Verses/Curses
commandment
the clay was in your hand. life turned
onto the skin. a fountain was desire.
i dipped my fingers in, day after day
to taste this young and yearning body.
you didnt have to tell me even once
until my garden was creased and crinkled.
as later fell, we were unfolding it all
together. the sweet milk of a whisper.
//
Phaedrus: (as Lysias, cont.)
(love) (ask) (erota)
// 234ξ
ἐρώτα
burlesque empire
to cross the Rubicon, where left meets right,
we found a body. being unrecognized,
we hold it side-by-side her photograph.
the printed animal in black and white
was captive to the scene: how Bettie used
the furniture, her pose and what it meant
to her, her legs and what they wore for us.
stilettos pointed out the stars. surely
they were not hours in bondage to a fault.
the leather business never skins enough,
as keys to pleasure play the vault betrayed,
and suits around her salivate like wolves.
the burlesque empire folds itself around the twain:
a missing woman tangled in the pin-up queen.
//
Phaedrus: (as Lysias, cont.)
but if
(on the other hand)
you still long for (potheein)
anything
leading (the way) and holding (it) (hegoumenos)
to have been left aside (para-lepein)
// 234ξ
εἰ δ᾽ ἔτι τι σὺ ποθεῖς
ἡγούμενος παραλελεῖφθαι
finish fingertrap
finger
finger
finger
finger
thumb
finger
finger
finger
finger
thumb
finger
finger
finger
finger
thumb
Rachmaninov
//
Phaedrus: (as Lysias, cont.)
i
(one the one hand)
really
enough (ikana)
by me
practice (nomizo)
the (things) having been spoken (eiremena)
// 234ξ
ἐγὼ μὲν οὖν ἱκανά μοι νομίζω τὰ εἰρημένα
axios
my monsoon, in decline, lets run again. the cocks
roll thunder. high on this island, cloud-blind, some soft
grey ankle socks deliver me. wherever
cast ironies become a blanket feast. the cold,
like snow, but i belong to it. and where i sit,
i am not alone. i am the least
interesting thing about me. morning is a word
upon blue lips. change comes from a beast behind
the oracle. meaning takes a midnight train
to hear the tightropes hum. like details falling down
a face, like curtains swaying in a drift. if
i fail, then i forget. and being neither of these.
//
Phaedrus: (as Lysias, cont.)
but there must be (dei)
not even one (medemian)
harm (blaben)
from itself
and help (opheleia)
born (gignesthai)
by both (amphoin)
// 234ξ
δεῖ δὲ
βλάβην μὲν ἀπ᾽ αὐτοῦ μηδεμίαν
ὠφελίαν δὲ ἀμφοῖν γίγνεσθαι
//
no post again tomorrow
for routine medical & traffic.
enjoy infrastructure. x
🌘
tasty vs stinky
if the (un)father(ing) flew
a pulpy, creamy poem
to feather they were not
a man, what then would
i eat for dessert?
being care-
ful of the spikes —
and mind-
ful of the blast radius —
a durian
released by my small hands,
to share between my friends.
frozen, blended custard; topped
with darkness (chocolate) crackling.
//
Phaedrus: (as Lysias, cont.)
nor
for you wishing (boulomai)
to be unnoticed (lanthanein) by others
(is it) similarly (homoios)
powerful (dunatos)
// 234ξ
οὔτε σοὶ βουλομένῳ τοὺς ἄλλους λανθάνειν ὁμοίως δυνατόν
//
feet
and her funny expression
the way is borne between
two virgin sisters:
a line for little kings,
a line for little beggars.
if the way feels very long,
sometimes the truth
is this: turn yourself
around to see her face.
