are fattened, men discuss?


72


THE WITNESS Counsellor and friend the white rose:Indifferent, no,By sun transposed,Raising from a rootA crooked limbTo send a white perfumeAnd fertilize a womb; Tropic headIntelligentTo find the sunAnd then to keep againThe golden pollen;She as much aliveAs any beastAnd those who think her muteKnow her the least,Slow to speakUnhasty to unfoldAnd yet although she’s youngThe judge is old—Draws her from the soilWhere moist and slimShe opens to a wordThat falls from him She as much aliveAs all that runInvited to a hearing of the sun


73


THE CORE A window on the soul, would that revealSome commonsense or wealth or sex appealOr since by ending limitation’s sightWould revelation shut this vision tightEnd an artifice of knotted stringsAnd with a soaring blindness see on wings?A slow revolving thing, this mirrored peaceIs more than me and yet my self’s releaseA fond-remembered, ill-rewarded deathLike mist upon a mirror from a breath Inside there lives a quiet and reposeWhere nothing fearful or tremendous goesAnd yet in space as empty as a bellSounds of ocean tolling in a shellSo then within the emptiness of meIs everything, let this be clarity

Pavel ChichikovJune 1, 1995

74


CAST FRUIT The dying apple tree has castUnfruitful apples of the pastHard and green, an olive fruitCast up from a corrupted rootSmall and bitter, stem as thickAs some small candle’s blackened wickAnd I myself a crooked boleLet go my fruit as I grow oldWould throw a riper if I couldA sweetness to the hornet’s brood They who rot have still to liveHave yet to give what is to giveBut stony pulp and fibrous coreHave withered what they were beforeAnd if a ripeness be most allThen ripe to feed is ripe to fall


75


T. REX A creak of leather as the steaming beastShifts from foot to foot and makes it creaseDribbles streams of half-digested meatA flux of sulphur splashed between its feetRumblings from within its castle ribsBelch in fore and afterward ad libsAnd from its fangs not yet devoured shredsSwing belly, thigh and brain of what it’s bledEye a crimson optical deviceA brain of rhizome darkness, claws of iceA pelvis fulcrum, seven tons of boneA balance beam as flesh-devouring poem A beast designed this perfectly to feedWith every sense a carnivore should needWere we delivered perfectly by EveWhat blessings had the Holy One conceived?


76


CATACOMB SONG, FUTURE TENSE Wake up, cousin, you’ve lost your headThey’ve put a coma there insteadLet it be seen my only sonOne by one by one by one City of the morning lightRoofs and alleys, walls of whiteAll is ordered, far and nearWake up sister—morning’s here Climb down, brother, make your bedArms and legs are made of leadThe sun that’s rising soon will setNo time no time to forget Walls of night have opened wideCome on, father, come insideGod was murdered, dying then,Who knows when he’ll come again Now I see an apple treeOne for you and one for mePut one in your pocket, friendNo one knows when you will end Now the city’s lights are blinkingEvery citizen is thinking:Mother, mother, where are you?God is living, is it true?


77


THE REPLY I said to one uncuredNo one but you enduresNot even Christ who saved youCan ever feel your pain.But then replied His voice:

I felt it by my choiceThe moment that I diedAll torture pierced my sideAnd when I lost my breathIt was for every deathAnd when I broke the bondThe living I put on


78


A PERSON’S NOSE He/she/it had a nose too stiffIt wouldn’t waggle when it whiffedShe he held it steady in a viceAnd pulled he it with pliers twiceLevered their two nostrils wideSo him she saw the dark insideWe and they and them and IYanked it hard, those all did tryAt last the nasal thing was longA person played on it a songThat disadvantaged air intakeThough incorrected didn’t breakAnd now me has a better noseAs supple as a fire hoseThough you may see a nose defectWe say: Politically Correct


79


DIALOGUE IJust between you and meSaid the larkspur to the beeWhisper questions in my earThose are things I like to hear

Down she lets a hollow strawBlack as midnight from her jawSips the nectar from the springWings do all the whispering

Then she lights upon a petalLets her rapid wingtips settleHead is pushing down and inHumming like a violin

Has a question—does she ask it?Gathers pollen in her basketYellow cuffs surround her thighsPushes back and off she flies Abdomen of yellow blackShining midnight is her thoraxLike a hummingbird she hoversStrong to fly and to discover

Just between you and meTell me larkspur, said the beeDid you grow to give me feedOr am I here to make your seed? IIBee and flower feed and growOne to build and one to sowOne to fly and one to scatterDoes the answer really matter?

