An Amorous Discourse in the Suburbs of Hell

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An Amorous Discourse in the Suburbs of Hell Page 1

by Deborah Levy




  ‌Part One

  ‌

  He

  There you are

  All wonderful and winged and leaking

  That smile

  Let me in

  Want to

  Walk through snow storms

  Burning for you

  Peeling oranges for you

  Shimmering and

  Shivering my

  Assured

  Modern

  Woman

  Who are you

  Anyway?

  ‌

  she

  i have come

  to save you

  from the suburbs of hell

  to rub my skin

  against

  the regularity of your habits

  to bend your thoughts

  like a spoon

  to find your memories

  lost in software

  dived like a thought

  out of paradise

  into

  your acrylic arms

  ‌

  He

  Uninvited

  You flew into

  My semi

  And ate all my daffodils

  I woke up

  To your

  Starry tattoos

  Fingers

  Tangled

  In your hair

  I asked

  You

  To stay

  Now you make

  Incense

  From my heart

  And liver

  Spit

  Mean small

  Feathers

  At my good intentions

  ‌

  she

  good intentions

  are there

  to be ruined

  look at the tear stains on your tie

  newlyweds

  wear a band of gold

  full of good intentions

  look how they jitter and panic

  when the bus stops to change drivers

  at the junction between lidl and chicken cottage

  ‌

  He

  No wonder you

  Fell

  From Grace

  Into

  My poor lap

  Fearful pigeons

  Scurry about the roof

  Ever since you arrived

  ‌

  she

  ever since i arrived

  on your blue planet

  most of it ocean

  i hear the breath of an octopus

  bigger than a car

  eggs in her arms

  calling for you

  ever since i arrived

  i hear the historic echo of yesterday’s lambs

  under the tarmac of the ring road

  baaing and frolicking for you

  ever since i arrived

  you walk from the table to the window ledge

  cursing the pigeons on your roof

  their ragged wings

  opening and closing for you

  ‌

  He

  How your ragged wings

  Open and close

  And tell me what to dream

  I am my own dreamer

  And I’m dreaming of a white Christmas

  A little garden

  Someone to love

  Enough to get by

  I can speak French

  You can’t

  I can make shelves

  And a wardrobe

  With mirrored doors

  You can’t

  If I were more ambitious

  I could build a sturdy bridge

  But I don’t need the acclaim

  ‌

  she

  yes you can speak french

  you read recipe books

  as if they were sonnets

  yes your wardrobe door

  slides on its aluminium runner

  yes your shoes have blind eyelets

  fastened with coated laces

  yet you got hauntings in your eyes

  i saw your schoolboy bible

  tucked in a corner

  you have an uneasy relationship with god

  could be interesting

  be interesting

  be interesting then

  spread your hands towards the sky

  ask Him in his mercy

  to hear your uneasy love

  there is no other kind of love

  there is no easy kind of love

  i don’t want provençal dinners from your freezer

  i want delirium from under the lake

  bang! bang!

  watch out stanley

  i’m not just unhappy

  i’m trigger unhappy

  watch the curve of my arm

  the sun melt

  into the tips

  of my fingers

  the trees

  bending and bowing

  ‌

  He

  Look

  I can’t afford rhapsody

  I was born in Hurstpierpoint

  My dad sucks lemon jellies

  ‌

  she

  then you shouldn’t mess about

  with an angel

  especially one that has been

  washed up

  on the oil sluck beaches

  of yr shores belly

  heaving with the smaller

  bellies of fish and birds

  find someone sweeter

  (unaccustomed to terror)

  to laugh at your jokes

  ‌

  He

  Let’s get a takeaway. Listen

  To the rain

  Fill holes.

  ‌

  she

  suburb man you are cold and unbothered

  unlock your front door

  the yale and chubb and the chain

  take off your shoes

  let my wings lift you

  to skyscrapers and cornfields

  to outraged sons and daughters

  to the ferry boat on the 黄浦江

  to the currywurst wagon in Friedrichstraße

  to the North East SuperFast Express (Delhi-Mughal Sarai-Guwahati)

  take off your shoes

  take off your shoes

  dance on a nervous scorpion

  dance on the eyelash of a bull

  dance on the edge of an oar

  unlock your front door

  the yale and chubb and the chain

  ‌

  He

  These shoes (size 10, 44 in Europe)

  Are for walking in parks, tea

  And toast

  Afterwards.

  Forgive me.

  Courage not there.

  Sucked by wear and tear

  Of 9 to 5 & blocked drains

  Eyes are closing.

  ‌

  she

  die die die of safety

  your failing pension plan

  a shroud of blind snails

  searching for the last green leaf in eden

  ‌

  He

  You are beginning to bore me

  Bile and gloom tucked

  Tight into your incandescent

  Cleavage. I would

  Rather watch

  T.V.

  ‌

  she

  it’s true i have these moods.

  i might just

  fall

  into

  despair

  and singe the carpet

  with the heat of my wings

  and then

  how

  will you

  console

  me?

  i wander around your suburbs in a haze


  you fit so well into the seats

  of england’s expensive trains

  i find that when those passengers

  who work in financial services

  gaze at the back of my head

  my garments cease to glisten with light

  all my languages desert me

  the vibrations of the universe

  freeze in the knuckle of my sixth finger

  today i will dive under the high-res screen of your smart phone

  float in the galaxy of samsung

  swim through blue tooth and back to ask you

  what in essence is an angel?

  she is a messenger, mediator, watcher and warner

  only trouble is

  desolation

  numbs

  the memory

  who was my mother

  who was my father

  how long have i been falling

  is god dead?

  am i sick

  or have i health?

