Transfigurations CollectedPoems
Transfigurations
Jay Wright (b. 1934) is a poet and playwright. He has received numerous awards, including the Bollingen Prize for Poetry, the Anisfield-Wolf Award for Lifetime achievement, the L. L. Winship/ PEN Award, the Lannan Literary Award for Poetry, a Guggenheim Fellowship, and the 62nd Fellowship of the Academy of American Poets. A MacArthur Fellow and a member of the American Academy of Arts and Sciences, Wright lives in Vermont.
Jay Wright Transfigurations
Collected Poems
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First published in the USA by Louisiana State University Press 2000
First published in Great Britain by Penguin Classics 2025 001
Copyright © Jay Wright, 1971, 1976, 1980, 1984, 1987, 1988, 1989, 1991, 1995, 1997, 2000
The moral right of the author has been asserted
The poems herein were earlier published in collections titled The Homecoming Singer (Corinth Books, 1971); Soothsayers and Omens (Seven Woods, 1976); Explications/ Interpretations (Callaloo Poetry Series, University of Kentucky, 1984); Dimensions of History (Kayak, 1976); The Double Invention of Komo (University of Texas Press, 1980); Selected Poems of Jay Wright (Princeton University Press, 1987); Elaine’s Book (Callaloo Poetry Series, University Press of Virginia, 1988); and Boleros (Princeton University Press, 1991). The author wishes to thank the editors of St. Lawrence University Magazine and Callaloo, in which some of the poems of Transformations first appeared.
“A Cowry Rispetto” first appeared in A Garland for John Hollander (Ampersand, 1989).
“The Cradle Logic of Autumn” was reprinted in The Best American Poetry, 1995 (Scribner’s, 1995) and in The Best of the Best, 1988–1997 (Scribner’s, 1997). “The Healing Improvisation of Hair” first appeared in The Vintage Book of African American Poetry (Random House, 2000).
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ISBN : 978–0–241–74742–1
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THEHOMECOMINGSINGER
WednesdayNightPrayerMeeting 3
TheBaptism 6
CrispusAttucks 9
Billie’sBlues 10
FeedingtheStove 11
TheFisherman’sFiesta 13
Jason’sOneCommand 14
TwoHousePaintersTakeStockoftheFog 16
TrackCleaning 17
TheHuntingTripCook 18
TheEndofanEthnicDream 20
TheManfromChi 21
AMonthintheCountry 22
ANon-BirthdayPoemformyFather 23
TheHomecomingSinger 27
W.E.B.DuBoisatHarvard 29
MovingtoWakeatSix 31
TheMormonMissionaries 32
TheNeighborhoodHouse 33
Morning,LeavingCalleGigantes 34
ChapultepecCastle 36
JalapenaGypsies 37
BosquesdeChapultepec 40
ReflectionsBeforetheCharityHospital 42
AnInvitationtoMadisonCounty 46
III.
TheInventionofaGarden 51
PreparingtoLeaveHome 52
Origins 53
ThePlayerattheCrossroads 55
DeathasHistory 57
TheCrucifixionoftheVine 59
HistoricalDays 60
VariationsonaThemebyLeRoiJones 61
IdioticandPolitic 65
MyMotherDancesontheJutofGod’sGoodHip 67
Destination:Accomplished 69
Pastel 71
IV.
TheRegeneration 72
NightWalk 73
FirstPrinciples 75
ANuerSacrifice 78
TheDesertRevival 79
CollectionTime 81
SketchforanAestheticProject 83
BeginningAgain 86
SOOTHSAYERSANDOMENS
I.
TheCharge 93
TheAppearanceofaLostGoddess 96
Sources(1) 97
Sources(2) 98
Sources(3) 100
Sources(4) 101
Sources(5) 102
Sources(6) 102
BenjaminBannekerHelpstoBuildaCity 103
BenjaminBannekerSendsHis‘‘Almanac’’toThomasJefferson 107
II.
EnteringNewMexico 110
TheMasterofNames 113
TheFaithfulOne 116
TheAlbuquerqueGraveyard 117
FamilyReunion 118
BaptismintheLeadAvenueDitch 120
NightRide 124
III.
TheSenseofComedy:I 126
TheMuseumsinChapultepec 126
WalkingChapultepec 127
MeetingHerinChapultepec 127
InsideChapultepecCastle 128
TheBirthday 129
JasonVisitsHisGypsy 130
TheDeathofanUnfamiliarSister 132
Homecoming 134
IV.SecondConversationswithOgotemme ˆ li
Ogotemme ˆ li 137
Beginning 138
TheFirstWord 139
TheSecondWord 141
TheThirdWord 143
TheSmith 144
TheSanctuary 145
Le ´ be ´ 147
Bin . u 149
AltarsandSacrifice 150
TheDead 153
EXPLICATIONS/INTERPRETATIONS
TensionsandResolutions 159
Polarity’sTrio
Zones 161
Corrida 162
SanDiego’sDispossession 163
Harmony’sTrio
TheContinuingCity:SpiritandBody 165
TheMeasure 166
TheSunset’sWidow 168
TheBody 170
Twenty-TwoTremblingsofthePostulant 178
MacIntyre,theCaptainandtheSaints 191
Love’sDozen
TheRitualTuning 205
LoveintheWater,LoveintheStone 206
LoveintheIronandLoom 207
LoveasHeaven’sNostalgia 208
Anagnorisis 208
TranscendentNight 209
LoveintheWeather’sBells 210
TheCrossesMeet 211
LovePlumbstotheCenteroftheEarth 212
TheUnweddingoftheMagdaleneoftheVine 215
Love’sColdnessTurnstotheWarmthofPatience 216
NewAdam’sCross 217
LoveastheLimitandGoal 218
Inscrutability 220
DIMENSIONSOFHISTORY
TheSecondEyeoftheWorld:TheDimensionofRitesandActs
I.TheEyeofGod:TheSoul’sFirstVision 230
II.TheKeyThatUnlocksPerformance:Visionas HistoricalDimension 239
III.TheSecondEyeoftheWorld 253
Modulations:TheAestheticDimension
I.Rhythm,ChartsandChanges
Teponaztli 261
Atabaque ´ 262
Bandola 263
Huehuetl 267
Areito 268
Joropo 271
Lundu ´ 271
Son 272
Tamborito 273
Vela 275
Villancico 276
Pututu 278
MaracasinMerengue 279
Bambuco 280
II.TheBodyAdornedandBare
Cacahuatl:TheCraftofaBeadRosary 282
TheCraftoftheTrumpetShellBracelet 283
TheCraftofBeatingCloth 284
Agave 284
Missangas 285
TheHat 286
ChoosingMyShoes 286
TheBodyBare 287
III.Retablos
Nin ˜ odeAtocha 291
ElCristoNegro 292
MaterDolorosa 293
SaintGertrude 294
IV.LogbookofJudgments
WhatIsGood 295
WhatIsTrue 297
WhatIsBeautiful 298
Meta-AandtheAofAbsolutes 299
Landscapes:ThePhysicalDimension301
THEDOUBLEINVENTIONOFKO MO
TheInvocation 316
Prefigurations:FirstInstanceoftheField,FirstInstanceofVoice 316
TheFirstFigureoftheStair,theFirstCasting 321
TheElevenAltarsDanceintheWood 322
TheFirstReturn,theFirstPresentationofInstruments 336
TheOpeningoftheCycleofRedemption 338
TheAbstractofKnowledge/theFirstTest 350
TheInitiateTakesHisFirstSixSigns,theDesignofHisName 364
TheOpeningoftheCeremony/theComingOutofKomo 373
ELAINE’SBOOK
Veil,I 423
Seals,I 423
Seals,II 424
Hathor 425
x Contents
TheOriginofMaryinaCathedralChoir 426
Yemanja ´ 427
ZapataandtheEgu ´ ngu ´ nMask 428
Confrontation 443
Guadalupe-Tonantzin 444
Tlazolteotl 452
Confrontation 455
TheLakeinCentralPark 456
Confrontation 457
AnnStreet 458
CorneliaStreet 458
Confrontation 460
