a landlord's end

in the end even the landlord grew intimate


as an old friend he looked at the servant & her children


the lightness, the freshness, o the repressible humanity




seemed as crushed rajnigandha in the dust of this midnight



if he could turn the wheel back-




the ceiling fan's thin-long stem's wide spoke chugs the liquifying heat of summer



(it seems even to hit an odd dizzy buzzed mosquito spilling his blood)



a sad & profound pleasure & meanness & quietness spreads up in him.



he feels after a long time. the present sharp as a shaving nick




all around, a zen udder of consciousness, a deep, cushioned, stained diwan



the drone of the fan is the metronome of his dying




in that stabled emptiness, each labored breath pops



the last flowers of consciousness- they explode his head-artery



his mosquito-blood splotches the haveli walls



is all death parasitic murder?- the children stare into his cataracted eyes



& absorbedly aim their catapult

in reply

FIRST POEM
>
> (from an old manuscript perhaps)
>
> we dislike that you men & w0myn of meane rancke
>
> wear silver buttons at your knees.
>
>
> or that those of greater liberal estate & education
>
> must for no cald blewe reason
>
> tolerate your wearing tiffany horlles & scarfes
>
>
>
> SECOND POEM
>
>
> as fatal thoughts hover
>
> children kiss trees
>
> breath catches an iron lung.
>
>
> faces in imagination's marmalade mist
>
> tapeworm their ways
>
>
> (six months later who would believe?)
>
>
> kisses in relief thread the dawn
>
>
> searching out the needing;
>
>
> flee. do, not talk.
>
>
> THIRD POEM
>
>
>
> tender but not without shape
>
> a single vein in marble virile
> in its solitude even in its
> blockedness, a nerve turfs
> the castle
>
> the sea roils away under
>
> the bay's window
>
>
> fake softness for love.
>
> small but large of gestures & always
> home in a pure raw
>
> mirrored oasis
>
>
> bird-flight
>
>
> skip upons the sea
>
>
> FOURTH POEM
>
>
>
>
> if this tongue's hum were not so
>
> unrelenting
>
>
> who would have the means?
>
>
>
> let the smile remain so
>
>
> metonymizings
>
>
> nothing more
>
>
> not even its
>
> linelike bone between the lips.
>
>
> separately together
> tear by tear
>
>
> feed & flee feed & flee
>
>
> like sad thoughtfulness of quiet
>
> after the excitedmost circus
>
>
> after the folded tent.
>
>
> FIFTH POEM
>
>
>
> the deeper the quiet the
>
> more the tenacity. all sort of things
> happen
> all over
>
>
> dream-poachers:
>
>
> in an iced land of pleasure
> they are most separate
>
> and each, by
>
> tolerating,
>
>
> recriminate
>
>
>

haiti

1. when young she wished to travel far, see skyscrapers

now dead, she'd give her wings as prayer for the surviving


2.a heart stops
just in time

to slip out the rib-cage &

perch

in a stranger's
memory.

ears grow so fine

that they can hear

as debris breaks up all-around

an ant's hapless,

infinite unfinished

rage-full scream-

every man or ant remains virginal to death

public deaths are solitary still

though one can't distinguish

one's numbed hours of pain or loss or rasped breath from another.



as strewn shanties articulate the earth's quake.


3. at night times ever


in an enclosed room,,, mummified as it seems


trapped as all would feel, where prayers are for dustless starlight



make agitations & nuisance & rage. step on the feet of icons.

mandarin mahakavya

wang lung went in the fifth month on his horse

to the funeral of the second wife of the daughter of the

duke. in her palm her death had been foretold to the

exact phase of the moon. though it was spring the time was really

autumn the season was really winter was still.

a wooden age. the chief mourner was descended

from the emperor, was born when her mother was still

asleep so that when she came to she screamed &

forever hated her. they lived in the provinces rooted,

pervasive as grass. calamities surrender to their own accord.

will you attack the king with just footmen & chariots?

she dug deep into the earth unto the autumnal spring

and sat on its beaches and sang of her dead mother.

all this being a flagrant corruption of the manuscript.

take the silk utensils locusts keep the body fresh for 2

months after death before the burial there being no

impropriety in miscommunicating the death in such a ways

demonstrate your grief and then be silent. bury it again with

no mistakes in the ritual in a separate grave overlooking

a separate bay with flowers suchlike. discard no praise no blame

dress the corpse meet the bride travel to the western seaboard with

its older tribes. respect but kill. keep old friendships. here

the force is small the leaders hungry their warlike practices

only show. the 13th cycle of winter the 3 yr the 17th radical see the essays

on astrology by the learned and recently deceased mr.y.

