Sweeping down Sandover’s long driveway—gone
The next. A void within a void. Since then?
Robert whistles, Uni stomps, both feigning
Jollity as they approach the hedge
UNI CAN NIBBLE IT TRIM WHILE I GIBBER & SQUEAK
But at the heart of each is a pure ache
—Maria, Wystan, George—which time might cure
If there were time in Heaven, or these dead
Weren’t so addicted to the loving cup.
Maria, Wystan, George—they’ve gone, they’ve gone;
Left without a trace UNLESS THIS (M)
WHITE HOLE WE CARRY HEDGEWARD STANDS FOR THEM
The schoolroom is still visitable, though.
Early in October, forty-eight hours
Before JM leaves Athens, au revoirs
Are broken off by an old friend. 00:
IT HAS REACHD LORD GABRIEL’S GLORIOUS ATTENTION THAT
YOU HAVE UNANSWERD QUESTIONS: ‘LET US NOT DECEIVE OUR SCRIBE.’
TOMORROW’S SUNDOWN VISIT WILL BE GRACED. MASTERS, FAREWELL.
DJ: What questions? JM (guardedly):
I’ve jotted a few notes down. Here, let’s see…
“My Lords, as to the Alpha men themselves
Accessorized with what new lobes, wings, valves,
And deathless like those characters in Shaw
Whose gifts amuse more often than they awe,
Spare us a full account. Not that the nerves
Can’t take it, but the word banks lack reserves
To handle such a massive run on them.
Did Babylon imagine Bethlehem?
Could Uni have imagined H. G. Wells?
No more can we these ‘men’ of Gabriel’s.
So—lest they issue from the teller’s cage
As cheap Utopian scrip (blurred smile of sage
Framed by scrollwork) promising untold
Redemption, ages hence, in fairy gold
Laid up when the crash threatened, in our vault—
No details, please. Call it the bank’s fault
For disallowing values not conferred
On our old stock by our old human word.”
DJ: Then what’s the question? JM sighs:
What indeed? Or does it all boil down
To this: Resistance—Nature’s gift to man—
What form will it assume in Paradise?
*
SIRS WE WAIT MR ROBERT & I
THE SCHOOLROOM STIFLING DULL WITH DUST
AH NOW THE LIGHT THE LIVE AIR!
—Hiding as Nature and the Brothers enter.
Nat.
MUSICIAN, ALONE IN OUR FINISHING SCHOOL?
RM.
MADAM, LORDS, WE MISS OUR FELLOW STUDENTS,
HAVE YOU NEWS?
Nat.
MUSICIAN, DO I NOT!
OUR WITTY POET SURFACING OFF ALASKA AS A VEIN OF PURE RADIUM HAS HAVOCKED A NOSY RADIO SHIP. 58 IN LIFEBOATS!
OUR SCIENTIST HAS JOINED MY GABRIEL AND (IN A CHARMING EXPERIMENT TESTING THE DENSITIES OF YOUR CHEMICALLY LADEN AIR WITH ELECTRIC CHARGES)
LIT UP THE RUSSIAN SKY!
Last week, what Tass described as a “huge star”
Or “jellyfish” of fine downpulsing beams
Hovered an hour above Petrozavodsk,
Then pensively crossed the border into Finland.
JM.
That jellyfish was George?
Nat.
INDEED YOUNG POET.
AND MY DAZZLING BRIGHT DARKEYED BABE LOOKS KEENLY ROUND THIS HIS 19TH DAY, MAKING SENSE OF IT.
THUS DEAR ONES OUR OLD HEAVEN HANGING ON MANY BALANCES HAS THREE NEW TRUSTY PEGS FOR GOD’S INTELLIGENCE
WORKING TOWARD THAT PARADISE YOU THREE HUMANS CANNOT DREAM ON.
HOW WILL IT BE?
IT WILL HOLD A CREATURE MUCH LIKE DARLING MAN, YET PHYSICALLY MORE ADAPTABLE.
HIS IMMORTALITY WILL CONSIST OF PROLONGATION, IN THE BEGINNING PHASE, UNTIL HIS IDEAL IS REACHED IN NUMBER.
