Book Read Free

The Changing Light at Sandover

Page 41

by James Merrill


  MATTER: IS IT POSSIBLE, LORD GABRIEL,

  TO PUSH OUT THROUGH THAT WINDOW? OR IS THAT THE

  DEATH BEYOND DEATH, THE VAST SABLE EMPTY

  HALL OF THE GOD, YOUR MASTER?

  Gabr.

  DOCTOR, I WILL EXPLAIN.

  GK.

  JAMES, MARIA,

  WYSTAN & DAVID, WE MORTALS MUST PERSIST!

  Mich.

  CHILDREN, AND WE GODS AWAY!

  BRINGING GREATER POWERS ANOTHER DAY.

  They leave. The carpet’s ground, revived, now glows

  A dark rose—at whose center, black on white,

  What is that thornscript firman or mandala

  Teasingly sharp? On George’s brow still wet

  A mirror gleams drilled by a black eye-hole:

  Diagnostic emblem of the soul.

  Congratulations, George! AH NOW YOU PRAISE,

  POOR FELLOWS, WHO MUST SOON MAKE SENSE OF IT.

  & IF THAT SENSE COMES THRU AS DEVASTATING?

  A FORCE AFRAID OF OR AN ENEMY

  OF BOTH MY SCIENCE & YOUR POETRY

  JIMMY, IS I NOW SUSPECT DICTATING

  THE WORK IN HAND. From out past that blank window?

  I THINK NOW I HEARD GABRIEL BACK THERE.

  WHEN THEY ASSIGNED ME ‘MATTER’ (I WHOSE SUBJECT

  WOULD IN THE COURSE OF THINGS BE HUMAN LIFE)

  I FELT…WHAT? AN INEFFABLE ‘PERSUASION’

  WORKING AT THE BALANCE OF THE SCALE

  Upsetting? Tampering? LIKE YOU I LOVE

  FAIR PLAY THE WHITE STUFF I RESIST BLACKMAIL

  Back to your speech. See if we’ve understood:

  Even immobilized by powerful chains

  Of molecules, our very table strains

  Obscurely toward oblivion—or would,

  Save that the switch of Matter stays at Good.

  Now, does your question also touch that spin

  Of antiparticles our Lord of Light

  Darts promptly forward to annihilate

  —But which keep coming, don’t they? and are kin

  Both to the Monitor and the insane

  Presence beyond our furthest greenhouse pane?

  JIMMY I THINK YOU KNOW AS MUCH AS I

  —Whatever that means.

  ENFANTS WHAT A GUY

  OUR GEORGE! A FIGHTER! WYSTAN & MAMAN

  THRILLED FOR ALAS WE 3 HAVE HAD OUR SAY.

  NOW U ALONE MUST SPEAK ANOTHER DAY

  JM: Tomorrow? WHY NOT? 4 JULY

  SHOW SOME INDEPENDENCE But I’ll fall

  Flat on my face, I—

  IN THE POEM, FOOL!

  Oh. Oh yes. The ambiguities…

  Resolve them? Wear them on a ring, like keys

  The heroine in James how seldom dares

  Use, on the last page, to open doors?

  MORE: FOR YR JUDGMENT LENDS WEIGHT TO THE SCALE

  WORDS LIGHT AS ‘IRON’ OR ‘FEATHERS’ MERELY FILL.

  ONE’S NOT MY BOY BRUSHED BY SUCH WINGS TO BE

  STILL OF TWO MINDS Deep down, you know I’m not

  —Or am I? Change the subject! DJ: What

  Is Gabriel’s relation to the Monitor?

  A TRIPPING RHYME FOR JM, MAZE TO MINOTAUR?

  (One frame’s-length vision: writhing manikins

  Gnawed by a black Archon for their sins)

  ONE FEELS G IS IN RANK THE OTHER 3’S

  VAST SUPERIOR And honest? YES

  Not acting? NO. AN AGENT NONETHELESS

  (ELA, GEORGAKI, TO THE WINDOW SEAT)

  (NAI, MARIA MOU) What’s all this? SWEET

  NOTHINGS I SHD THINK NOW GET YR PHONE

  REPAIRED MY DEARS & HAVE AN EVENING’S FUN

  *

  UNICE, SIRS WAITING WITH YOU

  DJ: Uni, I don’t know. We’re frightened.

