11 Ekim 2019 Cuma

ACL 359: Material for Postmodern Lit: 15.10.2019


Noèlia Andrés

from Hinge Picture
“Crawl in,” said the witch, “and see if it’s hot enough to put the bread in.”
—Hansel and Gretel

All roads lead to rooms.
—Irish Proverb
a stark
                  Quake

               a numb
                  Calm


                      *


               clutching my Crumbl
               ejumble
                  among
               Tombs and
               in Caves
                  my
                Dream
                Vision

               Oarsman, oarsman,
                  Where have you been?
               I’ve been to Leafy,
               I’ve dismembered the Queen.

               Oarsman, oarsman
                  What did you there?
               I hid in a cleft,
               I braided the air.



hearing our oars where their freed goatsteps sped   
and are silent
by an extinct river
O Babylon when I lay down
alert for sliding cataracts
where in corridors the print of dancing feet   
beyond poise I am prey
posing in snow-light
being of human form
clothed in the scales of a fish


Count him a magician
he controls the storm
walked on the sea shouting   
that he is the Logos of God
that he is the Word original and first begotten
attended by power
upheld by his mother
(a very active gesturing baby)   
what if Simon Peter Jesus himself   
walked among the cold stone faces
shouting NIKA
emptyeyed blanksmiling



                            Swiftness divination these false gods
                            their commerce is the cloud
                            so they can learn what is preparing in the sky   
                            Artificer of the universe
                            Magician who controls the storm
                            to see you in one spot
                            I count the clouds others count the seasons   
                            Dreaming of archipelagos and the desert   
                            I have lived through weeks of years
                            I have raked up fallen leaves for winter   
                            after winter across an empire of icy light


Light of our dark is the fruit of my womb
or night falling through the reign of splashes   
Liquid light that bathes the landscape in my figure   
Clairvoyant Ireland
eras and eras encircled by sea
the barrows of my ancestors have spilled their bones   
across the singing ear in hear or shell   
as wreck or wrack may be in daring   
There were giants on the earth in those days   
feasts then on hill and fort
All night the borders of my bed
carve paths across my face
and I always forget to leave my address   
frightened by the way that midnight
grips my palm and tells me that my lines   
are slipping out of question

Divorce I manumission round
with a gentle blow the casting branch
my right hand My covenant
was garment concealed or mask or matron
Proceed with measured step   
the field and action of the law   
Like day the tables twelve   
whip torch and radiate halo   
Sky brewing coming storm   
Faraway over the hill
when Hell was harrowed
and earth was brought to heel   
how the hills spread away   
how the walls crumbled   
deathcolored frozen in time
Where was the senate   zone and horizon
Where are the people   mountain of light to the east   
Tell them I sail for the deep sea rest
a painless extraction a joyful day   
bird of passage over all I love   
Goodbye to all the little fir trees   
of the future

               far   off    in    the    dread
               blindness    I   heard   light
               eagerly   I   struck   my foot
               against    a      stone      and
               raised    a    din    at    the
               sound    the   blessed    Paul
               shut   the   door   which   had
               been   open   and   bolted   it


London Crossfigured
London

                  crossfigured   
                  creeping with trams

         and the artists on sundays
                                        in the summer   
   all ‘tracking Nature’
                               in the suburbs

             It
                could have been anyplace   
                         but it wasn’t
                              It was
                                       London

                                                and when someone shouted over

that they had got a model

                                  I ran out across the court

                     but then
                                 when the model started taking off
                her clothes
                                 there was nothing underneath
                                                                           I mean to say   
    she took off her shoes
                                     and found no feet   
                  took off her top
                                          and found no tit
                                                under it
                  and I must say she did look
                                                          a bit
                                                                ASTOUNDED
                         just standing there
                              looking down
                        at where her legs were
                                                         not

         But so very carefully then
                                                she put her clothes back on   
and as soon as she was dressed again
                                                      completely
                      she was completely
                                                 all right

                Do it again! cried someone
                                                       rushing for his easel

                But she was afraid to

                                       
                                           and gave up modelling   


            and forever after

                                                
                         slept in her clothes

The Pill Versus the Springhill Mine Disaster
When you take your pill
it’s like a mine disaster.
I think of all the people
   lost inside of you.

Mating Saliva
A girl in a green mini-
skirt, not very pretty, walks
   down the street.

A businessman stops, turns
to stare at her ass
that looks like a moldy
   refrigerator.

There are now 200,000,000 people
   in America.

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