THEN TIME WILL STOP
AND LONG FRUITFUL SPACES BE GIVEN HIM TO LEARN THROUGH SONG AND POETRY
OF HIS OLD HELPLESS FEELINGS & WEARY PAST.
THE RESISTANCE? NONE. HE WILL, YES, SWIM & GLIDE,
A SIMPLER, LESS WILFUL BEING. DULLER TOO?
IF SO, IS THAT SHARP EDGE NOT WELL LOST
WHICH HAS SO VARIOUSLY CUT AND COST?
WE WILL WALK AMONG HIS KIND MADE NEW
(THE MASQUE CONCLUDED, WE & OURS
STEPPING FROM STAGE TO MIX WITH MORTAL POWERS)
SAYING, AS OUR WITTY POET CRIED
BACK TO YOUR SUNSET FACES: BONNE CHANCE!
AND AS MY OWN SWEET BRIGHTNESS ADDED: ON WITH THE DANCE!
FAREWELL.
DJ.
Farewell?
JM.
Farewell.
Nat.
WE WILL ALSO SAY: YOU SEE,
IN ATHENS ONCE WAS AN ACADEMY…
Exeunt.
Or does She linger?
I
Am leaving, and with no time for goodbye
Except to Robert. To the hedge have come
Our regulars. They whom the vacuum
Awaits peer toward us, tiny features bright
As if with upper casements’ borrowed light.
O HOW TOUCHING Robert squints to read
The placard they have lettered: GOD B SPEED
*
Finale
Our sunset faces. Back to David’s birthday,
16 September 1977—
As usual we’ve begun down in the hall.
HAPPY RETURNS? ENFANTS A CHANGE OF (M):
NOT A DEPARTURE BUT A WEDDING PARTY
& HIGH TIME, EH? OUR OLDEST 55!
AS WE THREE PLIGHT OURSELVES TO EARTH WORK LIFE
SIGNAL THAT MOMENT UP THERE IN THE BLUE
WITH SOMETHING OLD AND SOMETHING NEW,
PULCINELLA OF STRAVINSKY? And Maria,
A drop of courage given us by you—?
CHAMPERS WE HOPE & STUDIED INDIFFERENCE
TO THOSE SILENT WATCHFUL PRESENCES
FOR THIS WILL BE THE CHILDREN’S HOUR
NO TEARS
BESIDE THE GOLDEN WEEPING BUSH MY DEARS
Oh Wystan, we’ve still all these questions, wait!
What did you embody of the Five?
DJ: He’s gone. JM: Maman? ENFANTS
How shall we speak of these things in Bombay?
I’LL LEAD U ON BUT NOW It’s all right. Go.
Meet on the terrace—6:15? JUST SO
WHA’S PRECEDESSOR: YAN LI BORN 1855
(Mirabell, up again to his old numbers)
DIED AT 50. FROM A SOUTHERN PROVINCE, HE GREW UP IN
A HERBALIST’S HOUSEHOLD, PUBLISHD VERSES, WENT TO PEKIN
BECAME A COURT PHYSICIAN, HEARD FIREFLY WOMAN SING
Wouldn’t you know—drawn even then to sopranos!
WHA: ‘BEYOND DESCRIPTION GHASTLY’ & WAS SOON A
FAVORITE OF THE PAIND & CRIPPLED EMPRESS. FATHERD SO
RUMOR SAID, SOME 30 CHILDREN & MET A SUDDEN END
EITHER THRU POLITICAL OR MARITAL JEALOUSY
ALTHO THIS QUATRAIN TRANSLATED & ANTHOLOGIZED BY
A METHODIST MISSIONARY (1921) SUGGESTS
WHO THEY WERE WHO STABBD HIM NEARLY TO DEATH HE HAD A FEW
LAST, CURIOUSLY SERENE MOMENTS FOR ITS DICTATION:
‘THE GARDEN BRIGHT WITH BIRDS & FLOWERS IN THE NOON HOURS
DIED 1906
Reborn as Wystan with new densities?
INDEED & WHAT BUT HOMERIC ONES?
“Immortal Bard, you who created me.”
USED ALSO BY A 17TH CENTURY ITALIAN
POET/SCULPTOR WHA LINKD ALWAYS TO STONE & WORDS
6:00. Stone and words. The balustrade
Pressing back the harder I press down.