  THEY LEAVE A GOOD & GREEN AIR

  & SO ARE KINDLY Well, let’s hope you’re right.

  THEY COME THE LIGHT! (The scurry for the gate.)

  The Middle Lessons: 4

  Mich.

  FOURTH WE HAVE COME IN GLAD ARRAY.

  TO CELEBRATE YOUR NATIONAL DAY

  I AND MY THREE BROTHERS MINE

  PRESENT YOU WITH OUR DAUGHTERS NINE!

  —Spoken from darkness. Fourfold brightenings

  Descend upon the Muses in a pose

  Held until Michael finishes. Each does

  Her own thing after that—her countless things.

  SPEAK, PRETTIES, THESE ARE POETS AND SCIENTISTS EAGER TO KNOW THE MYSTERIES IN THEIR MINDS.

  A radium glance outflashing, the clear bell

  Tolls of an icy voice: ONE I KNOW WELL!

  GK.

  PANAGHIA MOU, MY PHOENIX!

  Mich.

  DAUGHTER URANIA, COLD & UNIVERSAL CREATURE, SO…?

  Uran.

  YES, I PUT THOUGHTS SO POWERFUL INSIDE

  THIS POOR GREEK’S HEAD, HE DIED.

  TELL ME, FATHER GABRIEL,

  DID I DO WELL OR ILL?

  Gabr.

  YOU DID WELL, DAUGHTER. IS HE NOT HERE?

  Mich.

  NOW, IN RANK, INTRODUCE YOURSELVES, AND MIND YOUR MANNERS!

  Each in turn steps lightly forward, her

  Image left to the imaginer.

  MY DAILY WORK IS A CHAIN I WEAVE OF EVENTS

  ENSLAVING MAN BY THE DECEPTIVE SENSE

  OF HISTORY

  I THALIA MAKE MY SISTER NORN

  CLIO’S CHAIN INTO DRAMA, A WEB WORN

  UPON THE BROW OF

  ME, MNEMOSYNE

  OR RECOLLECTION, WHO TAKE HISTORY

  INTO MAN’S DREAMS, ENCHANTING, FRIGHTENING

  HIS LIFELONG SLEEP. I WORK CLOSE BY

  OUR MOTHER

  IN WHOSE TANGLED GARDEN I

  TERPSICHORE DANCE

  AND I EVTERPE SING!

  OUR YOUNGER SISTERS? EROTA?

  IN MY TURN

  I GO THROUGH SUCH ROUTINES AS BURN

  THE POOR FORKED ANIMALS AWAY.

  FROM THAT SPENT ASH URANIA RISES: COLD

  REASON, THOUGHTS OF A LATE WINTER DAY

  WHICH I CALYPSO WITH EURYDIKE

  HAND IN HAND PLUCK OUT OF MEMORY,

  WEEDING MOTHER’S GARDEN OF THE OLD,

  THE ROTTED BY DISEASE, THE OVERBOLD,

  THE YOUNG & CHARMING TOO, BUT THESE

  WE SET ASIDE TO OFFER AS A BRIEF

  BOUQUET, I AND MY SISTER: LAUGHING GRIEF

  Clio.

  AND SO WE NINE,

  I ELDEST, ROAM THE DIMLY VAULTED BRINE-

  ENCRUSTED CHAMBERS MAN CALLS BRAIN.

  WE CLEAN AND WATER, MAKE THE POEM’S BED

  WITH DIRTY SHEETS, AS BID.

  GOD, SAY OUR FATHERS, WANTED SERVING MAIDS…

  WE CATER FURTHER TO OUR MOTHER’S MOODS.

  Mich.

  YES, PRETTILY SAID. BUT SWEET & BITTER CLIO, THESE MORTALS ARE OF A SPECIAL KIND:

  THE POETS WANT FACT, THE SCIENTIST (THOUGH HE KNOW IT NOT) POETICS.

