We wash our dead, our dead!
We make paper bags, alembics, sandpaper and words from their bones
The abstract reality of the walls - the chandelier of the sky - the sound reflected in the water
We mix our mortar like we are doing things bigger than our size
Sworn - promises were given - everything was irrationally dismissed
Above a fire - a swearing from the flames - a gothic wound - the embers of our chest
And our dead are the apocalypse scenario - the pendulum of time of our geography
Helpless puerperal - not a baby but fresh blood pouring from our womb
A raining cloud was hanging in the coffin - a lost continent in a steel box
Our dead were silent! The eye in the compass - the hunter in the cave - silent Ptolemy
A text in Sanskrit on the steles - the bat flower - dark history
And the screaming dead, Ida Nadi, Ida Nadi!
these glass vessels that you see,
no longer appertain to me,
no longer feigning to make part
what was the mainstay of my art,
my skills no more appreciated,
as if I were some rusticated
old fool, living like a recluse,
who’s mind has become “ loose “.
people do not comprehend
the powers which I can bend,
conferred to Man by nature,
developed patiently through nurture.
earth, fire, wind and water,
are the elements where I wander,
they’re the mirror of the soul,
through which Man is made whole;
mortar, pestle, alembics my tools,
books of ancient wisdom my rules,
herbs, spices, base and precious metals,
potions, magic formulas and crystals;
not mere science with which I deal,
but the science of Man; one must feel!
now alas, this is not fashionable,
everything has to be “ rational “.
yes, M.Lavoisier your visit is auspicious,
take what you will, alembics, tools,
glass, books, formulas, take the lot,
for what happens now, I care not a jot.
Allowing great alembics access over hill and glade and brush and dale of mind and swimming softly through the river running up fantastic meadows speckling valleys round the bay ensconced by lighting strikes and thunder booms across the Roman sky above the Irish ground and all throughout the savage peasant towns of lies of great and small import but all the time of luscious past and pregnant present and the future’s wide embrace of mighty life.
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