wang lung wondered at the terms appropriate to narrate

the death of a princess, her soul's investiture

now passing to her daughter's husband and further

east past the mountain-ranges where the people

all helped pay in southernwood for the burial-(is there an error

in these texts on these sites or dates?). the mathematicians

calculated this as the dynasty's early years using the eclipse

and the odd usage of the phrase "paying interest on the moon".

the news of the death of the sovereign left the fort slowly

heavily, passing as a procession, past warring dukes

who now questioned every edict. propriety breeds presents.

the lord of the altars raised a powerful faction, breaking

each rule of the fourteen kinds of subordination accelerating

catastrophe, and soon here, an army this, an army that and there

sequels to covenants. affect the people by virtue, ravel the silk

you cannot lay down fire.a pantomime of insects. gather

the river's fish for the great sacrifice of atonement. the ruler this

and the ruler that, it wears one out. hunters have no rules no

husbandry. you cannot without without preparation nor

without anxiety. a house and tablet for the second wife

breaks the rules. the duke tells his feather weavers to

write his story even as the enemy crosses the suburb.

compassion is imperilled. the grain is in the locust's heart.

peace means to change.

wang lung's daughter goes to the harem at the statutory age

her sense of her worthiness makes her appear, twice,

in the classic. unseasonable as the undertaking was

covenants needed to be upgraded , more silk, more jade

she arrogates to her dignity as she thinks fit. the phrase

might mean more than seizure, certainly less than torture

the smearing of the lips of the daughter with the blood

of her victim. does this phrase mean son or hostage?

autumn is the seventh month. the sense of a hurried meeting

remains through all the sycophant's commissions. she built

a city while meditating, and a temple for her brother.

verily it is said the queen progresses the constellation

he was mated and then announced king in the temple.

let the sword separate the virtues and clan-bloods

merit for generations does not come simply

which river which fathers which officers which city

feet deep in snow?- which duke's suburb, on whose chariot

light and nimble may be your ancestors in ambuscade

smitten and cut to pieces hanging upside down as meat

in the mouth of crows. in every month an army

and a chronicle unconcluded. in spring the army entered.

in her virtue she did not covet territory the thread

of her karma light as muslin. discord amongst themselves

and secret dissatisfactions and so defeated. a lively

prejudiced account in the Book of . of course this tattoo

is a verb though it cannot be rendered. cross hostage princes

appear in each other's father's eyes. take your curved chariot

out of the temple. fill your mouth with the air of different countries

maintain your vigor. repentance is for the mature, the aged.

in the manner of killing he retained all propriety

feeding all tutelary deities, all fetuses of sons unborn.

every army must contribute a hundred pigs and fowl.

what use is it to curse a depraved man from field to field?

let the tablets tell their lies in stone. wang lung

omitted no ceremony that would have been appropriate

to the assassination of his brother at the meeting place

of the socalled jasmine river. he borrowed the fields

and symbols and the exchange of lands. the tripod

in the temple was a bribe. the roof of thatch

the chariot of grass, the millet is clean,

the historiographer of the interior, of ancient designation

thought of states that their roots reach wide

but their fruit be small else the horse will lie entangled

in its yoke. if you married above your state

the minister accompanied the husband, modest

reverent mindful of being untouched and returned

perhaps even if the crops fail or freeze. sacrifice

to keep locusts away. the sage's pencil must sometime

be pruned. the uncertain speculations of youth

the walled cities of childhood (whose spirit

possesses the centre?) step on the square to left then right

in the fishscape's battalion. the arrow on his shoulder notwithstanding

the child-bride fought. a sacrifice is unseasonable in fall

when insects forsake burrows. was he killed in a quarrel

about a bird or a woman sitting on the back of the shaman-officer?

what auspice of virtue be this be- what marks on the body

here one cannot mention the dead's name else an incestuous commerce

indulges. don't hunt with fire in winter. bury your heart in jade.

the greed reaches to the person. as he did not like the gift

and felt insulted, he felt he must invade according to the rules

of old precedence. he attacked covertly, and won, bloodless.

wang lung in the nimble army in the suburb, ardent, at peace

in the harmonious troop. if they must win it is because the army

can dance. divine the odds of the doubt and the produce of the union.

the exit gives its names in contempt. the signification must lie

in the epigraph. covenants in autumn presage death of the marquis.

your weight in the scale is inappreciable. the error of the day

of the entering of the death. a bad king's contracts increase disorder.

every officer lies in his virtue and his fear. cross the river

in order for on the other side lies defeat. let the mandarin live

by his nine unrepentant, unavenged calamities in its granary of ice.

