Element
snowflake (light) upon
moss
were the coming
ears
of spring
lets
not sent ences
this
ill
symm etry
can, in-
to
a warm
//
Phaedrus: (as Lysias, cont.)
for becoming free (apallassein)
of the greatest ills (kakos)
plentiful (pleistos)
grace (charis)
will go
will come
will be known (eisontai)
by them
// 233δ
μεγίστων γὰρ ἀπαλλαγέντες κακῶν
πλείστην χάριν αὐτοῖς εἴσονται
//
every day
from the other room
Al-Fatihah
ngaji for beginners
toss your compost out the window here
and wake to find a garden of impassables.
the rainy season, barely holding on, nurses
refuse; i think the earth cant help itself.
of course i arrived on an airplane of garbage
along with other harbingers of the end
of the island. i remember motorbike rides
across the sawah during the pandemic,
when it was sinking in how forever i was
here; the tropical scene windswept and quiet,
the people returning to their villages
to farm; it felt as if everyone was home.
back then, we couldnt mampir yet
and i didnt know that if you let a chili grow
it can live for years; it can become a little caterpillar-
munched tree, studded with flaming-hot fruit.
our neighbors treat me like Princess Di.
it doesnt help that i am shy; when we try
to take a walk, we end up seated, with coffee,
small-talk and gossip peppered with serious
conversation; which is my husbands work.
he cultivates connection, setting down
our roots, as i behold, just stupefied
by the spongey texture of community.
and then, i watch out of the corner of
my eye; i fall asleep amidst rotations of rice
and peanuts, tomatoes blushing on the vine
with fields of corn and sugarcane, rows
of marigolds and magenta gomphrena,
patches of green mustard and frilly cabbage,
near densely-shaded thickets of coffee and cacao.
i would absorb the pace of those in steady
negotiation with the sky, and what it gives
the terraced land, absorbing what it can,
for what it gives us — and by my daily plate,
it gives me very, very much.
and too, i read an article about a strong El Niño,
and one about the AMOC shutting down,
and news of friends in Denpasar, their flooded
houses and kos kosans; and always stuck
in traffic, in service to dollars, rubles, yuan,
the concrete surface spreading ever closer.
the village priest asks to send his daughter
to me, so she can practice her English.
of course, i say, let her come, frozen inside
with something like a knot that i cant name.
so im old enough (for here) to be a grandmother
but all the children say i look like Elsa.
so i let them see me picking up plastic,
and in the dirt, on my hands and knees, digging
up peanuts. it used to be my daily task
to ask the young, what is justice?
these days i find my figure lined and lit
inquiring at the city of necessity, ex-
perimenting with my best friends hair — ngaji.
so how shall i explain this, and to whom?
//
Phaedrus: (as Lysias, cont.)
yet if it is necessary (chre)
to gratify (charizesthai) most
the ones most lacking (deomenoi)
it is also fitting (prosekein) for the others
to make well (eu poieein)
not the best ones (beltistos)
but the ones most at an impasse (a-porotatoi)
// 233δ
ἔτι δὲ εἰ χρὴ τοῖς δεομένοις μάλιστα χαρίζεσθαι
προσήκει καὶ τοῖς ἄλλοις
μὴ τοὺς βελτίστους ἀλλὰ τοὺς ἀπορωτάτους εὖ ποιεῖν
just guessing (silly trilogia)
fool me baby kiss the dice
fool me til my work is thrice-
done and death be (tenderly) well-come
into the mess of heavens nature
(un)tangling dots of fairy light
and solemn practicing of ends
the bodys end (heartbroke) remembering
the sweeter end (lovesong) right here
the strangers end (artist) in-bending-thought
a sandwich (!) for these things are signs
of a long-time friendship of will-
being and where may-happens-wonder
//
Phaedrus: (as Lysias, cont.)
for these things are signs (tekmeria)
of a long-time friendship (philia)
of will-being (fut. part. eimi)
// 233ξ
ταῦτα γάρ ἐστι φιλίας πολὺν χρόνον ἐσομένης τεκμήρια
in papyrus
oh my, it took you long enough
and did you take it all the way
to plant a marbled egg in two
by two to taste a golden yolk
our hungriest return the view
by which wonder, the cry by then
names fire, brilliant ballistic ire
a bulls-eyed planet sunside-out
i see my linen shroud unshred
unread by your unlovers touch
by now and just the way you are
by here, to lay me in papyrus
//
Phaedrus: (as Lysias, cont.)
not under love (eros)
lesser-being (hessaomai)
but over myself
being strong (krateein)
// 233ξ
οὐχ ὑπ᾽ ἔρωτος ἡττώμενος
ἀλλ᾽ ἐμαυτοῦ κρατῶν
//
(also muddy)
Ophelia revisited
my grief remains for the flowers, the herbs,
the growth habits i learned to recognize,
the pungent smells of bruised leaves, and
a lake with which i had grown familiar. only
with hesitation do i crush a sprig of rosemary.
