Canto IX

“I like the breathing spaces or rhythms that are kind of musical in the way that life is and not in the way that constructed narratives are—often condensed to just the dramatic moments.”—Jim Jarmusch

“Brackets are exciting.”—Anne Carson

Non sequitur Commodus

just when you think scholars will rate

along comes Commodus to suture our mouths shut

and jam hot pepper[ ]

banner and sword shoved to the fore

while any love was subsumed in cruelty

and shame with the noblest blood spilt

]gladiator[

]mixing

]dust

]cauldron

but only until the worst of his influences could vent

then when all[

]

“Peace of God,” shouted[

]some lingered for hours

others expired within the lions’ jaws

]

]simpering

]outside his palace

and his concubines warned him of the uprising

]only in this way[

]years of lust

and license prolonged[

Non sequitur Neoptolemus

whose son will pry the bow

from my fists not for nothing has Odysseus

spent ten years worrying Trojan wives

now his long years languishing away

from Penelope has driven him to foist

Achilles’ son upon me

Neoptolemus took no oath to follow

Menelaus to Troy so he is mildly acceptable

in my sight in my sights

]

by the god there will be no Greek

left unhurried when I land on Trojan[

whether I will hit their backs Odysseus

will indeed run fastest toward those walls

battle hardened by my shafts

nor will those walls stand long

]

all of these years wasted with fish

flayed for only one mouth olives

for one hand to spread to harvest

]

for what other dishonors could sons stoop

than to memorize their father

with lies and dissembling and false promises

Non sequitur Joyce

he that ears hear hath them

]seeds won’t sow themselves[

then be at rest or be prepared[

]

Joyce was a player and toured England

in order to spite his father who wanted

him to be a doctor not a chamber musician

]

the Lord’s Prayer as ancestor worship

as work under the master for an apprentice

as supernova as corona as nebula

]

sing in me muse the anger of James Joyce

who writes sentences into the next century

and a half for women who cannot chance a ghost

too we would want to tribute

to the main chance try to advance

our quality of life past[

what’s the verb the action the deal

or what’s the bank who has it the dough

[

]the sores on my hands go on and on[

[

Yeats was always adorable with his penchant

for the occult and mythic transformations

yet despicable for reiterating dynasties

Non sequitur C. Dundee

first time I had Stone Wheat Thins

with ice cold crock and the troubles

that came from that experience

]

varnish goes a long way to make your new

portrait look a sight older even ancient

]as your nose[

]waiting

]please hold the[

]we’ll[

now all of a sudden you’re going to eat

]finish that screenplay

after you cough that last bit of shag

]

this cashew tastes like Scarlett O’Hara

this pinot noir tastes like Hobbit’s bottom

who’s askin’ who’s prescribin’ whose poo

who’s got the who for whom

whom hath whose whos on treed cooter

cooter can’t be treed unless the shell

half has staying power[

]

put on your pinks and call the dogs

saddle Old Hermione bring your tin whistle

load your wheel gun piss your pants

Non sequitur Odd Couple

that weird note in the Ninth what’s up

that falling sound in the Canon of Taco Bell

that Old Anger sign swinging from the pub

]

sad consultants in partnerships with sportswriters

those holes that HM uses in his sculpture

are they for something like smart bullets

where guns fire what targets know

critique of pure reason poor reason

]

even Leonardo places Gioconda among rocks

as though he foresees the drowned Phoenician

Sailor the Hanged Man the Quilting Bee

you must answer the sweet music

with music do not bring[

or your minds will atrophy

]

Jim sd/ the beauty of cinema is entering a world

that is unknown to you and will sweep you along

]

poetry makes nothing happen

religion makes even less happen

except[

]

]accept[

]