//
Phaedrus: (as Lysias, cont.)
for neither
for the taker (lambanein)
(is) the balance (axios)
of equal grace (charitos ises)
// 234ξ
οὔτε γὰρ τῷ λαμβάνοντι χάριτος ἴσης ἄξιον
myth of a hermit crab
when, among strewn stones, the roar, sea-rubbled
coral, drubbed-featureless bones, by the vast
intelligence of salt-lung-water, currents, swells
and cycles of one planet to another
precious, semi-circle moon
when, of intertidal spine or ladder, a rambler up
and down the baking sand, the beach, which burns
my feet, the purge of undertows, the surging rips
and sneaker waves
behind, above, on wind a hunting wing
when, a shadow moving in, to halt
the camera, home, returns me to my knees
knuckled, imprints of gravel on red skin
engraved by seashell shards, held-back, worked-in
to kneeling, as if eons, there, to wait
for when, if ever, the sun can
be still enough to catch
the nestled-in extend
a tentative feeler, a tiny
bristled limb
when those barely let
light breathe or gills retreat
between the lens and
a shuttered eye-
stem
the how-less
greet
//
Phaedrus: (as Lysias, cont.)
but the loving (one)
would not urge (keleuein) you
toward all the loving (ones)
to hold (echein) this thinking-through (dianoia)
// 234β
οὐδ᾽ ἂν τὸν ἐρῶντα
πρὸς ἅπαντάς σε κελεύειν τοὺς ἐρῶντας
ταύτην ἔχειν τὴν διάνοιαν
//
🌗
rude wisdom
true story, when i was nine or ten
my father, at the time, sat me down
as fathers do, to read Plato’s Apology.
there had been a situation at school.
it was a public school and i was new.
it had to do with bullying and needing
to choose a side. well i guess a child
encounters force beside deliberation.
after i finished reading, he asked me
what Socrates would do. it was not
really a question. and i was no fool.
i said, but papa, i am not Socrates.
this morning, i woke up from a dream
about an oil spill. well the sign put forth.
it grew like coltsfoot in the broken step
where id removed an unbelonging one.
//
Phaedrus: (as Lysias, cont.)
well i guess (oimai)
// 234β
ἐγὼ μὲν οἶμαι
//
the daddys issue
some days like i become your magazine
some days like i become your loaded gun
these days it makes no difference which (oil spill)
yes i read your letter yesterday and all
the days before, your hollow men, your dump
truck spat into my bed, and im not sure
it got there but i wrote you on the third
to say, how dare you write me when you never
learn to read a single fucking word
//
Phaedrus: (as Lysias, cont.)
whether id recommend (para-aineein
for you
to gratify
all
the not-loving (ones) (me erosi)
// 234β
εἰ ἅπασίν σοι παραινῶ τοῖς μὴ ἐρῶσι χαρίζεσθαι
//
oil spill
on genealogy
for when you’re here, have this of me. as time
lets go of us, a song escapes the circlet in
a stranger coming home; eventuality.
under covers of moonlight, the folding pages
yellowed in memory, a gnawing book-
worm spins the orphanage; mulberry leaves.
some shadows at a funeral see less,
and lesson me, nightmare and burnt-off limb.
to hold a hand in grace; fatherlessness.
//
Phaedrus: (as Lysias, cont.)
equally (isos)
if you would really ask (eroio)
me
// 234β
ἴσως
ἂν οὖν ἔροιό με
the self-guarding deliberation of one who wouldn't love
so, paedophilia is in the news again. or
ephebophilia, as the clarifiers say, making clear
nothing. and every soul in Athens seems
a perpetrator and a victim of the crime; i
have come to understand it as a spectrum.
the young, the young, we must protect the young;
who does and doesn’t say it is a creep. so where
might i protect them from the citizen? and where
might i protect them from the serpent of my tongue? if
here, rare and slithering and beautiful, it would insert itself
into your ear. into any nubile mind, and call it
education. once upon a time, a little fiction built
the beating heart of my self-government. all fallen
on the shell-shocked ears of popular abuse. all fallen
across the scattered pages of history.
