Phaedrus
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
broken poem / ugly poem
broken poem
if this presents itself to you
that friendship is not born
unless somebody happens
to be hungry for your heart
if this presents itself to you
that children are not made
much
nor are fathers and mothers
if this presents itself to you
finding your heart in need
and needing to acquire
a trustworthy friend
i believe you
i do not wonder why
i have been there too
but this
is not that place
so
make me
a broken poem
//
Phaedrus: (as Lysias, cont.)
then if this presents (itself) (paristanai) to you
that such strong friendship (ischuran philian)
is not born (gignomai)
unless someone happens (tugchanein)
to be loving (eros)
it is necessary (chre)
to (go) into the heart (en-thumeisthai)
that neither would we make (poieein)
children
about much (peri pollou)
nor fathers and mothers
nor would we have acquired (ktaomai)
trustworthy (pistos)
friends (philos)
who have become (gignomai) such
not from desire (epi-thumia)
but from other (heteron)
practices (epi-tedeumaton)
// 233ξ
εἰ δ᾽ ἄρα σοι τοῦτο παρέστηκεν
ὡς οὐχ οἷόν τε ἰσχυρὰν φιλίαν γενέσθαι
ἐὰν μή τις ἐρῶν τυγχάνῃ
ἐνθυμεῖσθαι χρὴ
ὅτι οὔτ᾽ ἂν τοὺς ὑεῖς περὶ πολλοῦ ἐποιούμεθα
οὔτ᾽ ἂν τοὺς πατέρας καὶ τὰς μητέρας
οὔτ᾽ ἂν πιστοὺς φίλους ἐκεκτήμεθα
οἳ οὐκ ἐξ ἐπιθυμίας τοιαύτης γεγόνασιν
ἀλλ᾽ ἐξ ἑτέρων ἐπιτηδευμάτων
//
ugly poem
lettuce share
sandwich of ends
open-face
if-only
our eggs are smeared
with chickenshit
no lie
look at all those words
does it mean
i can take
the weekend off now
does it mean
my broken poem
is being swallowed up
(may it
be so)
and digested by
the ugly one
you turn
me into
//
🌓
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
Other-taught
(interview with the maskmaker by his wife)
living in a house of masks
is not for everybody
but it is real
the proportions of a mask
belie the ratio
of its invitation
what the heart desires
will not be had
without a mask
a mask is not an enemy
a mask is not a lie
it is a method
to have and hold a face
to have and hold a want
with the un-willing
to try and try again
to turn and turn away
the many willing ways
when a mask completes its turn
from the mouth is born
a lover in reverse
//
Phaedrus: (as Lysias, cont.)
(on the one hand)
holding (echein)
agreement (suggnome)
with the un-willing (aekousios)
(on the other)
trying (peiraein)
to turn away (apotrepein)
the willing (ekousioa)
// 233ξ
τῶν μὲν ἀκουσίων συγγνώμην ἔχων
τὰ δὲ ἑκούσια πειρώμενος ἀποτρέπειν
//
//
🌒
oligen orgen
this morning i wake up still thinking
about the different words for strength.
and worrying if i should change my word
for kraton to reflect mastery or rulership.
and repeating the greek outloud to feel
the shapes and sounds that occupy my mouth.
ischuran echthran — i keep saying it because
the ugliness is exciting and pleasurable.
and then there is oligen orgen — which i very
eagerly desire to hear you speak.
so i turn to you, as i would beg you to repeat
these slightly stirring words.
but when i see you watching me, with your
patient and familiar expression —
just then, the wonder of this given shelter
plants me softly on my knees.
//
Phaedrus: (as Lysias, cont.)
not through small things
taking up (ana-aireein)
strong hatred (ischuran echthran)
but through big things
slowly (bradeos)
making (poieein)
slight temper (oligen orgen)
// 233ξ
οὐδὲ διὰ σμικρὰ ἰσχυρὰν ἔχθραν ἀναιρούμενος
ἀλλὰ διὰ μεγάλα βραδέως ὀλίγην ὀργὴν ποιούμενος
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
someday i piece it together
balancing one stone
on top of another
heart to heart to heart.
the only time is right
all day / every day / wanting
to change / for someone else.
talk me into staring into the mirror
then watch as my reflection
talks me out of it.
under gray skies
the leaf buds of tulip trees
are splitting open.
we pull on the distance
spun by the wind / all of us
the thoughts of water.
down you go / into it
almost careless in its generosity
when all i need / is silence.
//
Hyperverse is made from pieces of other bloggers' work; follow links to read the wholes. Praise belongs to messengers of the heart.
//
Phaedrus: (as Lysias, cont.)
and so it much more
belongs (prosekein)
to the beloveds (eraesthai)
to have mercy (eleeein)
rather than
jealously to emulate (zeloun)
them
ὥστε πολὺ μᾶλλον ἐλεεῖν τοῖς ἐρωμένοις ἢ ζηλοῦν αὐτοὺς προσήκει
//
🌑
ultimum addictum
O beloved one —
for now, I turn the unknown world round how i never got over You.
