Cosmos
his own death
πρὸς οὖν ἐμὲ ὁ Κριτίας
Ἔναγχός τοι
ἔφη
βαρύνεσθαί
τι τὴν κεφαλὴν
ἕωθεν
ἀνιστάμενος
ἀλλὰ τί σε κωλύει
προσποιήσασθαι
πρὸς αὐτὸν
ἐπίστασθαί
τι κεφαλῆς φάρμακον
nothing
(they are)(it was)i was(saying)
worker bee
a flower said we were
too many words for work
we were begotten wrong
we were making matter
when we could make
matter some worth
sweet maybe
more work
more bee
bee scent between
her mythic mouth
her freckled breath
//
but beautifully
(it) was saying
(you) speak
and (we are)(were)(will be)(beauty)summoning it(self)
ἀλλὰ καλῶς
ἔφη
λέγεις
καὶ καλοῦμεν αὐτόν
155α
//
(myth of a honeybee)
🌕
alone on earth
on a plastic-woven recliner
on the garbage-strewn beach
as dawn reaches across the sea
her icy fingers peach and violet
that my iphone cant capture
not only because its broken
after seven years of coercion
i am surrounded by beach dogs
wagging tails and paws searching
me for snacks and company which
i surrender as i pat and scratch many
ears and necks and sleek black faces
and nuzzles of muzzles into my arms
they bury me in studious welcome
the poet was blind so hes
brushed by the rosy fingers
hes drinking the wine-dark sea
the sunrise of such sweet dreams
as momentary pouring out on me
me and all of these excitable dogs
its shocking hot-pink allusion
//
altogether(yes) at least
(he) Critias was saying
(since)(you are) (by you)(look you) and (he) is
both a lover of wisdom and
as it seems both to others and to (it)(him)self
altogether poetical
καὶ πάνυ γε
ἔφη ὁ Κριτίας
ἐπεί τοι καὶ ἔστιν
φιλόσοφός τε καί
ὡς δοκεῖ ἄλλοις τε καὶ ἑαυτῷ
πάνυ ποιητικός
154ε
my beauty and her body (nightdiving)
i.
my beauty, a green-haired, green-
breasted mermaid, goes diving
at night, for him
the younger i become
the more my body needs him
the more of me belongs to him
as a girl, i carried a memory
of breathing (in
and out
and dying, for him
and out
and down) into the fear, i carry
my memory of you
cool cells makeout warm blackness
your fish glistens for the light
my listeners listen for
i float around your parts, so delicate
my cinammon-green lips
dont trust the stars
ii.
my beauty is a woman of middle-age
her body is a school of fish
and the (part), our (part)
the (part) yielding to (his) man
(was yielding to) the wondrous
(they were)(i was saying)
but i also for (all) the children
i(they) offer mind(fulness)
how not one at another of them
(selves)(it) is looking
nor even whoever is the smallest
(they were)(i was saying)
but all as at an idol (our parts)
are gazing at (him)self
//
καὶ τὸ μὲν ἡμέτερον
τὸ τῶν ἀνδρῶν ἧττον
θαυμαστὸν
ἦν
ἀλλ᾽ ἐγὼ καὶ τοῖς παισὶ
προσέσχον τὸν νοῦν
ὡς οὐδεὶς ἄλλοσ᾽
ἔβλεπεν αὐτῶν
οὐδ᾽ ὅστις σμικρότατος
ἦν
ἀλλὰ πάντες ὥσπερ ἄγαλμα
ἐθεῶντο αὐτόν
🌒
but (the shining of)
all the other (words)
by me at least
(it doesnt care)
it was binding
were (one-)seeming in love
it was needful
(the quiet hurt)
of (your)self
all the other (words)
//
οἱ δὲ δὴ ἄλλοι πάντες
ἐρᾶν ἔμοιγε ἐδόκουν αὐτοῦ
154ξ
(nothing measured)
nevertheless
it was binding
it was needful
even then
that (one)
appeared to me wondrous
the great and the beautiful
(you)
//
ἀτὰρ οὖν δὴ καὶ τότε
ἐκεῖνος ἐμοὶ θαυμαστὸς ἐφάνη
τό τε μέγεθος καὶ τὸ κάλλος
154β
//
🌑
when god comes through (the family)
whats aorist is prologue proves
whats epilogue too poor
my past-progressive cousin turns
world future-perfect war
my uncle means the tyranny
what notes a slippery noose
what wills the wise unwilling wipes
my riverrunny nose a name of Zeus
//
Charmides
the son
of Glaucon
our uncle(godproblem)
and my cousin
Χαρμίδην
τὸν τοῦ Γλαύκωνος
τοῦ ἡμετέρου θείου ὑόν
ἐμὸν δὲ ἀνεψιόν
(i)(have seen and) know (him) of course
(flow)by Zeus
(i am)(they are) i say
οἶδα μέντοι
νὴ Δία
ἦν δ᾽ ἐγώ
//
family tree
one
the wise only
(to be) called un-wills
and wills Zeus
name
🌘
double-bound helix
returning from battle
(i am) (they are) i say
(he) is who and of what
somehow you know
(it) says but (the other)
was not yet grown
before your going away
//
somehow you (have seen and) know (him)
(he) was saying
but (he) was not yet grown
before your going away
why she (of all those now)
because she is a world
as meditation —
are you noticing each bare blade
of grass, cut green as a fiery warmth.