//
Phaedrus: (as Lysias, cont.)
you
really
remember (memneso)
the things having been spoken (eremenon)
and (put) it into the heart (en-thumou)
that (on the one hand)
beloveds (hoi philoi)
warn (nouthetousin) (or put-in-mind)
lovers (erontas)
of the practice (epi-tedeumatos)
being (ontos)
bad (kakou)
and (on the other hand)
no one ever yet in the household (ton oikeion)
accused (emempsato)
the not-loving (me erosin)
of
through this
badly deliberating (bouleuein)
about themselves (peri eauton)
// 234β
σὺ οὖν τῶν τε εἰρημένων μέμνησο
καὶ ἐκεῖνο ἐνθυμοῦ
ὅτι τοὺς μὲν ἐρῶντας οἱ φίλοι νουθετοῦσιν
ὡς ὄντος κακοῦ τοῦ ἐπιτηδεύματος
τοῖς δὲ μὴ ἐρῶσιν οὐδεὶς πώποτε τῶν οἰκείων ἐμέμψατο
ὡς διὰ τοῦτο κακῶς βουλευομένοις περὶ ἑαυτῶν
myth of sea urchins
oh protecting self of fire, oh siren song
of dragon scales; by glass, a flashing wheel,
honed steel, and feathers through the scapula;
so eager grows her guardian of tears.
so cells divide an urchin by its need
for spine, for swimmers heart, for art. cut us
in half, and each retains their whole of holes.
consistency is pluripotency in love.
so ocean breathes, with grave authority.
and armor makes, re-wakes itself; fossils
desire; marine in-vertebrates our queer
anthropocene; our deeper keys, in blastomere.
//
Phaedrus: (as Lysias, cont.)
and not those who
ceasing from desire (pauomenoi tes epi-thumias)
will seek a pretext (prophasin)
for hatred (echthra)
but those who
of ceased season (pausamenou tes horas)
will then display (epi-deiknumi)
excellence (arete)
of their own
// 234α
οὐδὲ οἵτινες παυόμενοι τῆς ἐπιθυμίας ἔχθρας πρόφασιν ζητήσουσιν
ἀλλ᾽ οἳ παυσαμένου τῆς ὥρας
τότε τὴν αὑτῶν ἀρετὴν ἐπιδείξονται
//
(plz dont miss
kate & tori references)
🌖
don’t drop by
tonight; to see you makes me dangerous.
an ember sleeps; you hide yourself.
every soldier in uniform is a suicide.
oh, my friend, don’t drop the grenade, don’t drop
the quiet words. wake me from clay at dawn.
your shoulder lights our temporary weight.
there’s revolution in the research of
a snail; your fingerprint upon my eyelid.
every little life sets wings to wildfire.
//
Phaedrus: (as Lysias, cont.)
and not (to gratify or make well)
those coming quickly (spoudazein)
for a brief time (oligon chronon)
but those
consistently (homoios)
throughout all of life (dia pantos tou biou)
will-being friends (philois esomenois)
// 234α
οὐδὲ τοῖς ὀλίγον χρόνον σπουδάζουσιν
ἀλλὰ τοῖς ὁμοίως διὰ παντὸς τοῦ βίου φίλοις ἐσομένοις
Rafflesia arnoldii
it smells like a rotting corpse
they say, of the reddish-brown giantess
whose speckled blossom murks the jungle cloud
in Kalimantan with her foul putrescence.
blowflies in frenzied ritual surround
her swollen beef-like lips, unfurling with
a steamy hiss.
you steal the kiss.
and wipe your conscience with
a bloody handkerchief.
//
Phaedrus: (as Lysias, cont.)
and not (to gratify or make well) those who
having done-it-through (dia-prassein)
will befriend honor (philo-timeomai)
toward others
but those who
(self-)uglying (aischunein)
will keep silence (simopaein)
toward the all
οὐδὲ οἳ διαπραξάμενοι πρὸς τοὺς ἄλλους φιλοτιμήσονται
ἀλλ᾽ οἵτινες αἰσχυνόμενοι πρὸς ἅπαντας σιωπήσονται
//
a visit with the donkey of Rabi'a al-'Adawiya
if the world would like to hear how Rabi’a
gained courage or her strange immunity
to fear, for friendship, i would explain. yet,
a friend is not a purveyor of shallots; nor
pinned apples, by the donkey’s tale. her debt
of tears she brought with her most carefully.
this baggage carries me, her dogged ass;
my nag for recollection married with
my nap of opportunity. fresh dates
don’t pluck a prophet from the fetching tree.
a footfelt softness is velvet delivery
under her bending limb, and broken news
is armor. what teeming droplets, but by winter?
what is the desert, if not her country of birth?
what is her coin, if not the cake she gives
right back, the moment she has tasted worth.
