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Everyday Mojo Songs of Earth

Page 4

by Yusef Komunyakaa


  CURATOR OF KOSINSKI’S MASK

  Maybe he thought gods

  Would gaze back through these eyeholes

  Of leather soft as Leda,

  Smoother than vellum.

  He said, “Life, here’s Death

  With his orphic grin.”

  In the glass case is Mirth,

  Over here Metamorphosis.

  This is Quintus Roselus.

  He called it “Beauty

  Turned inside out

  By what is seen.”

  Here’s my favorite, The Plastic

  Bag. Look how one mask fits

  Inside another, how they kiss

  Away each other’s fear.

  POSTSCRIPT TO A SUMMER NIGHT

  As if he’d stood too long facing

  A pharaoh in the Temple of Karnak

  Or Hermes of Siphnos, one night

  J. R. Midas copied his penis

  On the company’s Xerox machine,

  Lying across a bed of hot light.

  He was thirty-three, still half

  Invincible, & scribbled on each: I am

  On fire with love, & all the more fire

  Because I am rejected … He x-ed out

  Galatea, & wrote in names of the two

  New district managers: Melissa, Amy

  Lou. He hung his coat & tie on a hook,

  Then strolled down to the docks

  & walked under an orange moon

  Till his clothes turned to rags.

  SEPTEMBER

  Today, somewhere, a man

  In his early seventies is lost

  In a cluster of hills at dusk,

  Kneeling beside a huckleberry bush.

  It’s been six—no, seven—days

  Since he stood at his kitchen window

  Gazing out toward this summit

  As Armstrong’s “Gully Low Blues”

  Played on his Philco, hoping

  The hot brass would undercut

  The couple’s techno & punk rock

  In the basement. Two days ago,

  He ate the last trail mix & beef

  Jerky. Now, with a blues note in his head,

  He nuzzles the berried branches

  To his mouth, like a young deer.

  CURANDERISMO

  Dear, I roll this duck egg

  Over your breasts to steal

  The poison, old troubles,

  & lamentation. The angry cells

  Will sprout in this sacrifice

  That now takes on your burdens

  & pleas. The mystery of gods

  Lives on our bodies. I want you

  To take this icon, my dear,

  Wrap it in a silk garment,

  & bury it thirty-three paces

  Among the trees. Disbelief

  Can’t change what’s happened here

  Tonight, with these bad omens

  Zonked, & I can’t think ugly

  Since I deal in cosmic stuff.

  THE POLECAT

  Thanks for your warning

  Along the chilly hedgerow.

  I have seen dogs roll in the dust

  & run in circles, nudge the hemlock,

  Trying to shake off the essence

  Of you. Your scent rises up

  Through the living-room floorboards,

  The odor of fear from saw vines

  & cockleburs. I fold both hands

  Into a mask. Those days, in love,

  Protesting for the spotted owl

  Among my last good witnesses,

  I remember a sheriff aiming pepper gas.

  Praised or damned, it depends where

  We stand, little terrorist

  Of the stink bomb.

  CROW LINGO

  Can you be up to any good

  Grouped into a shadow against Venus,

  Congregated on power lines around

  The edges of cornfields?

  Luck. Curse. A wedding.

  Death. I have seen you peck

  Pomegranates & then cawcawcaw

  Till hornets rise from purple flesh

  & juice. I know you’re plotting

  An overthrow of the government

  Of sparrows & jays, as the high council

  Of golden orioles shiver among maple

  & cottonwood. Your language

  Of passwords has no songs,

  No redemption in wet feathers

  Slicked back, a crook’s iridescent hair.

  THE DEVIL’S WORKSHOP

  The master craftsman sits like Rodin’s

  Thinker, surrounded by his cosmic tools,

  Experimenting with the greenhouse effect

  & acid rain. A great uncertainty

  Plagues him. Some hard questions

  Wound the air. Yesterday afternoon

  Children marched with a rainbow

  Of placards. Perhaps he can create

  A few suicides with his new computer

  Virus. Something has gone wrong

  In the shop, because the old gods

  Of serpentine earthquakes & floods

  Are having more fun than he is

  In his laboratory of night sweats

  & ethnic weapons. Lovers smile

  As Cupid loads a blowgun with thorns.

  MUD

  She works in the corner of the porch

  Where a trumpet vine crawls up to falling

  Light. There’s always some solitary

  Bridge to cross. Right hand

  & left hand. The dirt dauber

  Shapes a divided cell

  Out of everything she knows,

  Back & forth between the ditch.