because immanence, though shy,
is penetration —
are the rays of the sun shining
into the cells of a golden meadow.
because these happening, all in a rush —
are the (ones) running headlong and entering
in advance, are the lovers and the beloveds
of the (one) seeming to be most beautiful
of all those now.
//
οὗτοι γὰρ τυγχάνουσιν
οἱ εἰσιόντες πρόδρομοί
τε καὶ ἐρασταὶ ὄντες
τοῦ δοκοῦντος καλλίστου εἶναι
τά γε δὴ νῦν
mother fracas
let her be a just peace
let her be, i want you to
her body is a blossom explosion
just pieces of anti-matter
Ophelia caught a breeze
gone girls light a starry sneeze
to court and spark her in a slow
and simultaneous supernova
love is a universal trigger
her laughter is a harsh word
(t)his life left an uncontainer
and a pistil to uncontain her
unlisted numbers are falling
from a pretty strung-out tree
unstopped daughters are falling
unvesseled veins of (void)milk
when her perfume gets you
death is still (dark)years away
go on, take everything
let her hold you, let her stay
//
(around) about the love of wisdom
how (she) would have (and hold)
the (things) now
moving (on purnama) with sisters R. and N.
yesterday, the family toppled
an altar and dug up the vessel
of ancestors who had been
held there in the earth.
they cradled the thing.
they placed it amongst sacred
objects and offerings on a truck.
they drove it across the island.
we drove it over and around
the lakes and the mountain
on roads like melting hairpin loops.
we called them wrinkles.
we arrived at the older
the older-newer
present home
where home would be.
they placed the ancestors
underneath the altar
in the older shrine, to be
held there in the earth.
over sticky jajan and sweet coffee
we were laughing about
how complicated everything was.
any simple story.
imperfectly
a jepun tree was in bloom. the night
sky was almost free of clouds,
turning and keeping it alive.
//
and after we have had (or held) our fill of such as those
in turn i was questioning them(selves)
about the (things) by this
ἐπειδὴ δὲ τῶν τοιούτων ἅδην εἴχομεν
αὖθις ἐγὼ αὐτοὺς ἀνηρώτων
τὰ τῇδε
oligen orgen skips through the giant step
horses into Potidaea
as orders taken, given. your hands
across my escalating
surface. unrolling
her
slight
resistance. as
i grow dependent on the flow
and pressure. here, faint
ridges. your soft uneven. catch,
drag,
time,
deposit. yours
until lazy again. until we depart,
until we let loose
the battle. they had
been born into Potidaea.
//
slight
until we depart
until we let loose
the battle
they had been born
into Potidaea
(her) this very moment they were (surfeit)
by this(her) those having learned it(her)
// 153β
Ὀλίγον
ἐγεγόνει
ἐν τῇ Ποτειδαίᾳ
ἣν ἄρτι ἦσαν οἱ
τῇδε πεπυσμένοι
animal event (at the school of Taureos)
into the animal event
i have been dragged and well
indeed
every year the same, i guess, except
this time
its me
and like the bull, whos horn, whos unbroken
rage
your hand anointed
when they seize the bodied, lashed and harnessed
nerve by muscle to
the craters edge
as trampled roses bruised into the pass
will grind in
to mud by mountain makers hooves
in magenta-black menstrual blood
my terror
my appetite
//
Socrates: (in Charmides, cont.)
and well indeed into the wrestling-
school of Taureos (where bulls are offerings)
straight down from the temple
of the Queen (of whom nothing is known)
// 153α
καὶ δὴ καὶ εἰς τὴν Ταυρέου παλαίστραν
τὴν καταντικρὺ τοῦ τῆς Βασίλης ἱεροῦ εἰσῆλθον
underneath a circle
the face of the moon
sheds her shimmering veils
until the night sky
goes quiet again
to give the charm or bite the leaf
a river coursing swift or deep
through horn or through ivory
at around noon
grey eyes toward the ground
in swastikasana underneath
a circle of blue
(from a prison cell)
//
Phaedrus:
how (ti) does it shine (phainetai)
by you
O Socrates
the logos?
τί σοι φαίνεται
ὦ Σώκρατες
ὁ λόγος
//
🌑