Confrontation 461
Confrontation 462
Guadalajara 463
Lisboa 465
Madrid 466
Confrontation 469
Confrontation 470
Orchid 471
Passionflower 472
Dandelion 473
Confrontation 474
Confrontation 475
Confrontation 476
TheAnatomyofResonance 477
JourneytothePlaceofGhosts 482
Saltos 484
ThePowerofReeds 485
Desire’sPersistence 487
1 495 2 496 3 497
506 12 507
13(Erato ↔ khat) 508
14(Calliope ↔ sah . u) 509
15 (Euterpe ↔ ab) 512
16(Thalia ↔ ka) 513
17(Melpomene ↔ ba) 514
18(Polyhymnia ↔ khaibit) 519
19(Clio ↔ khu) 522
20(Terpsichore ↔ sekhem) 523
21(Urania ↔ ren) 525
Saints’Days
22NuestraSen ˜ oradelaPaz(January24th) 528
23NuestraSen ˜ oradeLourdes(February11th) 528
24SanJuandeDios(March8th) 530
25SanAnselmo(April21st) 530
26CorpusChristi(May25th) 533
27SanPedro/SanPablo(June29th) 535
28SantaCristina(July24th) 537
29SantaClara(August12th) 538
30NuestraSen ˜ oradeLosRemedios(September24th) 541
31SanRafaelArca ´ ngelo(October24th) 544
32SanDiego(November13th) 546
33SantaBa ´ rbara(December4th) 548
NewEnglandDays
34TheWhiteDeer 550
35IndianPond 552
36 553
37 555
38 556
39 557
CodaI 558
CodaII 558
CodaIII 558
SourcesandRoots
TRANSFORMATIONS
TheNavigationofAbsences:AnOdeonMethod 561
TheEmeraldSoundinKagame ´ ’sKairos 563
SeguidillawithaDoubleHeart 566
NamingtheAsturianBird 567
TheBullringattheQuintaReal,Zacatecas 569
LeavingtheBuenosAiresCemetery 569
RewritingtheLight 570
TheBuriedBarn’sOwnNocturn 570
AnotherHymntoTrees:JuniperandPine 571
Compassion’sBird 571
RestaurantBonaparte,RueSt.Franc ¸ oisXavier,onaRainyDay 573
Mid-Spring,ComingintoBuenosAires 574
TheAnti-FabliauofSaturninoOrestes‘‘Minnie’’Min ˜ oso 574
ACowryRispetto 596
Popper’sDilemma 596
NtuandEmerald:TheDayDivine 598
TheMetaphysicsofSorrow 600
Love’sAugustineor,What’sDoneIsDonne 600
TheEconomyofPower 602
Dreaming:RhythmI:[Monday] 603
TheFallintoLove’sAtmosphere 605
Ecstasy,BirdandOak 606
DonJose ´ GorostizaEncounterselCordobe ´ s 607
TheCradleLogicofAutumn 609
BravingtheForkintheRoad 610
TheHealingImprovisationofHair 612
Intuition:FigureandAct 613
January,Love,andtheGalician 614
LichensandOranges 616
TheHieroglyphofIrrationalSpace 617
CodaIV 619
CodaV 619
CodaVI 619
WednesdayNightPrayerMeeting
OnWednesdaynight, thechurchstillopensatseven, andtheboysandgirlshavetocomein fromtheirflirtinggamesoftag, withtheprayersthey’vememorized, thehymnstheyhavetostart. Somewillevengodownfront, withfunkybibles, toreadversesfromLuke, whereJesustriumphs,orRevelations, whereweallcometonogoodend. Outside,thepagankids scrambleinthedarkness, kissingeachotherwithaslyhumility, orurinatingboldlyagainstthetrees. Theolderpeoplelinger inthefreshlylitnight, notinahurrytoenter, havingbeeninthebattleofvoices fartoolong,knowingthatthenight willstretchandendonly whensomenewvoicerises inecstasy,ordeceit,only whensomearrogantyouth comescringingdownfront, screamingaboutsin,begging theindifferent-facedwomen
forahand,foratouch, forakiss,forhelp, forforgiveness,forbeingyoung anduntouchedbythegrace ofpain,innocentoftheinsoluble mysteriesofbeingblack andsinnedagainst,black andsinninginthecompliantcities. Whatdotheyoungknow aboutsomecorpulenttheologian, sittingunderhislamp, hisclammyfacewet, hisstomachtryingtogiveup thetasteofamoderatewine, kissingGodawaywithalabored tossofhispen?
Howwouldthesesmallblacksingers knowwhichJesusisriding thereoverthepulpit, inthefoldsofthebanner leftoverfromSunday, wherethewinnersweretheones whocame,whodroppedtheirnickels intothefeltedplatterswithaflourish? Andhowcantheybeexpected torememberthecadences thatwillcomeagain, thesameheart-rendingrelease ofthesamepain,astheclockturns towardthecertainty ofmelancholicafternoons, roastandleftoverprayers, thedampenedhoursthatlastthroughthenight? ButChristwillcome, feelinginjured,havinggone wherebedswerebusywithouthim, havingseenpimpscanetheirnumber-runningboys, thetelevisionsflickeroverheapedupbodies, havingheardsomedisheveledman
shoutdownanemptystreet,wherewomen slitherinplasticboots,towardlight, theireyesdilatedandempty; willcomelikeatiredworkman andsitonacreakybench, inhope,infear,wantingtobepleasedagain, soanxiousthathishandsmove, hisheadtiltsforanylostaccent. Heseemstobehome, wherehe’salwaysbeen. Hisintensesmileisfixed totherhythmofhands, totheunhurriedintensity ofthisimprovisedsinging. Heseemsnottoknow thedangerofbeinghere, amongtheselonelysingers, inthemiddleofawar ofspiritswhowillnotwaitforhim, whocannottakehisintenseglare toheartanymore,whocannotjustify theWednesdaynightsgivenup inthesestuffy,tiltedrooms, whiletheworkpilesupforThursday, andthedogsmopearoundemptygarbagepails, andtheswingersswingintothenight withadifferentecstasy. Caughtinthisunlovelymusic, hespillstothefloor. Thesisterscirclehim, andtheirhandsleapfrombonetobone, asiftheirtouchwouldchangehim, wouldmakehimsee thecrookedlightslikestars. Thebible-readingboytagshimwithverses, andhewritheslikeaboy givingupstolenkisses, thefreeplayofhishandonhisownbody, theunholyclarityofhisworldlyspeech.
Hewrithesasifhewouldbeblack, onWednesday,undertheuncompromising needofoldblackmenandwomen, whoknowthatpainiswhat youcarryinthemind, inthesolemnmemoryofsmalltriumphs, thatyouget,here, asthemasterofyourpain. Hestandsuptosing, butayounggirl, gettingupfromthemourner’sbench, tossesherheadinawail. Thewomenrise, themencollectthebanners andtheboysdroptheireyes, listeningtotheunearthlywind whispertothepeeping-tomtrees. Thisistheendofthenight, andhehasnotcomethereyet, hasnotmadeitintothestillness ofhimself,ortheflagrantuncertainty ofalltheseothersingers. Theyhavetakenhisstrangeness, andgivenitback,thewayalover willreturntheringsandletters ofaloverwhohurtshim. Theyhaveclosedtheirnight withwhatcertaintytheycould, unwillingtoexchangetheirfreedomforagod.
TheBaptism
Wehadgonedowntotheriveragain, withoutmuchhopeoffindingit unmuddied. Thenightbefore, theraintorethetrees,
andweknewwe’d comeuponthebank andhavetoclear thedyingbranchesaway, whileBrotherHighshaw, whoalwaysplayedthedevil inourredemptionpageants, cutapathalongthesoftearth fortheoneswhowouldbebaptized.
Theycame, nakedunderwhiterobes, theirhairpresseddowninstockingcaps, hesitating, andlookingintotheeyes ofwomenwhohadbeenfamiliar amomentago, ofmenwhohadbeenlaughable astheyshuffledtothechurch, alittledimintheeye, awhiffofSen-Senontheirbreaths.
