Tongue touching slits
Thee.
—————————
RAMPANT QUILLS & SIENNA FEATHERS FLAKE
ON SOARING THEE.
————————————————
There is no end to Thee.
————————————
((This is She)).
———————
High damage & midnight
fifteen
(Thee,)
for
this
is
she.
JURY VET
—————
Started September 1979
Abandoned October 1981
Wild Knitting
Everyday, everyday, everyday, I write the book
ELVIS COSTELLO
1. Beneath the worm’s eye view people. The clubfoot
Giro trek. Brandlings lob mucus
from the sloping lawns of Albion. Securicor
I’m only glad to be off the dole blokes, dark
glasses staring
from redundant Albion Mills (Idle), all
the broken dollpeople say: Meat meat give me
meat, boss: Boss me
Up
or I go Bostik nostril
& totally Sickrude, need to be
ordered, regular fishcakes & spam
every day I write the book
the bad book. Join the army
of deserters, council estate dogs
shitting in the beck, rimless cars, porn
videos & snuff movies on the rental
get you in the out
tray
from bondage underwear
& the bluebeat skanking jobcentre. Fast
Yosser skullbanging is It.
Fuck me Pal
hve you seen his
Totally Wired
Face. It’s a trough: brutality
mixed with blood. 2. Spring’s
fuck all, tilth & seed, you hve to cut the grass, who
needs it? It’s just stuff. Stuff it, them.
Rockstar posies, rubbishers
of text, the bowtie number
over Chablis, how rather sweet,
muddlers on a scheme, cashgrit
grinding you Out, Access cards
pouring, cars without gear trouble,
hairdressers & boutique pimps, take you
RANTER
(1985)
for Lesley
Ranter
Ranter loping
running retrieving
motoring chasing
her with a cloakclasp
sniffing the trail
loving wanting
eyes on any horizon
but this blind spot
leaping the fence of his enclosure
nose down in open fields
stunned with blood
trailing her scent
greyhound quick from his trap
Moaning: this must be the last lap
And it isn’t
even the first
swooping aloft
skylark on Skye
swanning around
gliding over glades
snipe drumming
stealing into empty nests
shimmering in hillhaze
Cheviot to Killhope Law
Ranter’s folly
time and again
flouting the law
of averages
less than he started with
more than he bargained for
Ranter. Call him Leveller, Lollard,
his various modes.
Whispering sedition, libel,
love-lockets of memory
coaxed from his brain box
Whispering I love you I need you
to the stone in her
the still stone in her pale blue water
Fox she saw
in Manchester snow.
A winter flame, she said.
Red as a heartache
pumping through him, flourished
like a rose
before her
at the dream station.
Another extravagant example
another project running over budget.
Men in the know
chewing ends off cigars
eyes rolling to heaven
over Ranter’s back,
where he mewls alone,
barking: The luxury of punishment
is breaking us all.
Ranter the straight man
replying: I know, I know.
Ranter: Leveller, Lollard,
Luddite, Man of Kent, Tyneside
broadsheet printer,
whisperer of sedition,
wrecker of looms
feathered and peltstricken
bound with skin
hung up in trees
Bamburgh to Canterbury
wasted on the ground
alone in his slurry bed
Ranter mashing his teeth
chewing over memories
of her with a cloakclasp
Picking up Bede and Cuthbert
on the ham radio
in his birdbrain wolfskull
wondering why they don’t answer back
wondering why Sweeney hasn’t called from Killiney Hill
above the gentle shores of Black Rock
all too busy keeping famine from the door
Halfden’s longboats
ploughing the shore
Bamburgh at bay
Newcastle gets ready
Men of distinction
in the chapel yard
Ranter roped up
hurt in him
heel on his neck
Halfden’s heel
under the Raven banner
Hadrian’s leather boot
militiamen
academy-trained
or the swinish from pubs
clubbing his door
with butts
Ranter reminded
of blisters and boils
hurled off the causeway
asking for Bede
Salt.
I got salt.
Asking for Aidan
I was shown the shore.
More dismal dismay
for me and my fiefdom.
Aching for seawind taste.
Sky’s forever moving, spindrift
dazzling when sun gets through.
Thrift like a haze.
Learning silence of cells,
moon through the slot,
prayer power in the dungeon
of his life.
Nut-brown brothers
with earth-browned hands.
Nets and psalters
laid down for the day.
Aching for breakers
breaking his monotony,
sick on the boat
to the island he loved.
Norsemen used to it
life on land and sea.
Maker of maps,
gutter of towns.
Bamburgh to Bewick,
eye of the island
in flames.