reprisal upon reprisal, like lightning the armies

scatter rice, disrespectful to the duke's temples, tearing

the princess' chariot. any man can be a husband but there is only one

father, one mother, one prevision, one confederacy. drunk

she stole the flag cherishing eclipse and resentment

becoming a lone prisoner, refusing the marquisate, the sacrificial

epaulets. one understands the text only by proposing error.

the moon in its epicycle wants exactitude and remonstrates.

the coffin arrived in the seventh month of fall.

the burial was in winter, the mourning was forever

though he was an evil man brought to an evil end.

conjunctions are proper to the classical; poor lord

in deference to majesty do not stay quiet at home

but renew the great crimes and friendships and the common

wickedness between the states. these bodies stay

in no coffin. she sees with only half her eye.

equal concubines must have equal sons and eunuchs and cities

and governments. these narratives retire no justice.

in autumn build a reception to house the base murder.

mourning must feel as an absence. all dead soldiers

are remembered here as heroes. a trisyllabic name

is barbarous and must suffer withdrawment. the object of the meeting

is to repeat the crime, to bury for a second time.

marriages are recorded not burials not internments

at the beginning of the battle her heart lay agitated

as a crooked spear, after fulness comes absolution

under neither the tree of heaven nor state does the bridge

to the city of heaven pass over the enemies' gravestone.

ancestors have been boiled and slandered, revenge is no vagary

great officers hazard enterprise, describe restoration increase

both flower and root in all the eleven directions & generation

multiply prisoners and spoils feasts and detainments

eat the navel of the hour feed victims perpetually to altars

extinguish enemy lineage make stars fall as rain as wheat

but an inch from the dowager the stars retreated reascending

waiting patiently for troops and the real or pretended invasion.

sow vigorously your virtue abroad. at home in the season of melons

she was bestowed the robe of the general. she had wrestled the large boar

packed full of assassins. blood was the preponderant covenant spilt.

in the war chariot she took the longer road to deceive, to pursue

the flying enemy. wang lung covered his horses in tiger skin

to make extinct for the first time a heaven, to flood it

to hold great sacrifices of condolences throwing field of millet

into the plague. swift was ruin. he killed with a single slap.

praise or blame is futile in such. gain a harem but lose the state.

the king was bound in a rhinoceros hide and his hands

and feet pickled. let critics condemn who ever heard them

but mostly the print is silent, extinguished.

when men are full of fear their breath flares up

and makes real such monsters. citizens have a doubled heart.

make compassion, but act, speak, assert. you can neither

douse the flame from afar nor approach it.

make inroads into spring. there is nothing in the circumstances

inconsistent or dilatory. in snow's winter there stay many deer.

artful but worthless he feasted the guards got them drunk

killed whom he pleased. history lies fine underneath the print.

three feet turtle attack red deer gathering at the city's end.

in gazing-in the particular gold leaf he missed the whole

the palanquin, the harem's daughters and their parasols and cooks.

the war is a pantomimic dance that never tires, it asserts its rude joy

over all calamity. the sun photographs the mountains waving at the sky.

the temple's pillars stay painted red. ancestors within were fed.

the punitive expeditions of punishment is justice by default.

sacrifice by moonlight, the beating of drums, offerings of victims.

a woman of virtue and ability. a state that does not know to dance

does not know to make war, to surprise by stealth. spirits flee

the temple walls. this city is in winter, its grain insufficient

its insects in plague, even horses bolt the stables.

graphic but fabulous the tales of tribes at boundaries:

those last conquered are set upon the next outsider.

corpses grow in rain feeding upon imagination's dark archive

historiographers of the interiors must force reason

a serf with money is still indentured in an absent hour.

every autumn a daughter is buried, age seven being the cutoff

for the historical record. the younger ones are still too much

in the womb's marine heaven. tablets commend succor

for children-marquis' culmination. if one's heart holds no flaw

how may he regret childlessness, posterity has other ways.

carriages and horses and feet and diagrams, other original dignities

new tablets will be put in old temples, even oceans age

armies are cast away, the spirit changes, new milfoils

prophesy anew, storks fly in augury. cook for your rulers

offer in sealskin, leather carriages and the cold metal of symbol.

the text conceals the manner of death in rare display

of dilatory euphemisms. but all men have relatives

and horses and jade and taxes and immigrants are in stake.

that year in spring there was no rain in the fourth month

by the rain of the sixth the new army had moved in.

the lack of rain was no calamity but an auspicious kindness.

the threat was as of the locking of the boat on a placid lake

his cheek lost color, an incursion followed, the spirits strained.

what robe will you wear in the coffin? the tortoise divines.

discriminate is the guilt. the heir-daughter walls her grief.

relentless is the fable. in fall lies the eclipse, hour of dispossession

read the clouds. assassins are not to be played with. spirits vomit.

in a grand display the flags loom. families are criminals together.

they allowed her to burn her coffin, returned her silk.

if you are resolved, don't pretend to be humble; choose strength

or alliance. morning awaits evening. do honor to virtue and the punishments.

secure succession. invade the great temple to make sacrifice of the 5th yr in it

and to interpret its tablet. the charioteer will betray & mystify.

the tribes of the east will rise. the prince lay dead unclaimed, deceived

unsceptred, inadmissable, obtrudant.

more sayable

to be, or not. to be or not.


whether tis' nobler... or not.


to suffer slings & arrows of outrageous fortune,

or to take arms against a sea of troubles.