Now,weweresinging, andthevowelsseemedenough tothreatenthoseconfessedsinners, whowouldleaveanotherworld andbebuffetedbyourvoices, whowouldtaketheterrorinoureyes toenterours.
Straightontheycame, withasuddenburstofsun twistingthewatertosilverdaggers.
Alonganotherpath, asifhewouldhavenothing todowiththeseuncleansedones, untiltheexactmoment, theministercame,detached,
seemingtobepartofnothing exceptthedisorderedday. Steppingintothewater, hedidnotcalmit, butsanctioneditsdisorderedrush. Raisinghiseyestowardthelight, turningthesongtowardhismood, hereachedouttotakethefirst ofthenewlyconfessed intothewater, thatone, nowcrying, nowshaking asifhewouldturn andrun, back, wherehewouldreconsider hissteps, back, wherehewoulddrop theloose-fittingrobe andstandnakedtoGod, back, wherehewouldbejudge ofthosewhocome onbaptismaldays withatouchoflying intheirbearing.
Then,thewordscame, defenseless, almostscuttled bythechargeofthesong, almosttooserene. And onebyone, heburiedthestiffenedbodies,
bringingthemup, swathedlikemummies, screaming, asiftheyhadfound somenewharmony, thereatthepitoftheriver, asiftheywouldtakecharge oftherhythmofthose, waitingatthebank, stillunsmiling,still disengagedfromthisrhythm, waitingforthehard anddistantconfirmation oftheirownunsteadytruths.
CrispusAttucks
Whenwespeak ofthosemusket-draped andmanque ´ Englishmen; thatcloisteredcountry; allthosecommonpeople, dottingthepottedstoves, hatingtheking, shiftinguneasilyunder thesharpsails oftheunwelcomeboats, sometimesweforgetyou. Whoaskedyou forthatimpulsivemiracle? Iformitnow, withmyownmotives. Theflagdippinginyourhands, yourcraftedboots hammeringuptheunclaimedstreets, allthatwasinthatunformedmoment. Butitwasn’tthefeelofthosethings, northeburdenoftheAmericancharacter;
itwassomehowthesense ofanunencumberedescape, thebreakingofaProtestanthost, theambiguous,detached judgmentofyourself. Now,wethinkofyou, when,throughthesibilantstreets, anotherseasondrums yourintense,communaldaring.
Billie’sBlues
Movingaroundthewayyouhave, afamilyalbumwouldhavebeenhardtokeep. Butwhenyoutalk, itisn’thardtoseeyou,full-cheeked, slick-haired,asmearoflipstick spreadlikestrawberrysodaaroundyourmouth, boundupinchinchilla,bounddownbydebt, Texas,yourownbadtemperandyourman. Youroldfriendssayyouhadaway withtonk,orthree-cardmolly,couldspend thenight,squintingoveryourcigarette, knockingbackthesleepwithgoodbourbon, cursinganyonewho’dleaveaheadofthegame. Outofallthatyouhad, youclutchedyourradiohardest, refusingtogiveitupinpawn, strippingdownbareformoney, stayinghomewithacornerofbourbon andyourblues.Yourlifewasthreemonths ofsporting,runningthehousewhereveryouturnedup, droppinganickelordimewhereluckwastough, andthreemonthsofsolitary,courtlywaiting, tiredofthehustle,tiredofyourmama’suglymouth, tiredofyouroldman’sfeebleclaims andprincelywalk,threemonthsofblues, waitingforthebright,greenships
toturnupunderafullmoon, cominginthehandsoftheGeecheegirl, huddledinaboxcardownbythetracks, cominginthehandsofababyboy fromOklahoma,outofthedesert, trackinghighwaysuntilhefelttheneed ofawomanwhocouldteachaman, couldliequietlyuntilhistouchwasright, challenginghimwithhersilence, notjoyless,butwaiting,astheradiocrackled, tryingtobringtheproperstationhome. Now,youhavethishouse, anoldandgrayingman, whotradeshiscarineveryyear. Youspinintheyard, hangingclothes,wateringthelawn, hummingalongwiththeradio, totheblues,andafteralltheseyears, youstillsometimesforgetthewords.
FeedingtheStove
Theflutedstoveisgivingout. Itburnsasredasadog’spenis, thengivesupsomeofitssides asashareoftheashes. Nochance,noreason,torepairit.
Itkeepsusmushingthroughthesnow, goingdown,afterdark,tothetrain’scoalyard togrubupthefine-grainedcoal, oralloverthecity,whereanyoneisbuilding, tosnatchacracked,wetboard, ortwo,hidingthemunderourtransparentcoats, walkingfromthelimitsoftowntohome, likesomeversionofthecross-carryingChrist.
Thisstoveisinsidious. Itmakeslifemoredangerousthanitis.
Irememberonedarknight, thedrywindscentingthetownwithlilacs, thetattonietreeswhistlingbytheditch, wefiledalongthebobbedstreets towhereIhadseenafinepreserveofboards. Theguttedhousewasjack-o’-lanternsharp. Itsbrokenwindowsglintedinthehasteningmoon. Therewasnosound, exceptforourgruffshoes, tampingthebricksandbottles intothebrokenearth. Weenteredinconfidence, surethatnoonehadheard, sureeventhat,ifhehad, hewouldnotbegrudgeus thewarmthofafew,discardedboards.
But,fromtheshadows, ablackmackinawmoved, liftingoneill-defined andloadedhandtowardoureyes.
Thefiguredhoodhadlipsthatwouldnotmove, eyesthatcouldnotchangedirection. Andthereitstood,intheshiftingmoon, thequerulouswindwhisperingharshlyaroundit. Itcouldnothavebeenaman, butsomeexiledfigure, rippedfromthebowelsofthehouse, cometoscreamandguardagainstus,
cometosenduscringing,ashcold, towardourash-crumblinganddrystove.
TheFisherman’sFiesta
Nothavingapope, thedingySlaviccaptains celebratethecatchinSeptember, withabishopdownfromL.A., standingonthepier,corked, holdingontohisanarchicrobes whilehewaveshishandsaroundthewater, andblessestheflaggedboats. Yearsago,ourbrawnyclassmates rodetheskiffsoutoftheGulfofMexico, tugginguptuna,lyingontheidledecks tosplashsaltwaterintocuts, standingonthediminishingdecks andpracticingthestylethey’dgiveus oncetheywerehomewiththeir quartershares,orhalfshares, plunkedforhairtint,cashmeresweaters, argylesocks,skintightwhiteducks. Weneverwentout, thoughwehintedandbegged, andslowlywegaveupasking, convincedsomehowthatfishing withanet,afterall,wasbestleft tothebrawnyblondesandbiblicalJames. Sotheboatscameback,sofull theyspoonedthewater, andallsummerlongweroseatthree totaketheflakyferrytotheIsland, standingthreedeepwithbuxomSlavicwomen whosmelledofdeadfish,andneverspokeEnglish, goingtothecanneries,tostand insaltywateruptothehip, withoutboots,haulingoverpoweringfish
upontotheconveyor,whereslight andchatteringFilipinosslitthemfromstem tosternwithonesweetshavingstroke.
Atnoon,we’dhustlehottunafromthefurnaces, gorgetwohalvesofhot-saucedbread, and,forgettingdietaryprohibitions, washitawaywithmilk.Thiswasourreward allbrightandsmoggysummer. That,andthewaitfortheFisherman’sFiesta. Awakingtothefog,inSeptember, suddenlyawarethatthebrawnyblondeswerehome, wewaitedfortheknock,thejug offoot-pressedwinedeliveredinpidginEnglish. Time,now,forourownpope, thestaticprayers,thebilious totteringatthebeaches.
Time,now,forthedingySlaviccaptains tototupthescore,raidthestores, andtalkofstrippingtheoceannextseason. Time,now,forustowalkthepier, slowlygoingdowntotheflaggedboats andapartial,anarchicblessing.
