Cantos I-IV by Teg George
Canto I Firenz sat in the lap of Mars while he stroked its high domes with his sword— before
sunrise, before
sunset, a river issues from Eden like a spring whose waters do not fail— where armies have been stationed briars and brambles will grow— but
Spaziani asks, Tutto è già stato scritto? Celucci found himself surrounded
by his own and they prospered— true, and the god gave him a beauty mark halfway up his thigh so that any girl or boy who eyed it even in the dark would fall haplessly into his world Ihr Flugzeug brennt! : about 1978 Tommy
sd/ while Interarms feasted the Condors “I
warmed their wine— they
sat with their backs to the windows and Angelo, a spook, occupied himself with earplug and lavaliere
…” Bobby
sd/ “My only wish is that I could find a
10 µF film cap that would fit.” the notion that something transpired there, to serve you as thrall, the lover
will commit any crime, seize any object in order to force your will to power through the coming age the god projects— Cao Cao says, “An army is like fire— if you don’t put it out, it will burn itself out.” six
years before they
had exploded Bunny, then Edward S. and W. Mark rifled drawers or that ten years prior Billy
Thruston went to it lost his head piloting a HUEY Illinois sd/ “It’s almost as if these
private military contractors are involved in
a secret war”— while
pleasure was swastika schnapps for the Walkers Billy Keiter went to it on his knees down Omaha Beach so that Capa could snap then himself went to it fifteen or so years on
from a Claymore— Ignoti nulla cupido: Feb HBR article, “Getting It Right”: send to It managers and tell them, ‘We are ahead of
the game’— but Tony sd/ “I am Curious about the Nature of my own Loathing”: wasn’t Cohn the one who wd/ bury us if we told? Cupid can’t be bribed— And
Robert Burns went to it, “This was the first time that I was caught in a real firefight. It was scary.” : pack your bags: you could win a dream vacation :
connect with qualified candidates! practice downsizing as political jujitsu! libretto In what circle of Hades will he pray for
pardon? In what burning grave will he end his days? Pity him his long fall. When a fiery asteroid blazes across the sky does it awaken fear in his reptile brain? Pity him his long fall. Or does it remind this schismatic of the
curse to be torn top to butt as the prophet deep
in Dis? Pity him his long fall. Tommy sd/ his grandfather worked for Brown & Root— Burn and Loot— “Smoke ‘em if you spot ‘em” : say it with fiber because roses wilt : or as Wang Xi says, “… long military
campaigns are a plague to a nation.” Celucci brought his brothers and sisters, cousins and nephews, barbers, sailors, shepherds, all for prosperity— a
family circle that first, last,
always must enlist and having served, join VFW or Am Vets : send back the breadbasket, then stir paella gently— too
late to make an aquarium, so stir it gently, doucement : Be sure to include testing techniques Oct
15 Race at Campus Martius— get a head or get behind— Mar
14 Mamurius Veturius— get ahead or get beaten— Enion replies, “O poor forsaken one! O land of briars & thorns where once the olive flourish’d & the Cedar spread his wings! Once I wail’d desolate like thee”— Old
Rough and Ready— Old
Fuss and Feathers— That the corn might grow, that the green vines drop grapes, that clouds of bees foster honey, dogs shepherd flocks, men steer the plow, and girls churn butter: Lord hear us, for
your mercy is great. That cows might spew milk, buffalo rustle calves, partridges flit from brush to bush: Lord hear us. That soldiers avoid our fields, tanks veer from our groves, and Warthogs stop drilling our barns: Lord hear us, for your mercy is great. MAKE the bonefire hot, STRIKE with the agnus castus, and BRING Dasius before ME. Canto II Dasius had a why, but we have no
what :
a ripped script— Bassus sd/ “Things won’t be undone or
golden’d”— dust breath swirl swirl swirl dry kiss— This kiss is the clearing of spirit to
spirit who
knows not the joining of
male and female, yet his penis is aroused— “Thou art a man, God is no more, Thine own Humanity learn to Adore.” Is it or isn’t it a sacred BONE to pick that poetry rhymes too
well with poverty— : see how cartwheels circumscribe cartwheeling adults while children hold the script pinned to ground then branch out as starfish circling prey— Time-lapse camera— courses circulating as wheels upon wheels: radio dials, thumbscrews, jar lids, berets, French press, pound
Sterling, Puck, ashtray, eraserhead— “You’ll never be a saint”— The script’s spine has no confla gra max pan tum wha cert Vieni, respirami vicino, che io scopra la docezza— The script says here was Camden