  I could take a stick & play

  God. Soldier. Sadist. Nosing

  Mud into place, she hums the world’s

  Smallest motor. Later, each larva

  Quivers like bait on a hook … spermatozoa

  Clustered in a song of clay. So small

  Only the insignificance can begin

  To fill the afternoon.

  EUPHONY

  Hands make love to thigh, breast, clavicle,

  Willed to each other, to the keyboard—

  Searching the whole forest of compromises

  Till the soft engine kicks in, running

  On honey. Dissonance worked

  Into harmony, evenhanded

  As Art Tatum’s plea to the keys.

  Like a woman & man who have lived

  A long time together, they know how

  To keep the song alive. Wordless

  Epics into the cold night, keepers

  Of the fire—the right hand lifts

  Like the ghost of a sparrow

  & the left uses every motionless muscle.

  Notes divide, balancing each other,

  Love & hate tattooed on the fingers.

  FROM

  TABOO

  LINGO

  Herodotus, woven into his story,

  tells how the Phoenicians lent

  war fleets to Greece & Egypt,

  how a ghost-driven flotilla

  eased like salmon up birth water

  & sailed the Red Sea,

  hoping to circumnavigate Africa

  around the Cape of Good Hope

  & along Gibraltar. A blue

  door opened. Diodorus

  says of the Ethiopians,

  “born under the Sun’s path,”

  that “its warmth may have ripened them

  earlier than other men.” As if

  a ventriloquist inherited

  the banter of a sailor’s parrot,

  words weave with Herodotus’s—

  angel food … sellers didn’t touch

  the gold … devil’s food. The stories

  become flesh as these ghosts

  argue about what’s lost

  in translation, believing two images

  should spawn & ignite a star

  in the eyes of a sphinx

  or soothsayer. Sometimes
they do.

  There’s a reason why the dead

  may talk through a medium

  about how Aryans drove cattle

  along the seven rivers & left

  dark-skinned Dravidians

  with tongues cut out, sugarcane

  fields ablaze, & the holy air

  smelling of ghee & soma.

  These ghosts know the power

  of suggestion is more than body

  language: white list, black

  sheep, white tie, black market.

  Fear climbs the tribal brainstem

  or wills itself up an apple tree,

  hiding from the dream animal

  inside. The serpent speaks

  like a Lacan signifier,

  posing as a born-again agrarian

  who loves computer terminals

  better than cotton blossoms

  planted, then we wail to reap

  whirlwind & blessing. Each prefix

  clings like a hookworm

  inside us. If not the split-tongued

  rook, the sparrow is condemned

  to sing the angel down.

  IMHOTEP

  His forehead was stamped, Administrator

  of the Great Mansion. Unloved in the

  Crescent City, I sat in a bathtub

  clutching a straight razor.

  Desire had sealed my mouth

  with her name. I asked,

  What do full moons & secret herbs

  have to do with a man’s heartache?

  But this sage from the island of Philae

  just smiled. Here before me stood the Son

  of Ptah. Dung beetles & amethyst …

  cures for a mooncalf,

  flaccidity, bad kidneys, gout,

  & gallstones. What we knew

  about the blood’s map

  went back to the court

  of King Zoser. Something

  beneath this April dream

  scored by voices passing

  outside my front door, a rap song

  thundering from a boogie box.

  I wasn’t dead. This Homeric healer

  from the Serapeum of Memphis

  lingered in the room.

  I folded the bright blade

  back into its mother-of-pearl

  handle, & laughed at the noise

  in the street, at a yellow moth

  beating wings into dust

  against a windowpane.

  BACCHANAL

  Rubens paints desire

  in his wife’s eyes

  gazing up at the black man

  who has an arm around

  her waist. Tambourines

  shake the dusky air alive,

  & there’s a hint of tulips,

  a boy touching his penis

  at the edge of jubilation.

  Has a war been won, have dogs

  been driven from the gates,

  or the old fattened calf

  slaughtered? Cartwheels

  tie one Pan-hoofed season

  to the next, with Bacchus

  & Zulus. We believe

  there’s pure quartz

  hidden in this room

  fretting the light,

  forcing hands to reach

  for each other, beyond

  ambrosia. His wife

  seduced by joy & unction,

  wants to know how long

  he’s danced with a brush

  to will the night’s hunger

  into an orgasm of colors.

  NUDE STUDY

  Someone lightly brushed the penis

  alive. Belief is almost

  flesh. Wings beat,

  dust trying to breathe, as if the figure

  might rise from the oils

  & flee the dead

  artist’s studio. For years

  this piece of work was there

  like a golden struggle

  shadowing Thomas McKeller, a black

  elevator operator at the Boston

  Copley Plaza Hotel, a friend

  of John Singer Sargent—hidden

  among sketches & drawings, a model

  for Apollo & a bas-relief

  of Arion. So much taken

  for granted & denied, only

  grace & mutability

  can complete this face belonging

  to Greek bodies castrated

  with a veil of dust.

