Butt I had little Tyme for siche Peregrinations of the Minde for the Nextt Morne the Great Ceremonie was announced to Beginn that same Nite and the Cittie was overcome by the Preparations that seemed to Require the energies of the whole Populace. I could write muche of the Sights I sawe that Daye butt will pass them over to give the Reader an Account of the Ceremonie and how, through curious Meanes, I did finallie departe this Lande.
The Ceremonie did last manie Dayes and if asked to give a full Account of all I sawe and did in those dayes, or even if asked to give an exactt Account of the Number of Dayes I passed in these Festivities, I would Faile for muche I sawe and did Remains beyond my own Understanding and the Wordes of this Language do not hold in them a sufficient Pliability, the waye strong Wood bends to form the curved Hull of a Shipp, to describe all I did see and do.
Upon a Field there were arranged manie and strange Machines which I tooke to be the Devices of War and Destruction. Siche things as great Batteringe Rams or Catapults with which to laye Siege to Citties and to Terrorize a People. Fires burned across the Open Plaine and manie Figures moved in the Night, dressed in Clokes of Rough Materiell and manie Voices cried outt, shriekinge into the Aire in Tongues I had never before Heard. The Great Machines made Awefull noise, like Monsters rumbling in the Darke, and I feltt a grewing Terror as I walked that first Night of the Ceremonies among the Crazed Peeple. Everyone drank from huge Urns a Libation whose Taste I still cannot Describe but which Cawsed an Odd Effect upon the Minde, not like Drunkenness att al but perchance close to its Opposite, a sense that one could see all in the Worlde with a Startling Cleerness.
The Machines, when finally I sawe them closelie, were not at all the thinge I had expected. Rather they were Inventiones whose Purpose was beyond mee. Some resembled, in huge forme the Contraptiones that the Kinge had hidden in his Secret Chamber whereat the Queene performed terrible Deedes upon his Bodie, yet others recalled the forme of Animalls I had seen in Life or in Bookes on the formes of the Great Beastes that walked upon the Earth before the Deluge of oure Lorde. I seeked out some Face I knewe for an Explanacion but could finde none as all Men and Wymmen wandered with their Heads lost in Hoodes or shrouded by Maskes. There was one Machine made all of Wood that was a Birde with Beake and Eye and Winges outstretched sitting as though waittinge for some signal to lett go the Earth and Flye up into the Heavens. Whatt purpose these Machines served I could in noe waye guess and though they moved and made Greate Noise, some of them Issueing from themselves Balls of Fire and Rockets that Sped up into the Night with a Terrifyinge and Shimmering Brilliance, theye Acted withoute Mover as though Imbued with a Lyfe of their Owne.
The Heate seemed ever grater, beateinge downe upon us even in the Night and as the Strange Ceremonies continued, I stood aboute like a Watcher nott knewing the whye off anythinge I sawe. I encountered Men and Women naked, jumping up and down straight into the aire while letting oute howles with everye Jumpp, and others crawlinge on Hands and Knees and Barkinge like Dogs, and others still who Danced without stopp until they found themselves inside a Frenzie that seemed to tear at their verie Sanitie so thatt they threw themselves onto the Hard Earth, their Limbs kickinge at the Ground and att eache other, and others who seemed to intone solemn Hymns as might anie Monk in our Sacred Monasteries yet all the while they hunge upsidedowne like Batts suspended from Trees by Ropes that helde their feet, and even others who fought all night and daye with Blindfoldes over their Faces, and others who hauled Great Boulders across a Field onlie some Minutes later to Haule them backe to that verie Spott they had originallie acquired the Rocke, and those whoe tooke a Sworde to their owne Extremities, slicinge off Hand or Foote while shewing no sign of Payne or Agonie, and others who leapt Wildelye hither and thither as though their Bodies were taken up by some Elemental Force, and soe manie other Sights thatt if I were to Catalog them heer theye would take upp the Whole Remainder of this Narrative and I would telle nothinge else exceptt this Listt of Odditties, exceptt that I will add that behind my Visione there was Constant Sounde like the Earth groaning, tearinge open, as though a Riftt were forming belowe oure own feet and that at anie momentt we all might sinke downe into a Netherworlde and falle forever intoe the Domains of Satane and his Disciples. The Noise was made by the Machines that movd aboutt us with a continual motione, clanking and banginge and shootinge out Jets of Flame into the Aire and more than once into Groups of Peeple who would then Burne and Screame. This Sounde is the background to my everie Memeories of those Nights, an Infernal Sounde that even nowe when I sleepe I faile fullie to Escape.
