|
Two Poems
Will Alexander
THE HELIOTROPIC MANDARIN
. . . it is easier to paint ghosts than dogs . . .
Dr. Lin Yutang on Han Fei and Chang Heng
The black fact, the Heliotropic Mandarin, expressed in spheres between
the 7 flames of gold and uranium and oil, between aesthetic speech, and
its sudden trunk of revolt. By taking a blade, and sculpting amorphic
Asian mountains, he creates in his reign smoke, Saturnian pulsations of
darkness, looking throughout the temperature of colour, for a whirling
niveous sun, for rubescent nasturtium waves, like a runi exotica inside
the horizon, like bleating charcoal harems, like glottally impure
emphatic on fire. This is the Mandarin, with his surreptitious stinging
crabs, with his haze of grafted wolverine enticements, breaking into
the expansion of a singular and rotted aphid, as a moth across the
grain of excessive fluidics, like a carved and expressive panther,
bickering, like each weightless figment as a source of momentus
solitary ire. Therefore, he underminds his position with dauntless
anti-description, as in the "Landscape at Ceret," with a ring of cows,
or a jasmine man with the green of 3 faces, falling back into the sea.
So by turning his face, the Mandarin excludes his duty, and turns to
the caliginous, where colour is implied, by the desperate incessance of
motion in nigredo. A life embodied by fabulous derelection, by poisoned
craniometer and amperage. The aboriginal blindness of the hand taking
itself into wild dimesionless honings, like projected grammatical
siblings, blending the soul by means of shaded calliope and idea. So
that the life of a hurricane or a zodiac takes into its momentary
ciphers the un-thought thesis of a pre-ingested burning, of a frayed
and monomial concern for advancement. He senses space, interior
rumination by spore, by invisible turquoise implantation. Therefore, he
outlines his body of founts, by telepathic claw, by instantaneous
frondage, by roots grown downward into random febricity, into friction
as mystery, with his shadow spun round as crimson density as neuron.
His oceanics turned dark there is a pre-existant rock calligraphy,
beyond the geologic crystals, beyond the geometric hanging door, as in
percussive and prone Ytterbium timings, in the throes of a shifting
urinal pasture. So he speaks to his confidants in riddles, in odd and
glacially handled specifics; so that the graphite deepens, so the the
nativities measure. His gestures eaten by lines of force, by ruthless
patterning magma, so that his wise electrical adherence, rise into a
force with a brutish state of innocence. The image being, an unstated
being from the shifting blood of Vega. A torso, with the power of a
sheep and antlers rising from the gulfs of swirling sodium
luminescence. Without critical and sobering contusion, where the
fundaments give way, and the phosphorous in his field turns into a
fleeting maniacal violet. All rudiment, turned to fanatic skeletal
tracings, to tragic up-thrust and stars. All this being imaged in the
core of his ceaseless mental geology. For instance, his mind becoming a
collective excavation, speaking in regards to the pulse in orbit
between Venus and Saturn. So as a renegade, he mines his pulse, he
inculcates asteroids. He speaks at assembly with the force of tumbling
proto-suns. Then, he alienates his monsters with the stealth of
scorching seismic omegas. His voice with the echo, with the viridian of
elusive tribes. Therefore, the void in the concentrated ion, in the
posture of shocks, in the graphite speed with its pre-ingested number.
