A guest reported seeing a jalak Bali, or Bali myna, one morning on our mulberry tree. These are so rare that we wondered whether it was a real sighting. The myna (Leucopsar rothschildi, also called Bali starling) is a critically endangered species. Most of them are located in the northwest corner of the island, in a national park. They are unfortunately heavily poached and sold on the black market as pets.

Then I discovered that a breed and release facility is close, around 1.5 km away from our house. That’s “as the myna bird flies”— it’s on the other side of a deep jungle ravine. For us to visit would take around 4 hours of driving.

But now I really want to visit.

The snow-white, blue-masked myna became the voice for this poem. I’d very much like to see one myself, so I’m often checking the mulberry these days.

//

The Myna // Sang Jalak

The Myna

So here we are, in this
Third World. Palm trees,
Rice paddies, machetes.

Doves couple on concrete walls.
Seasalt breeze, like surface
Fire . . . Sapphire, emerald.

Sanctuary comes, commands
Silence. Our mothers cut
Tongues to police. Masked—

Myna bird speaks, on the
Mulberry tree. Elsewhere,
Ants against an elephant.

//

Sang Jalak

Jadi disinilah kita, di
Dunia Ketiga ini. Pohon palem,
Sawah, parang.

Merpati bercinta di dinding beton.
Angin laut asin, seperti permukaan
Api . . . Safir, zamrud.

Suaka datang, menuntut
Keheningan. Ibu-ibu kita memotong
Lidah ke polisi. Bertopeng—

Jalak Bali berbicara, di pohon
Murbei. Di tempat lain,
Semut melawan gajah.

//

Socrates: (cont.) Well do i know, that when that man heard Lysias' speech, he didn’t hear it only once. But often and repeatedly, Phaedrus urged him to speak. And Lysias eagerly obliged.

// 228α-228β

eagerly - prothumos.

photo of the beach in shifting layers of color, deep brown speckled sand at the bottom with a few old leaves and pieces of coral, strewn with coral gravel, a layer of bronze-beige sand swept by the water, warm greenish to bluish haze of water reflecting light across a disappearing horizon, almost lavender possible rain in the far distance, thick patchy grey clouds over waning yellowish light.

indissoluble ochre //

coy loon, calico

coy loon, calico
cat snatched cake from the canang
cinder coils cunning

//

Assalamualaikum + selamat purnama 🌕

Socrates: (cont.) and yet, ( i have done ) neither of these.

// 228α

military parade (no country for children)

a block of human souls, murder
of mirrors: organism heaves
a moving multitude of cells,
populous lung, as if to breathe.

populous gun, snap-locks to form:
fifty by fifty by fifty, we
as one, on riven necks, heads turn.
the mass of bodies march past Xi.

in uniform, blind discipline:
black boots, white arms, clean unison
defines the face; grey, seamless film,
a weapon’s youthful complexion.

meanwhile, across Pacific waves,
the people’s whore, instead of school,
deploys machines to make selves, slaves;
the suicidal human rule.

chip factories to feed the stocks:
by battery classroom, killing ground
to grind the greening down, by glass
addiction, into tyrant’s hound.

the glaze that, dying, skins the eyes,
steals vision from the animal;
filters from birth its grave sunrise
and petrifies the living soul.

the glaze that, seeing, sells and tells;
in masks, they empty out the homes.
nobody ever goes inside;
nobody ever is alone.

meanwhile, across Atlantic storms,
in cradle of brave humankind,
the eye its fatal flaw confirms:
the fracture of the human mind.

dust-craven, shame of patriarchs
forsook a sacred covenant;
belched blood on gift of holy land;
made blasphemy of government.

what child is this? his ribs exposed;
the second coming, came, disposed;
the final coming, coming’s close;
bodies of babes, unmade by drones.

around the blue planet repeats
this multiplicative device;
our genocide is not abroad;
the ovens crowd these hollow spaces.

proving, mobilization awed
gold-burnished by Byzantium;
the heart speaks broken memory;
this is no country for children.

so genius passed: neither in form,
nor in the scripted paedophage;
bereaved, God’s mercy, nature-borne;
a mother’s keening song, through rage.

//

🌔

Socrates: O Phaedrus— if i fail to know Phaedrus, i have forgotten myself.