Howe the Dayes passed I knowe nott except thatt I owne a strained Recollectione of Daye followinge Night and so on for manie siche Cycles though if asked howe manie I cannott saye but knowe that in this Ceremonie I passed more than a single Night and less than a Monthe. For my selfe, like all others, was soone caught up in the Madness that surrounded mee. The Drink that all tooke Liberallye of produced, as I have said, a ceratine Effect so that the World became singularlie Cleere in a manner beyond the Abilitie of Wordes to Conveye. I sawe all arounde mee with the Utmost Detaile as though I was a Watchmaker lookinge at the world through the Prism of his Glass. I too bayed at the Night and threwe myself at the Earth and at times Jumped up into the aire straight up and downe without controlle and even tooke to crawling on all fours like some animall and slicing my Bodie with a knife, thoguh I did nott lose anie Appendage but meerlye cutt my selfe across Chestt and Arme.
At one time I crawled up into the Great Bird for it had in itt manie Seates like Pewes in a Church and if my Memories is nott false a mostt Strange thinge did then take place. The Bird, crowded with manie of us, includinge the Kinge and Queene, did begin to move as though Alive. It made a grate Roaringe noise like the Lyon of Darke Afreeka which I have Heard in the Jungle of Ethiope and then began to Shake mostt violentlie and soon I felt a Wind against mye Face and the Fires that had a Moment before surrounded us were nowe far belowe and soon were like the Heads of Pins so that the World seemed to Shrinke awaye. I was afraide it might disappeare forevere, but as the Worlde belowe was shrinkinge, the Worlde ahead Grewe in direct Proportione, and the Mountaines, which had been soe far awaye, were now Close to us. I feltt I could touch the Heavens and expected thatt att anie moment the Face of the verie Lorde would showe itselfe.
Then the Mountaine, which had been Groweinge, began to Shrinke and I looked downe and sawe that my Feere was cominge aboutt. I couldd see the verie Curve of the Worlde, its Land and its Oceane, and above us, what had been Skye began to Darken and I knewe we were entering that verie Realm of the Stars, the Empyrean it selfe, and before us the Silentt Moone hovered, groweing with everie Breath. We were climbing into the verie Vault of the Stars, like Thieves smuggling into Eternitie.
We landed in oure Shipp withoute Captaine or Saile upon the Surface of the Distante Orbe with all the Gentleness of a Swann cominge down upon a Still Lake. Lite Dustt flew aboutt us and whenn it cleered we could see farawaye like a Ball that might fitt into a Hand oure own Azure Globe hanging over oure Heads. I reached outt an Hand butt could nott touche itt. Then we all departed oure Craft and began to forage across the Strange Surface which showed to us everie Color of the Rainbowe. The Rockes were greene and blue and scarlett and purple and the Skye, unlike oure Sapphire on oure owne Worlde, was a Burninge Gold studded nott with Stars but withe Diamonds that shone and glistend and some hunge soe lowe that I could stande upon a Hill and reache up and plucke them from the verie Heavens, like Fruite pluckd from a Tree. With siche like I filled my pockets.