  ‌

  He

  My health was perfect

  Until you fell

  On my head and pressed

  Your lips of mist and ice

  To mine

  You burnt my tongue

  You make me nervous

  I have a little worldliness

  At university

  I hennaed my hair

  My mother said, only

  Whores do that

  I wore beads

  And had an existential

  Girlfriend in a kilt

  But now I’ve grown up

  My shirts do not

  Scream and

  Beckon and

  I own

  A water filter

  ‌

  she

  worms

  worms

  worms

  in the water

  filter or not

  there are serpents in paradise

  this eden you murdered your discontent to own

  oh kiss me quick

  i’m fading away

  it’s all this malice

  eating at my angelic contours

  save me …

  ‌

  He

  Let me massage you with flower essence

  Let me fry you sardines

  Let me kiss your cuts and scratches better

  Let me plait your saffron hair

  Wings stretched East

  To West and West to

  East, I welcome the

  Gift of your arrival

  I think I have been

  Waiting all my life

  To try out the best

  Parts of myself

  Touch me.

  ‌

  she

  my wings are tinged

  with blush

  beware

  when i weep

  there’s no stopping

  this stuff

  pouring

  from the circles

  of my soul

  and i observe

  that my cheeks

  now itch with bumps

  and welts

  i think

  it’s

  pollution

  ‌Part Two

  ‌

  He

  I need a woman

  To live for

  Play the piano to

  Cook and have babies with

  Share a bed

  An address

  To measure the sum of my self against

  I’m getting on you know

  I wake up in the morning

  There’s a little pile of hair

  On the pillow

  A deciduous

  I’ll drop my leaves

  For you any day

  I am here

  In all my shedding glory

  For you to

  Love.

  ‌

  she

  you want a woman

  to complete

  your plan but

  it’s not my plan

  it’s not my plan to be completed by you

  i keep falling

  in and out

  of myself

  just as i fell out of paradise

  i like it that way

  sometimes i don’t like it that way

  for better

  or worse

  it’s the only way

  ‌

  He

  You would destroy my fragile peace

  (if you could)

  With all the fury of the dispossessed

  Look at you hovering above my porcelain egg-cup

  You are too big for my possessions

  And my possessions are too big for you

  Linked as they are to an earthly family tree

  I cannot find you on Google, no road no house

  No town no country, all you bring to me

  Is pain

  ‌

  she

  discontent is not unattractive

  the stage magician who knows nothing of alchemy

  and plucks bright balls

  from his sleeves grinning

  is far more hideous than you

  ‌

  He

  Discontent is not an achievement

  It is not something to win

  Like poker or golf or an Oscar

  You are suffering

  From the absence of

  God.

  Look how you flap

  Your torn wings petulantly

  At my modest wallpaper

  ‌

  she

  i am suffering

  from absence point

  blank, there’s

  a hole in my heart

  tween you and me

  a long-maned horse

  could jump through it

  with room to spare

  ‌

  He

  Hey, Hey!

  Let’s let the good times roll

  Into the horse-shaped hole in your heart

  Listen I’m under the

  Influence of your sleazy

  Vowels … I’m going all funny

  And my eyes are shining!

  ‌

  she

  aw …

  i love you

  like this!

  ‌

  He

  C’mon sweetie

  Squeeze into the motor

  Let’s do 30 when we should do 20

  Lets roll over the speed bumps

  Let’s do that now

  While my tank is full

  And the price of petrol

  Is stable

  ‌

  she

  just one moment

  while i take

  this fishbone outta

  my teeth.

  ‌

  He

  No. You’ve lost

  The moment. It’s

  Gone. Stanley is

  Himself again.

  ‌

  she

  be someone else

  pleeeeeeeeze. just for

  the helluvit.

  ‌

  He

  You hurt me

  With your desire

  For other. I am

  Who I am and I

  Am fond of myself.

  ‌

  she

  now you

  made me cry with pity

  for my poor undone self. all ruffled

  and done in

  by aristotle’s concept of unity.

  (384–322 BC)

  ‌

  He

  What do you want

  From a human lover?

  An

  Abstract and

  Totally useless

  Way of seeing to

  Plunge

  Toes

  Waving

  I know you swim at sunrise

  With the newts and water voles

  In the mud and silt of our Thames

  Buffeted by currents and the wash from boats<
br />
  (I have to blow-dry your wings for hours after)

  No one would have you

  Wet and melancholy

  (You’re sort of inconsolable)

  Weeping tears of gas

  Over the spires of north Ilford

  Talk to me straight

  Like a motorway

  Stay in the left lane

  Do not use the hard shoulder

  Do not drive against the traffic flow

  It’s a straight conversation.

  ‌

  she

  sit here.

  Yes here.

  that’s nice.

  straddle my angelic

  hips

  with yr small town

  thighs.

  ‌

  He

  Like this

  My sweet feathery

  Tormentor?

  ‌

  she

  it will do.

  you ask what i want from a human lover?

  i’ll tell you straight

  like a motorway

  a clang! a clamour! a new expression!

  ‌

  He

  That sort of dumbwitted answer

  Infuriates the logic

  That makes me employable

  ‌

  she

  it is true

  i am a little feverish

  soon i will fly to frinton-on-sea

  to raise a glass with jane lynne thorburn at the three crowns

  and then move on to campohermoso

  to catch up with francisco rodriguez garrido

  trouble is

  there are knots in my hair

  trouble is

  the world is murderously mad

  climate maladies, pharmaceuticals

  lack of privacy, arms trade possibilities

  child marriage in yemen and other tragedies

  i will have to look (again)

  at aristotle

  (384–322 BC)

  who i have mentioned

  before.

  under his

  toga is much to peruse.

  if i was to try on his

  theory of tragedy

  and agree it imitates human acts

 

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