Ceremony

    Phaedrus: (cont.) but tell me by Zeus, O Socrates, are you persuaded that this myth-speech (mythologema) is true?

    // 229ξ

    ἀλλ᾽ εἰπὲ πρὸς Διός, ὦ Σώκρατες, σὺ τοῦτο τὸ μυθολόγημα πείθῃ ἀληθὲς εἶναι;

    //

    the lost marble & spice trade

    the lost marble

    news is, bad flooding in Sumatra; so i
    put down my pen, examine my hands
    and feel myself a chimpanzee that lost
    its marble by these ten irresoluble things

    compulsion as a typhoon turns its form
    an eye that cannot hear; in filthy flux
    a child clings to the minaret of a mosque
    i have no word to turn it from its path

    is every child the same across the globe
    a digit hugging-to against the storm
    inherent heart against the deafening blow
    an act of curling tight to one held poem

    so poet-magus turns her glass from one
    true child to ten imaginary orphans just—
    as here, as typhoon where, and whether i
    was drowning in the sum of what they did

    there was a marble somewhere in the mud
    ten fingers prying ceaselessly for air
    don’t let me be the word to cause a flood
    don’t turn me like an eye without an ear

    //

    diptych
    of survival
    InsyaAllah

    //

    spice trade

    you know we taste the weather of a word
    or housewife by her sambal, like bitter salt
    this kitchen hell and getting warmer, mad
    desires to let out; adventuring to eat

    a journey to her inward, fine-tuning cook
    is converse travel whereby stirring builds
    a tragic tongue to name her worldly khas
    enchanting handfuls for like memory cast

    seduction; spice trade, her nightly shedding veil
    far-fishing season monger Sheherazade
    queen turning by tantalized infinities
    survivor storming mercy from the heat

    //

    Phaedrus: i’ve never really thought about it; (noein)

    // 229ξ

    οὐ πάνυ νενόηκα:

    //

    sambal tomat

    9 cloves garlic
    11 purple shallots
    23 birds-eye chillies
    3 tomatoes
    1 tsp salt
    1 Tbsp lontar palm sugar
    coconut oil for frying

    cut the garlic, shallots, chillies, and tomatoes into small chunks; heat a generous glug of oil in a wok or frying pan over medium-high flame; stir-fry garlic, shallots, and chillies until sweated and fragrant, around 60 sec; add tomatoes, stir-fry another 15-30 sec so they lose their rawness; remove from heat, add salt and sugar, cover loosely (for bugs and geckos) and allow to cool; blitz with a stick blender, blender, or mortar and pestle until smooth but still textured; accompanies anything; refrigerate leftovers.

    can make a big approx triple batch with one lovin’ handful garlic, two judicious handfuls shallots, three or four reckless handfuls of chillies, 9 tomatoes, etc.

    notes:

    bawang merah were called purple shallots in the USA but maybe something else in other places; size here is variable around 1-inch.

    cabe rawit are called birds-eye chillies elsewhere; the small but plump yellow/orange/red ones have a fruity heat and are better for this than green chillies. don’t skimp on chillies because heat balances sweet; neutralize heat with extra nasi to build tolerance; adjust proportions over time to develop family khas.

    don’t skimp on garlic; needs garlic.

    locals use ubiquitous plum tomatoes but i prefer small- to medium-sized globe tomatoes, which render best umami with the brief cook time.

    gula merah or red sugar from the lontar palm is bought in solid form and grated before use; could sub jaggery or earthy brown sugar; rich and buttery like caramel.

    //

    Socrates: no, but some two or three stades down, where we cross over toward the one in Agra; and somewhere around there in that spot is an altar of Boreas

    // 229ξ

    οὔκ, ἀλλὰ κάτωθεν ὅσον δύ᾽ ἢ τρία στάδια, ᾗ πρὸς τὸ ἐν Ἄγρας διαβαίνομεν: καὶ πού τίς ἐστι βωμὸς αὐτόθι Βορέου

    //

    Agra (the word means both “the hunt” and “the prey”) probably names the place of a temple to Artemis Agrotera (the Huntress) on the Illisus river.