// 228α

endives and mallows

this morning, handsome as a child, touches 
with warming fingers the amethyst mallow.

delivers, gladly, each from darkening time:
the businessman, lucid as professor;

the tyrant, same as refugee, receives
his quickening caress, the goldenlight of youth.

but not each child. nor any child— the sun
has blinded all with his apparition.

a forest of light is teething in the seed,
dog star, a diamond cleverly effaced.

her baby will be different from the rest:
impeccable smile, a garden’s wondering, walking train—

daily untangling from the priest’s embrace;
to carry off, intact, her very name.

//

close up photo of an orchid glazed by rain water, with large arching leaves and two blooming flowers, one of which looks at the viewer like a little fairy person. the flower is bright white with maroon and magenta-purple markings with orange eyes.

oyi //

cocks and doves

is the sun enough for me?
uppity child— little Henri,
a cockadee, chases dovelettes
from the weeds. palest grey

sweetmallow breasts, ruffled
romancing on the pagar. desire
trembles in the precarity of daylight—
wooers, laughing, are tumbled upside-down.

Rainbow tidbits for Henri,
though neither of them is a hen. verily,
unto the sun is born a luminous,
bewilderingly beloved.

//

🌗

splinterwha

the resource re-
considering

skipping stones
whistling

in crevasses
stellar, hollow (

reckon starving
metric Io

reaches out ( g -
lossy limb

bittermallow
idiot(es) wind

whips ( w h i n i n g
past mumbling

nettles offset
private alphabets

boolean ( b r e a s t
nipple, teething

shooter —

wounding ) strings,
splintervolta

tablet dissolves
like ambien

sound-guarded Kali
graphic stems

roots’ f r a c t a l
externality

inscribed iamb ( so
so many

times ) my ear
sheltered, Delphi-like

in serif lobe
omega ( brooding,

loaded ) blood suss-
staining ends

threaded, mute
( litters
        leaf

ground ) grammar
thick bundles,

shorn bodies from
brushes, hair-

lines
        t um b l e w ee d
                                to thrift

the thistle, this
still tick-ling

or if sewn spider-
      silk knew, s o w i n g
    
           (    m    i    l    k    s    o    f    t
the habit of

( public
beauty )

a mustard seed

//

Phaedrus: what could you mean, O best Socrates? when Lysias, who is the cleverest (deinos) of contemporary writers, composed it over a long time, and at his leisure; while i’m just—any old body—(idiotes)—

how could i remember this, in a way worthy of that ?

so i lack, abundantly; and yet, i’d want to— more than much gold becoming mine.

// 227δ-228α

a photo of bubbly, frothy seawater, translucent greenish turquoise rippling over brown and black and white pebbled beach.

wishy-washy //

while waiting

i seemed to hear a new leaf budding from
outside, across the garden. i, pristine
sat on our bed— the future strange, deranged—
an alien inventing self-erasures.

is it normal, in my crone, to feel this way?
i missed a contentwarning— fingering machines,
scissored by shades of glass. the news,
the look of starving innocents; the bud,

not yetgreen, also not yet visible.
hallucination of the woozyqueen
or turquoise bees, copper goldenbuzzing
around the vervain; a shipwreck from afar

in language of my nature, or astray
unfounded tear, some private pearl, ruptured—

//

🌘

breathtakes

Soc.: (cont.) nonetheless, i set my heart’s desire (thumos) on hearing. so even if you, walking, made your walkabout to Megara, and like Herodicus came to the wall and departed again, i still would not leave your side. // 227δ

qoop (O the genius)

a slick tongue slides around his marble curve.
force never felt so powerless before,
swept off your glacial nerve, flooding coastal
cities; by pull, arousal virginal

to witness one sun-surrendering bud
of violet, untouched America. he hides
in plainest word who dresses in flowers,
lying in a meadow— the modest egg thief.

mineralocean turns the ten tropics
ragged, wed to the staggering moon— but if
no yolk, she’s alabaster. jade at noon,
obsidian midnight, gravity’s appetite

dilates, lapis un-stone— a vowelbirths
the polished shadow of ingenious nature.

//

🌒

Socrates: O the genius. if only he would write that for the poor man rather than the rich, and the older rather than the younger, and for whatever else is attached to me and the many of us; then the words would really be popular and publicly useful. // 227ξ

photo at the beach on a hazy day with pale blue sky and blue water, the black sand medium-grey mixed with taupe, and fiery bright orange and yellow jepun leaves strewn on the beach.

poly-seasonal //