War of the Beasts and the Animals

(the work of an engineer and not of a poet)

(not lyrics, mechanics –

signs not of a lady but of a mechanic)

and these projects all the time

as if the cold sweat of inspiration

on her forehead never made her hair stand on

enough, I said, I’m prigov

you prigs can fuck off

*

when blossoms tum-ti-tum

for the last time the blossom

in the dooryard bloomed

the lilac in the dooryard bloomed

and stars that shoot along the sky

not yet will measureless fields be green

and dancing by the light of the moon

            the light of the moon

and after april when may follows

banquet halls up yards and bunting-dressed

and breasts stuck white with wreath and spray

marked off the girls unreally from the rest

who lined the sidings grimly gay

(she loves embedding quotes because

she can’t be without love)

washed by the rivers blest by the suns of home

my land, I love your vast expanses!

your steppe & coachmen, costumed dances!

your peddlers of mystic trances!

and murdered tsar nicholas

oh, and kitezh’s watery kingdom

and how above our golden freedom

rises gloom dusk cumulus

how early that star drooped in the chilled western air

I’ll remember may the first and the scent of your hair

when for the last time

when we saw

last one to the gate is a rotten egg

and they run and run

*

and so I decided

I was told

curly feathers of metro marble

milk white enamel girls

in gilded kazakh skull caps

and children with gently determined faces

you, blue-eyed aeronauts and machine gunners

saboteurs, cavalrymen and tank drivers

fringe-finned guardsmen, officers

platforms of shaggy crouching partisans

and especially the border guard’s alsatian

plum blossom in a golden bowl

early morning crimea

ballerina winding herself widdershins

apollo in singlet and hockey shorts

alabaster profile on wedgwood medallion

clearly sketched in a golden oval

aeroplane wreathing omens in the clouds

hercules, given to omphale

you must have forgotten

in the passageway leading to the circle line

*

Do you remember, Maria

our twilit corridor

nineteen-forties Russia

a settlement, post war

dances to the radiogram

twostep at arm’s length

freight trains loaded

with gold and frankincense

those hard done hard won

those barely alive

down on your bare knees

a head against your thigh

tea twinkles in the strainer

steams in the room

bulbous iron knobs

where a cheap dress is thrown

remember how she stood

weeping on the porch

when they hunted him down

caught him in the church

smiling, he was led

looked back as if to say

then a round in the head

and a truck sped away

at the crack of fire

you turned and left

and cranked up your life

and lived it cleft.

*

my brother said you’re a fascist

you sing up, and I’ll sing loud

we’ll be back when the trees are in leaf

but I’ll stand my ground

when the leaves are in fist

and the deer dances past the oak

the antifascist flips to fascist

and the wood goes for broke

words are attached to things

with old twine

and people lay down with their tubers

in the ground for all time

but them, they cross yards

with lists and chalk

and lick the paint off window sills

with tongues that fork

fascist fattish fetish

flatfish, flippery, facetious

but the air knows we’re not of them,

none of you or us

untie the words

let them drop in a corner

and the wood will call back its men

non omnis moriar.

*

across the vast rippling sound

under the evening star

from the furthest shore

floated a wooden box

you couldn’t hear any captain aboard

you couldn’t see any sailors

all you could see            a faint flickering light

(it floats closer to our home)

all you could hear           a faint scratching

as if something was awake in the case but crumbling

shifting handful by handful

all you could hear          the dripping and crackling of wax

and water psalm by psalm

read then washed away

then read and washed away

forgive me forgive me my friend

let me perish

it isn’t about that

don’t run along the shore after me

along a path that doesn’t exist

legs collapsing under you

don’t look for my wooden box

bobbing in the shallows

caught in the reeds

and most of all: don’t take off the lid

turn your back on the old world

don’t take off my lid

don’t go back to mother

don’t wander the villages speaking

from lips chalky white petrified

dear comrades brothers and sisters we happy few

*

depart from me for I am a sinful man

said the eagle to the headwind

depart from me for I am an infirm man

said the red clay to the hands

depart from me

I am not man at all

I am a recording device

trrrrrr chirr churr

bring a jug bring a jug

*

and snow fell, and it was kind of:

the azure light disappeared like a cataract

*

under the spindle of a low sky

a dust trail on the near shore

two cars, a jawa motorbike

a woman in a scarf, her face hidden

the young are beautiful, the old are more so

a shop without a signboard

loaves of bread on the shelf

in rows like soldiers on parade

still warm to the touch

each loaf reluctantly cooling

by the factory gates

a briar rose in raspberry cuffs

points in its madness

to where the sickening smell comes from

where did you get to, mr speaker