bound a
faery— but isn’t there always— one evil
faery it was workt night, with amoroso
pleasing— and this fair thing brought low many a nectar seeking lad, curly tresses and all : boys being boys and faeries being faeries only one boy had the constitution to resist said faery for a time, a short time, until said faery unhooked her fair tresses and let them drop daintily around her shoulders and nether regions at which point the boy surprised himself there by the Hummer by the Ganges by the Hudson by the Mekong perhaps a vision or a few bits of entreaties to lay off before she laid to no avail for he, the boy that is, had fallen Q.E.D. envoi My baby daughter thinks us poor because she sd/ “are we pure?” and I sd/ “yes, of course we’re pure,” but she meant ‘poor’ not knowing we are all saints that way : so come light a cheery fire and bring wheel, bone, script, and breath— spill
the wine, crumble
the bread— sing
the dirge, and
dig the grave— sop
the vinegar, and
sharpen the stick— the alligators and the otters will listen to our song : great blue herons and snowy egrets will,
too— throw some scrub oak and redbay on the
flames : throw in the live oak, too— weave with the palmetto and sable palm : roast some cooter and mix the perloo— boil stone crab and coquina clams : meet us beneath the Spanish moss— have some smoked mullet on your crackers :
have some key lime pie, too As the gods ask for power that cannot be bought for
gold sprung burning like incense they know only the aroma, as one inhaling an aroma is sweetened : an outmost crystal a recumbent flame Now, the gods give you rest— to sleep is not a dishonor when trials are
done. May your dreams be peaceful, and may lovely friends lie close and give
you warmth. May the gods wake you when the time of challenge is near— when wheel rolls downward for you to stop, when bone turns deep in the mountain’s door, when breath blows hard in your face and script calls for players on the stage— then meet, hang, and finish well— for the bonefire is hot, Dasius, and the birdsong you hear calls you. Canto III As the wheel of words sets language free so
the wheel sits as substrate to break the man— the iron bar the poker applied
to bone— the pen hardened : nib to ink— against
the substrate to liberate the man— so the wheel circles with wagons full of turnips— fiery
arrows protrude— Blackfeet wheel their ponies back and forth until the settlers exhaust then
carry peaches and apples into the stockade to celebrate their capture : the wagon wheels protrude from
their great-great-grandchildren’s lawns surrounding the faculty at Bozeman who promptly surrender— their hearts burn in unquenchable flame as the sun sinks behind Nahsukin Mountain— harvest
the glacier lilies “most delicate rootes that may be eaten, and doe farre exceed our passeneps or carets,” as Hakluyt says altissimus
gurges wheel as round as my bloat : you read a book a bit (or a bigger bit) you buy the thing to tame because
“no room left in the upper room— always
space in the attic” Dasius won’t mount the Lord of Misrule’s chariot— wheels
of polished wood : spokes of hickory revolving transparently : hubs of elm turning as film reels : iron axle humming as a coin operated massaging mattress in
Hoboken for the Poetry Editor Beau Brummell who once dated a girl named Patty O’Dasius who hailed from Fort Lee : her father had a seat on the stock exchange from whence he bought and sold Bridgestone before the Explorers flipped, wheels rotating crazily like pinwheels in the funhouse : terrifying to carry the whole isle Moher to Shannon, stone
walls, standing stones, or fallen crosses : the dirt in your knickers and on them citizens one and all holding your hands to
drag you down none to raise you up to the clouds as the sun sinks behind Nahsukin Mountain— burn the bear’s skat— : paintbrush, fleabane, fireweed, baneberry, parsnip, hellebore, chokecherry, butterweed, arnica, huckleberry : embroider the winter count Assez de cubisme, bring
me the wheelism— Bronzino paints the medicine wheel (or was it earlier, some anon. student of Verrocchio?) . . . Bronzino paints medizeischen
Fürstin . . . Bronzino paints Bigfoot playing
with hobbits who drink barley wine like water— Bigfoot would rather listen to Rodney Crowell than Verdi, rather see Chagall than de Kooning, watch Roseanne not ER, play Wheel of Fortune not Go, eat Wieners not paté, screw Chelsea then Madonna, drink Smuttynose then Old Nick, read Dante then Tom Clancy— see, Bigfoot has priorities, has an agenda, has sushi, maki, and sake, has Kim Richey and Lisa Loeb on the phone so would you care for a singalong? a gong? arroz con pollo? chowda? salmon tartare? Armani, Prada, Dior? because the wheel spins too slowly, the Fates weave too slowly— the Condors have eaten too many angels— and Jackson Browne seems empty— and Ringo and Paul seem chary— Clapton, tired, Henley, in the woods, Tyler, saggy, Petty, wan, Costello, sacked, so the wheel rolls over them as though they weren’t even beneath
