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(a) radical ban all fires and places where people congregate to create comfort put an end to sleep good cooking and the delectation of wine tear lovers apart piss on the sun and moon degut all heavenly harmony strike out across the bitter ice and the poisonous marshes make (if you dare) a better world (b) expect poison from standing water (iii) lake erie why not as a joke one night pick up your bed and walk to washington – sleep your damned sleep in its streets so that one bright metallic morning it can wake up to the stench and fermentation of flesh the gutrot of nerves – the blood’s green effervescence so active your skin has a job to keep it all in isn’t that what things with the palsy are supposed to do – lovely lake give the world the miracle it waits for what a laugh that would be especially if washington lost its temper and screamed christ lake erie i don’t even know what to do with my own garbage pollution is just one of those things go on lake erie do it tonight (c) drive your cart and your plow over the bones of the dead (i) isn't the next one easter egg i don't want to live any more in an old way yes it is to be a socialist wearing capitalism's cap a teacher in the shadow of a dead headmaster a tree using somebody else's old sap i want to build my future out of new emotions to seek more than my own in a spring surround to move amongst people keen to move outwards putting love and ideas into fresh ground who will come with me across this border not anywhere but in the bonds we make taking the old apart to find new order living ourselves boldly for each other's sake then love is if you ask me today what love is i should have to name the people i love and perhaps because it's spring and i cannot control the knife that's in me their names would surprise me as much as you for years i have assumed that love is bloody a thing locked up in house and a family tree but suddenly its ache goes out beyond me and the first love is greater for the new this year more than any other the winter has savaged my deepest roots and the easter sun is banging hard against the window the arms of my loves are flowering widely and over the fields a new definition is running even though the streets we walk cannot be altered and faces there are that will not understand we have a sun born of our mutual longings whose shine is a hard fact - love is a new land new spartans i haven't felt this young for twenty years yesterday i felt twenty years older then i had the curtains drawn over recluse fears today the sun comes in and instantly it's colder must shave and get dressed - i'm being nagged to shove my suspicions in a corner and get out what use the sun if being plagued with new life i can't throw off this centrally-heated doubt accept people with ice in their brows are the new spartans - they wait shall i go with them indoor delights that slowly breed into lies need to be dumped out of doors - and paralysis with them no leave it there's still one more the need now the need now is to chronicle new times by their own statutes not as ***-ends of the old ideas stand out bravely against the surrounding grey seeking their own order in what themselves proclaim fortresses no longer belong by right to an older day i want to gather in my hands things i believe in not to be told that other rules prevail - there is a treading forward to be done of great excitement and people to be found who by the old laws should be little more than dead this enlightment is cutting like spring into a bitter winter and there is this smashing of many concrete shells a dream with the cheek to be aggressive has assumed its own flesh and bone and will not put up with sleep as its prime condition - life out of death is exhumed it's the other side is so disappointing no thanks leave it for now (ii) there follows a brief interlude in honour of mr vasko popa (the yugoslav poet who in a short visit to this country has stayed a long time) and it will not now take place this game is called x no one else can play when the game is over we have all joined in those who have not been playing have to give in an ear if you don't have an ear use one of those lying about left over from the last time the game wasn't played this game is not to do with ears shooting must be done from the heart x sits in the middle of the ring - he has gone for a stroll up his left nostril how can he seize a left-over ear and drag it under the ground hands up if you have been shot from the heart x comes up in the middle of himself in this way the game is over before it began and everyone willy-nilly has had to go home before he could put a foot outside (d) enough! – or too much reading popa i let fly too many words i bang away at the seed but can’t break it hurt i turn to constructing castles with cards if you can’t split the atom man stop writing
The little box gets her first teeth And her little length Little width little emptiness And all the rest she has The little box continues growing The cupboard that she was inside Is now inside her And she grows bigger bigger bigger Now the room is inside her And the house and the city and the earth And the world she was in before The little box remembers her childhood And by a great longing She becomes a little box again Now in the little box You have the whole world in miniature You can easily put in a pocket Easily steal it lose it Take care of the little box
Nobody rests This one constantly shifts his eyes Hangs them on his head And whether he wants it or not starts walking backwards He puts them on the soles of his feet And whether he wants it or not returns walking on his head This one turns into an ear He hears all that won't let itself be heard But he grows bored Yearns to turn again into himself But without eyes he can't see how That one bares all his faces One after the other he throws them over the roof The last one he throws under his feet And sinks his head into his hands This one stretches his sight Stretches it from thumb to thumb Walks over it walks First slow then fast Then faster and faster That one plays with his head Juggles it in the air Meets it with his index finger Or doesn't meet it at all Nobody rests
Once upon a time there was a mistake So silly so small That no one would even have noticed it It couldn't bear To see itself to hear of itself It invented all manner of things Just to prove that it didn't really exist It invented space To put its proofs in And time to keep its proofs And the world to see its proofs All it invented Was not so silly Nor so small But was of course mistaken Could it have been otherwise
We'll return the little box Into the arms Of her inconspicuously honest properties We won't do anything Against her will We'll simply take her apart We'll crucify her On her own cross Piece her bloated emptiness And let ooze All the blue cosmic blood she gathered We'll sweet her clean of stars And anti-stars And everything else that rots inside her We won't make her suffer We'll simply put her together again We'll give back to the little box Her pure inconspicuousness
The little box which contains the world Fell in love with herself And conceived Still another little box The little box of the little box Also fell in love with herself And conceived Still another little box And so it went on forever The world from the little box Ought to be inside The last offspring of the little box But not one of the little boxes Inside the little box in love with herself Is the last one Let's see you find the world now
Until her last breath she enlarges Her Oxford house Built in Slavonic Vowels and consonants She polishes the corner-stones Until their Anglo-Saxon shine Begins to sing Her death is like a short breath-stop Under the distant limetrees of her friends
Get out of my walled infinity Of the star circle round my heart Of my mouthful of sun Get out of the comic sea of my blood Of my flow of my ebb Get out of my stranded silence Get out I said get out Get out of my living abyss Of the bare father-tree within me Get out how long must I cry get out Get out of my bursting head Get out just get out
Each strips his own skin Each bares his own constellation Which has never seen the night Each fills his skin with rocks And plays with it Lit by his own stars Who doesn't stop till dawn Who doesn't bat an eyelid or fall Earns his own skin (This game is rarely played)
Look here's that uninvited Alien presence look it's here A shudder on the ocean of tea in the cup Rust taking hold On the edges of our laughter A snake coiled in the depths of the mirror Will I be able to hide you From your face in mine Look it's the third shadow On our imagined walk Unexpected abyss Between our words Hoofs clattering Below the vaults of our palates Will I be able On this unrest-field To raise you a tent of my hands