  THEREFORE, DAUGHTERS, NOW EXPLAIN YOUR BAG OF TRICKS.

  From nimble hands the woven garland drops,

  Is kicked aside by Clio. No more props

  Beyond what pours from that collective bag—

  Cries, convulsions, music, movement, paint,

  Aspects of matron, maiden, bacchant, hag,

  As needed, to drive home the fleeting point.

  Clio.

  LORDS, WHAT IS HISTORY?

  NOT MUCH.
>
  YESTERDAY’S BLANK PAGE HAPHAZARDLY

  COLORED IN. PUTTING THE FINISHING TOUCH

  ON MAN’S LONG FAILURE,

  MY CRAYONS OF CREDULITY & DOUBT

  CROSS OUT, CROSS OUT

  THE PAINFUL TRUTH. MY SISTER THALIA?

  Thal.

  LORDS & STRANGERS, I MAKE MARZIPAN

  OF CLIO’S LEAVINGS. THUS: TSU WUNG

  POISONER OF THE SUNG EMPRESS FAN.

  HE IS NO LONGER A NEARSIGHTED COOK

  UNABLE TO TELL APART MUSHROOMS. MADE TO LOOK

  TALL, HANDSOME, YOUNG,

  YEARS YOUNGER, FIERYEYED

  (EFFECTS SUPPLIED

  BY EROTA’S BOX OF COSTUMES) MUST

  KILL THE AGED BUT NO LESS

  ROUGED INTO FLAMING PRETTINESS

  DOWAGER DEAD OF UNREQUITED LUST!

  Mich.

  SO THE HISTORY WATERED DOWN IS HEATED UP BY THIS SECOND ONE.

  YET, MINX MEMORY, SURELY YOU ALLOW A GLANCE AT THINGS AS THEY WERE?

  Mnem.

  HAH, MICHAEL, YOU JEST!

  I AM SORCERY

  & CHANGE YOUR OWN FACE AT ITS SUNNY BEST:

  DIDN’T IT RAIN FOR OUR OUTING? WHY, MYRTLE BROWN,

  WHERE’S YOUR MIND?

  BRIGHT AS BRIGHT COULD BE!

  AND SO ON UP, OR DOWN:

  ALEXANDER’S MARCH? HE WENT

  NORTH THAT 7TH DAY OF JUNE?

  OR JUST SAT PLAYING CHECKERS IN HIS TENT?

  YES LORDS, I SCATTER

  SALT IN THE BLIND

  WOUNDS OF ART: DID ALBERTINE

  LOVE ME? SHE DID NOT.

  Evt.

  CHEER UP, SISTERS, WHAT A GLOOMY LOT!

  COME, THE COMPOSER NEEDS A TUNE!

  IF HE IS MODERN, SHRIEK & CLATTER,

  HE BRIGHTENS WHEN A TRAIN GOES BY.

  IF OLD, IF SULKY BEETHOVEN OR HIGH

  SPIRITED MOZART, HE WILL FIND ME HUMMING

  DEEP IN THE LAB: COME IN,

  PACK UP THESE SWEETMEATS, BOYS, FOR YOUR HOMECOMING!

  THE WHILE MY TWIN

  WHIRLS

  Terps.

  WITH REASON: I

  AM FORMALIZED DISTRACTION, STEP

  DAUGHTER OF CHAOS. I STEEP

  THE NERVE ENDS IN A VAT OF BUOYANT DYE

  TILL LEADEN HEARTS ARE SOARING PLUME,

  ARE MOTES OF FLUFF

  IN MIRROR CEILINGS OF MAN’S LOUD RED GLOOM.

  THEN PUFF! I BLOW HIM OFF

  Uran.

  TO ME.

  MY SPHERE IS ICY RATIONALITY.

  TO WORK, TO WORK! ENOUGH!

  COME DOCTOR, SHAKE YOUR DRUG. DNA TO

  THE OTH POWER EQUALS…

  GK.