    //

    photo of a grove of palm trees with sunlight hitting the leaves in an illuminated diagonal expression, with a high and distant bird accidentally in the frame

    sharps & feathers //

    sticky

    i’m sticky after practice but i
    can’t shower yet because thunder
    drawbacks to living in paradise
    and having an outdoor shower

    just a reminder in case you forgot
    my inbox is open, no less to a friend
    this is your day, you wish, i follow
    each morning impressed to find her hollow

    especially to say happy birthday

    //

    Phaedrus: (cont.) anyway the waters appear graceful and clear and transparent and made (epitedeios) for maidens to play (paizein) beside it

    // 229β

    χαρίεντα γοῦν καὶ καθαρὰ καὶ διαφανῆ τὰ ὑδάτια φαίνεται καὶ ἐπιτήδεια κόραις παίζειν παρ᾽ αὐτά

    //

    greener lunar & glimmer

    at dusk the unrequited grey finally weeps
    and as i light my evening stick i see
    a dragonfly, cool silver of the lasting day
    geometer over the dimpling waterway

    i count four nights until purnama again
    her waxing time a misty studied book
    like meaning in mossy witness a surprise
    somnambulant for solar exercised

    not jealousy her promise to conceal
    deep cedar heavens the greenest flesh of me
    weed pregnancy crescenting fernery
    the bitter ocean growing wider, closer, fuller

    my dream is not my dream; a greener lune
    is shadow to be read through algal water
    diagonals hunt her evolutionary square
    boys hover over tears to catch a glimmer

    //

    🌔

    //

    the book itself
    invoking maiden game
    as female stupor is, i swear
    moon’s blood misnamed

    blasphemy

    her temple ceiling
    drinking from the sky
    and evergreening walkers hear
    the name: grow taller

    //

    Phaedrus: isn’t it from this place?

    // 229β

    ἆρ᾽ οὖν ἐνθένδε;

    //

    notes from Kuningan

    morning hari raya / upacara / island turning // take the blessing / by notation / if i may // Pak and Bu S— / morning offering / shrine at home // rains a little / as we are greeting / laugh it away // i place the canangs / with lit dupa / ini di bawa, ini di atas nggih // with shredded pandan / shoo the cats away / the kue is not yours // then time for dressing / always late again / ceremonial demand // kebaya sunny yellow / olive peacock batik, gift from Ibuk / mauve selandang // polyester lace is tight / not my usual / glossy korean lipstain (bare fig) // to Penestanan / in the car now / windows down barricade // traffic pecalang / all day this way / Bali holiday // people fill the street / everyone is smiling / they recognize our face // he knows everyone / stops for everyone / a face for everyone // salam for everyone / friend for everyone / how many promises to mampir // banjar clear / on the way again / ceremony in the air // double-park the car / the cock-fight corner / across from pura dalem // at our old place / pandemi family / second home again // pass your body / around the family / salim for elders / salim from little ones // receive the bodies / moms and sisters hold you / feel you and pat your curves // meet Blih’s girlfriend / she seems good for him / marriage when // Ibuk Penestanan / enduring smiling / to see my face // she brings us coffee / kripik and kue / water from warung // and i’m too rare here / somewhat guilty / the intensity // the affection, her skin is so fair / but not too fair, she’s looking healthy / they note some extra weight // under comment / they discuss me / i endure // Bapak L— / talking death again / Mase scolding him // six large koi / in a clean but crowded pond / tadpoles nibbling at their scales // Mbok A— is here / older sister / the secrets she endures // heroic / (…) / by another woman // the delicate child / slender hand held / so as not to disappear // he takes my phone / for an interval / makes us watch a video // sea monsters suddenly / el gran maja versus the bloop / this detour for a while // softest fingers / feathering the touch screen / when he was small he didn’t talk // he couldn’t look at us / he wouldn’t speak to us / he ran away // now he’s outbound / needs to show us / sea monsters a serious event // an old mango tree / outside the home gate / branching over the street // when they ripen / he climbs to take them / no apparent fear // all day people passing / in the street below / teenagers outside the minimart // boys in udengs / girls in kebaya / all wearing sarungs // and then it’s coming / time to prepare / baskets and the flame // at the front steps / there’s a mat there / we kneel on it // kebaya itchy / sarung binding / squeeze onto my knees // off my sun hat / off my sunglasses / pale under the sky // the rain is clearing / by the rainworker / smoking his cigar // the women place the offering / burn the dupa / receive the blessing // remake the street / here come the god seat / make space for it // sound approaching / mangku rushing / the time is near // a flood of boys, boys, boys / marching sleeves rolled / red hibiscus in white udeng // here the mangku splashing water / wet blossom blessing / hands receive it // head receive it / face receive it / heart receive it, if it can // the passing concentration / bending flute line / twirling attention // pray the empty / pray the flowers / learn to pray // then we double it / give it happening / take a moment to form // now it’s coming / moving down the street / presence on the way // percussion heat / heart flame beat / bronze opening // bathe the flowers / in the smoking / fold them behind my ear // great gong agung / deep expanding / down belly through feet // make space for sesuwunan / come the barong / guardian of the street // women carry offering / towers balance on their heads / jeweled baskets overflow with cakes and fruit // see the dewa / vision loves them / eyes following // golden armor / grassy black mane / bulging eyes // then start shimmying / snapping teeth / shuffling the feet // flip-flops in the front / flip-flops in the back / shaggy with a bouncy tail // barong is dancing / attendants touching calves / steady exhausting underneath // forest guardian / body bearing sun-wheel / banjar medicine // then we follow / walk the family / take it through the street // walk with sesuwunan / holding hands again / don’t let him disappear // pray for island / pray for family / pray for banjar // boys are laughing / keep the music / challenging the air // in the made space / music opens it / opening is here // pray for earth / pray for spirit / pray down hard // see it feelingly / cracking open / then deplete // campaka blossoms / in barong beard / my favorite part of him // makes him handsome / red hibiscus / jepun ylang ylang