//
listening to
Sicut cervus
by Giovanni Pierluigi da Palestrina
//
Phaedrus: (as Lysias, cont.)
when (on the other hand
it is) fortunate (eu-tucheein)
of things beside those (para ekeinon)
not worthy (axios)
of pleasure (hedone)
(love) forces (anagkazein)
praise (epainos)
to happen (tugchanein)
// 233β
εὐτυχοῦντας δὲ καὶ
τὰ μὴ ἡδονῆς ἄξια παρ᾽ ἐκείνων
ἐπαίνου ἀναγκάζει τυγχάνειν
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
//
🌘
love language
i am an ache of longing when
you crack and tell me what to do
and how on earth to pleasure you
like im a stranger to my fear
or fear takes no dominion here
or no shameful part of this is real
im just the parts desired by you
when you let my others disappear
so i train my dueling hands
you know by now they dont refuse
the teasing left the kneading right
on the healing of your hips
and i devote my afternoon
to discovering and recovering
your lips of lust about to bloom
until we name an even better middle
//
Phaedrus: (as Lysias, cont.)
those (on the one hand)
fearing
lest they be hated
and those (on the other)
whose self-knowing (autoi gignoskontes)
is worse
through desire (epithumia)
// 233α
τὰ μὲν δεδιότες μὴ ἀπέχθωνται
τὰ δὲ καὶ αὐτοὶ χεῖρον διὰ τὴν ἐπιθυμίαν γιγνώσκοντες
visit to a Javanese grave
bringing flowers in the grey of morning
we walk from the village to the graveyard
to pray and listen for our hidden father
the unmarked kijing crowd uneven paths
the buckled beds are bristling with grass
and creeping weeds and blossoming shrubbery
and overseen by shaggy jepun trees
their twisted bodies cross at knotted joints
their mask of all the seasons all at once
damp after rain the mud sticks to my feet
and sandals i rinse off before we leave
so other ghosts unclaimed wont follow me
//
Phaedrus: (as Lysias, cont.)
for those (lovers / erastes) praise
aside from whats best
the things said
and the things done
// 233α
ἐκεῖνοι μὲν γὰρ καὶ παρὰ τὸ βέλτιστον τά τε λεγόμενα καὶ τὰ πραττόμενα ἐπαινοῦσιν
//
tonight is an engagement ceremony
its one more meeting of families to go
before tomorrow we return to Bali
and one more time with the toilet jongkok
splashing water up from underneath
with the gayung from the bak mandi
while listening to the two goats bleat
kept there by the neighbors
who live out back
//
in the morning
i like your look
yet you make me
better than i am
with you i lose
the difference between
pleasure and pain
i long to hear
your laughter
in the morning
//
Phaedrus: (as Lysias, cont.)
and also
it belongs to (prosekein)
you better
to become (gignomai)
persuaded (peithein) by me
rather than a lover (erastes)
// 233α
καὶ μὲν δὴ βελτίονί σοι προσήκει
γενέσθαι ἐμοὶ πειθομένῳ ἢ ἐραστῇ
not the Minotaur
but how we have hollowed such
a complicated animal
your desire surfacing
my darker ways
as your surface
of underlying fear
known suffering
like capacity
slow as
(a baby runs barefoot across the concrete floor
surrounded by the whirlwind seat of family
his mothers place their hands over sharp corners
his grandmothers grab him before he exits
the door left open to the porch warung
where the local autist mampirs for a treat
off the street of his village neighborhood
as great-grandparents near-toothless smiles
play peek-a-boo for kisses as he toddles by
like every baby his worst enemy is “no”
and in his hands a wooden dragon chomps
at cookie tins and plastic-wrapped sugar snacks
the loudest tyrant in the room screaming
his raw desire to be louder than U.S. America)
the end
a little bull in
a spoked labyrinth
our babbled reckoning
but these things
are left behind
as remembrances
of what will come to be
a sacrificial self for self-legibility
//
Phaedrus: (as Lysias, cont.)
but these things
are left behind (kataleipesthai)
as remembrances (mnemeion)
of what will come to be
// 233α
ἀλλὰ ταῦτα μνημεῖα καταλειφθῆναι
τῶν μελλόντων ἔσεσθαι
like a nightingale
as we are leaving
i am caught by a voice
she is singing herself to sleep
i touch his arm
and when he hears
he takes out his phone
as she sings her song
i watch his calloused fingers
fumble on the glass
i should have done it
i will realize later
stunned with regret
she has no clarity left
Mak Sun whispers
tidak jelas
so like a nightingale
i couldnt say to him
maybe it will happen again
//
Phaedrus: (as Lysias, cont.)
it isnt likely
that these things
which they enjoyed (eu paschein)
would make (poieein)
their friendship (philia)
less
// 233α
οὐκ ἐξ ὧν ἂν εὖ πάθωσι ταῦτα εἰκὸς
ἐλάττω τὴν φιλίαν αὐτοῖς ποιῆσαι
//
first impression (after 7 years) of Java
i speak for no place
but Java is an island
of inwardness
there is no welcome sign
there are no gods and no
it would not like to sell itself to you
a hot shower is hard to find
the homestays are all syariah
the call to prayer interrupts your sleep
yet the women press you to their breast
the coffee served is bitter-sweet
and Tengger keeps the everlasting gravity
in cedars saw we held a hidden rustle
of greener paths behind the highland cloud
in dialogue among smouldering volcanoes
if i could live in Java
i would never need
to write another poem
//
Phaedrus: (as Lysias, cont.)
who (were)
being beloveds (philoi ontes)
to one another
before they did (prassein)
these things
// 233α
οἳ καὶ πρότερον ἀλλήλοις φίλοι ὄντες ταῦτα ἔπραξαν
//
(photo from April 2024)
on the day bus to Java
tucked into my cubby
on the day bus to Java
after rushing to get out the door
a recliner in a great steel whale
the machine suspension floats
and jostles over potholes and gaps
as the island of gods carries on
im swallowed in the passing-by
a blur of gardens and crumbling
concrete drenched in sunshine
sway me to the window
sway me to the other side
its not running naked but
its almost person-sized
//
Phaedrus: (as Lysias, cont.)
but as for the nonlovers (eran)
// 233α
τοῖς δὲ μὴ ἐρῶσιν
//