Therefore, bewitched and expressive intrusions, in seething crows, in
hovering telepathy and omen. So with a surge in tremor, he wakes at
dawn with calendrical bewitchment, with a source of enriched umbilical
neurotics. He then imagines his hands at the darkened sun dog equator,
inside abyssmal rounds of groping, like a fulminate glint from cold
electrical branches, hovering in the waters of oblivious diamond. Then
the shapes, the raw freight with its citron, with its flask of seas,
with its hatchery of stags. Then the vertigo of motion, of watching
dragons and chariots at sunrise. Not for the Mandarin the forms of
Signorelli, or Pisanello, or Perugino, but the paronomastic ghosts in
the philosophy of Han Fei, in the writings of Chang Heng. For the
Mandarin, it is the dice of the ghosts, the unblemished dice of the
ghosts, transparent as opposed to geometry by sepulchre, with its
vertiginous utilitarian sizes by wrath. In contra-distinction to Han
Fei the Mandarin exists in a humanistic void, in strange dispersals of
horses. He disrupts the practical. Therefore, to draw the outward
figure in chalk, to channel its facts as savoured culmination, is never
the sole advance, never the hive of procedure. The Mandarin never sits
like DŸrer in classical containment, in measured "rhythmic
organization," opposing himself to the grasp of comets, or the silver
of evolving iridium lagoons. Instead, he turns toward the dark against
the finely wrought fact with its penetrant assumption, like "Nicodemus"
conveying a "jar of spices," as a transfixed code of 3 dimensional
implosion, never for the Mandarin this rule, this simplicity for
eternity. For him, the advance of the disfigured monarch, inside
somnambulant smoke, in some "Ultramarine," in some "Prussian Blue"
cloud. So the Mandarin, in each of his flaired fulminate destinations,
in each of the points of his insidious angelics, has pulled the face
from unsettled personae, where the voltage spills, where the grasses
meander at a trans-human depth, their bursting virescence like
super-luminal fate, like pervasive amazement.
SUBTRACTIVE VENERY
Calling me
with your sickly rhomboid status
calling for me
to return to your insominial wisteria palace
to your overnight guano dimension
to suck on your simulated jasmine
erected by your barrier of chastity by furnace
your cadaverous wrenching of fate
your lobotomized smouldering of dislodged confusion
your incapable tarantula piddling
plaguing me with purgatorial cratering analysis
with your diet of melted swan's food
starving me
always checking my semen
with frantic dyslexic syllables of dread
with your tortuous hounding
with your repetitive scratching of conscience
trying to hold me with scarring
trying to clamp my brain with geriatric forceps
with ligatures of wire
with stony mollusk rims and serrations
in this you have failed
you have invalidated your dysfunctional efforts
of innocence
of perverted virginity
with a mangy face before the eye of God
not even summations of crawling
not even rust cutters or combustion
as if to test your blue vaginal mirrors
inside a Protestant Crimea
listening to your fallacious absorption neurosis
you've forfeited your flames
you've cast into the moat
salacious bonfire bathing
you've given up the power of deepened torturing rums
of magnetic chromosomal nerves
for a weakly neutered clairaudience of failure
in my mind
those ghostly Bermuda funnels
always invading your trajectory
with shattered mercurial caresses
which makes your heart exfoliate
into multiple Appaloosas
into stony aerial confusion
churning
desperate
hyperactive
with momentary chartreuse injections in your system
so I've become oblique to you
you've made me want to annul
the nasal
the spiral spinning jennies in you
you've borne in on me
with dust grapes
& I've triumphed above a contradictory wall
the burning
the torment
the seizures
and so
bony with rickets and pre-figured decay
you've forgotten the sun
wandering across deserts of air
never once hot
with intercourse and reddish rhinestone habit
you've passed on the chance
to fly as a deeply bloodied heron
above a newly focused sodium sea
you've passed on the adventure
of fleeing through the gore flecked bounty of yellowed
maritime grasses
to wallow on a couch
magically multiplied into pluperfect brothels
into an ambiance of greenish radium and silver
calling out to the plentiful ghosts
of erotic turpentine and nothingness
chewing owls' flesh
witnessing the shredding of mimetic eglantine murals
those powders of kinetic jugular bliss
allowing us a proto-immersion
allowing us a winged ensconsment
in the very core of hellish underwater gravel
you've renounced
with your peculiar ethical subtraction
the blue corn of light
the hot tornado plummage
alive
with the verdurous intensity
of paradise and flaming
lingo 4
 Books in print by Will Alexander
|
