20180116

Jesse Glass



from Nothing Epic: The Complete Gaha Noas Zorge

Based upon A Truth & Faithful Account of What Passed For Many Years Between John Dee and Certain Spirits, Meric Casaubon, ed. (1659).

The Aztec Stone Goes Black.

1. Junni 14. 1583. Friday, a meridie, Hora 4 1/2.

S, he: God speed my yellow birds.

H1e: A good wish by greeting speed & speed.

The fallen angels are all around us. They are far more clever than mortals, and they speak with a greater number of vowels, causing a most harmonious sound to erupt from their throats. They sometimes accompany their sophistries with mountain dulcimers or six string guitars. Moreover, the two boils that usually epaulet their shoulders are actually sockets for wings which they insert, surreptitiously, on special occasions. But there are more clues than these, my friends. If you are observant, and stare out at the world’s panorama from crystal sockets, the incongruities of life—Life’s balmless fissures, if you will, begin to appear, and a simple gesture with the right or left hand will cause the fissures to widen into abysses so that one may see the sable core behind the flight of barn swallows or the coitus of snails. Sometimes it merely takes a certain straining of the optic nerves to extreme left or right, at other times an abrupt noise similar to those used in the Eastern martial arts suffices. I prefer to accompany this noise with a mudra of sorts. Let me show you how to perform this profound gesture. Please follow my example...I call this the power gesture...[HE DEMONSTRATES A PECULIAR SIDE-TO-SIDE MOVEMENT, PART RIPPING, PART GRABBING.] Now do it when I ring the bell...[DOES.] Now try it again...[THE AUDIENCE FOLLOWS.]...Adequate. Adequate. Take a deep breath through one nostril to vibrate the monads. Good. Now the power gesture. [THEY FOLLOW SUIT.]


H2e: I never saw this woman before.


H2: Now both Witless and she go into The Castle, and the doors are shut after them, and she cometh out again with a package of cheap worsted from China.


those I invite to partake of the full initiation into the Warrior Consciousness I offer. That rare and almost priceless gift can be had by those who come to me with a true yearning to understand the ineffable. After daily past-life regressions for a week, and a realignment of all aspects of their vibrational karma, they step forward, clad only in strips of sanctified linen, to place, of their own free will, all deeds and bank books, bequests and endowments, between the finely-wrought jaws of the crystal skull. I then allow them to quench their thirst at the root of all knowing

S,he: This is written for your understanding: Let therefore your eyes be opened, and be not bloody blind. Neither forget what here hath been opened, purse, anus, & praise!

***

S,he: Well, I will be going till you have supped: And then I will tell you more of my mind. It will be yet six, or seven weeks journey before I can get home. Then I shall throw a party after singeing meat.

[H1e prays.]

H1e’s commentary: Supper done we staid awhile, being come to this place, and though nothing was seen, or heard, yet I spake, assuring my self of the presence of the foresaid maid, though as yet to us insensible.

H1e: We would gladly know thy name.

field. I opened the door. The sky was pink and black. The air was cool and humid. Weeds coughed around my boots as I took one step, then another. The fence clarified itself. “This is a fence,” I said, tongue vibrating like a rubber harp. Or did the skull say that? I lifted my hand. A warm nose found it, and then two blubbery lips popped softly in my palm. I groped upwards, felt a halter. Seized the halter. The horse pulled back. The skull whispered soothingly. Horse relaxed. I dropped my left hand in my pocket. Unlaced the knife from the handkerchief. Touched the button. Heard the snap of the blade. Lifted the blade in the darkness. Sent it on a secret quest. Brought my bright blade back to me. I heard a wild confusion of blood and air. A giddy cantering in an ever-tightening circle. Saw the other shadows scatter, and one shadow fall, kicking, on its side.

S, he: Death wore a yellow duster.

H2e: She seemeth to go in a great path before her very speedily.