When I looked downe again I was surrounded by Figures whoe were short and gray and showed thin Limbs but large Heads the shape of Almonds with wide, round Eyes that stared intently at me. They made curious noises I could nott decipher and began aboutt my Bodie a Dance that circled and then led away. I followed with my Bodie everie Motione, thinkng that beinge on the Moone I should doe what Lunaticks doe, as the sayinge advises aboutt the
Roman. They sang a Strange song that I could neither understand nor imagine how anyone might call it Musick and thought it only a loonnee Tune, and I watched as they pushed their heads into the loose Dirtt and soe did I and then they pulled their Heads outt butt since I could nott see when finally I pulled my selfe free they were some distance awaye. I hurried after them but they grewe no closer and soone I had lost them entirelye.
I found the Shipp againe withe all on Boarde, prepareinge to Depart and when I spoke of the Lunaticks I had encountered all said I must be Dreaming for no one Lives upon the Moone, that everyone knowes.
Soe the Daies of the Ceremonie passd and when itt was over I woke one Morne to find aboutt me a most curious Vision. Bodies laye everyewhere, none moving, lit by the brilliantt morneinge Sunne and when I stood and began to stumble from Figure to Figure I sawe on everie one the markes of a Terrible Violence. Across their Chestts and Faces, their Legs and Arms, were deep and bloodie Cutts. Some had lost their Heads and others their Limbs. Everywhere was the Scarlett Blood from their Veines. Mye owne Hands were stained with itt and I wondered iff I had taken a Part in this Massacre.
Thenn I found the Bodie of the Kinge similarly Killed and close bye him the Bodie of the Queene withoutt Head. I found no one Alive heer and when I returned to the Cittie there were onlie Cattle and Dogs but no Subjeckts. The Great Roomes were Hollow of Peeple.
I searched in my pockets for the Diamonds I remembered plucking from the Moone and to my grayt Surprise founde there a pocketfull of the moste Fantastick rocks. Diamonds, rubues, stones that shonne from an Inner Lyte alle there owne, and I was thus further Confusd by my Peculiare Remembrances, for I had Believed itt but a Dreame.
I tarried in the Palace some dayes hoping too seeke outt an Explanacion for these Strange Deaths, but in all thatt Time I came across no other Living Person. A greate Silence hovered over all the bildinges and the trees themselves did seeme to Weepe in greefe. Finallie I gave upp all Hope and tooke to the Roade that led downe to the Ocean, and after some Dayes of Travell I found my crewe still there in much the same State I had left them weekes or monthes earlier, I knewe nott, except that nowe all were Gladdened to leave and come closer to the Prospectt of seeinge again their Families, those that had them, and a Familiar Shore for those without the Connexion of Blood Relatione.
And the next daye, the Heate havinge muche Abated, we did leave that Unnamed Shore, wich I named in my memorie K., for the Wide and Azure Oceane. As our shippe took saile, I looked one laste time upon this lande of Manie Curiosities and thought I sighted, high on a hillocke, the Kynge himselfe standinge with his Kweene, their hands high and waving farewell, and all around them, equally unmolested and unmarked, their greatefulle happie Subjeckts.
I thoughte then, as the wind carried us on the first stretch of oure Journee Homewarde, how the Worlde we see is butt one Idea of the Worlde that is, and even that Worlde is but an Idea of Others, and our Dreames are but the Fancie of other Dreamers who spend their Nites dreaming Us.
Three Poems
Maxine Chernoff
It’s easier for reality to imitate the dime novel than to imitate art.
—Umberto Eco
PLOT
The book of books
is too heavy to hold.
My Nazi falls out
and Victoria Falls.
No one in bedrooms
Leaking green light
or under the shadow
of sails at full mast.
Where is Homer’s
wine-dark sea
in pages filled
with remedies
and half-baked plans
for future books
in which gold weaves
words and birds
fly off and guns are heard
in a distant version
two miles from the
Hopperesque diner.
The same old story,
the oldest of tales,
we don’t want to tell
where her face
appears to the awkward
boy who sees a rose
and nestles in clover,
gets tangled in
lies and lost in
beginnings. The book
of books is asked to
dance around evil
but can’t select
the magnitude.
History comes
to lend its heft
as the book
closes its pages and
retires to a shelf
bearing the burdens
of all mankind.