Jason’sOneCommand
Aftertheshipyardwhistles belchtheweekend, weheadforSonny’s, smokedfishandsalads thatnipthetonguealittle. Thatcheckthatgotliberated intomymother’shandsat7:45 a.m. hasbeenwalkingthecityeversince. WecometoFridayevening inSanPedro,California,parked onadusty,vacantbaseballdiamond atthefootofthesewar-remainderedprojects,
whilethesternkidsripuptheoutfield, ruttinginfromcenter,straightoverthemound, caromingoffthebackstop, learningtodrive,theysay. Youstandthere,inyoursailor’scap, bluffedandbluffing,remembering thenickelsdroppedonwitches’charms, improvisingsurpriseendingstoall thestoriesweknowaswellasyou. Whentheblondefogdancesup tothesaltyrocks, andrunstowardthelighthouse, youstandonthetar-coveredpier, tossingalineintothePacific. Iseeyou, onehandtuckedinyourbackpocket, watchtheshipssailoffforSweden, whiletheNorwegianchurch bangsitsbellsovertheSwedishhymn. Theyslipintodarkness, seemingtocurveofftheveryearth, apuffofsmokecontendingwiththewind. Howcouldtheyknow thatyourhandshavebeenattheirinstruments, preparingthemfortheghostlytripintonight? Couldtheyeverwonderatyourmotives, asyousprintfromdialtodial, leavingyourlegend,callingonEzili, smilingatthedemonneedles twitchingunderyourtouch? Once,foramoment, inasuddenshaftoflight, agorgedandachingAmericanship stutteredpastthepier, andyouontheedge, inyourcaptain’scap, rodeitspinnacles totheendofmysight.
TwoHousePaintersTakeStockoftheFog
Coldandstiff asweek-oldcakes, westandatthecurve inDecember’sfog. Ourpantsarestarched withthedead,droppedpaint. Anotherfleetingday, sixdollarsearned, thebreadburned beforewereachedthishill. Lovelytothink ofallwemighthavedone withafullday’spay andlessfrustration fromthesurlybitch whosehousestands half-painted,half-wet, susceptibletotheslapofthesea andtheDecemberpromptfog. Thistownistoofullofmen whodecoratethecorneredlawns andbalkatbilgingoldhouses, toomanyJoeJohnsons— proudtobe from Texas— toomanyfatherswhoscrape ahalftobetashow inthefifthatTanforan, cominghomedisgusted withtheircredit, sittingonclutteredporch-parlors cursingaseaman’sluck. Wehavehere,atthecurve, afewmomentstoconstruct anddestroythisnavalcity, wantingnocredit, wantingnotripshometoTexas,
nohard-luckfatherstogohometo, thinkingofit, howyoungweare, totusslethehouse-wreckingfog.
TrackCleaning
Wakingearly, perhapsatfiveorso, withafalsemoon sprinkledoverthedeepsnow, wepulledoutofthequilts, alreadydressed, walkedouttotheemptycoalbox andgatheredourshovels.
We’dlearnedthat, whenthesnowwasdeepenough, wecouldshowupbythetracks, lookingreadyandfittowork, andaftertheothermenhadbeencountedout andsenttrudgingalongthetracks, theforemanwouldsometimesturntous. Healwayssavedusforthelast, eventhegiants,standingready, withtheiruncommoneyesgrippinghim.
Weknewhecouldsendus, knewthathecouldjustifyit withbread,oldwives,naggingmothers, thedeadnessofadeserttown lyingunderaheavysnow.
Buthewouldstop, waiting,hesaid, untilthebossorderedmoreworkers,
glancingtoseeifanywouldleave, asifhehadcometotheendofhiscourtesy, asifheknewthatwewouldwait oneverysnow-deepmorning, watchingtheidleshovelsglintallaroundus, almostabletohearthecautioustrains squeezedownthemountainsinthedistance, comingtodustuswithwarmandfilthyair, arrogant,serene,sococksure thattheydidn’toweusathing.
TheHuntingTripCook
Howyoustooduponthosebunionedfeet I’llneverknow.Butyoudidn’tmuch. Masterchefyoucalledyourself, yourunemploymentcardsaidsimply,cook. Ilivedwithyouandyourmadwife, waitingtogetofftoCalifornia. Iwantedtobereleasedfromyourcreakyhouse, wheretheunstrungpianoquarreled withyourarthriticfingers, wherewekeptmostofthelightsoff sowecouldplaytheupright,four-leggedradio, whereyouandyouroldbuddy,Will, keptasteadyblockofTokaybottles pilingupinthecoallesscoalbox. Iwastiredofthebreakfastsofweek-old biscuitsandsugaredwaterthatpassedforsyrup, tired,too,ofsleepinginacoldroom, whereallthebedswerepiledup underhomemadequilts,tokeeponeroom openforpayingtenants. Onenight,drunkontheneighbor’s freshbiscuits,Ithreatenedtostack tumbleweedsagainstthehouse andburnitdown.
Yousatrockingunderyourshadedlamp, halfinthewind,amelancholicsmileonyourface, and,turningtoyourmadwife, youannouncedyourannualhuntingtrip. Ithoughtofhavingyoucomeback, peekingfromtheshieldofaModelA, afat,blackbeartiedtothefender, grimacing,hisdeadheadtakingcommandofthestreet, orahandsomelycrowneddeer, hisinjuredeyesstillthrustout. Suddenly,becomenoble,you’dskin andsliceyourgift,asexpertly asifyouwerethehunter, tryingtomakeusbelievethatyouknew howtokill,thatyouhadgone trappingupthebitterhills,alone, withashotguntobringbackourfood. Butyouwerethecook, wakingwiththeotherstosetout apotofstrongblackcoffee,eggs andfreshbiscuits,bobbingaround onyourbunionstogetthenoonmealset, whilethetenderdoctors,theirraw, veinedandunhappyfacesset, pulledoffdeepinthemountainwoods, whereyouwouldhearthemfiring,nowandthen, andstopyourselftoimagineit, tobeabletotelloverandoveragain howtheencountercameabout, howyouslitthethroatanddragged thevictimmilesbyarope, comingintocampthroughsilent andevacuatedplains,headmodestlydrooped, taciturnaccordingtothecodeofkillers. OnlyI,itseems,knewyoucouldn’tshoot, knewyoustoodinawe,asIdid, ofthosewhocouldkillandmountthecatch, orgiveitawayforbiscuits,servedup byabunioned,blackandsimplecook.
TheEndofanEthnicDream Cigarettesinmymouth topunctureblistersinmybrain. Mybassafinepieceoffurniture. Myfingerssoft,toosofttorattle raftersinsecond-ratehalls. TheharmoniesIcouldneverlearn stickinAyler’sscreams. AnAfricanchantchokesus.Myimageshot.
IfyoulookoffovertheHudson, thedarkcooperativesspitatthedinghies floatingupthenight.
Ayoungboypisses onloversrollingagainsteachother underatracklessel.
Thiscouldhavebeenmytown, withlightstringsthatcouldstandatempo. Now, it’stheend ofanethnicdream.
I’vegrownintellectual, goonaccumulatingfurnitureandbooks, damningliterature,writing‘‘formyself,’’ calculatingthepossibilitiesthatsomeone willloveme,orsleepwithme. Eighteen-year-oldgirlscomebackfromtheSouthern leersandmakemecry.
Here,thereare coffeeshops,bars, naturaltonsorialparlors, plays,streets, pamphlets,days,sun,
heat,love,anger, politics,days,andsun.
Here,weshootoff everydaytonewhorizons, coffeeshops,bars, naturaltonsorialparlors, plays,streets, pamphlets,days,sun, heat,love,anger, politics,days,andsun.
Itistheendofanethnicdream. Mybassafinepieceoffurniture. Mybrainblistered.
TheManfromChi
He’llgetyouthere themanfromChi whowalkedwesttoofast thatdaywhenwindwaseast andsnowpasthishogcutters chokedhishatintheriver cameoutridingthehawk’sback hisbestshoeswasted butheknewwheretodrythem gotloosecameeast pulledsomebossbusiness wasinto money butlostit withhislovewhenshewalkedoutthedoor ashakybabehefoundatear andframedit forthisistheCity andloveisadangerousthing getyoutheresingingStagolee andlookingforawomanwhodipssnuff
atnightwhenthemoonisout he’llshowitapieceofsilver.