I recall how, years ago in my childish wanderings I came across a small pine tree with curious, dung-colored balls hanging from its branches. The balls were light and papery, and each one had a hole in its side from which a spider or a worm or a fly would emerge if the ball were tapped with a finger nail. I was initially revolted by my discovery, but I managed to overcome my disgust long enough to peer inside one of the specimens. Within was a sight to rival the best diorama built with infinite care by Cartier within a silver, Czar-commissioned egg: a church-like interior glowed before my eyes with muted, golden light. Insect angels ran over the walls, their tiny silhouettes moving within a net of genetic directives. I stood watching, transfixed, opening and closing my hands. Then I took a stick and knocked all but one of the brittle balls off the tree, mashing the fallen balls with a gentle pressure of the toe. I left that single ball hanging intact from its squalid umbilicus: a cage for all the evil of the world.

H1e: S, p, e, e, d.

S,he: I am going. I have been. Home is a hollow leather ball. Give us a drink at this table.

I have been known to write poems about the struggle. I have stood with fist on hip declaiming these poems at public gatherings in coffee houses and universities. People equate me with the struggle, for a perfect personal expression of freedom as indeed all poetry is. All poets in fact, are brothers and sisters, be they from North or South America. Wherever repression holds sway, some poet will write a poem illuminating the problem. Poets may not be physically involved in the situation. In fact, they may live far different lives from their repressed brethren, but they still may aid the liberation of humanity by raising their well-fed voices in protest and celebration. They do not have to put their lives on the line. Let me emphasize that last point: THEY DO NOT HAVE TO PUT THEIR LIVES ON THE LINE TO HAVE AN EFFECT. In fact, it’s better that they don’t. Let me tell you a story. I went to Nicaragua for a full week one year ago. I spent time sunning myself on the beach. I gave quarters to the children until I had no more quarters left to give. I had an affair with a Nicaraguan woman. As we made love she told me how the owners of the coffee fields abuse the women who work for them. I kept a diary of all that she said. I plan to write a novel about that woman someday. (In fact, I still have her address, and occasionally I will call her on the phone. Often she does not answer, and I know why. She is out on the streets fighting for the Cause; agitating for the return of imprisoned men and women. Or perhaps she is also imprisoned. This thought makes me solemn as a lion, light-stepping as a praying mantis...In effect I become a True Warrior when I contemplate her great heart.) One day the cab I had taken DROVE PAST SOLDIERS IN THE STREET. THE SOLDIERS LOOKED IN MY DIRECTION AND FROWNED. Another time THE CAB I WAS RIDING IN WAS STOPPED AND I WAS ASKED TO SHOW MY PASSPORT

H1e: Distance of place can never slim the space of a slum.

S,he: Jesu, now he will be angry with me as he was with his written Mistress Polybendium.

(Marie my divine undue angered speech cutting stirring the mad said Maid.)

Why should I be afraid to leave you in such an abrupt manner when life itself is but a series of leave-takings? Remember that there is hope for each and every one of you, no matter how ridiculous, arrogant or banal. Hope for liberation from your family, your society, the limitations of your bodies and your minds. If I were you I would pay dearly for someone to liberate you from the effete boors that you are, whether it takes Warrior Consciousness or death itself. For you deserve it.

S,he: So, so, s, for me.

spikes. Five times this happened, while the nurse communicated her prevarications through a microphone above my lip. I moaned back against the chin strap, the air from my lungs gusting between my clenched teeth. The nurse and three assistants backed the needle out of my vein. I was unstrapped. I raised my torso, dropped my tingling feet to the tiles. They helped me down the hall; helped me button my coat without noticing the light-refracting qualities of my skin, and

H1e: Guh make me to vanitalk from my m,o,n,o,n,s.

Now it appears that we have reached the end of our talk. I’m sure you’re interested in applying your new-found wisdom to the world at large, but according to the latest weather reports it is flooding now in every part of the city. Much better, I suppose, than a drought. Therefore, I would like to end with a flood-tide idea: one that concerns the topic that seems to occupy most of our waking hours: how to stop whatever it is we’ve begun. Friends, it is important to understand the dynamics of closure. We’ve spent our lives attempting to roll the great stone ball of the world forward, and now of its own inertia it continues to roll before you, or even upon you, whether you want it to or not. This talk, too, has developed a certain momentum of its own, and so I would like to demonstrate, with a small dramatic parable, how to end all things with grace, and yet liberate that rolling Warrior energy so that others may use it if they so desire.

