Costing the earth, a web of light and frost
Unthinkable to ever really wear!
His mother hopes the flight was effortless.)
Must sit with DJ over dusk’s pink gin.
Wrinkled his hand and white the beard he grew,
Must quote, tomorrow, Hugo to Mimí:
‘We’re both next door to Paradise, Madame,
I being old, you being beautiful’—
One term no longer, one not yet, quite true.
That second noon, Urania completes a
Round of calls with her folks. Vacation’s done—
Back to their suburb, to their Family Pizza
Nearer the heart of things, though miles from one.
Almost six, dark, delicate, the child
Lolls in Godfather’s lap, as she was told,
Her mind where? On a skateboard, her new school,
A TV screen halfway around the world…
Downstairs, she sets our painted skiff afloat
In the vibrations of a random note,
Then with a kiss is gone. Out comes the Board.
JM: So soon? I couldn’t feel less clever.
DJ: Drink up that coffee, we’ve a deadline—
Robert won’t be reachable forever.
SIRS, MR R SAYS WE ARE TO MEET
AT THE HEDGE. NOW THERE IS NO HEDGE, YOU KNOW,
BUT MR R MAKES ME SEE ONE! SIRS
I HEAR HIS WOODEN FLUTE HE’S WAIT
O MR EPHRAIM! WHAT A TREAT
MES CHERS! Old friend, we’ve missed you. AH THIS HEART
GLOWS WITH LOVE FOR YOU, AS FROM THE START.
RM WILL JOIN U PRESENTLY What’s new?
WELL, LUCA’S WON OVER AGATHA: ‘MADAME SAINTE,
SOME PRETTY DREAMS PLEASE, FOR MY POET FRIEND?’
That’s nice of Luca to still care for Chester.
I hadn’t thought he was the type. THE TYPE
OF LUCA DEAR DJ CARES IN ITALICS
FOR EVERYONE. HE’S TRYING TO REVIVE
THE ATHENIAN CLUB ABANDONED UPON LORD PLATO’S
MYSTERIOUS DEPARTURE, BUT NO ONE MUCH
WANTS TRAVESTIES, WORD GAMES…IT’S LIVELIER
WITH L AROUND & YET, TO QUOTE MB,
‘IS LIVELINESS WHAT WE NEED?’
MAY I? Here’s Robert—
NO. I TAKE THE LIBERTY: YOU SPOKE
OF MY YOUNG PROTEGE Mr Nabokov!
Too embarrassing—again you’ve caught us
With hands full. Would next month be time enough?
GONE MES CHERS IN A HANDSOME (HORSEDRAWN) HUFF.
NOW YOUR RM
MY NAME FOR AGATHA:
MAGGOTS’ FOLLE. WANT NEWS OF OUR OLD GRADS?
Tell, tell! DID JM NOTICE THOSE ROULADES
OF LIGHT & THUNDER OFF OUR NEW ENGLAND COAST
LAST WINTER? Yes, we all did. GK & MICHAEL
REVISING CHARTS ON AIRBORNE ENERGIES
George keeps his old persona? OH IT’S G’S
PURE INTELLIGENCE AT WORK ALL RIGHT.
THAT SAME TEAM’S GETTING (OUT IN ARIZONA)
COLOSSAL RESULTS FROM A NEW SOLAR CONVERTER.
STUNNED TECHNICIANS CAN’T BELIEVE THEIR LUCK:
IT WAS MEANT TO FAIL What, sabotage? WELL, FURY
IN ANY CASE FROM THE FOSSIL ENERGY FACTION.
‘LORD M, GIVE ’EM A BLAST?’ ‘RIGHT ON, GEORGAKI!’
2 GRINNING GRUBBY KIDS. MEANWHILE OUR WIT
(Wystan? WHO ELSE?) HAS GLITTERED INTO ACTION
FORBIDDINGLY FROM PHOTOGRAPHS OF MARS,
CAUSING ‘SENSATIONS’ To accomplish what?