Canto X

when the morning sun rises

above the rooftops and mist burns

away only your lips gleam

more brightly than the candle’s flame

as we search for another clove of anise

in the pantry each one smokier

each one more piquant than the first

than the second than the third flavoring

our wine our spirits so that love

burns more brightly than cook fires

as we bake cornbread in our skillets

as we boil water for coffee

more purple than beets boiling over Scythian

fires flames made from red cane like rye

dance dance your dress shaking

your red curls burning over your shoulders

like coals bursting over your dress hair

aglow as the pot bottom's iron

all morning light hazes the hair on your arms

and glances off the down on your belly so much

has the morning mist glossed your face

even rouge will not adhere because the god

has said your forehead is mine if you lose

even a hair of your head I have lost the god

you remember the opposite of the Seven

Sleepers King Antiochus kills these seven

boys who refuse boars boiled

you remember this is how Odysseus’

nurse recognizes him the scar on his thigh

from the boar’s tusk he almost chokes

Euryclea to stop Penelope from seeing him

for what he really was what was his kingdom

compared to her Venice floats

Ithaca we all have Ithaca in our hearts

that place we yearn for Arthur’s Avalon

Achilles’ Elysian Fields but Venice

floats in our mind as some eternal and unreachable

cloud-city always about to dissolve to sand

hence the new dikes to protect her

where in Venetia the boars roam and eat

acorns their meat becomes so sweet

even in Tuscany the ones with white

streaks are savored rightly as meat

for princesses orange-winged starlings flit

overhead bobbing among olive branches

while Marco lectures Dante through smoke

on the hill though he may not follow until he’s purged

of wrath prays Agnus Dei

Pia asks Dante to remember her

though she may not follow ever climbing

ever singing Miserere even Sordello

limbo enraptures Thetis yet Manto lives

by mistake or invention both in limbo and hell

so the sea of memory tricks us

yet remember them through all and she

will rob us of our senses defenseless

before her palaces and squares

pigeons and cameras clicking against the cobbles

boats poled beneath arches and bridges

beside windows behind which lovers

trade promises and families design fate

to fit their clan’s desires yes her kin pounce

on joy on love on lucre

her soul is created apt for love and she

moves toward beauty and pleasantries away

from destruction and ugliness a remedy too

this old pope will not bequeath his gold

his myrrh to us if your love marches into Rome you

forget Ravenna forget Lombardy

yet Venetia has lions in her hair and must restrict

herself to the isles to her Lagoon

she must change herself love abides

what if the Hun cannot marry you

will your brothers and sisters roast you or will the Hun

rescue you the waters run clear

to nesting fowl so that the lions

will roar past and ignore your people distilled from fish

into salt your mother’s still has smoke rising

and the salt drying in the sun the pure water

she uses to dilute her corn liquor runs clear over coals

and runs sublime mist above the fire where you

dance crazily to show off that new cloth

we bought for you from the Alani women who spent

maybe fifteen or so days weaving it

then sewing sequins and flames made from cane

into your wedding dress then after a drunken interlude

he falls drowning in his own blood burst

weeping you our man-stream quiets

the bubbling of your mother’s still and the Huns wait

outside his tent then outside our walls

wait for your answer painting on canvas

you know came to being here because the frescoes

would not last through years wet

but even Hun or Goth could not find

us at this juncture hidden with clams

and dogfish and drowned ducks

fruit will not fall only marsh groves

of shell and shingle and sand that sinks

and rises somnolently liquid love

conned by moon by snakes or calamari

or cozza or gamberi chalk into gesso priming

life modeling colors in egg yolks

hidden within handkerchiefs like Gustave’s

love like Othello’s whose ship-born lore

has crossed him even as it seduced a lover

Venice always wins its lovers beneath sea

what it loses it finds and wins endless

beauty in ruin deadly too much know

ledge as Lombardo’s mermaids wedded

Venice wedded to the froth from which she bubbled

robed in motley to hide her later grace

scorn had saved her water shielded her

now marble robes her till she melts to sea again

as Ophelia or Iphigenia or Magda or Orleans

then the Doge goes ashore with St. Mark

at his side to win back her fame from the East and erase

no shame e riposato de la lunga via

all this città giardino unlike Rappacini

so like his daughter ha un livido—sanguina

“C’è il dottore?” yes with blue artery

he spreads his love and languor through our

veins until like Ralph Touchett we know we

have seen the Holy Land and she floats