Three-story drop. A cat stares up in dread.
Faces streaking through me of the dead,
Traffic whizzing—how the old motor races!
How simply, too, the urge is gratified:
Just shut the eyes…
But here inside my head
No question of total blackout. Lights all along
Following closely, filling the rear-view mirror,
Forcing upon whichever of us drove
Illumination’s blindfold—these lights now gather
Speed to pass. Our own weak dashboard aura,
Our own poor beams that see no further than needed
Will have to guide us through the homeward ride.
Still not alone. Despite the Doppler drop in pitch,
That disappearing car will make things round the bend
Shine eerily, a tree, an underpass of bone;
Or else a dip between hills miles from now
Will glow in recollection—
As DJ
Takes his place, beyond words, at my side.
Music. Time. The orange sailcloth awning
Rippled by waves of windless, deepening light.
We kneel on orange cushions under it.
Props include Board and cup; a looking-glass
Iridescent seashells border, Robin’s gift
From Malagasy; and this waterworn
Marble wedge that stops a door downstairs.
A blue-and-white rice bowl, brimming with water,
Lobs an ellipse of live brilliance—but so
Athrob there as to court vertigo—
Onto the concrete wall our shadows climb.
Slowly that halo sinks. The mirror’s oblong
Gaze outflashes, thirsty for the wine-
Green slopes where sobbing couples intertwine.
While, to one side, our Cassia thick with bloom
Sweeps the stones in a profound salaam.
THE SCHOOLROOM ALL FESTOONED GEORGIE & WYSTAN
CHAFE IN THEIR CUTAWAYS MAMAN IN WHITE
SARI WITH ORANGEBLOSSOMS OUR 3 HEARTS
ABRIM WITH LOVE FOR YOU ROBERT & UNI
OUTSIDE, NOSES TO PANE, BUT CANNOT HEAR.
UNI WEEPS (TOSS HIM MY BOUQUET FOR LUNCH?)
AND NOW THE LIGHTS THE INSTRUMENTS THEY COME
DJ.
I’m no better than Uni—
MM.
AH MY LORDS
As Nature and the Brothers quietly enter.
MY QUEEN, HELP US IN A DIFFICULT MOMENT
GK.
DEAR JIMMY DAVE GO WELL IN MIND & BODY!
WHA.
YES OLD CONFRERE & FRIEND & MAKE OUR V WORK
GLORIOUS U CAN U CAN YOU’LL SEE!
Air freshened, leaves in expectation stirring—
Only the too bright music hurts our eyes.
MM.
MES ENFANTS YES & EVEN OUR SILLY EPHRAIM
PARTICIPATED IN SOMETHING NOT UNLIKE
TODAY WHEN ON A SILVER SATIN PILLOW
THE ENFANT OF FRANCE WAS CARRIED BAWLING INTO
THE HALL OF MIRRORS. SO THERE’S PRECEDENCE
BUT NOTHING TO EQUAL COME NOW: PLACES, PLEASE!
JM.
We’re ready.
Pergolesi’s minuet
Turned by Stravinsky to this “wedding trio”
—Soprano, tenor, bass, movement of utmost
Suavity—is playing as we get
Our last instructions.
MM.
JM WILL TAKE THE MARBLE
STYLUS & GIVING US THE BENEFIT
OF A WELLAIMED WORD, SEND OUR IMAGINED SELVES
FALLING IN SHARDS THRU THE ETERNAL WATERS
(DJ CUPBEARER) & INTO THE GOLDEN BOUGH
OF MYTH ON INTO LIFE D’ACCORD? HUGS KISSES
WE’LL WRITE WHEN WE FIND WORK
DJ.
We do it now?
MM.
ONE MOMENT MORE SUNSET INTO THE LIGHT
LORDS, ACCEPT THESE YOUR CHILDREN MAJESTY,
BLESS OUR ENTERPRISES BLESS US!
Nat.
CHILD,
POETS, SCIENTIST, HAND, ALL HEAVEN HOLDS ITS BREATH.
NOW MICHAEL, RING DOWN THE CURTAIN! GABRIEL,
THE STARS! RAPHAEL, ARMS OUT FOR THIS WISE & WITTY ONE!