MARS ONE OF GOD B’S OUTPOSTS. IF PROUD SCIENCE
WON’T BLAME ITSELF IT MUST BE MADE TO BLAME
ITS GADGETS. RAPHAEL STILL CHUCKLING: THEY
GREETED JM’S ARRIVAL YESTERDAY
WITH A CHEERY TREMOR SAFELY TO YR NORTH
Salonika—thousands homeless. Have they no shame?
NONE BUT NOW THE NEWS, MY LADS, YOU CAME FOR
About Maria
ONE FINDS A GENERATION GAP IN HEAVEN.
DICKENS CAN’T ALWAYS BRIDGE IT, DICKINSON CAN.
EDNA MILLAY, POOR SOUL, BORED, STUPEFIED
BY ‘MOODS’ & ‘FEELINGS’, HAS NO PERMANENT
TOEHOLD THREATENS DAILY TO BACKSLIDE
To Earth? That happens? IF A HIGH TONE IS
TO BE MAINTAINED. NOT ALWAYS POSSIBLE:
WHITMAN MINED HALF WITLESS, STAYS AT 6.
THE 19TH CENTURY ENGLISH, ALL BUT BYRON,
VEXED TO HAVE FOUND NO HARPS. SHELLEY: ‘I’D BE
HAPPIER AMONG FISHERFOLK AT SEA’
WOULD HE? BYRON MUCH QUOTED FOR HIS OWN
BRAND OF CHAT: ‘AT LAST TWO VERY GOOD
LEGS’…STRANGE: ‘PERSONALITY’ I SHOULD
HAVE THOUGHT THE CALLUS OF THE SOUL. NOT TRUE.
A CERTAIN STRIDENCY MAY BE OUTGROWN
SAY IN LISZT, BUT HIS ESSENTIAL HOKUM
& GALLANTRY & ALL THE REST WD SEEM
A CORE IMPERVIOUS TO THE PUMICE STONE
This self, then, recomposing stroke by stroke
To blank the stars out, so that love is blind
Even there— HOW MUCH HAS IT TO DO
ULTIMATELY WITH A THINKING MIND?
THESE MANNERS, THESE REFLEXES? WHA’S
OFTEN VAGUE, PREOCCUPIED, CAME THROUGH
LESS AS POSE THAN AS DIRECT EXPOSURE
(OVEREXPOSURE?) OF HIS THINKING MIND
Overexposure? WELL THAT ‘BOYISHNESS’
VIS A VIS YEATS THE SOUPCON OF A GLOAT
AT BEING TEXT TO WBY’S FOOTNOTE?
OR YEATS’S WEARY PROUD FORBEARING SMILE
AS OF AN UNREAD VISION ON THE SHELF?
MM ALONE WAS TOTALLY HERSELF,
MIND ONE WITH MATTER. YET SHE ‘HAD A STYLE’
& WAS IT REAL? THE INDIVIDUAL STYLE
OF A PARTICULAR PERSON? WHO CAN SAY?
IT WAS I THINK HER GENIUS THAT ALLOWED
SPACE TO SURROUND HER IN WHATEVER CROWD,
A CALM EXTERIOR UPHELD, DEFINED
NEVER PREDICTABLY, BY HER THINKING MIND
A mask? IF SO A WHOLLY LIFELIKE ONE
If not? A MIRACLE. IN YOUR OWN PHRASE
HEAVEN WILL BE A DULLER PLACE WITHOUT HER
And Bombay sharper with her. A BROWN BUNDLE
Five months old (told clearly not to talk
Till six months later) piped “Shut up!” in Hindi.
Nurse fled screaming, and a priest was called
To cleanse the nursery. MM: ‘EMETICS,
CHANTING, SMOKE, ROBERT I LEARN TO KEEP
MY LITTLE TRAP SHUT’ You communicate!
How? IN THAT NURSERY WHICH MUST BE SEEN
TO BE BELIEVED, A WREATH OF PLASTICENE
PINK BABIES HOLDS OUR BROWN ONE’S WRY REFLECTION:
‘TALK TO ME ROBERT, QUICK! THEY’RE ALL ASLEEP’
So you look in, a secret minister?