  AT THE RED SEA

  So, this is where

  cries come to us,

  where molting seagulls

  peck the air. I never

  thought Crown Heights

  would be so quiet, just

  a cantor & a blues singer

  weaving all the old begats

  into Cato, Yankel, Andy,

  Michael, James … all the others

  transplanted to earthen dams

  & tenements. Sabbath-breakers

  & charlatans sow seeds to kill

  fruit. What we forgot

  or never knew is enough

  to teach the ant to profane

  sugar. To see injustice,

  don’t care where your feet

  are planted, you must be

  able to nail your left hand

  to a tree in full bloom.

  Now, look at Sheba

  in Solomon’s hanging garden,

  carved by grace from head

  to toe, she was “wounded

  by love of wisdom” hidden

  in a cloud of galbanum

  & myrrh. Didn’t the King

  trust his heart? Let’s hope

  the crystal floor

  over that silent stream

  had nothing to do with

  the color of her skin,

  but to prove her legs

  weren’t like a donkey’s.

  We sense what we’ve done

  even if we can’t say why

  we’re dismayed or overjoyed

  by how the stones fit

  in our hands. The egg

  & sperm we would love

  to deny, they still move

  the blood till we can hear,

  “I am black but comely,

  ye daughters of Jerusalem.”

  Some of us grow ashamed

  peering up from the rat’s hole

  in the belly of the Ark

  till we’re no longer the same

  women & men. Like Sheba

  & Solomon, who asked

  hard questions, we know

  if a man is only paid

  a stud fee,

  he’ll butt his head

  till stars rain down

  & kill some stranger.

  TROUBLING THE WATER

  As if the night

  on Fire Island

  never happened—the dune

  buggy that cut

  like a scythe of moonlight

  across the sand—I see

  Frank O’Hara

  with Mapplethorpe’s

  book of photographs.

  He whistles “Lover

  Man” beneath his breath,

  nudging that fearful

  40th year into the background,

  behind those white waves

  of sand. A quick

  lunch at Moriarty’s

  with someone called LeRoi,

  one of sixty best friends

  in the city. He’s hurting

  to weigh Melville’s concept

  of evil against Henry

  James. That woman begging

  a nickel has multiplied

  one hundredfold since

  he last walked past the House

  of Seagram. They speak

  of Miles Davis

  clubbed twelve times

  outside Birdland by a cop,

  & Frank flips through pages

  of Mapplethorpe as if searching

  for something to illustrate

  the cop’s real fear.

  A dog for the exotic—


  is this what he meant?

  The word Nubian

  takes me to monuments

  in Upper Egypt, not

  the “kiss of birds

  at the end of the penis”

  singing in the heart

  of America. Julie Harris

  merges with images of Bob Love

  till East of Eden is

  a compendium of light

  & dark. Is this O’Hara’s

  Negritude? The phallic temple

  throbs like someone

  breathing on calla lilies

  to open them: Leda’s

  room of startled mouths.

  LINGUA FRANCA

  Those double shotgun

  houses in New Orleans

  can get a man killed.

  Helena suns in our shared

  courtyard in her crimson

  swimsuit. Her breasts

  point toward my back

  door, just mesh & light

  between us. I want to

  talk about friendship,

  about how an August day’s

  brightness can murder.

  She lies against the ground,

  moving her hips to the music,

  reading Joaquim Machado

  de Assis again. Whispered

  Portuguese floats to me

  through magnolia scent.

  We listen to Afro-Cuban

  because we both can move

  to the drum. Her husband

  is draped in computer cables

  somewhere. I want to say

  that de Assis’s skin color

  didn’t have anything to do

  with indelible printing ink

  on his hands, that “Mosca

  Azul” & “Circulo Viciosi”

  had been woven into one

  unbroken song of colors

  in my head. The blue

  fly’s “wings of gold

  & Carmine” were also

  the glowworm’s lament

  about the sky, the sun’s

  wish to be a glowworm.

  I want to tell her how

  she’s wounded me with

  red cloth, but before

  I can walk across the room

  a ghost or guardian angel

  slams the door shut.

  DESECRATION

  The swastika tattooed

  on his right bicep & a nude

  on his left quiver-dance

  as he tries to blowtorch

  St. Maurice of Agaunum

  off Saxony’s coat of

  arms. When the flame

  spits a molten bead

  of blue on his steel-toed

  boots, obscenities

  leap into the bruised

 

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