Still I ask you, said the bee,Am I yours or am I free?Larkspur whispered in her earSoftly so I couldn’t hear

Pavel Chichikov—June 3, 1995

80


IDOL How often with my sour rage I fedMoloch’s flame my own sweet child of loveSacrificed the marrow of my soul—Faith consumed in grief the fire spread,Flew, this chaos, winged and bitter flameDejection, madness, impotence and shame

Now I see the glowing of its eyesPaunch and belly squatting on its thighsA bloom and slag of iron on its skinConsuming infant innocence withinLord Ba’al who sits inside my breastMy self-devouring self-invited guest Now I listen, Lord, to what’s withinFor only You unburn what’s burned by sin


81


RAT’S PRAYER Trust you? Never. We’re all like rats encagedIncisors long-frustrated, gnawed on wireNow on one another grind and spillWeak blood from hollow-chested wounds—Rat brother, how long have we been here?The bulbs burn just as hot aboveAnd the food dish fouled stinks of usMore jammed in by that enormous pawPress us closer to the wire—Pray my sister animal, to what?Is there a window somewhere or a slotBy which the sunlight’s fed to those inside?These white walls make a milky sky.Now if you roll your belly upI will not draw your breathing’s knotAt least for one more dayUnless you take my food away.Somewhere I think there is a dark sweet holeEvacuated by a frightened moleAnd there, my fellow rodent, isWhat never, say my elders, was.Pray, pray, get down on haunches allThat these our gods have no where else to fall.


82


WEATHER SYSTEM Anger is my name, and if the cherryHangs like some red Christian bellIt was the blossom April-generated,Withering, that knew the weather cell:See, a person enters from the leftBut when I turn she thins as much as airThen, to use uncommonsense I know,It was inside an eye she entered there;Glass the globes that socket in the skullWorlds true deep enough and filled with eyes,Their parallel intentions make the brainBut all resentments ionize the skies;Now have nothing long enough to joinThe inner action and the outer cell,Instinctual and coarse a bolt of lightBurns a canyon spinning like a well: Stitching common earth and sky togetherBrain and mind are organs of the weatherAll these petals dropping are the dead:Everything they thought about and saidAnd though my hurricane be calm and triteIt copulates my daylight and my night


83


REDUCTIONISTS’ SERENADE I’m a little neuropeptideI’m a neuropeptide tooIf anyone says we feel feelingsAll our neurons say: “Shoo! shoo!”

Chorus:Everything we say and doIs neuropeptides: “shoo! shoo! shoo!” She’s the wife and he’s the husbandBiochemists both are theyThough they love each other dearlyHere is what they always say Chor: Everything we say...etc Mechanisms, we are marriedFree at last from any needNeuropeptides is the answerI’m a Johnny Peptideseed Chor: Everything we say...etc Kick your heels or keep them quietLaunder money, dig a graveKeep your pipette in a holsterMake the bearded lady shave Chor: Everything we say...etc. When I look across the tableAt my neuropeptide bunnyAll at once I get a shiverShe’s my neuropeptide honey Chor: Everything we say...etc

Isn’t everybody simpleNothing in the world’s complexHoney, scratch my back a littleNeuropeptides feel like sex Chor: Everything I say...etc Pavel Chichikov—June 6, 1995

84


FORTRESS A mighty fortress is our God?Inside we standWhile You circle the wallsAncient wanderer


85


FALLING STAR The white bells of the castle in the darkness boomOne stroke two strokes three strokes fourAnd the cows sway below the walls in the cool mist risingReply the bells on shanky necks, stigmata shineCrucified by dark creation, wounds of space—A bolide sizzles like a burnt moth above the townCurls and snaps the flaming apron of the stone,Falls from somewhere, Adam’s eyes perhapsAnd all things dying, bleeding light, groan out—Golgotha’s blasphemy is speech, it should be songA sacrifice, for all grew dark and HeDrew light from light within so we might see—I am a crystal born, refracting stoneAnd split from every light a light unknown


86


THE FISH Evil ripples out like wireEach node a hardened human eyeA multi-leveled net that spreadsTo every thought and galaxy Each eye Medusid, shield of glassA stone-reflecting wall of slimeImpenetrable, soft and yieldingOnly to the death of time He the metaphoric fishDisdains so intricate a meshPasses through and leaves a trace:Ripples of amazing grace


87

pavelspoetry.com€¦ · web viewadam sees around him dioramas. antelopes and left-to-right...

Documents