AMonthintheCountry
Ineededtoseemyselfagain, togetupinthisair, outofNewYork’sfat-friedsummer, awayfromtheclackingexpertise ofallthedoomsellers. YouofferedmethishouseinNewHampshire.
Comingup, yourheadlightsteaching metheleisuredcurves ofyourprivateroad, thewakenedtreesthrowon theirmotleyrobes,line thepathstosniffcuriously atmycuriousentrance; thebirdsIcannotname protestintheirpolyglottongues; thechipmunksdartforthelush cavesbehindthebarnandhouse.
Thelightsintheopenport lookout,snarlingat thesourdarknessaroundthem. ButIampleased. Thisisjusttherightmilefromtown, therightsolitaryringonthepartyline. Alonehere,Icangetbeyondmyloneliness.
Now,atnight thehousechatters,whilethewind whipsupthoseunplacedsounds overthehills.Ilieuneasily inthedroneofsilence,afraid
thatsomeonewillstealthesaw, orthewood,orburnthebarn, orbeatmefortherichesIhaven’tgot. Ilie,mockedbyunfinishedpoems, turninginHarlem’sheatandcloseness, evenhere.Evenhere,twistingunder theweightofthosedisappointedvoices.
Today,walkinguptheheart-wrenchinghill, Ipassthepoor,redshacks, theidlesaws,thestilloldmen rockingbytheminiatureflags. Isensethedogstensingtheirnecks. Alittlegirlrunsfromherbakedhideout. ‘‘Hi!’’shesays,andhervoice, caughtbymyunfamiliarface, stopsjustshortof‘‘nigger.’’ IambleinthisNewEnglandreticence, cocksureofmyblackness, unsureofjusthowwhite andafraidmyneighborsare.
ANon-BirthdayPoemforMyFather
Fathersneverfitinpoems, andpoemsneverpleasefathers. Onmyfather’sseventiethbirthday, Itriedtoworkhimupasonnet. IguessIdid, andsentitoff withsomekindofprofessionalpride. Everythingseemedright. Hewasseventy, bornOctober25,1896, thenumbersseemedtofit inthepropermythologicalpattern. Ihadmyritualisticmaterials, hislife,myart.Nothingcouldfail.
Buthe,withgoodreason, neverreadmypoem, andIthinkhemusthavesat inhissmalllivingroom, withthedyingdoglyingathisfeet, drowsingunderthetelevision’shum, thinkinghowlittleIknew. Whatmetaphorwasright fortheyoungboy, fairandgray-eyed,withstraighthair, standinginthedryNewMexicanevening ashissistersofferedhim theopportunitythatthey,black, couldneverhave?
Wouldhegoofftomedicalschool, withEdmundClappshoes andaStetsonhat, courtthehighyellowprincesses, whodrooledfordoctors, inafifty-dollarovercoat andabluesergebox-backsuit, adiamondstickpingleaming againsthisshroud-likewhiteshirt? Notmyfather.
Thetrainswouldrollbyatnight, thetruckswouldscattercactusthorns intheirhaste,big-muscledmen wouldknockdownrocks, andshootaskyscraperstraighttoGod. Actionwasthetonguelickingatthatdesert. Sohewentaway, leavinghissisterstotheirperpetualblackness, tofindhisown,ordiscardit, tofindhislifeinlinesnotyetlaidout. Andthingswentfast. Acircusgig.Lifeinthehyped-up masculinityoflumbercamps. Helearnedtodriveatractoronaboast. AndthenintotheNewMexicohills,
makingred-eyethatthefeds wouldn’tbustbecauseitalways gotthemthere,andwasclean,andsafe. Drinkingandrollingdrunkinthesnow withheavywomenwhocouldbeIndian, oratleastbraggedthattheywere.
Havingonesonbyawomanwhohadnine, andleavingthemboth, notreallydesertingthem, butnotreallyknowingwhattodo witheitherofthem.
Andwakinginthehills, inaflurry,drunkagain, thesaltusedforahangovercure runningintohiseyes. Hehadneverseenagod, andthoughheprayedatnight, whisperinginhisdarkcabin ashelayonthemonkishcot withhislastcigarette, hewouldn’tspitnearachurch. Butthatnighthewanted avisionandapromise, andhegotthem—hisown.
Outofthehills,offthejuice, straighttoCaliforniaandthemoney, singinghillbillysongsonCentralAvenue, makinglovetotheprincesses, whomissedtheirdoctors, downbyWrigleyField, takingthetrolleyouttoSanPedrobythesea, nevertogobacktothedustyblacksociety ofNewMexico, nevertoapologizetohisblacksisters, lost,now,intheirblacknessandtheirdreams. Whatmetaphorcantellenoughabouttheman, stuckincreditunions,doingtwoshifts, comingupwithatasteforDodgesanddiamondrings, salutingwithhisverybreath
theflagsthatdisappear onnewlyturnedships astheysinkintothePacific, obliviousofmyfather’sfaithfulness? Andthereinthewar-hurriedbungalows, newfriendscameupoutoftheSouth, andhetooktothem,theirspeech, asifitwerehis. Hegavethemhisvision, astheysatfingeringoldwounds. Hissonwouldbecomeadoctor, growoutofthislife ittookhimsuchpaintomake. Whatwouldyousay, whenalldreamsliesomagnificently, andsistersaremoaningoverthecoffin ofsomeblackprincess, deadamaid,deadinthedryness ofNewMexico,havingcaughtachill inaflurryinthehills,looking forthatescapedprince, who,once,asaboy,sawvisions ofalifebeyondtheirrange?
Thechangewasneverinhim, butinthemomentaryburstsofblacksisters, pushingforwardintowhatwaseverywhere thegiftofknowingtheworld, asaseasonedbearwillcomefromwinter, tappingthroughhisunfamiliarhome, inspring,justasthelightgiveshimeyes, justasthesmallheatburnsdown thewaythatsaltwill,insnow.
Itisnotametaphormyfatherneeds, butawayofgettingdown whatitmeanstospringfromthecircle, andcomebackagain.
Itisnotametaphormyfatherneeds, butawayofgettingdown whatitmeanstoseehissonrunaway,
indaylight, runawayintothecrowdedcities, lookingforthatmoment inthedryandperfumeddesertofNewMexico whenthefathermadehischoice, whichthesonmustunderstand, whichthesonmustrecreate andseeinthelightofwhereheis, wherethefatherwas, andjudge,notininnocence,but standingatthatpointwithhisfather, gettingdown,withoutmetaphor, theyearshecannotcount, theliveshecannotseeagain, repentingthechoicesthatsent hisblacksisters,weeping, tothegraveofunwedprincesses.
TheHomecomingSinger
TheplanetiltsintoNashville, comingoverthegreenlights likeatoytrainskippingpast thesignalsonatrack. Thecityislividwithlights, asiftheweightofallthepeople shootingdownherarteries hadinflamedthem. It’sFridaynight, andpeoplearehomeforthehomecomings. AsIcomeintotheterminal, ayoungblackman,inavestedgraysuit, pacesinthefloridTennesseeair, breaksintoarunlikeahalfback inopenfield,goingpastthedeliriousfaces, pasttheposterofMollyBee inhershinychaps,herhipstiltedforward wherethegunswouldbe,herlegsset,
asifshewouldrun,asifshewere acheerleaderwhodoffsherguns onSaturdayafternoonandcareens downthesidelinesaftersomebrokenfieldrunner, whocarriesitin,fornow, forallthestateofTennessee withitsnut-smellingtrees, itsstolidlittlestonewalls setoutunderthickblanketsofleaves, itscrisplightsdanglingontheporches ofhomesthattopthegraveleddriveways, wherepeoplewhocannotyodeloryell putterinthegraveOctoberafternoons, waitingforSaturdaynightandthelights thatspatteronMollyBee’ssilverchaps. Idon’twanttothinkofthem, orevenofthebrokenfieldrunnerintheterminal, stilllookingforhisgirl,hispocket fullofdatesandparties,asIcome intothisFridaynightofhomecomings andhobbleoverthehighwayinataxi thathasitsradiotunedtocountrymusic. Icomeuptothecampus, withalargewreathjuttingup undertheelegantdormitories, whereonegirlsitslookingdownattheshriekingcars, asthelightsgoout,onebyone,aroundher andthelaughterdriftsoff,rising,rising, asifitwouldtakeflightaway fromthelividarteriesofNashville. Now,insleep,Ileavemybrass-headedbed, andseeherenterwithtallsingers, theyinAfricanshirts,sheinarobe. Shesitsamongthem,asagoldenlance catchesher,suddenlychubby,withsoftlips andunhurriedeyes,quitestillinthemovement aroundher,waiting,astheothervoicesfade, asthemovementstops,andstartstosing, hervoicemovingupfromitstartentrance
untilitswingsasfreely asanecstaticdancer’sfoot, risesandplaysamongthewindows asitwouldwithangelsandfalls, almostvisible,toreturntoher, andleavehershakingwiththetears I’mashamedtorelease,andleaveher twistingthereonthatstoolwithmyshame forthelividarteries,theflatSaturdays, theinhumanhomecomingsofNashville.