AH THE MOST GLORIOUS GLANCES FOLLOW HER!
THEN, NOT A WEEK AGO, A DUSKY BABE
STARTLED HIS GOGGLEBEADED DAM BY DRAWING
A PERFECT SQUARE IN THE DUST OF THE PARLOR FLOOR.
MAIDS BEATEN & AWED. ‘AND THIS IS JUST
THE (M) TIP OF THE ICEBERG, ROBERT DEAR.
NEXT MONTH I MEAN TO SHIFT INTO HIGH GEAR.’
Remember meeting Robert? The question never
Fails to prompt a smile—who could forget?
That was the year our Stoningt
on High School
Mistook itself for a summer theatre.
Old troupers, doddering up with crutch and creak
Out of the quicklime into the limelight,
Filled the undiscerning hall. One night
A mummy assoluta of technique
Precariously conjured, points in air,
Abysses yawning for the vivandière
Till rataplan! four gaily intertwined
Cadets provoked this murmur from behind:
“It’s everything one loathes about the Dance…”
We looked round laughing; and there Robert sat
With Isabel, KNOWING ALREADY THAT
HERE WAS ONE FRIENDSHIP NEVER LAUNCHED BY CHANCE
*
The Music to Come
HA HA MR ROBERT
OFF YOU GO, HORSE! OUF
Tired? A HARD DAY WITH THE 12 TONE GERMANS
THEN CALLED TO MME CALLAS FOR A CHAT:
‘YOU KNOW, WHAT’S YR NAME? MY BAD EYESIGHT ALONE
MADE FOR EFFECTIVE TOUCHES IN PERFORMANCE.
THAT SUDDEN REELING-BACKWARD HALF A SWOON
IN TOSCA (ACT II) CAUSING HEARTS TO STOP
CAME FROM WHEN I STUMBLED ON A PROP
IN DRESS REHEARSAL. LITTLE THINGS LIKE THAT.
NOW TELL ME, TOM? DICK? YOU’RE RETURNING SOON
AS A COMPOSER? INTERESTING YOU WILL WRITE
FOR THE STAGE? YOU DON’T SAY? WONDERFUL!
WITH A GOOD PART FOR ME?…AH I FORGET,
ONCE & FOR ALL IT’S HERE THAT ONE RETIRES’
MAKING NIGHT GLIMMER WITH SHORTSIGHTED TEARS
This relieves us. Since the fête at Nine
There’s been no mention of your music, Robert.
MUCH OF IT OVER YR HEADS I FEAR & MINE!
EVEN AS WE TALK I’M SEPARATING
THE TONES IN A DOUBLE GLISSANDO. A FULL YEAR
CD BE DEVOTED TO EACH ONE’S LEAST VIBRATIONS.
THEN, EXAMS: COMPOSE 500 VARIATIONS
ON THREE NOTES. GAD (SAY) RING IN MY MIND
& MUST BE LINKED FIRST TO THEIR FREQUENCIES
IN WESTERN MUSIC (SCHUMANN, BACH, JOSQUIN)
THEN TO VIBES OF COLOR & EMOTION
(G MINOR A BLUEGREEN SUBLIMITY)
Why only three notes? THREE FOR THOSE OF US
WHO SHARE THE WESTERN OH WELL, GENIUS,
IS AS WE KNOW A NEARLY UNBREAKABLE MOULD:
A/B/A OR MAJOR/MINOR/MAJOR
DJ: But Schoenberg— YES HE GRASPED THE MOULD-
BREAKING IDEA YET LEFT US WITH THE OLD.
INNOVATION ONLY STRENGTHENED IT
WHILE MANY A LISTENER CLAWED HIS CHAIR & PRAYED
‘LET O LET THE LID FALL ON THAT HAND,
STEINWAY COLLAPSE & BREAK THOSE WRETCHED KNEES,
PUT O PUT AN END TO THIS CAREER’
The prayer’s been answered? ‘NOW SIR, IF YOU PLEASE,
I’LL USE THE INSTRUMENT. FIRST LESSON, DEAR
MR X, THERE ARE THESE THINGS CALLED KEYS.’
