Sunday Scribblings #187: Adventure
i. Paradise AssemblingTravel one tongue and answer the lines of Venus in her showered misery. Bring time to the feast and question laughing. We dance the ceaseless face of will to be, will to face. I enter gladly: I entered gladly. And so shall, eternally. Orpheus / Mab, we know no secrets, bodies entwined, a cut from the pass of sonnets, of songs, of robes opaled by morning. This is the down we faced, sun rising east and west, sea assembling. Paradise is an orange tree, mock orange, white petals jubilantly silent in forest glee. They tremble: we tremble. Revel. The sands have sailed, winds in our hair, trembling, reveling. Trembling.
Cross the ravine. Take down your wisdom, shake out your darkened hair. Stand as rain embraces you, runs down you, marks the lines of fruit, embracing. Hunger has never hungered as this. Hunger has traveled for none other than this—hungered blind, hungered wild, hungered home. Hunger kneels before you, cups you, lingers. Language knows no other tongues as this.
Mother tongue? Bah! Lover tongue. Words drown in the torrent.
Taste the sea, angelic evolution of mountains, craters of the still moon. We are past the houses of the avalanche: snow is yet falling, yet ablaze. Venus again, a crown of purple. Venus again, a crown of white. Venus unmoored, her crown at sea, her crown stunned by horses, black bay, midnight.
Black bay. / Midnight: love’s curve is endless, a measured spoon, measuring the lateness of night. Answer: are you here? Answer: will you dream the body? Answer: can you see the lines of fate? There are mussels in the backs of you, gentle treasures in the night.
Beyond the ravine, a cavern. Beyond the cavern, a lake. I walked there, when time was not time, the belt was green, and the seraphic waters sang with all their might. A moment when the mighty gods held breath, took odds, played the fool, wiped sleeve across the windows of their rest.
I walked there. We traveled back.
ii. one word rio frio: shallow
in the great deeps
you'll find
little beyond
what you can find
right here
in the sun on your
son's lovely back
the rise of your wife's
anthem, as she gathers
wisdom to her breast, cherishing the rest
iii. [ahora el azul se extiende]
orange grove
wonder’s habitation
coin of lost times algebraic
tis season to be merry
in the neighborhood of last dreams
last waves last insinuations
como ondulaciones azul
as if ocean was heart
aorta of green song
ocean i can’t forget
ring the reverent
artesian ozonated nature’s way appling
dappling the trembled day.
iv. TITHONIA
In crimson voice she called me
Noetic blessing
After the ships had sailed
Scented grace of lost breath,
Mary’s breath in a whisper
Of lost time:
Tie your banners
Here: your restless
Evening hastens:
Recklessness abates, the heart
Surges—waves pounding—
Diamond shower—
Aching crevice—
Yellowwood, this yare emprising.
v. [the rampant night]
lean james brown behind the shell counter
sleeveless king corona smiles his bald head
into my arctic worry, singeing me back to weepy
wonder, the baragrill plague, sodden unshaved
truth upon his lips:
you cannot if you do not
stills the naughty Edwin in my heart as
i, too, unfold my acolyte dollars into the wintry till.
christmas most thrifty,
g. greets me, steers me, releases me
to broadway’s frozen tumble:
i break my religion, run, run, run
for all i am worth:
via bureaucrat waves me off,
half a block later papa noels me
quadberry in his rocker
spits between his feet
many times i gotta tell you boy
them lights ain’t out they’s in
quad, you frozen tundra
loopy for mary, loopy for joni,
loopy for the sloppy dog love of crowned
glory.
the money tree was burning, blazing &
just how many times can you say they
shimmered & they shimmered & they shimmered,
at broadway and lime, it was i, then they, then they, then
i, tilting, jousting, upended by the riot
of molten heat burning ice into
the plenty of chain reaction.
on holy 14, mary feeds her babies bologna straight
out of the package & i am on the verge of drowning
again, but her jesus baby for all his incessant irritation
is singing, babybird food in his mouth,
butterfly meat, jubilant squalor.
brother sam draws me in
promises and delivers nothing
quad sez
git on home boy
the opera’s there
your sweet combustible son
your wifely wife most faire
fading george back from his roam, tell
us, where the flushing angels
sleigh bells down the only street
the missions burned, the cathedrals annexed,
chapels rain the reliquary
you who would say
you who would pray
you who would wish
be mary, angel man
be bright.