Ikneelbeforeher.Shestrokesmyhair, assoftlyasshewouldacat’shead, andgoesonsinging,hervoiceshifting andbringinguptheCarolinacalls, thewaterboy,therailroadcutter,thejailed, thecondemned,allthathadbeenforgotten onthisnightofhomecomings,all thathadbeenmisplacedinthoselividarteries. Shefinishes,andleaves, hershyheadtiltedandwrinkled, inthegreen-tingedlightsofthestillcampus. Iclosemyeyesandlisten, asshegoesouttosingthiscityhome.
W.E.B.DuBoisatHarvard
InHarvardSquare, thedesigninglocks swingtoyourpace. Thebellspushyou towardtheteasingdons. Brightboysbegintotrill theirlamentablelessons. Itistooearlyforyou. Allnight,again,allnight, you’vebeenatyour fledglinghistory, passingthroughtheoldsongs,
throughtheoldlaments. Buthere,inHarvardSquare, theprosodyofthosedarkvoices isyourconnection. Inanysquare, theeveningbell maybeyourrelease.
MovingtoWakeatSix
Ineverwakeatsix, thoughIlie, wrappedtomyscalp, twirledlikeamummyinmyclothes, withmyearsawaketoabus singingbassinthehills. ThoughIamstillnotawake, Iturnandcatchthewhiteshadows leaningatmydoorlikedrugstorecowboys. Iheareverythingthatmoves, orwouldmove.
Iseemmyselftohavesplit andmovedtoeverycornerofthetown, watchingjeweledvegetablesdrop andfloatonthefloorofthemarket, standingonthemoldyarchofthebridge, watchingamanuncurlfromthebraids ofafatwoman,androllhismat, andthere,atthegovernor’sgate, wheretwosoldiersmarch, smugandtightasclamshells, tohangtheflaginawispofsun. Thetownischangingvoices, changingfaces,movingfromone lifetoanother,andIamstill atthatpointofchoosingtomove andwake,orfalloffagain,
oneofthosewhocannotscurry tothesolemncluckofaclock, onewhocannotgiveup thefrighteningwarmthofshroud-likeclothes, whereperhapsIcouldwake, underatintedwindow, toconjureupaglazedlake, abeardedmanandaboy, andavisionthatcouldbemyown.
TheMormonMissionaries
Whoknowswhatday theykeepastheSabbath? Youcanseethemalmostanyday comedustydownthemiddle ofthestreets, asiftheywereafraid ofgatesandsidewalks. IntheirBrutushaircuts, cleanwhiteshirtsandties, theyseemtogivethelie totheirgentleBibles, tuckedintheirsternarms. Ihaveseenthemmarchso throughtownswheretheir Gabriel-scentedtongueswerestrange, clippingnamestotheirboards, intransigentassirens. Theyknownoquestions thatwerenotformed inthetonguesofprophets. Theyknownodeath thathasnotbeenredeemed inJesus’flesh. Theyarecertainasthestillmovement ofbirds’wingscaughtinGod’sair. Ah,ifwe,
searchingforthatundiscoveredpoint, couldstandassteadyasthesewitnesses, aschosenasthey, aslostaswe.
TheNeighborhoodHouse
1
Somanypeoplelieinthisalley wecallittheneighborhoodhouse. Ifyouliftyoureyes, theroofsarelinedwithyoungblackboys, threateningindifferentlytojump.
2
Itlooksbombed-outhere. Bricksjutuplikestubbledoldmen bendingoverfragmentsofglass asiftheyweregravestones. Childrenruninthewired-inarea, spitinthefamiliarcamp. Inthedark,amongtherubble, youmightseeablackgirl,spreadout, herarmsmovinglikebutterflywings againstthestiffcaressofaboy. Ormaybeit’sanoldman, impaledonapole,cursingthewind. Whensirensrakeupthestreets, widowsandwivessinglaments. Sofamiliar.
3
Solikejudgment. Thenthroughthesilenthouse ayouthcomestoindictus. Hetellsusofhisgreat-great-grandfather, whostoodunderasaintandagesture, listeningtofourteenstrangeletters,
hisbonessplittingattheroots. Hesingsyouarhumbastrung withMandingo,Bantu,Yoruba,Dahomeyannames, droppinglikepearlsherecovered. Hestandsinthisfilthygarden, chantingupmoon-fedpools andthedinofforests.
Tensedrumsbeatinhiseyes: Yelofe,Bakongo,Banguila,Kumba ´ ,Kongue ´ . ‘‘Whatdoesitmatter?’’hesays, andturnsfromyou.
‘‘Ihaveaname, aninterminablename, madefrominterminablenames. Itismyname, freeandmine, foreignandyours, indifferentastheair, andIliveintheneighborhoodhouse.’’
4
Thisisourneighborhoodhouse, drummingforechoesinanindifferentcity. Ahousenurturingepicpoets whomaysingnomore, orsing redsongs likesavannas, likefightingrings, likethebed ofawomanjustdelivered.
Nicola ´ sGuille ´ n ‘‘CasadeVecindad’’ ‘‘Deportes’’ ‘‘ElApellido’’
Morning,LeavingCalleGigantes
Thetartsun, likeapinksixo’clockgrapefruit,
burstsoverGuadalajara. Ihavenotslept, havespentthenight stragglingwithmariachis, inandoutofjoints, theextrainstrument, tryingtosellmyownsong. Now,Iwalkthroughstreets filledwithwomenhumpbackedwithbabies, andmove,pocketingmyfists, towardthebridgethatleadstothemarket. AsIpasstheclamorouschurch, theperfumedcandlesdriftandcatchmyclothes. Myownwetandbeer-laden, staleandanxioussmellreachesme. Iseeblack-veiledwomengrovel uptheaislesontheirknees; theirhandssweepasiftheywouldclutch andbuffetmeintopenitence. Istop,andwishforaguitar, tosendsixlightanddeadlynotes rifflingupthroughthenave. Drunkenandcontent,Imove, butamcaughtinacircleoflittlegirls, flyingfromthechurchlikedoves. Theydonotspeak, butcomewiththeirsmallhands foldedpiouslyneartheirpinkchasubles. Frightened,Iwalkasthey, asifwecouldnotspeak, orwalkuponanythingsolid, almostasifwewereplucked fromagardentofloatinclearair, silentlyspinning,asifthewind wouldtakeusdancingoverthetrafficbridge, pastthemarket,untilwewouldlearn towhisper,tobegtobereleased anddroppedwherewewouldwitheringoodlight. Ithinkthattheycouldwalksoforever, unburdenedbymysmell,
waitingformetospeak, orbreakthecircle, waiting,perhaps,formetotearmyshirt, andscream,fallandrollstuttering attheirinnocentfeet, riseandriptheirinnocentchasubles, growlandgnawattheirinnocenthands, curseanddragthemdownonthebridge, caughtintheircalmeyes. Theywouldnotspeak. Theyhavenolanguage tocontainthatkindofdesire. NoJesuscanteachthem toflocklikedoves, whereIamwaitingtostaymydeath withtheirs.
ChapultepecCastle
Thisisthecastlewheretheylived, MaximilianandCarlota, andhereiswhereCarlotaslept.
