Element
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
//
🌑
beauty of change
i fall to fragments in the pulling of your chain
my ageing eye-bones ugly by the sea
as always drags for stunner-fish from me
speaks death my fathers pockets into poverty
futility behind me fire-dives like stars
for childrens sea-bed faces i will never see
the grieving know by undertowing force
necessity your surface that i choose to be
by breaths am i permitted in this dream
your daily judgment sheer futurity
my watch the world unmade as history
your swallowing my coin remainderless
your lie in the veil between me like a mist
your move and i miss you infinitely
//
eta - note: i came across this and wanted to clarify, in case my poem may have been part of what prompted it.
this piece was written as an attempt to work through feelings of futility, distance, and a failure of vision and expression. it was not intended as a “heroic” or “no problem” poem, or as support for war, genocide, or the justification of violence.
it is fairly common for me to discover unintended interpretations in my poems after posting. sometimes that is part of what i value about writing this way. but i also recognize that it can lead to readings i did not anticipate, especially when the subject matter brushes up against real suffering.
to be clear: i do not support genocide or war. i do not blame or hold animosity toward victims of violence. i have made personal choices in my life to distance myself from institutions and systems that do support those things.
im sorry for any harm or distress this poem may have caused. that was not my intention.
-e
matter
the season leaves
the city leaves
the bitter ending leaves
i stay
i stay so hard
i drop my taproot
i plunge into the sphere
there was a sentence here
there was no choice in the matter
i am a matter of survival
(fasting)
//
fasted desire (lay me)
her demiurge reviews the urge
from which amaze tactfully de-mazed
earth-maker of my demi-glazed
eye
for sighing to be held — ready
your valley to be seen — surfaced
used witless by the restless sea
(lay me
in memory)
//
for not a place
et al.