EMMANUEL FOR ALL THREE! GO WELL!
AND YES, MY PROSERPINE, MY ARIEL,
MY DEAREST DEAR, SLIP SAFELY INTO YOU!
I WILL STAND HELPFUL TO THESE YOUR MORTAL FRIENDS.
ADIEU
Our eyes meet. DJ nods. We’ve risen. Shutters
Click at dreamlike speed. Sky. Awning. Bowl.
The stylus lifted. Giving up its whole
Lifetime of images, the mirror utters
A little treble shriek and rides the flood
Or tinkling mini-waterfall through wet
Blossoms to lie—and look, the sun has set—
In splinters apt, from now on, to draw blood,
Each with its scimitar or bird-beak shape
Able, days hence, aglitter in the boughs
Or face-down, black on soil beneath, to rouse
From its deep swoon the undestroyed heartscape
—Then silence. Then champagne.
And should elsewhere
Broad wings revolve a horselike form into
One Creature upward-shining brief as dew,
Swifter than bubbles in wine, through evening air
Up, far up, O whirling point of Light—:
HERS HEAR ME I AND MINE SURVIVE SIGNAL
ME DO YOU WELL I ALONE IN MY NIGHT
HOLD IT BACK HEAR ME BROTHERS I AND MINE
CODA: THE HIGHER KEYS
CONTENTS
July 1978
About Maria
The Music to Come
Ceremony 1
Ceremony 2
Ceremony 3
Ceremony 4
Ceremony 5
Doings in Bombay
Mimí
The Guest List
Mr E
The Ballroom at Sandover
O Ariel who from a golden
Lidded compact beamed DJ’s
And JM’s profiles into heaven blazing
Above their table where the cups grew cold,
Then snapped it shut: once more a lightly
Made-up presence all in black
To leave us, mind on her last-minute packing—
Now to what destination does one write?
Down to Earth a ray slants true as birdsong
Through boughs in sparkling bloom too high to pluck.
This onionskin the shower puckered
Will soon be dry enough for words.
July 1978
Noon. Athens. Ten months later. JM’s led
In shock from jet-lag to the “music room”
Just off the hall—space named for its upright
Tonedeaf piano, not much used. DJ
Presses a switch. Outleaping from the gloom,
Four cream plaster columns catch the light;
A path through olives; there, beyond the grove,
A little beached skiff, an Arcadian cove.
Fresco—but who painted it? He did?
Three weeks, sandpaper, gesso, turpentine
And look! beneath the mildest of blue skies
This ideal world lacks only one or two
Dimensions for a future morning’s blue
Instreaming alpha wave to realize.
Yet from that house (a stone’s throw distant) years
Flew by in the tall shadow of, no peep.
The manor—is it empty? All asleep?
Robert surely walks the rank parterres,
Works at the piano, leaps the hedge
On horseback. Still, we hesitate to call.
Could we face it if we found the hall
Alive with voices? or my final page
(Every day brought nearer) anything
But final? Ah, these are by now the risks
One takes, remembering whose house it is,
Their high connections and past kindnesses.
Before we know it our half-hearted ring
Is answered SIRS? as up dear Uni frisks,
Followed by Robert. He’s alone. We’ve come
None too soon. He leaves next week for life.
Details last summer unavailable
Are rapidly sketched in. The Minnesota
Dairy farm. The sister five years old
Obediently practising her scales—
BABY WILL NEED DIVINO MOZARTINO
FWOM VEWY START Then a rich widower
For grandfather, our friend the sole male heir,
CUSHY, NO? Perfection—pure Jane Austen.
SHREWD GUESS DJ, PLOTTING JUST SUCH ARRANGEMENTS
ON EARTH FOR LAB SOULS IS HER V WORK HERE.
ONE SHADED VILLA IN A BOMBAY STREET
HAS LATELY BROUGHT OUR PACKED HOUSE TO ITS FEET
We’ll hear the rest another day. JM
Must sleep first, wake, read mail. (Urania
Loves her Nonáki, wants to visit him
While they’re in Greece. Mimí describes from Rome
The dress Vasíli bought her—but a dress
The Changing Light at Sandover Page 52