    the fragrance / how it follows me / into the next day

    //

    Socrates: so it is said

    // 229β

    λέγεται γάρ

    //

    Helena at the mirror

    i want 2 read Aristotle
    with u
    in private
    in Greek

    i want 2 show u every word
    i want us 2 go slow and thorough
    i want 2 find the perfect way
    words right thru until tomorrow

    first the physics, then the ones
    that come after the ones on physics
    parts of animals before poetics
    the lost books of poetics, too

    O beloved flood of words
    can we read clock-
    wise and counter-
    at once?

    πολλαχῶς λέγεται τὸ ὄν

    and don’t f—k it up

    //

    back in her bones, an animal holds
    or is held by or stretched by
    or broken or taken or raped by
    or mended by the word

    dismembering that ended carcass
    and read like knives the one-way road
    apart, a mince of sentences
    by university of butchers

    by that unkind yet counting world
    where have they tipped the ante yet
    i tremble to look at it
    switching tabs to the deadly news

    so walking the ramparts; yes, and
    the corpses i see, or telegraphic
    trick, the Sphinx’s vexing prize
    that riddle i still can’t remember

    //

    and would we take up arms
    against the legendary walls
    of Troy, discrete infinities
    by logic of desire

    by Tyndarean oath
    soulquaking fear
    kinsplitting lust
    or unendurable rage

    and would we, trembling
    turn the word around our grief
    with blinded eyes, who work
    the catastrophes of love

    //

    and who was she, her silk slippers
    silent across the golden floor
    the guarded pit of destined apple
    lily white eye of the bloody storm

    her syllables locked in a jewelry box
    the whole word, world-ending woman
    wordsmith of disinterested tools
    worldsmith of sterile fiction

    if she could only work it through
    her desperate clarity for water
    self remembering un-working war
    a verb for herself wrung clean

    but how she loved and if she did
    then would she trust herself by daylight
    and could she stand a beautiful nude
    Helena at the mirror