the plants and seasons here are different.
i try not to use Latinate species names, or
the determinacy of words to describe life, as
a guest. sometimes it seems inevitable, and
i contribute to the loss already underway.
nothing is more miraculous than a human
body. becoming container for the self-strange,
unbecoming as that may be, mine followed me
here, reiterating its lesson without the black-
clad metaphor: no entry gained by force, beyond
barest survival. and the last time you
came begging here; when her hand was offered
to mine in marriage, now as i was candlelit royalty
in a fortress built of aging apples; the last time i
invited forth the rampaging fourth wall, to cross
the threshold of my door, to hold the iffy
soliloquy of me; would be the last time for
it all. no other help to meet the human
who doesn’t make and keep a home to serve
the stranger, the migrant, the nameless refugee.
//
Phaedrus: (as Lysias, cont.)
primarily not
to present-being (pareimi)
pleasure (hedone)
(for you)
will i together-be (suneimi)
(with you)
attending (therapeuein)
but to lingering-doing (mellein)
help (opheleia)
to-be (esesthai)
by you
// 233β
πρῶτον μὲν οὐ τὴν παροῦσαν ἡδονὴν
θεραπεύων συνέσομαί
σοι
ἀλλὰ καὶ τὴν μέλλουσαν ὠφελίαν ἔσεσθαι
//
photo from April 2019
fairytale of negation
i must be spirit in fairy compulsion
because i have always followed your “no”
and as i have married toad after toad
i have become a princess of the sea
my hapless plea, dont try to mermaid me
its been too long since i left history
when i look down i sing an empty round
flowing sea-stained and tattered by the wind
when on a journey through the mirrorring
deep blue, long since grown crone, thorny and cold
you, bold, would discover there not wisdom
but a coy face, set flawlessly in marble
//
Phaedrus: (as Lysias, cont.)
but if you believe (peithein)
in me
// 233β
ἐὰν δέ μοι πείθῃ
floodnotes
in open pain
stripped naked
floodnotes
you feel it too
cant you
why cant you
nowhere i go
lose what i gain
may it rain
may it rain
this broken love
be whole again
//
listening to
A Love Supreme
by John Coltrane
//
Phaedrus: (as Lysias, cont.)
when (on the one hand
it is) unfortunate (dus-tucheein)
(love) makes (poieein)
belief-practice (nomizein)
that what doesnt
hand over (para-echein)
pain (lupe)
to others
is grievous (aniaros)
// 233β
δυστυχοῦντας μέν
ἃ μὴ λύπην τοῖς ἄλλοις παρέχει
ἀνιαρὰ ποιεῖ νομίζειν
Saxophone Appreciation Day
a person is (still)
a possibility
of change.
one day on earth (again)
a kind comedian
or a possibly retired RN
remade me by scattered clouds
ever since then
its like i was given
a tiny floating pill (pill)
but dont blame him.
Bognet is also Like
the times. goes out
and in, mudworks
the hardly-forgiven
swallower-set-whole.
of a tiny rubber boot,
of preservation,
of a soul.
but i think they got it right.
That once you hear
and train your ear-
Pore on that Play-
out thats Really
In, that
Saxophone —
it gets you
by the vowels,
by those star-
climbing
Bowels.
and doesnt ever set
you down!
//
Phaedrus: (as Lysias, cont.)
for such as these
are the demonstrations (epideiknomai)
of love (eros)
// 233β
τοιαῦτα γὰρ ὁ ἔρως ἐπιδείκνυται
//
to out of my pores by coldscars
and You would be forgiven by Michael Julius
(how could one not
be grateful
to be feasted
with such clouds)
with Aristophanes “The Clouds”
“The Saxophone Song” by Kate Bush
Black Lives
Black Thought
Black Music
and of Socrates lore
from Plato’s “Symposium”
when the beloveds ridiculous
body sits beside
in conversation with
the comic poet
//
🌘
desert likeness //
mothers
we are invited to mampir
so we visit many mothers
they serve us coffee and jajan
the mothers always cry for us
one of my first lessons was
the mothers always cry
all the rivers of this island
from the secret doors of sight
must be their tears
//
🌕
//
Phaedrus: (as Lysias, cont.)
so there is much more hope (elpis)
for friendship (philia) for them
from the deed (pragma)
rather than hatred (echthra)
to be born (genesthai)
// 232δ
ὥστε πολὺ πλείων ἐλπὶς φιλίαν αὐτοῖς ἐκ τοῦ πράγματος
ἢ ἔχθραν
γενέσθαι
complications of the heart
from afar i survey
the horizon of your heart
there is a vast ocean
holding a single pearl
how it turns and turns in turns
from nearby i listen
and do things and try to sit still
in a hospital waiting room
in a foreign country where
i had hoped to hold your hand
but inside i succumb
to your polishing of tears
//
Phaedrus: (as Lysias, cont.)