S,he:Yo* Tox* ma*Naromi* thn* m*odo
* a an oswf* zirdo* t* b noco *gig tu* ln*: Bt
lap yu* my prc*ie h*w upaah vin vo-ma-dea* cicll
or*dl w urelp*sd*m s. I* m n zorge* a eter* ca*e
th*n mn* ae, fr* to*gh* b* fo* hm, e*t m*
in hoath roes o* gin hoe, sm* tee b*
th*t niter av* h*m, eihr* cn* zamran g h*me.


You can imagine her surprise at the good-natured laughter that forced my finely crafted teeth to lightly tap together at this lamentable state of affairs! She, of course, has sunk beyond the horizon of my concern where she waits yet, crucified head down in her own madness, her imago engrailed and glowing in the less-dense meshes of my neurological lattices. Like the cat that sleeps, yet remains aware of every movement in the room, I shall always remember and forget her from moment to moment. Friends, I forget, yet know in an instant, the contours of each mnemonic posture, each systole and diastole of the imago of those long ago times! This—the most precious gift the Crystal Skull offers us in the way of hope and salvation—can be yours, my listeners, if you practice the power gesture while meditating upon my image for just twenty minutes a day in the privacy of your home or office.

see at each twist of the stairwell
a conch shell with a frieze of g,r,i,e,v,i,n,g
men & women scratched
on its inner lip.


H2e: Now cometh a goody at-all aged man black inna Het onis head, heath a lagga crggray bard furked, he saith to’z laddy Maid, thus:


Old Man: Wh*re re yu ulcinin?

S,he: You must be yallah corn ob these splunkenders gobs, for they also b. desirous to etch an eatta inna y’ear.

Old Man: Hae* k*ow yogassagen* b*fre?

Assistant! [THE WOMAN KNEELS UNZIPS THE MAN WITH THE CRYSTAL SKULL’S PANTS. RISES. HE STEPS OUT OF HIS PANTS AND UNDERSHORTS. THE MAN WITH THE CRYSTAL SKULL EXPOSES HIMSELF. THEN, TAKING A FLINT BLADE HE PERFORATES HIS PENIS ALL THE WHILE ACCOMPANIED BY TAPED DRUMS AND SINGING. HE THEN PULLS A LONG STRIP OF PAPER THROUGH THE PERFORATION. THE PAPER TURNS RED, BRIMS WITH BLOOD. DRIPS BLOOD FROM BOTH ENDS. FLUTES BEGIN TO WAIL. THE MAN WITH THE CRYSTAL SKULL TURNS, SPINNING SLOWLY, MAJESTICALLYSCATTERING THE DROPS OF BLOOD ACROSS THE STAGE AND INTO THE AUDIENCE. HE SPEAKS AS HE SPINS.]
S,he: If you knew me Mr. C., you may easier e-now.

                Where have yah yah hyer? *ya now a*k me. And if y* tRaas i*y were das gud as ty noas anci dis g, heff, heff I tell ta ee!

Old Man: These words be very large, “wha* is
he a* cors* ueda ho* wit* not bip* aqane paaox*
wi*h m*? (I never did thee harm) an I h*v Quada
d*si*d to uran e* Nisso a*qaite wi*h the a o*ng coosgo im.


[LONG SILENCE.]

But to continue: I began first with my brother-in-law as he sat whistling through his nose at the kitchen table. We had just finished telling jokes of the standard Hee-Haw variety, and I had handed him a cigarette, when I pulled out my snub-nosed 22 and squeezed off one or two into his heart. Then I strangled the toddlers as they crawled upon my lap to ask what was wrong with Papa. They did not even suspect that the “nap” I was giving each one was to last for an eternity. And finally

S,he: With cont*rfit gr*vi*y I *ill evr* be *cquin*ed,
neithe* th ag*, und th* fme, or h*y air, n*r th* sob*rnes
*o th cont*nace an ov* m* to thy aquin*ane fo* that
tho* nevr* dli*gtest i* tre* Wi niiso!*dom.


The top surface of the cranium is slightly uneven like the unevenness that a baby’s skull displays. The eye sockets vary and are slightly offset as would be the case in a human skull. With the exception of my head missing suture marks, it is as anatomically perfect as any scientific model.

Old Man: Then go ho za vay and sway: an hurling Harlot. Hurl! O Hurl!