And so you’ll save us from the tyrant Three,
Ménage à trois, synthesis, trilogy…?
QUEEN MAB: ‘MR ROBERT, MAKE US A MUSIC TO
CLEAN UP & THIN OUT THE WESTERN SCENE’
THESE WORDS NO SOONER UTTERED I BEGIN
TO HEAR SOMETHING THIN NONREPETITIVE
IS IT AN ECHO OF PURCELL? THE FLEET HIGH
FLUTE OF A HIMALAYAN SHEPHERD’S LAMENT?
NOW I BEGIN TO GIVE IT FORM, ITS FEET
CARRY IT UP: STRONG, SLOW / DOWN: FAST EXPLORING
A NEW & TORTUOUS LANDSCAPE, QUITE ALONE.
THEN SLIGHTEST COMPANY ON DIFFERENT FEET
ARRIVES, THE SHADOW LEAPING OVER ROCKS
That’s the new mould? Instead of A-B-A,
Atom and shadow atom? YOU MIGHT SAY
IT WILL BE A & 1/2 CLEANSED OF FALSE DRAMA
A BOREDOM FALLING ON BORED EARS, RESOLVING
INTO A TASTE FOR LESS. I MAY PERCEIVE IT
INSTRUMENTALLY IN 20 YEARS.
NOW AS TO THE ‘SELLING’ IT MUST BE
AN IRRESISTIBLE CHALLENGE TO PERFORM.
CASTING ASIDE JUNK TOOLS & ELECTRONICS
IT MUST FIND POEMS & PLAYERS, VIRTUOSI
AS WELL AS A CHILD WHISTLING UNACCOMPANIED
TO WHOM THE SHADOW IS AS WHISTLEABLE
AS THE LONE WALKER. So you’ll want to lean
Heavily on melody? DJ!
LEAN! HEAVILY! NO NO THE POINT’S TO FIND
A PURE PIED PIPER IN THE WESTERN MIND
WHO’LL CHARM THE RATS AWAY The children too?
The multitudes about to die? ‘O QUEEN,
AM I TO WRITE THE SUPREME LULLABY?’
‘NO, MUSICIAN, THE SWEET REVEILLE
FOR THOSE STILL LEFT TO WAKE.’
The cup moves sadly—
It is an awesome task to undertake.
A LONELY ONE I DON’T RUSH OFF WITH GLAD
CRIES LIKE OUR FRIENDS. I SHAN’T LIKE THEM BELONG
TO QM’S CRYSTAL SET THEN TOO, YOU SEE
(A deep breath) I’M TO BE CRIPPLED Dear God. Why?
WHY NOT? CONFINED & SLIGHTLY SET APART,
SLOW TO LOVE, FORCED TO GET ON WITH IT,
MAKE SENSE OF IT, MAKE MY REPORT TO GOD
Robert…From birth? YES JOINING THE CLUB (FOOT)
But hasn’t modern surgery by now—
PLEASE I’VE TO REJECT TOO MANY BONE
IMPLANTS B4 THE DOCTORS LET ME BE
At least a fine Byronic head? ‘THIS TIME
DEAR MR ROBERT, NO DISTRACTIONS. WHO
WANTS LOVE MUST EARN IT.’ SO MY SLIGHT MELANCHOLY
BUT I’LL GET OUT OF GYM! MISS JANE: ‘PLUS TWO
DOTING PARENTS, MR R, AND OH
THAT SHY FOND SISTER, NO MARRIAGE FOR HER, NO, NO,
THERE SHE’LL BE TAPPING AT YOUR STUDIO
(SUCH AN ATTRACTIVE SETUP, OUT IN A BARN):
BROTHER DEAR, YOUR LUNCH?’ FORGIVE ME, LADS
BUT TIME IS PRESSING, IF NOT HERE, BELOW
IN THE RED MATRIX Go, we understand.
YOU’LL SEE ME NEXT THRU A FAINT HAZE.