So many chances
are not enough.
Time to fail
has too many rooms.
TOLD
But that’s another story.
—Ray Ragosta
Here stands Jules
without his Jim, there an
an old man weeping
for his wild fruit.
An innocent daughter
has gone to the woods
where the story encloses
her ultimate day. You hold
a spoon, its glacier
of salt, a loaf of bread,
its mushroom-cap top.
And he is with her
at the blue beach house
where only silence enters
the space. The heart, too, a book
that nothing escapes,
not even the dust on the frontispiece
he won’t read or the yarn
that was destined to be a hat.
Still, you know the tragic
outcome. Haven’t
you read it in a book?
WANT
… a stage between bent and mistaken.
—Rosmarie Waldrop
A painting carves the rescue
and the drowning
in cubes of light which
language cannot hold
as lovers’ arms reach
for the story you create
to punish time. Distraction
gray and ghostly
in pale November light,
a moment teases grief
to sit beside you at
the window where darkness
stains your face as fresco.
You forecast endings
battered by your fears.
Please, wind, be merciful
to what sums the morning
leaves at margins of our want.
Offworlds
Anne Waldman
How come untethered back to command or plan, the cult of glitches. How may your book be written? Disperse boss of all patterns, organize your original beauty. Civil engineers as angels don the DNA on slip, Fez on nightshift, invader leptons, themselves in the comedown. Not body-based theory but another accounts for dignity, the greatest moments in Russian history as told by an activist, for example. Her century needed her.
Or your medieval cities arise. Not privative pathology not a performance in arms that becomes flammable, an essay of twin truism and survival. No no not that. Not that, the clericalisms, the nails of martyrdom, bullets come in sizes. Not flag signals to make our deletions work, how you might live on expanding your code from stress points of memory. How this is normal. I dreamed this. I drugged this. I was an anthology considering conceptual possibilities in the economic downturn. I carried many others. Where shelter? Between the pages mercy and struggle. To leave a record behind.
A mind stream presents itself, cool water. A tidal pool of future entity. An intellectual conundrum on “micro ouvert” consciousness. A makeshift abbreviation or torrent of semantic power that may be translated into delectable things to imbibe as our journey continues. Consider immate
riality, its textures, its playful corridors. How secular can you get before you are back in cement, on the floor praying release.
It was a city built from the bottom of a bowl, then tipped over the edges. It built itself an ever-flowing a warren of pathways an echo of neural exchange in medina power. You could buy, you could sell. You could buy-buy, you might sell-sell. You could study and be the subtlest thinker of all past and future times. The future was struggle, the future was taking off if one could scribe and fasten around the old days, the old codes. Could fashion a fluid Arabic that no crimes be committed. Do not poison the Nazarene. I swear this. And I and the one-writes-this visited many holy books. A Torah housed in the Mellah made of skin of gazelle. Koran in its inestimable illumination that was untouchable to a non-fellaheen but singing out muezzin of ecstatic devotion. The Bible curling, swirling in glory, books of the dead with many iterations of mantra and prescription, recipes for afterlife travel with swirling mandalas of incumbent power. Offworlds.
Crush identity? A Marxist creature too never irrevocably in error, never perfect, victims in the long performance of an afternoon, cruelty we will escape from, I promise. Escape autocracy, plutocracy, blind adherence. I am just the blockbuster for you.
To Deleuze you say Gracias, to the other you whisper your need for cross-cultural genres to slide into the semantic mix. I will spell it right this time, You say biting your ADD tongue, your autistic nerve reversal. You are unwilling to walk alone on hot sand. You want a new cosmology, cooler, less insistent. Even demand of “instant” becomes obsolete. Though moment still be grand. This is “our moment.” Be uttered as in a cone of archive. Can you work without sun over you warming you or survive deep in the red luminescent ocean floor without a bell jar? How will you be recognized, human without a war? Chaos meant “without a library.”
Speaking Volumes Page 21