S,he: If wicked *ords d* pr*ve a *vonf arlt, te*n thu has ju*ged *hyslf Ussn.

Contemplating the multivalent truth that I have so pithily—even off-handedly—presented to you. I begin to laugh without being able to stop. I laughed all of that day and into the early hours of the next. A doctor diagnosed my condition as unconditional gelasm, better known as laughing epilepsy, and he told me to take these pills to keep my mouth under control.

H2e: Now she goeth on and the Old Man b. gone. There appeareth now a young well-hung man, sitting on the side of a Ditch, and to him she sez:

+++

STaRe bAcK bLaNk, MiNd-DRuNk DaMP BLiND wAllS.

tHoUgH sOmE CoMmENtaToRs SaY THaT tHiS VeIl, oR cUrTaIn WaS PLaCeD OvEr THe UtTeRaNcE aS a SoRt oF dUSt-cOvEr, iT dEfInItELy aPPeArS wItHiN tHe VeRy UtTeRiNg oF tHe uTTeRaNce.

All seemed quiet when we retired for the night, at about 10 o clock. We slept for about 2 hours, when we were awakened by the most frightful manifestations.

E.K. There appeareth here a great man all in bright harness sitting upon a white horse: he hath a spear all fiery in his left hand, he now putteth into his right hand: he hath a long sword by his side: he hath also a target hanging on his back, it seemeth to be of steel: It hangeth from his neck by a blue lace; it cometh up behind him as high as the top of his head. The horse is milk white, all studded with white: a very comely horse it is…

Upon his Target, are many Cherubins, as it were painted in Circles: there is one in the middle: About it is a Circle with six in it, and then a Circle with eight, and then a Circle with ten in it, and in the greatest are twenty; and about the Circle of twenty are seven parts: at each of which points is a Cherubin; Their faces like burning gold, their wings be more brighter and as it were embossed. Their wings coming over their heads do not tough together. His horse is also harnessed before and behind. The horse legs behind are harnessed as with boots marvelously contrived, for defense as it were of his hinde legs.

Horsemen: “Kelly, was thy brother’s life obedient and humble to thee?”

E.K.  She was.

Horsemen: “Dee, was thy brother’s wife obedient unto thee?”

Dee.  She was obedient. 

(tHe LoVeRs
                FInD tHeMsElVeS
                                In ThEmSeLvEs
                                                And a mountain between them
                                                                A byzantine sky
     An angel who blesses what he least knows
     & What the lovers understand implicitly
      The simplicity of
     Changing from season to season
       The eagle
      The lion
                                                                The hind
                                                                The worm’s 
                                              Love
                                                                     Sing to me of what I’ll

                                                Deem: “an infinite nearness”
                                                Yet when I hold love
                                                Like a crystal to the light
                                                I hear a crow cough thrice

                                                In a dead tree.

     
 ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Oops!  sudden physics just drove my cheek up
to the stars