Fromthewindow,thecity’sstreets spreadoutlikegrayarrows, lurchingabovethegardensinelegant abandon.Atthishour,it’strue, youcanseetheshiverofaforelock offtheremilesinthedistance.
Inthewinter,whentheabsenceofleaves mutesthesummer’scellos,ashadow stretchesuptotheheadboard,where, crutchedinthedrowsinessofdawn andtheemperor’sdistractedsalute, shewouldlietwiddlingherablebody, slowlywaking,listening foranydifferentdrumming.Closeyoureyes. Thelastechoofanymovement circlesinthestillroomlikecannons.
Noteventheswingofseasonscanblunt thatrecognition.Thesubtle,historical Mexicans,dyingandhardlyliving, werewaiting,too.AndCarlota,tossing inafitofancestryandhalf-conscious dreamsofadiaspora,musthavethought itmarveloustofeelthegardensquivertosilence.
Jalapen ˜ aGypsies
Whenyoucomeoutofthat cleanbusstationinJalapa, andwalkwesttowardtheTecajetes, threegypsiesflutterfromthegardens, andcomeatyou likeflowersfloatingup inthestiffsummerwind.
Theheavyoneapproachesfirst, whilehersistersstand asiftheyexpectednothinggoodfromyou, asiftheycouldseeinyoureyes howafraidtheymakeyou.
Shespeaks,easilyandsurely, ‘‘Putsomethinginyourhand soIcantellyousomething goodaboutyourlife.’’
Youlookatherhalf-whisperingbreasts, atthevirginandthepaganmedals danglingthere,andyoustop inthatvoice,reallyafraid thatshedoesknowyou.
Youlisten/ youaren’tthere/foramoment/ yougobacktoyourbus/ grayandemptyinthosehills/ pinkandyellowbudssteepedinmud/
thegreenshadedintogreenintobrown intosoftorangeagainstblue/
Howcanyoumove inthiswomb, andfeelthecity’ssting? Howcanyousit inthedroningbus, andnotsleepininnocence?
Behindyou, alittlegirl playingwithdollsanddishes watchestheslowmovementofcolors. ‘‘Meencantaesa. Tucreesenlascosas ...? No,yaestoysorda.’’ Whatmakeshersilent isinthegypsy’sfingers goingoveryourforehead, inthequickstepofhertongue inyourlife/ inyourlife/ inasculptor’seyes ashetellsyou thatthenight isfeminineanddiabolical.
AndPercywouldalways makeitatnight, highonspeed,orgin, orsounds, clinchedwithlegs hewouldn’trelease, untilhewould, asifthenight andhiswoman wouldrunofftogether,
laughing,noteverintheact, notsatisfied.
Canyoubelieveagypsy? Canyoubelieveanywoman whowouldleaveyou, ormakeyousitsilent underwhisperingleaves? Butwhatisthere inyourlife thatyouwouldprotect againsther? Allyoucanremember isthemotion ofyourobscurefingers, scurryingoverotherbodies, warpedbytheverywarmth ofyourinsatiabletouch. Allyoufeelis theradiationofyourowntouch.
Youwanttotouchthegypsy, asyourhandcomesup likeamagnettowardherlips anddownherneck/ yourhand/likewater runningoverherbody/ andsheisnotsostrange/ onlyatraveler invitingyoubehind thatcleanbusstation/ withlipsparting likeaflowerbudding/ withharshteethinyourneck/ aharshgrindinlove/ sheknowsyouhaveleft enchantinggardensbefore/ sheknowsyouwillrecognizeyourself inanyprophecythatshemakes/
sheknowsyoudon’twanttosee dangerinmopingtrees/ orachild’ssilence/ ortheintoxicatedloving ofblackmeninclosed sweatyrooms/
Youarethetraveler shewaitsfor, theonewhowilltouch acityindarkness, andleavebeforedawn showsyouitsotherface. Youarealwayslooking forgypsies,andsignsinrainyforests, andloveinrooms thatyoucanshuffle likeadeckofcards andcastaway. Youarealways inthebeginning ofsomeprophecy thatyouwillnotbelieve tosaveyourlife.
Youtravelincities thattravelinyou, lostintheache ofknowingnone. BosquesdeChapultepec
Softbubblesofthemorningsteamthegrass. Thebirdsblinkandshudderbacktosleep. TheirondooroftheMuseum, likeawrinkledoldface, yawnsandinvitesyouin.
YourideallnightfromGuadalajara, awake,awedbythebus, lopinglikeabright-eyedcougar overthedeadground, andwatchthedance
ofMexicansinIkejacketsandwhitehats, astheymoveintothelights, intothesilentfiresbakingthemudhuts.
Withanelegancelearnedsomewhere inthestillhiddenhistoryoftheirflesh, thesleeplesspeddlerspeddle alongthescrubbedstreets. Shavedmen,intintedglasses, grindoutofthesuburbs, downtheReforma.
Goup,now,tothatyawningdoor, throughtheparks,fullofinnocentstatues, overthehorses,andlions,andbulls, prancinginthewetgrass.
Goup,now,intotherock-heavyhalls.
Alonewithyoursilentstepsinthepatio, thereistimeforyoutotouch theforbiddenstones,theglasslesscostumes, thesturdyfurniture; timetowaitforanswers, andbegivenbackpartofyourself.
Youcome,blackandbilingual, toapassageoffeeling, toahallofrememberedtones, totheacryliccolorsofyourowndeath.
Picturesofthewater. ThelinesstrungtightfromAfrica tosouthofwhereyouwere.
Picturesofthedancers. Thebonesevenandstrong.
Thegraceofthedance caughtendlesslyinyoureye. Thesound,thelaughofyourpresentness caughtonthepage. Anambitiousjoy makesthestonessing. Thecarvedweapons beat biribing time biribing. Andyoumove,inthislanguage, towardthefirstcompassionatefaceyousee. Youmove,beggingforgiveness forhavingbeengonesolong.
ReflectionsBeforetheCharityHospital
1
Ilivealmostwithinthishospital. Alldaysomeonegrumbles throughthespeakersystem. Whey-faceddoctorsgiveconsultations tothepoor,outsidethedoors. Fewareeveradmitted.
Eventhisbush-headedwildman, snuffingupgelatininthestreet, willneverenterthere.
Forthosewhohavemadeitin, thereisalineofraggedpeople whogatherhoursbeforethevisitinghour, movingcasuallyabout,talking, casuallybuyingthesweets,icesandtacos thattheidlemencasuallysell.
Thoughtheyknowthehourwithoutclocks, theywatcheachfacethatappears, asifithadthesecretforanearlyentrance, asifithadtheforcetosweeptheminside, wheretheywouldtakethehalls andrescuethedying,whowouldbe crawlingdownthejelliedtiles,
chokingandscreaming,tearingtheirwhite, stringlessgarmentsfromtheirbodies, hammeringateachother, tryingtoravishthenursesandsickwomen. Butitnevercomestothat.
Andwhenthefumingambulancecoughs alongthestreets,withitshiccupingsiren, theystandandlinethewalls,andwhisper toeachother,perhapsfeelingsomecomfort inknowingthathereisanotherbarelysaved, hereisanothertobebumpedfromthemuddycab intothemud-blankrooms, andtheyarestillstanding,somehow, clutchingthethree-tieredlunchbuckets, waitingforthefamiliarfacetoleadthemin.
2
Eachday,therainwashesusoutoftime. Frommywindow, thehillscloseinanddisappear. Thetreesbecomenomorethanshadows, swayingundertherain’scharge. Anhourortwo,andthevoices ofthecarwashboyswillbegone. Thefatchurrovendorwillhowloutofsight. Therewillbesilence. Onlythesturdywaterpipe, atthetopofthebuilding, willshowanysignoflife.
Insidethehospital,Iimaginethewounded, leaningandarrayedlikeshades, amongthecrowdedrooms. OnlynowwillIstareatthefacade, andcountthewindowsoveragain, andcount,inmymind,theday’sbrokenbodies pushedfromcabs, andclothethewomeninpinkgowns, andwait,almostinsanely,forsirens, todrawmebackdownfrommyrooms
towatchtheattendants,helmeted andmud-bespatteredlikecombatmedics, rushthroughthedoorswithastillbody, wrappedfromheadtofootinabedcover, oranoldrug.