FIVE CEREMONIES ON AS MANY DAYS
BEGIN TOMORROW AFTER WHICH ALAS
DOWN TO EARTH I SPIRAL LIKE A LEAF
WHO’D GLADLY STAY…BUT NO: FOND AS I AM
OF UNI, ONE CANNOT SAY NEIGH TO LIFE!
SIRS HE WAS LAUGHING WHEN HE LEFT
‘TROT IN THERE UNI & TRY FOLLOWING
THAT ACT!’ SIRS, MR R IS MY SHEPHERD,
WHEN HE SPEAKS MY WORLD GOES GREEN,
HE SHOWS ME SKILLS SHALL I SAY A POEM?
One of yours? Dear creature, by all means!
I STAND EACH DAY BY THE SCHOOLROOM DOOR
FROM WHICH CAME MURMURINGS, BEFORE.
I STAND AND WAIT TO GREET OUR FRIENDS
AND SUMMER ENDS, AND SUMMER ENDS.
*
The Ceremonies: 1
High above Uni’s green surrounding fields
A space once nursery, then schoolroom, yields
To second childhood. Little chair and desk
Are gone; gone too, the blackboards with Dantesque
Or Yeatsian systems. Random colored blocks
Spell RAT or MAN. Above a shut toybox
Robert’s own full-length self-portrait’s hung:
Paintbrush hovering, smocked in white, a young
Sad clown. The room is airless. Unlit gauze
Draperies (a tasseled pink cord
draws)
Erect a limp ghost pyramid. Within,
Our friend lies as if sleeping, knees to chin.
Then the angelic Intern of his dream
Glides into semblance on one downward beam.
Mich.
AH BABE, I MICHAEL WHOSE DOMAIN IS LIGHT
BRING YOU THE FIRST OF FIVE GIFTS: SIGHT
In either hand he bears a sparkling orb
Of Empire, the wee numbskull must absorb.
NOW POET, HAND, DECOR! A MIRROR, RUN,
FACE IT TO YOUR PAINTED WALL. TURN ON THE SUN.
We do. The fresco springs to life. AHA!
CHILD, LANDSCAPE, SEA AND SKY,
ARE YOU READY? ANSWER!
RM.
AYE.
Mich.
YES! YOU SEE, TELL US!
RM.
LORD, THESE BLEAR EYES LOOK PAST TWO RED KNOBS
Mich.
YOUR SMALL UNBORN KNEES.
RM.
Taking it in. AH LORD, LORD, NOT THAT, PLEASE.
Mich.
CHILD, LOOK LONG ON IT, YOUR SMALL VITAL IMPEDIMENT.
RM.
POOR FOOT, POOR FOOT.
Mich.
CHILD, THAT IS YOUR UPWARD STEP.
BEFORE, YOU LIMPED. NOW HOBBLED YOU WILL LEAP!
NEXT?
RM.
LORD, RED LIQUID WALLS, A TRAILING CORD.
Mich.
CHILD, YOUR FIRST CHORD.
RM.
AND ALL THIS, LORD, AGAINST THE PAINTED SCENE
OF WHERE I AM NO LONGER, AND HAVE NOT YET BEEN?
Mich.
YES CHILD. THE SECOND GIFT WILL BE BROUGHT IN
UPON THE MORROW BY MY TWIN.
NOW BLESSED ONES, YOU THREE
MAY SPEAK OF MORTAL THINGS. OUR CHILD CAN SEE.
He goes.
The nursery is once more a room
(Only we can’t make out the portrait’s eyes)
And Robert again “himself”. Was this, we wonder,
His first experience of the new womb?
OR MY FIRST SENSE OF IT. THIS WHOLE LONG TIME,
MY OLD SOUL TRAINING HERE, UP TO NEW TRICKS,
A LITTLE UNKNOWN BOD WAS 266
DAYS IN RESIDENCE, MICHAEL IS SUBLIME:
ALL THIS BOTH REAL & IMAGINARY BUT
ON HIS FIRST WORD ‘BABE’ A BABE I WAS
FLOATING WARM & LANGUID THEN ON ‘SIGHT’
2 STABBING RED GLOWS SHOT INTO MY HEAD
The Changing Light at Sandover Page 53