//
Phaedrus: (as Lysias, cont.)
and not as many as
will enjoy the gain (apo-lauein)
of your season (hora)
but those who will give after (meta-didonai)
of their own goods (ton spheteron agathon)
to one born older (presbuteroi genomenoi)
// 234α
οὐδὲ ὅσοι τῆς σῆς ὥρας ἀπολαύσονται
ἀλλ᾽ οἵτινες πρεσβυτέρῳ γενομένῳ τῶν σφετέρων ἀγαθῶν μεταδώσουσιν
//
in this, changed “dense” to “rich”.
have also reworked the (tricky)
first few lines of the Lysias speech.
storied desire
cries, the piercing prophecy, momentous
saturation; all breasts equally my mother
back then. the born believe a milky way
is worthy of the bowl-stretched-opening.
my fathered evolution, separation: it
plants pillars underneath indifference.
like siblings on the page, each owns its pain;
instruction speaks the crepitus of limbs.
left outlines carry the crunching of leaves;
a subtle switch, the circumstantial spring.
//
Phaedrus: (as Lysias, cont.)
and not only (to gratify or make well)
the begging
but those worthy (axios)
of the act (pragma)
οὐδὲ τοῖς προσαιτοῦσι μόνον
ἀλλὰ τοῖς τοῦ πράγματος ἀξίοις
//
//
🌕
Happy Birthday to Her
(got resurrection
yet?)
last night, we had a birthday dinner for Blih’s fiancée.
having lived with him for years, we have a lumayan
understanding of his habits in relationship. and i hope
beyond hope that they can make it work. because i love
her, and already, i feel like she is my sister.
so we take them out, to the restaurant at the end of
the island. where, for one night, she and my brother
might dine, and be treated, like we, who bring foreign
money here. and i will tell you frankly, the dining scene
is fucked-up. where even to begin.
(someday maybe i’ll know how to share Mak Sun’s way
of making krawu. that day is not here.)
the maskmaker and i are semi-regulars at this restaurant,
a vegan place, where the staff know us well enough
by now, and treat my husband with dignity and respect.
nothing puts a damper on a lovey-dovey date quite like
everybody assuming he’s a delivery driver.
so we order a variety of delicious dishes, none local,
all absurd, decadent, and as fun as we can manage. well
it seems, in Bali, and from all sides, that foreign money
will buy you anything; will fix any problem; will satisfy any
want. and foreigners arrive so ravenous for grace.
(not to be confused with Grace, who is our bossiest hen.
we do not eat her for a reason.)
where was i? as fun as we can manage. but from the start,
i can tell, my brother and sister are exhausted. perhaps
from arguments. this is okay. we are family; we have
been stuck into each others tangled lives; we have seen
the messy, the tearful, the claws; the krawu.
my sister explains the facts of her new job; reception
at a salon, where, with a similar disability as me, she can
work seated. it has better incentives than her previous
job; but demands a 60-hour week, leaving her one day
free, for her children, from a previous marriage.
not to mention, Blih. our brother is a tough and heartfelt
man. he connects diversities of jobs; he body-builds, covered
with tattoos, with discipline; often on sosmed; he hosts
and keeps the family guesthouse (it’s complicated); and
he does security at cockfights.
we listen, express sympathy, and take note of what
our loved ones need; what we can say that might help,
and what we might possibly do; to be good friends
and keep our family together and strong; as our family
has done, does, and has the will to do, for us.
at the end of the night, after (surprise!) chocolate lava
cakes, rich molten cores melting into vanilla-laced, coconut-
based ice cream; the waiters having sung happy birthday
(in English), coercing the entire room (of foreigners)
to sing along; my sister and i share a hug.
send me a message whenever you need, i say; and come
visit us, whenever you can, or please. i know, i say, that he
can be a big, overgrown child, sometimes. (of what man is
this not true?) but he has a good heart. and we all pray
that he remembers it, in good time.
she murmurs several things in reply, one of which
is this (in Indonesian): i don’t want to be a bother. to which
i say, my voice as firm as i can muster: don’t you think
about that. jangan begitu. we are all afraid to be a bother;
when nothing on this earth is worth more than a friend.
as we drive home, the maskmaker and i discuss the All.