& by opposing, end. no more.


them natural shocks that flesh is heir to, consummated to.


( in that sleep of death what dreams may come to?)


when we have shuffled off this mortal coil, this gives us pause.


there is a respect that makes for this calamitous & long, long life.


the whip & scorn of time, the oppressor's contumely


the law's delay, the insolence of office that spurns patient merit.


(make quietus with a bare bodkin?) fardels bear & grunt&sweat.)


but. death's undiscovered country from whence none return:


muzzles the will. we'd choose present ills than fly to new ones-


conscious is our cowardice. & th' native hue of resolution is sickled by


thought's pale. enterprises' pith turns awry-.


but soft all, & ophelia, horatio too.



--" remember sins & my irresolutions too"-

naming the other's face

that we choose to call them terrorists, that terror is the dominant face, mode, mood. if we say it saddens us, depresses us, rather than terrifies, how may 'we' differently act; or, even, what might it take to just acknowledge the simple panicked, feeling (& yet also the need & finding of refuge) of the desire for pure animal's flight-

a mood does not belong to parcellable time-- hence the condemnation of the holocaust-denier, but no equivalent condemnation of the imperialism/colonialism-denier; or the fact that slavery was unfortunate history (& hence & thus fortunately passed), but no term exists for the perpetualism of the racism-denier, for (s)he who denies that race pervades us still

2. a key political question for the next half century & beyond is if the united states (& to a lesser extent the eurostate) will accept to peacefully & non invasively, non abrasively decline-peace depends on all countries' maturity on this-& india, china, etc would do well to accept that we are going to be very largely very poor for much longer, for centuries perhaps, a longer period than anyone's decline

translation of section of muktibodh's brahmarakshas

[found thanks to meera, & painstakingly retyped by her, from around 2000, m phil class at delhi university]


That side of the city near the ruins
an abandoned, empty well
and within, in cold darkness
in waters deep within
amid deep-sunken stairs
in the old stale puddle…
I can not follow these seeming-foundations
these depths

surrounding that well, entangled
silently stood the fig trees
in those hang the nests of the night bird abandoned,
brown, round

The smells of a hundred past pieties
green, jungly, raw
swim in the air and become the weighted doubt
of some unknown eminence
that rattles the heart

on the railings of the well, beguiling, green
elbows resting
sits the white flower-star tree

and nearby,
a flashing redflowered cluster
my kanher
calling me to that edge of danger
where the black mouth of the well
glances upward toward the sky’s void

in the void of the well’s thick darkness
sits the brahmarakshas
where from within rises echo after echo
like the mutterings of the insane
speculations,
impurity.
to wash away, at every moment
the shadow of – impurity
day and night, to make clean—
brahmarakshas, scouring his body
with the claws of his hand, again
and again hands chest mouth
still it remains…
still it remains

and…from the lips
wondrous strotras, mantras
fevered, chaste sanskrit curses,
crevices on the forehead weave
glistening strands of thought
in a continuous bathing’s insane flow
-- life’s sympathy blots
but, in the well’s deep inner wall
diagonal sun-rays fall and
motes rise, when
light surfaces
he thinks the sun has bowed and saluted him.

when moonlight forgets its way
and its rays bounce off the walls
he thinks it adores him as the
Venerable knower.

body and mind pierced, yet
he rejoices, feeling the sky
too has humbly accepted.
and with a twofold, frightening virility
his understanding mind ranges
through the folk-tales of Sumer-Babylonia, mellifluent Vedic hymns
today’s chands, mantras, theorems, theories
of Marx Engels Russel Toynbee Heidegger Spengler Sartre even Gandhi
everyone’s proof afresh commented on –
all this as he bathes in the well’s dense greenness.

…this thundering, echoing, moving
darkness-- bringing up phonemes
obscure words revolving anew
each word cutting up its resonance
each form battling its reflection
maimed
becoming
the echo that wars with its echo

upon the well’s rails
beguiling green elbows rest, and the
white flower-stars listen
-- to these echoes
the delicate fruits of the gooseberry tree
listen, the ancient fig
listens, listen too to the tragedy that meanders
in this insane allegory
-- all barred within this old well