supposing (themselves)
to be looked down upon
by those (who would not)
and to be serviced (opheleisthai)
by the ones together-being
// 232δ
ἡγούμενοι ὑπ᾽ ἐκείνων μὲν ὑπερορᾶσθαι
ὑπὸ τῶν συνόντων δὲ ὠφελεῖσθαι
discipline
morning routines
i forgot to tell you
but i do them too
imagining the softness
my two hands
will find
too tempted
by the tantalizing touch
of your discipline
//
Phaedrus: (as Lysias, cont.)
would not envy (phthoneein)
those who are together-being (suneinai)
but would hate (miseein)
those who would not (ethelein)
// 232δ
οὐκ ἂν τοῖς συνοῦσι φθονοῖεν
ἀλλὰ τοὺς μὴ ἐθέλοντας μισοῖεν
just you
the thunderstorm came and clapped
and passed through like gods
practicing my animal ears
until i could take a deep
and fearless nap
of dreams
i woke up wanting
just you
all over again
//
Phaedrus: (as Lysias, cont.)
but however many
as happen (tugchanein)
not
(to be) loving (eran)
and otherwise
through excellence (arete)
passed through (prassen)
those they want (dein)
//
ὅσοι δὲ μὴ ἐρῶντες ἔτυχον
ἀλλὰ δι᾽ ἀρετὴν ἔπραξαν ὧν ἐδέοντο
//
this limasan is not a terror dream
(or how i came to Potro Joyo House)
strange and for a few years
maybe 2018 to 2022
(i moved to Indonesia in 2019)
i dreamed mostly about a flood
lately we live on the sawah
and i dream of earthquakes
(what happened in 2023 was
the dream to build a temple
transparently that is the one
that grabbed me by the throat
that was a hard-yanked chain
to re-make my heart pounding)
anyway i am in a skyscraper
(in tv cities like Philadelphia)
it starts to quake
the building sways as i rush down
the stairs or ladders or chutes or waterfalls
until i come spilling out into the street
well my dreams are hacks
last night as i ran out i looked up and saw
the tower sinuous begin to buckle
and bricks were busting a volcanic bubble
as i ran down the mountain to escape
the expanding smoke and debris
this limasan is not a terror dream
i do not wake up in a fright
(no real nightmares since U.S. America)
but they are disaster dreams
just now maybe like working it out
or making something from dream rubble
and last night it was a real earthquake
not too distant not too deep a 4.6
our home is a cathedral of teakwood
beloved architect vernacular
when it jiggles his bending pillars sound uncanny
old joints of salvage living in the ring of fire
//
the maskmaker writes
like gotong royong
& Hong Ulun Basuki Langgeng
🇮🇩
Phaedrus: (as Lysias, cont.)
so having persuaded you
to be hated
by these
they set you down
in a desert (eremia)
of loved ones (philos)
// 232δ
πείσαντες μὲν οὖν ἀπεχθέσθαι σε τούτοις
εἰς ἐρημίαν φίλων καθιστᾶσιν
//
the beloveds embrace (on fitnah)
so having persuaded you
to be hated
by these
they set you down
in a desert
heart
to show the tranquility
of gold
by fire
the cave moment
i find myself re-enacting the moment
i place my hand palm out and fingers spread
as if to touch the limestone interior
then i pretend to take some liquid ochre in my mouth
and purse my lips and pfff — spit it
across the imaginary surface
and as i do i taste the tastelessness of mud
like the hermetic chamber of the cave
becomes a rock-womb for our trembling
then i examine my hand with its fingers spread
for any sign of change
i see that everything has changed
the momentary terrible
i face the sea
im drawn to play
i face away
im pushed back to the ever-war
i close my eyes
there is a cry
when i go in
its all of me and nobody
the legacy of Alcibiades
i cant forget the mutilated herms
and glitter-ruining the sleeping streets
his point-and-shot defection from a dream
but i never saw such a beautiful city
as when standing vigil on the battlefield
his silent party drinks the wine-stained dawn
and i will never see such a beautiful city
as when my knees buckled by your ivy wreath
so i lie with dancing girls for Achelous
animal ownership
i am in love
with a real animal
she feels strangely familiar
she feels strangely kind
i am drawn
by her steady warmth
by her interior calm
she seems to understand
i am tempted
to bring her home
i want her to be safe
i am afraid she is not safe
i am bound
by animal ownership
my dog is not my dog
she is her own beach dog
//
disproportionate luxury
my three cats are
as kept-healthy housecats
i daily reckon a deep
irresponsibility
//
i love living where i live
never a dull moment
immersed in your genius
the gamelan starts at noon
holding my heartbeat
from the inside
//
🌑