    //

    and would we return true again
    victorious from Troy
    unbent, discrete infinities
    by logic of desire

    by twists and turns
    by Hades passage
    in our angry season
    and Agamemnon, dead

    and would we, trembling
    turn the word around marriage bed
    with blinded eyes, who work
    the catastrophes of love

    //

    our organism element
    our weaving waiting whom to see
    low past the meadow, nettling
    the rising and setting sun

    the leaves are falling as you love
    to be making music until sleep
    from infant inhalation through
    a rousing breath of song

    these outward limbs are turning one
    and inward twelve again, like pain
    as stirring deep the earthy cauldron
    bedroom of a virgin dream

    and see the carp still strumming nerve
    around the liquid shield for her
    a flaming champion of rest
    in the rolling river sphere

    //

    i want 2 b the brilliant word
    with u
    in the grove
    approaching evening

    she measures limbs of me by bird
    my tragedy like comedy
    she murders for imperfect love
    and laughing plays me gently dead

    as floating messengers of grass
    deliver specks of sparkling pollen
    to flutter nymphian hurricanes
    and suckle clumsy in the flowers

    do u know her now; of cursed word
    flown round, pre-history again
    swan daughter shining, self less law
    of no returns, like poetry

    ὦ φίλε Φαῖδρε, ποῖ δὴ καὶ πόθεν;

    u b her lover 2

    //

    don’t b mad
    at my posterior
    analytics 4 u

    hills of empties
    not 2 much
    & watch it thru

    //

    selamat hari raya Kuningan🌾

    Phaedrus: tell me, O Socrates, isn’t it from someplace here by the Ilisus, it’s said that Boreas carried off Oreithyia?

    // 229β

    εἰπέ μοι, ὦ Σώκρατες, οὐκ ἐνθένδε μέντοι ποθὲν ἀπὸ τοῦ Ἰλισοῦ λέγεται ὁ Βορέας τὴν Ὠρείθυιαν ἁρπάσαι;

    //

    Boreas is the god of the cold north wind, storms, and winter; known for his abduction and rape of the Athenian princess Oreithyia.

    photo looking upward in a bamboo forest at the bright sunlight filtering through dense stands of bamboo

    filter //

    Socrates: if you would lead

    // 229β

    προάγοις ἄν

    //

    piscean field

    i dreamed i was a carp swimming in the moat
    that runs around the bedroom catching raindrops
    and you were watching me; i was pearlescent
    moon-colored with orange spots, moving swiftly

    and my slits are liquid lungs into my ears
    my curves are cool and clear, my eyes lidless
    and i have swallowed plants and animals
    of increasing scope and dignity, growing swollen

    and fleeting undulant, your vision touching
    my sunspots flashing heat, turning fiery
    and i was fishing flames beneath the flowing stream
    my scales a watery brightness and a warmth

    nobody could put me out, the thunder, the storm
    your atmospheric range was permeated light
    and i was breathing it, my gills touching silver
    my veils a golden breeze, piscean field of pleasure

    i remember jasmine in the ghosted air
    and thicker even than the empire of frogs
    the bellows of your eyes, how they inflame
    my heart, and what catastrophes you initiate in me

    //

    🌒

    //

    O honey my
    hidden shining
    & my ovening

    //

    Phaedrus: there is shade there and a measured breeze (pneuma), and grass to sit on, or if we wish to lie down

    // 229β

    ἐκεῖ σκιά τ᾽ ἐστὶν καὶ πνεῦμα μέτριον, καὶ πόα καθίζεσθαι ἢ ἂν βουλώμεθα κατακλινῆναι

    //

    receipt

    lemons limes
    Trojan War
    hijab silken
    breeze woken
    slant pigeon
    red of wing
    golden floor
    keepsake for
    her lioness
    hijab burning
    pulses turning
    nostos yearning
    ]
    ]
    ]
    ]
    method ender
    plete returning
    tender deliver
    by river liver
    taste radiant
    of summer

    //

    other things said:
    Hades?

    //

    for simple
    yes, and
    or

    Achaean horse
    & canto II

    //

    Socrates: well, what?

    // 229a

    τί μήν;

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