  HER VOICE! MY THEOREM!

  Uran.

  YES.

  FOR SUCH AS YOU, GREEK, I AM MERCILESS.

  OTHERS I DRIVE MAD, NOT OUT OF SPITE

  BUT THAT TOO OFTEN WITH DEFICIENT GEAR

  THEY STUMBLE UP TO SOME GREAT HEIGHT

  & I APPEAR:

  OUT! OUT, DIM MIND! THESE REALMS ARE NOT FOR YOU!

  EROTA HELPS ME.

  Ero.

  THE THINGS I SEE!

  CELL CALLS TO CELL & FROM ON HIGH

  GOD B HAS ORDERED: PROPAGATE OR DIE!

  YET MAN WANTS LOVE—NOT BLITHELY LOOSENED CLOTHES

  BUT AH, LE ROMAN DE LA ROSE

  WHOSE POET ARM IN ARM WITH FANCY NEXT

  STROLLS OFF TO CLIO AND A MOVING TEXT

  OR TO URANIA & THE LOONY BIN.

  CALYPSO? EURYDIKE?

  Cal.

  TWIN

  STARS ARE WE, OF THALIA’S THEATRES,

  OFTEN MISTAKEN FOR EACH OTHER.

  PSYCHE-CHAOS OUR IMMORTAL MOTHER

  USES MY LAUGHTER

  Eury.

  & MY TEARS.

  Tableau. They strike a nine-fold attitude,

  Provocatively, innocently crude.

  Mich.

  NOW HOME! GO STRAIGHT TO BED!

  NO MEETINGS WITH DARK DESTINY, HOWLING SINGING & DANCING HALF THE NIGHT, LYING TO YOUR OLD FATHERS IN THE MORNING, CLAIMING YOU CAN’T REMEMBER! OFF!

  AND WE SHALL, HAVING CAUGHT A GRACIOUS RAY,

  MEET THEIR MOTHER ON ANOTHER DAY.

  Exeunt.

  Ouf! That rollercoaster ride

  At least is over. We sit petrified.

  CINDERELLA’S SISTERS? volunteers

  Wystan & WHAT WILL MAW BE LIKE MY DEARS!

  Psyche as Chaos…MIGHTN’T ONE HAVE GUESSED

  THE BOX OF HORRORS WAS HER OWN HOPE CHEST?

  Now George: I HAD A SHOCK LET ME TELL YOU,

  ZERO’D IN ON BY THOSE EMBER EYES

  Maria: & MAMAN’S HELPER, MEMORY?

  FEEDING ME WHOLE TRUMPED-UP HISTORIES

  OF PREVIOUS LIVES WHILE SLAVING IN AG’S GARDEN

  Hag’s garden—they’re the same? Is “Agatha”—

  The breastless martyr simpering in her plot

  Of widow-weed and blue beget-me-not—

  Nothing more or less than a code name

  For tomorrow’s holy terror? Is the cast

  Much smaller than we’d thought? Does our quick-change

  Michael double as— DJ: Ephraim? Strange,

  Both have golden eyes and look like Greek

  Statues. WHAT TO SAY? MUCH GIVE & TAKE.

  I GEORGE WHO FIRST WAS RAPH’S AM GABRIEL’S:

  NOT NOW A ‘MONTEZUMA ELEMENT’

  AFTER RADIATION But he knelt

  To the Water Angel. Montezuma’d been

  Noah, Moses…IT’S BEYOND ME OR

  WAS I ALL OF THEIRS?

  OUR JIGSAW GEORGIE!

  Be serious, Maman. The Muses, too,

  Have changed since classical times. RELENTLESSLY

  RESTYLING FUNCTIONS & NAMES LIKE A COIFFURE!

  DARLINGS MY BOY OF THEIR DADS’ INCESTUOUS

  CROWD ALL RAMPANT ‘CREATIVITY’ PLUS

  THAT SAVING TOUCH OF ACID CARICATURE.

  VERY KURT WEILL AT ONE POINT THALIA

  ‘DID’ THE GRACES, SPLITTING INTO 3!