Forsaking the dunes
dune misery
stranded on the strand
monks
organising
the next page of Codex
from a cell
driving himself
out of the wild
Returning, returning
Ranter searching for the good thing
the place with a centre
inside her cloakclasp
lignite and beryl
sweeping up her generous plaid
hoping she will utter a good thing
giving him reason
to turn and return
without pus-pillows
burst on his back
chin
cleftsmote
heart a stranger
to the good thing
Gifts and boun
ty
on the wedding feastshelf
unwrapped
none taken up
all of these days
none of them opened for more than a year
Dear God
what kind of country is this
reduced and reduced
cloakclasps exchanged
braid-pins and pipers
straw men attending the feast
fipples, fiddles and bows
smaller than the word for small
smaller than the French word
the Irish
smaller than the smallest word for small
Ranter ranting:
Where is my bride
holy of holies
Curse on the weather
for being so straight
and everything else bent
rubbing stubble
on his wolfchin
Cambridge fenfields
burning up summer
without her
Ranter the wanderer
Ranter’s bride
walking the Weald:
Pilgrim’s Way.
*
God, give me strength
What kind of country
People wearing shoes
exercising the cheek to breathe
cheeking the Law
Lollards, Levellers
Upside Down folk, Miltonic upstarts
heroes & heroines
reading Shelley
taking up Anarchy like a pen
and Ranter
on the run
running and running
remote and reduced
reduced and reduced
Pelted with feathers
in his other life
One third
in trees.
Word for reduced
word for running
word for betrayal
word for bond
the one for moving
for fast
rocking down
the Dartford Loop Line
Ranter away with himself
broken and broken
running to Lee
where she clouted his head with stones.
*
Lord, Lord,
Bede is your servant
Let me be his.
A whole day without her.
Two.
Three running into four.
Scratching them off
in his cell.
Grief.
Word she used.
Now it’s a badge.
No one to touch in this risky business
moving and moving
chasing her across lawns of Albion
Ranter’s record
filed to copy:
Ranter, I said.
Call me Ranter.
Name woven inside
this cloakclasp.
This is my power:
To peck and roar.
To be feathered,
furred and fanged.
To hunt,
sky above him.
Grub-hunting
earth at his feet.
Feasts and pipers,
dogs on the moor.
Allendale’s princedom
running with streams.
One third in trees.
One third heather
stalking
the sheep’s track.
Trout only
surpass him
for swiftness
up streams.
Hunt
fly
hover
howl
harass
wheeling in air
alone on his rock
Then I am a man.
One third, warming
the fipple.
His flute song.
Upright to earth
this dear green land.
Clouds go
where I tell them.
Bolt-holes of memory.
Harmony with Kes.
Badger reads me books.
Good old Brock.
The rest is skin,
gun at his back.
Surviving in houses
broken by marriage.
Warlords with clout
at the rim of his princedom
*
Listen Cuthbert.
Come in Bede.
Your time’s up
I need help.
Aidan
where are you?
This is Ranter calling
on VHF.
Halfden’s heel on his neck
grubbing for lugworms
Druridge to Dungeness
Tide pouring over
causeway he loved
Ranter revolving
riptide of his life
My fingers cannot
grip the limpet shell
Kelp on his ankles
Crabs gathering in silent gangs
Crown and cloakclasp
soaked in saltflow
Kilt in pools
sucked by elvers
Dear Christ
my eye is put out
Eels mating in his hair
word for bruised
word for banished
words for forgotten victory
word for psalter
words for slowness in her
none to be said
Vespers lost
brine pours over
broken pustussocks
soaking chestchin
Ranter not giving in
*
Ranter, Ranter
shew us
Leveller, Lollard
what do we do?
Say this:
Go to the fields
make hay while sun shines
when it rains go anyway
in the goldstook meadow
afraid of sickle and stranger
villagers of Reeve
beating with hammers
straw and wooden
effigies of Paine
until
their hands
ran with blood
*
Dear Christ
what kind of kingdom
People standing in the fields all day
in the rain
doing nothing
leaning on sticks
glaring, miserable
resentment filling
their chapped bodies
afraid of everyone
and themselves
flexing wolfmuscles
feathertips turning
snipe drumming
gin-trap sex
climbing above her
clamping in loveclasps
dog in his rage
vixen in heat
*
Ranter, Ranter
glory and light
wisdom and fount of wisdom
bringer of beck water
climber of Killhope
law unto himself
picker of rosehips
conversant with Brock
swooper with Kes
dispenser of fortunes
terrible plain speaking
distiller of bilberries
smiter of spar
loper, glider,
dashing for game,
loading his gun,
cleaning his blade,
trap setter, marriage-breaker,
reader, desperate for attention,
bruised and mighty,
strangler of cries,
particularly his own
driver and driven
moving across this dear green land
hunting her with a cloakclasp
curl in her hair
in the nest of her family
brooding
and all this:
trembling, touching,
feasting and famine
*
Ranter’s diary:
Particularly lovely
lee wind
ruffled her garments<
br />
Deptford to Woolwich
handsclasped
remembered her praying
air she was still in
staring
into the green courtyard
of the poor people’s hospice
in Woolwich Old Road
Boats for pleasure
Boats for war
bobbing on the tide
Isle of Dogs
he ran with fangs
barges for bridges
across dry docks
fipple bent
in his creased beak
singing:
make me a blackbird again
not a groaning man
no collar on him
no family ties
but ring of blood
sweat circles
on featherpeltskin
watching his own
winding-sheet
and the smooth water
its sad envelope
as he touched the hem
Wolf Tongue Page 10