Labels: setting out
posted by murat11 at 9:47 AM
22 Comments:
WOW! You have probably set the internet on fire with this, Murat. I will come back several more times this week (hopefully). It is really powerful. I love it, but it leaves me speechless.
Sister Teresa, no need to dissemble here, my dear. Nothing leaves you speechless. But, you are a most busy girl these daze, and I am delighted that you will return severally. Have a beautiful (and hopefully not entirely heavy laboring) day.
You stepped away from the keyboard just long enough didn't you? I will read this again later - frustration reigns as I read bits and do laundry and scrub bathrooms and read more bits. I will sneak back when everyone is asleep because this is late night music that needs to be savored. The title "Paradise Assembling" started the movie rolling, soundtrack and all. Robes opaled by morning (libra dawn) and the tremble/revel setting out on the great adventure. My highlighter ran out after the first part. I'll be back - I've read it all but this needs to eaten a small slow bite at a time to let all the flavors mingle. This truly is an adventure, as was posting this comment. My computer lost it's mind so I hope you don't get this six times :)
Dee: Glad you're lighting out for the territories with us. These are all from the attic: the adventure was snooping through all the trunks and boxes and overstuffed manila envelopes, looking for anything that sang of the open roads...
whoa.
nothing more, nothing less. even after four readings...
whoa.
qb: Thanks for bringing your horses on into the station for a spell.
I was not dissembling. I was speechless. It's one to savor and think on before commenting.
Mea culpa, Sister T. I spoiled some very gracious words from you, for which I thank you.
There's so much color and texture here, lots to explore; it is a kind of literary adventure. And attic adventures were always my favorite kind (not being the kind of person to go speeding down a coastal highway in a red convertible while evading the pursuit of an evil criminal mastermind). Love the oranges and crimson and purple and blue. Especially love the closing lines, be mary, angel man/be bright. This was a wonderful gift this week -- thanks so much.
Good morning, Anno: That last was written after a very very cold (ha! my saying that to a Michiganer!) night, walking and bussing down Broadway, with Mary and Christmas breaking out all over.
Mercy. A world assembled. Lovely, lilting and wildly poetic.
Tumblewords: Thank you for traveling down from Idaho to read this.
finally made it back.
I was trying to put my finger on what makes this one stand apart from others. I think maybe I have it (at least for me). It evokes responses from all the senses. I see the pictures, hear the sounds, feel the texture of it, and smell the mock oranges. It takes us to glory and walks us back down to the jubilant squalor with all the life in between. This one is printed out and folded in the back of one of my notebooks. After I am gone my children will go through my things and this will be one of the things that make them know me better - that I treasured this.
lovely poetic excursion. bravo!
My heavens, Ms Dee: I will have to print out this comment and put it away for Walden to stumble upon. What lovely words: thank you very much. I'm happy this touched you.
Jennifer: Glad you came along for the ride.
Your posts always make me stop on my track.
deathly adventure
Also don't forget to post any of your creative works at Monday Poetry Train Revisited!
This is just an epic. I've read it 4 times today, and each time I get something new. I read it twice yesterday. I like the first part, especially the emotions burning in it, and then the transition to water in the rain washing into the ocean with the blues and the greens and the ondulaciones azules. And when you're washed and clean you go bopping to James Brown and the projects and madonnas feeding babies bologna, and the babies lovin every bite of it, and in the love of the family all are blest. It seems to start with two and swims to three and then broadens to encompass the entire family of humankind. That's what left me speechless; especially, since it includes the gritty ones of humanity and doesn't just admire snow-white marble Marys on their pedestals.
GT: Thanks for bringing your train through the station here in Muravia.
Teresa: Wonderfully appreciative words, wonderful exegesis. Thank you for the time you take to see into and see through. There was little conscious thought in assembling this collage, beyond looking for anything that might resemble the adventure prompt: when I found the five poems in the attic, I did not want to pick, so I joined them as parts of a larger suite. I love that you tesseracted the movement from two to three to many: that tesseracts wonderfully with life as it has seemed these past eleven years as the three of us living into the larger world.
Blessings to you, mi hermana tessereña.
Wonderful sensual and old fashioned appeal. Amazing interweaving in this written tapestry.
Them's mighty generous words, Gel. Thank you very much.
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