part of me hanging up there yet--

admires me as it falls

                   (i.m. L.N.)
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

DARGER’S GREAT Lament


SEe ThE bAcKwArD bReAtH, bAcKwArD tHe
                         sEa
        MoVeS
iN tHe MeAsUrEd DiStAnCe, YoU.  nOw
        DrAg
a MiRrOr ClOsE.  tHiS sTaNzA
sHoWs LiFe.
  YoU iNsUlTeRs Of Me.  My ThInG
oF sNoW & SiLeNcE.  mY cEnTeR
oF iRrEgUlAr EnErGiEs.  mY sHiElD
oF rOtTeN mIrRoRs.  AImEd At YoU
aSkErS oF mE.  iT pOiNtS tHe FiNgEr.
It WiLl NeVeR sToP.  iT wIlL nOt
StAnD sTiLl.  It SaW oNe ToO mAnY.
       iT wAs BrUtAlIzEd.
It QuEsTiOnS iTsElF, bElIeVe Me.  ThIs
       TrAgIc ThInG.  tHiS
                         tRaGiG
                             tHiNg.
It BlOwS tHe WhIsTlE oN yOuR aCtIvItIeS:
       Om?
       oM?
aNd I, mYsTeRiOuS pReSeNcE.  AnD I, eVeN i.
2 A.M. tHe CrIcKeT pLaYs CoNtInUoUs C. c. C. c.
    ThRoUgH tHe ScReEn DoOr A sUmMeR
dIoRaMa LiT bY a ThReEfOlD mOoN a LiTtLe
    MOoNy WoRlD aS bLaKe WoUlD hAvE lIkEd--
THiS iS wHaT i Am YoU hAtErS oF tHiS.
wIlL yOu StRiKe It?  iT hAs No FiSt.  It
HaS oNe MoUtH sTiLl ScReAmInG.  It Is NeVeR
a ShaDoW cAsT uPoN vEgEtAbLe DiStAnCeS.
It Is MaYbE wEePiNg.  (MaYbE iT uNdErStAnDs,
MaYbE nOt.)  It MuTtErS. dEmOn GAtE iT pReSeNtS. dEmOn GaTe.
THiS aCcUsInG aNgEl.  A faAcToRy oF hYpErVeNtIlaTiNg
ArGoT.  oNlY bEcAuSe YoU hAtE iT. hAtE iT.
anD i HaTe It.  aNd I hAtE i.  HaTe I.  iT--tHe BaCkWaRd
BrEaTh, It--ThE sEa, It--UnFiNiShEd PiCtUrE. dEmOn GaTe. ThE lAmB
fOrEvEr TrEaDiNg LiNgUiStIc FoG.  oNlY bEcAuSe
ThE sAcRiFiCe, ThE hAiR bRuSh, ThE uNdErStAtEmEnT.
tHe (      ); ThE (   ); tHe RaNdOm
                                               ; ThE lEtTeR wRiTtEn By ThE
CoNsPiRaToRs AdDrEsSeD tO yOu.  ThIs SwEaTiNg FiCtIvE wAlL tReMbLeS
bEtWeEn uS.  bEhInD uS.  aBoVe Us.  ThIs MoVeMeNt
MoRe Or LeSs.  ThIs ArRoW oF rAnDoM eNeRgIeS
aImEd At yOu--AsKeRs Of Me, DeSpIsErS oF tHiS bUrDeN
oF mIsUnDeRsTaNdInGs.  BuRtHeN.  iT
gRuBbInEsS, iT mEtAgEnEsIs,  It PeRiSaRc,  It StAmInOdY,
iT--lEpEr SpHiNx--WhIcH
hAs BoUgHt Up ThE fIrSt TeN sEaTs oF gReYhOuNd
OvErLaNd CrUiSeR 3856 & iS rAtTlInG jAdE kIdNeYs
   To YoU sLeEpInG eVeN aS i WrItE tHiS, cArRyInG iN hEr FuChSiA cAsE
aN iNfUsIoN oF lOvE, a DiViNe SyRiNgE tO pUmP
   hOnEy In YoUr GlAnDs
                    My LoVe.
(   )Y aPhAsIa, My AnTiSpAsMoDiC lOcAtEd At ThE pErIpHeRy Of
YoUr ViSiOn.  An AcCuSiNg FiNgEr.  ThE lIfTiNg, ThE fOrGeTtInG, tHe
LeTtInG fAlL oF.  SLoW mOtIoN iNvOlVeMeNt WiTh.  iT aPeTuLoUs AnViL.
i ShOuT tO YoU.  mOcKeRs & ReViLeRs Of Me.  ThIs SeDiTiOuS
dOvE kInD eNoUgH tO pEcK tHe CaMeRaS fRoM yOuR wInDoWs.  I
hAvE aLwAyS hAtEd YoUr OpInIoNs.  It RaMbLeS lIkE a GlIsSaDe.
iT iS aN aBiOgEnIsT.  tHiS cIrCuItOuS rOuTe Of DaMnAtIoN. hErE, tRy AbLaTiOn, 