its teeth as though time spites them, as though space emits them, not even their souls fill the holes in the centers of their records— their works spin soundlessly : blow wind, wrack and wilt— your hair's in a tizzy and frizzy— but the wheel’s not a windmill driven by Satan’s wings wind
beaten— turned upsidedown— one
wheel rolls hither thither bone
white whetting knives Canto IV The other wheel disappeared through the skylight— hands made the wheel from stone only in the funnies— really, hands made it from wood then spokes and an iron rim to squeeze it
shut : no graffiti on the east side of the wheel— tiny wheels inside larger wheels, inside even bigger wheels inside one really
big wheel— The Great Dictator becomes the big wheel— the rest of us are cogs : Celucci buys Dasius a martini and explains how the bigger wheels collect
venture capital, “Make your pitch around six minutes long and try not to reinvent the wheel” Michel Agnolo you’re loved by many more
people than could have withstood you alive— even Colonna bloomed beneath your gaze— your happy hammer, magic, shadow, breath
deepening with each patron’s contract, each project
wrapping the utmost substance with grace— Carrara mi fe Eliot’s death by water, the P&L, the
paddlewheel, erstwhile protean paddle floaters, Liz & Dick puddling in Egypt, wheels of rotors, two cantilevered on the CH-43 and the back hatch half open leaning out rifles pointed down and helmets fastened, sitted ducks for a turkey shoot like Gallipoli, like Damascus, like Priam, like Akenaton, like Horus, a few marines here, a few there and pretty soon you have an eddas not unwarranted we must say as the Queen
says, “Daphne with her thighs in bark” and Mick Jagger’s fingers in her hair : no despair, eye see everyone’s here! Whose midnight Revels by a Forest side Or Fountain some belated Peasant sees Or dreams he sees, while over-head the Moon Sits Arbitress, and nearer to the Earth Wheels her pale course; they on thir mirth
and dance Intent, with jocund Music charm his ear, sight unseen, blinded by sack, by scent and zephers— : canst thou not simper : canst thou not sitz, thou Sister Sin— Hands make RFIDs “Tag,
you’re it!” Clockworks swing the minute hand farther
than the hour can go, “where
did the Sol go?” Where faeries drink barley water like wine, “in
the dying days of their profession, cutting and shutting” We have spun out the subtle ramifications
ever since— and like broken wheels careening from curb
to curb we break our neighbors until they swerve and swivel like us into each other madly busting back and forth over sidewalks and into storefronts “America,”
our neighbors scream “America” over and over as we bounce off
each other then sprawl into Donovans or Elks Club or
Amvets and buy each other shots so we forget one
generation to the next what we’ve done to our neighbors for seemingly no reason we can understand anymore until we do it again shamelessly our arms and thighs
blotchy from
bruises past and present all
hoisted into position to roll again like drunken barrel-chested sailors whose only sin was watching Hell Divers too many
times one Saturday night at the flicks. This we discovered at the same time we found pizza differed in many ways from piazza— best where pizza can be a wheel while piazza a square and a wheel cuts the pizza into triangles while tiles cut a piazza into more squares, “and, in the piazza we drank— we sat at small tables and drank grappa and forgot the wars” we were dead, you see (so) it was easy to forget hard to get drunk harder to swallow for all that “we were too young to remember the refugees” Es war ein Traum wheels of cheese— We would race the wheels of cheese down the hill, but they would explode : the wheels would hop into the air at waist level and explode— crazy dreamers we were in a general way of course because we were given to generalizing about things being dead, you see even the Bosch generalized when we’d allow them to drink with us in the piazza, but that was rare because they would insist on us all wearing ties can you believe it? knots and everything— so that was a once a week thing at the most, and even then we’d loosen our
collars after thirty minutes or so and force the Bosch to unlatch their suspenders as well before dessert was served |
Cantos
I
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