(it’s what we do. it is what marriage is, for us. just fyi.)
we both have hope, though he’s more optimistic than me.
that is his habit; he has his reasons. go tell the ai, we all
(Alhamdulillah) have our reasons.
it isn’t until the next morning that it clicks. our brother
and sister had wondered (i didn’t quite understand it at
the time), whether we do any markets (or smthng). now
i realize, and grab my phone to send the urgent text: DO NOT
give your nest-egg to crypto, mlm, or any other scam!!
after which
i say, to the giving sky —
if i am a golden calf
lets take me to the bank
//
Phaedrus: (as Lysias, cont.)
but equally (isos)
it is fitting (prosekein) to gratify (charizein)
not the ones in violent (sphodra) need (deein)
but those who are most able (dunamai)
to pay back (apodidonai)
the grace (charis)
// 233ε
ἀλλ᾽ ἴσως προσήκει οὐ τοῖς σφόδρα δεομένοις χαρίζεσθαι
ἀλλὰ τοῖς μάλιστα ἀποδοῦναι χάριν δυναμένοις
//
eta note: i am taking a rest day tomorrow
for a routine medical procedure. x
Out of wood
I come to, in a cold sweat, twisted in
the linen sheet. These nights, I’m shivering
again. As overhead, the rain continues on
and on, like a forgotten faucet in the clouds.
In darkness, the rooster crows. His hens
crowd under eaves to avoid the downpour.
The cats are asleep. And I sense your body,
tossed limbs and derelict, fragmented speech.
I dream you’re at a diner, in laughter with
some other family. Beside you sits a woman
who is blonde, like me; while I sit with your kin.
I dream we’re in a doubling argument.
When the waitress brings coffee, my cup
is shallow brew in bone. I want to raise it
to my lips. The taste recedes, an emptied kiss
of blackest mud into the muffled dawn.
A steel blade scrapes the pale surface. A piece
we salvaged from the giant, fallen pule tree.
The base diameter was twice, at least,
your height. I snapped a photo to document
the ancient proportion. The storied work.
Spent shavings accumulate in piles, on piles.
Among them, I find you; wrestling with his grim
resolve to shape a smile out of wood.
//
Phaedrus: (as Lysias, cont.)
for those ones will show affection (agapeein)
and will follow after (akoloutheein)
and will come to the doors
and will take exceeding amounts of pleasure (malista hedomai)
and will not know (eisontai) the least grace (charis)
and will pray (euchomai) for many good things for them
// 233ε
ἐκεῖνοι γὰρ καὶ ἀγαπήσουσιν
καὶ ἀκολουθήσουσιν
καὶ ἐπὶ τὰς θύρας ἥξουσι
καὶ μάλιστα ἡσθήσονται
καὶ οὐκ ἐλαχίστην χάριν εἴσονται
καὶ πολλὰ ἀγαθὰ αὐτοῖς εὔξονται
warning label
we have a few best friends
every one of them wears a veil
these are their reasons
when one comes in
(by then its already too late)
the heart itself goes inside-out
every one of them should
come with a warning
label
//
Phaedrus: (as Lysias, cont.)
and so surely indeed
in private consummation (idiais dapanaein)
it is worthy to call near (para-kaleein)
not beloveds (philoi)
but beggars (pros-aiteein)
and ones needing to be filled (deomenous plesmones)
// 233δ
καὶ μὲν δὴ καὶ ἐν ταῖς ἰδίαις δαπάναις
οὐ τοὺς φίλους ἄξιον παρακαλεῖν
ἀλλὰ τοὺς προσαιτοῦντας καὶ τοὺς δεομένους πλησμονῆς
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