Icannotturnfromthis.
Iamstandingtoonear, tryingtoturnmyfascinatedbody awayfromthebrieflyopeneddoors.
3
Isitatthisdesk,now, closetothehermeticpatio. ThereisaDutchlandscapeofBrueghel’sthere, withtheshatteredwindmillsdominating. Thefull-bodiedhorsespassivelysubmit tobeingbridled,orfreed,youcan’ttellwhich. Twobirds,somuchinmotion,theyhanginthesky. Isitmorning,orevening? Itiseveninghere, andnothingentersthehospital. Icanhearmybreathfalling.
CursingBrueghel’shealthypeasants, Ifeelbloodcoursinginmyleftear. Myleftarmshuddersandfallstothedesk. Imove,andfeelsecrettwinges that,fearingself-pity,Icantellnoone. Ilistenintently,and,now, runtothewindow,throwingbackthecurtain, toseeifheisthere.Thatman.
Thedark,slew-footedmanshuffling amongtheironbenchesinfrontofthehospital, arguingwithhimself,whimperingnow, finallysettlingunderhisthreadedblanket forthenight,wherehewillsleep, heedlesstoall,atthefootofdeath, waking,exactlyatthesixthbell, tostumbleoffinthecity,
disguisedasonewhoiswhole, untilnightandhecomesagain. ButIwouldmovehim, orhavehimwait,asIdo, tillmidafternoon,andlendhiseyes tothesearchforthatfacewiththesenseofentrance toappear.
4
Allnight,thesilencetakesme. Iwillnotsleep. Idonotsleep, butlie,countingheartthrobs. Thewallsreverberateandhum, asIhearthem,there,breathing, cryingout,tryingtodefeat theself-pityandself-disgust thatwilltakethemquicker thandiminishedheartthrobs. Allnight,welisten. Iwillnotrise, andgotomywindownow. Ilie,stretched, gettingusedtoit— neverenteringinthere— feelingthegentledissolution ofallmotionwithinme, feeling,atlast,thatthey haven’tneededmypity, thatIcouldnotgiveittothem, andlying,burdenedwiththeecstaticpang ofbeinggonefromthewindow, gonefromthewaiting, gonefrommyself. Itisnotdeath thatIhavefeltwithinthesewalls. Itisthesenseless,weightless, time-denyingfeelingofnotbeinghere.
AnInvitationtoMadisonCounty IridethroughQueens, outtoInternationalAirport, onmywaytoJackson,Tougaloo,Mississippi. Itakeoutanotebook, write‘‘mysouthernjournal,’’andthedate. Iwritesomething, butcan’tgetdowntheapprehension, thestrangeness,theuncertainty ofzippinginovertheSundaystreets, withthebankclockflashingtheweather andtime,asifitwerealighthouse andthecrablikecarsmistookit fortheirowndestination. Theairterminallooks likeacitywalledin,waitingforwar. Thearrivalsgodowntothebasement, recruitswakingatfive a.m.tocheckouttheirgear, tobeintroducedtothebusinessendofthecamp. Fifteenminutesinthecity, andnothinghashappened. Noonehasaskedmetomoveover forasmallparadeofpalewomen, orcalledmenigger,oraskedmewhereI’mfrom. Sureonlyofmydestination,Iwait.
Now,wemoveoutthroughthequietcity, pastcleanbricksupermarkets, pastcleanbrickhouseswithnameplatesandbushylawns, pastthesleepy-eyedtravelers, lockedtightlyintheircars. Noonespeaks.TheaccentI’vebeen waitingtohearisstillfaroff, stillonlypartofthatapprehension Ihadonthehighway,inQueens.
Thesmallcampusspringsup outofthebrownenvironment,
half-green,half-brown,coveredover withscalywhitewoodenhouses. Itseemstobefightingthisatmosphere, fightingtobringsomebeauty outofthedirtroads,thetenseisolationofthisplace. OuttoMamaT’s,wherefarmers,younginstructors andstudentsscreamforhamburgersandbeer, rubeachotherinthelightofthejukebox, andtalk,andtalk.Iamstill notinJackson,notinMississippi, stillnotoffthathighwayinQueens, nortotallyoutofHarlem,still havenotmadeitintothisplace, wherethetablescreak,andthecrickets closeupSunday,justatevening, andpeoplearesayinggoodnightearly. Afraidnow,IwonderhowI’llgetintoit, howIcanmakemyhostsforget theseimpatientgestures,thematchingsocksandtie. IwonderhowlongI’llhavetolisten tomakethemfeelIlisten,wonder whatIcansaythatwillsay, ‘‘It’sallright.Idon’tunderstand... athing.Letmemeetyouhere,inyourhome. Teachmewhatyouknow, forIthinkI’mcominghome.’’
ThenImeetateenagedgirl whoknowsthatIcanread.
IridewithhertoMadisonCounty, upbackroadsthatstretch withhalf-fulfilledcrops, half-filledhouses,half-satisfied cows,andhorses,anddogs. Shedoesallthetalking, challengingmetonamethetrees, theplants,thecitiesinMississippi,herdog. Wereachherhouse, ashackdominatedbyanoldstove,
withitssmokyoutlinegoingupthewall intotheMississippiair,mattressestossed aroundthetable,whereasmallpieceofcornbread andasteamingplateofgreenswaitforher. Hermothercomesout,handsfoldedbeforeher likeamadonna.Shespeakstome, movingstepbystepbackintothehouse, askingmetocomeagain, asifIweredismissed, asiftherewerenothingmore thatIcouldwantfromher,fromMadisonCounty, nosecretthatIcouldaskhertorepeat, notevenaskaboutthebabyrestingthereonherbelly, norifsheeverknewanyonewithmyname inMadisonCounty,inMississippi.
SinceIcan’t,andwillnot,move, shestays,withherheadcomingup, finally,inadefiantsmile. Shewatchesmesniffthegreens, lookaroundatthebaretrees heavingupoutofthebareground. Shewatchesmysurprise, asIlookathermanlynine-year-old driveatractorthroughthefields. Ithinkofhowsheispreparinghim fordeath,howonedayhe’llpack whateverclothesremainfromthegenerations, andgooffdowntheroad, herchampion,hersoldier,herlovableboy, hergrief,intoJackson,andaway, pastthatlighthouseclock, pastthesleepystreets, andcomeupscreaming, perhapsonthehighwayinQueens, thinkingthathe’llfindme, thepoetwithmatchingsocksandtie, whowilltellhimallaboutthecity, whowilldrinkwithhiminabar
wherelivesarecrackling,withthesmell ofmuddy-rootedbaretrees,half-sickcows andsimmeringgreensstillinhisnose.
ButI’mstillnothere, stillcan’taskaneasyquestion, orcommentontheboy,thebrightgirl, theopenfields,thesmellofthegreens; can’tevensay,yes,Irememberthis, orheardofit,orwanttoknowit; can’tapologizeformycleanpages, orassertthatImustchange,afterbeinghere; can’tsaythatI’mafterspiritsinMississippi, thatI’vegivenupmyapprehension aboutpaleandneatlydressedcouples speedingpastthelighthouseclock, silentlygoinghometotheirownapprehensions; can’tsay,yes,you’rewhatIreallycamefor, you,yourscalyhands,yourproud,surreptitious smile,yourcommandingglanceatyourson, that’swhatIdonotsearch,butdiscover.
IstandinMadisonCounty, whereyoubuyyourclothes,yourbread, yourverylife,fromhard-linepoliticians, wheretheinessentialcottonstillcomesup asifitwereking,andbelongedtoyou, wheretheonlyescapeisdownthatroad, withyourslimbaggage,intowar, intosomeothertownthatsmellsthesame, intoarelative’scrowdedhouse insomeuncertaincity,intothearms ofpoets,whowouldbeburned, whowouldwakeintheMississippirain, listeningforyourapprehension, standingatthewindowindifferentshadows, finallyabletosay,‘‘Idon’tunderstand. ButIwouldbetaughtyourstrength.’’