An AbLaTiVe.  My FiSh SwImMiNg ThE sAmE bLuNdErInG 
rIvEr.  TaKe It FrOm My HaNdS.  iT bOmBs, Or ShOuLd I AsK:
doEs iT?  tAkE iT tO bEd AnD wAtCh ThE tHrOaT gLoW.  hEaRt BeTrAyS
bRaIn BeTrAyS lUnGs BeTrAyS lIvEr BeTrAys KiDnEyS…diE yOu.
rEvIlEr Of Me, QuEsTiOnEr Of ThE nEcEsSiTy Of My BeInG.  rEmOvE yOuR
sAnDaLs.  It DrUm-BeAt.  It DeSpAiR.  iT iT.  iF i HaD yOu HeRe
WhAt i WoUlDn'T dO.  wOuLd Do.  No MoRe InViSiBlE pArRy.  bUt ThE
pInPrIcK, tTe BrOkEn ReInS, tHe DrUnKeN bRaWl, ThE kEeN bLaDe WaDiNg
FrOm ChEeK tO cHeEk.  BeHiNd ThIs CuRtAiN oF sNoW.  tHe ShOuTiNg.  THe
ShOuTiNg.  It CoNtRoLs ThE nOiSe.  It CiTiZeN cOnTrOl.  It RaMs
ThE dOoR dOwN.  iT pUlLs ThE sAcK oVeR yOuR mAyBe.  iT hAmMeRs ThE sAcK.
nOw YoU'rE cErTaIn.  ThIs CoLd RoOm WhErE nO oNe WaLks.  OnLy tHe
SpIdEr ToUcHiNg ThReAdS oNe TwO.  oNlY mY uNiVeRsAl aBsTrAcTiOn oF fLeSh.
DaRkEnInG.  yOu HaVe No IdEa.  YoU hAvE nO
                                         tHiNg.  No.
NaMe It.  My ThWaRtEd PrOmIsE.  i CrY fOr It EvErY nIgHjT.  My BlIgHtEd wOnDeR.
bUt ”I• ”KnOw• ”HoW• ”tO• ”DaNcE•
    ”tHeY• ”cAn'T• ”tAkE• ”tHaT• ”aWaY• ”fRoM• ”mE•
       tHe WaY yOu”       •(BuT wHy GeT eXpLiCiT iN a PoEm?)
    tHe WaY yOu”     •(SoMeThInG aBoUt BoNeS &
bLoOd & ChIcKeN fEeT mIgHt Be ApPrOpRiAtE.  sTiLl
      i CaN't FuDgE iT wItH fAkE sUr(ReAl)IsMo.  ThErEfOrE lEt'S bE
                                                    hOnEsT):
    cAlL tHe SpAcE bEtWeEn ThIs SeNtEnCe & YoUr EyEs
             My ScUlPtUrE: mY pRaXiTeLeAn
  mAsTeRwOrK & yOu My GaLaTeA
                   oF sHaPeLy AiR.  yOu
                                   MaY
pUlL mY aRtIfIcIaL hAnD tO yOuR cLiT aCrOsS 970 vArIoUs MiLeS
  oR tHrOuGh EtErNiTy
  As 'pEtRaRcH' tO 'laUrA' sTiLl BeGs FoR iT tHoUgH hE's DeAd:
aN aLlEgOrY.  a SyMbOl.  A pArAdOx.  BeTrAyS bLoOd BeTrAyS hEaRt BeTrAyS
cOoL sEa-PaNtOmImE oF tHe TrEeS. a RoOsTeR bUrIeD uNdEr CoFfEe GrOuNdS.  
mY hIdInG bEtWeEn ThE tWiN tOwErS oF tHe MoOn.  We ThInK oF sTrIkInG 
tHe EaRtH uRgEnTlY, lIsTeNiNg FoR dIsTaNcE.  nOtIcE dRiEd BlOoD
iN iTs ScRiBbLeD cRy.  sTiLl CrOwInG aT sUnRiSe.  My DoInG oF tHe DeEd.
bRuSh YoUr TeEtH, pRoMeThEuS
                    aBsOlUtE fIrE bUrNs In SiLeNcE
                           lOnElInEsS iS
mY iNeFfEcTuAl RoWiNg.  My InFiNiTe CuRsE lAiD oN wItH tHe InDeX fInGeR.
iT tHiNkS yOu KnOw WhAt YoU aRe GuIlTy Of.  iT kNoWs YoU (   ) wHeN
iT mEnTiOnS yOuR gUiLt.  iT wIlL mEnTiOn It To AlL iT mEeTs.




Other sections from this work by Jesse Glass have appeared in The Journal of Poetics Research, and Experiment-O. His latest publication is Charm for Survivors; Selected Painted Books & Sequences available from The Knives Forks and Spoons Press.
 
 
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