  O IT’S A NASTY BRILLIANT FAMILY

  We see the nastiness, all right. To think

  Where it’s all leading—well, we simply shrink.

  In spite of broad hints liberally strewn

  Throughout, as to tomorrow afternoon,

  Crescendo and confusion leave unheard

  —By us at least—the clarifying word.

  It’s like those 18th century finales

  (Which might have lasted well into our age

  Had not Rossini laughed them off the stage):

  A thousand whirling thoughts confuse the head.

  Blindly we cling to blindness, don’t reread

  The transcripts any longer—far too grim.

  ENFANTS, TOMORROW NOON A NICE COOL SWIM?

  *

  Noon. The rocks at Várkiza. Two figures

  Perch on Raphael’s marble forearm, hawks

  Hooded by reflection. DJ talks;

  Out of the blue propounds that it takes all

  One’s skill and patience to describe, oh, say

  A chair without alluding to its use.

  No words like “seat” or “arm-rest”—just deduce

  As best one can the abstract entity.

  The mind on hunkers, squinting not to see,

  Gives up. Who needs this hypothetical

  Instrument of torture anyway?
/>
  JM: The marvel is that, once you give

  The simple clue and say “a place to sit”,

  Images flock, homely or exquisite—

  Shaker or Sheraton, Jacob or Eames,

  The Peacock Throne, chairs not created yet!

  Plumped cushions, where sunlight or lamplight streams

  Onto the open book— DJ: Forget

  Those chairs. Look! This whole world’s a place to live!

  —Plunging with a rusty rebel yell

  Into the blue depths of Emmanuel.

  Sensible Maria. Much restored

  By afternoon, we sit down to the Board.

  SIRS? IS THIS A GREAT OCCASION?

  Why, Uni? Do you feel a difference?

  I AM ACCOMPANIED BY 13 OTHERS

  ALL MY HIERARCHY WE SECURE THIS SPACE!

  DO NOT FEAR I AM UNICE YOUR FRIEND

  The Middle Lessons: 5

  Mich.

  BROTHERS, CHILDREN,

  THESE OUR FOUR MEETINGS MET WITH SOME DECAY.

  NOW IN THE FIFTH ONE LET US STAY

  THE FALL, AND SAVE THE DAY!

  Facing the open door expectantly.

  WE BROTHERS, SHADES & MORTALS AWAIT YOU, MAJESTY. COME ADDRESS US.

  AS TWIN SISTER TO OUR GOD BIOLOGY, YOUR RADIANT MIND HUMBLES AND DOES HONOR.

  At a light footstep all profoundly bow.

  Enter—in a smart white summer dress,

  Ca. 1900, discreetly bustled,

  Trimmed if at all with a fluttering black bow;

  Black ribbon round her throat; a cameo;

  Gloved but hatless, almost hurrying

  —At last! the chatelaine of Sandover—

  A woman instantly adorable.

  Wystan, peeking, does a double take:

  Somewhere on Earth he fancies he has seen

  A face so witty, loving, and serene

  —But where? Some starry likeness drawn by Blake

  Perhaps for ‘Comus’? or the one from Dante

  Of Heavenly Wisdom? This, then, is the third

  And fairest face of Nature (whom he’ll come

  To call, behind Her back of course, Queen Mum).

  Glance lively with amusement, speaks. Each word,

  Though sociable and mild, sounds used to being heard:

  MICHAEL, YOU RASCAL GABRIEL! RAPHAEL & DEAR TWIN EMMANUEL, ALL HERE? AND ON SUCH CEREMONY?

  GIVE IT OVER. WE ARE A CLASSROOM, A FORUM. HERE WE MEET TO STUDY THE MIND OF MAN.

  The schoolroom, having dressed for the occasion

  In something too grown-up, too sheer—the sense,

  Through walls, of a concentric audience,

  Rank upon blazing petaled rank arisen—

  Quickly corrects its blunder, reassumes

  Childhood’s unruly gleams and chalk-dust glooms.

 

‹ Prev