deaths, jews, mothers

 

 

it's inconceivable that the synagogues have vanished, that one waits for

another, that the other suffocates; there are forces on earth; i turn

towards my mother, speaking mother, it is just hours later, a colder day,

there is no answer; i made my peace; she didn't know she had been moved

from hospital to hospice; we remain in the hospice; we are always in and

of the hospice; there are great forces beneath the ground, great forces in

the air; we see asteroids turning slowly, irrevocably; the earth is held

in a skein, drawn towards the sun which shall destroy it; it lives among

the ruptured boulders of the universe, intersects them; its gravity is

paltry; it's inconceivable that this morning shall not return; that this

letter shall be lost among the others; that the knowledges of logic are

not ontologically constituting; that nothing is created, nor destroyed;

that it is all at best contiguous:

 

that the knowledge of logic does not constitute creation nor survival

 

that the synagogues and libraries have vanished, that the universities are

no more

 

one's life is continuous lamentation, worlds disappearing forever, worlds

forever disappearing, what is irrevocable, cannot be called, i cannot

reach into the hinge or twin of me, sometimes at night there are whispers,

murmurs, whole worlds churning, worlds whirling, their angular momentum

the platen of holy letters:

 

singing that the knowledge of logic does not create, that an empty sieve

thirsts for entities, that materials slough through runnels and channels

 

singing that the languages are no more, that the last creature's eye has

closed, that the wind is raw, that the universities were never sufficient

 

that the worlds were never sufficient, that richness lay within them, that

one closes the eyes of the mother, parts her hair on her deathbed, that

creation cannot move a second beneath the eye of creation, that the eye is

always closed

 

singing that the languages are closed, that forgetting is perfect sleep

and matter, that to someone it is inconceivable that the synagogues have

vanished, that to someone there is the prayer of a name and a forgotten

date, that to someone there are the smells and sounds of the halls of

libraries and universities, that one is always waiting, waiting upon, that

there is never a reply,

 

singing that the knowledge of logic does not constitute creation or

survival

 

that i am spanning, that my spanning is ending, that i can clearly see

the ending, that there are so many paths, that there are names calling

across them, that there are sounds of inconceivable animals, that the

plants, too, bend their leaves and stems, that the world begins its

shuddering, that it is inconceivable that one speaks, or that there is

yet or still another:

 

singing that the breath stops, that the hospice is still, in the night,

still yet in the morning and afternoon, that the knowledge of logic is

still in the hospice, that the knowledge of logic is still

 

 

=====

 

 

impossible to write these days   unsettling gloom, clouds overhead   one

awaits the coming of the asteroid   cancers eating away before the

enormous descent   i dream of crags and peaks approaching   if not that

something mute, suffocated discord, collapsed lungs and bridges   if not

that something else   something unutterable   living on the tip of the

blade   beneath, everything sliding upon the earth   plastics and

microchips   walking out in the street it occurs, just a small stone will

end my world   my body's impossible keeping   to reach anything one has

to use the whip   this switch moves something completely out of sight

the more one learns, the smaller the gains, the less the future   like

great teeth, a future being   that also passes   sooner or later, viruses,

claws, cracked gourds, clouds and never any sun   the comet, the comet,

the plague, the plague   easements   one has to be blind to things, to

being   being's muteness   at night, i try to sleep, i think, asteroid,

the asteroid

 

 

=====

 

 

& coming down with mountains scraping my skin   & hanging rocks falling,

& pebbles, boulders   & rivers soaking me, leaving their beds   covered

in algaes, & hearing there are other things in the world   & sadness of

asteroid life, & names lost crumbling on dark mattress   & my mouth full-

silted, & tree-crowns piercing the skull   & enormous pressure, steamed &

vapored metals, magmas sintered & blown   & i am at the center of this

darkening earth   & ending of all life & recognition

 

 

=====

 

 

History

 

My mother was dying in the hospice; I went in through the doors, found

myself unable to proceed. There was fluorescent light, world of red and

chrome. I did leave distraught. I did go back to sleep. Later, my father

was in the hospice; I went in again through the doors, found myself unable

to proceed. I simply could not. I did go back to sleep. Later, I was sit-

ting at the kitchen table with my sister in the house we grew up in. There

was a rare program on television. I did insist on taping it, knowing in

ten years we would want to see how we lived. Storm clouds were gathering

outside. I say outside because this was not an argument. Children came in

who were related to us; my sister did ask them to be quiet. The young girl

was upset, and when my sister did leave, I said to her, my sister was just

like you. We all had to be quiet because the tape machine had a live mike

and it would pick up everything we said as well as the program. I noticed

I held the mike and it was disconnected and we could make much sound in

the present-day and I woke up.

 

 

=====

 

 

A Kaddish

 

 

diary.txt:parents this weekend as well, my mother's eightieth birthday,

diary.txt:got from his mother - he died almost five and a half years ago.

diary.txt:with the loft still in pieces and my mother's illness, I

diary.txt:Monday the 27th towards evening; my mother should be all right,

diary.txt:worried about my mother all day long, the operation was a

diary.txt:not thinking. Waiting to hear news about my mother. Reading

diary.txt:Tomorrow we find out the condition of my mother, what the tests

diary.txt:suddenly reversed as well, my mother getting better, health on

diary2.txt:Reading as usual today, helped my mother

diary2.txt:the spectral mother all over again, voices, voices, voices

diary3.txt:little bit of telecommuting work to do. My mother's back in the

diary3.txt:I just found out my mother's extremely ill. I don't need to say

diary3.txt:We told him about the state of my mother. We also

diary3.txt:what I'm feeling is in regard to this and my mother's illness,

diary3.txt:and my mother, my mother ...

 

Coda

 

towards my mother, speaking mother, it is colder hours later,

one closes the eyes of the mother, parts her hair on her deathbed,

my mother was dying in the hospice; I went in through the doors,

 

and towards my mother, my mother

 

 

=====

damaged life

 

 

someone dies, it's a movement of the lips: language of tune or song,

language of truth. for when someone dies, there is the sign of speech,

and that is about it. and when this happens, there is always an absence,

always one less shadow to contend with. and you will try and bring back

that shadow in as many ways as possible, fill in the outlines, until the

world outside begins to change as well. and when that happens, there

will be no place for the shadow, there will be nothing but emptiness,

and for a while there will be images and things and names. and then the

images and things and names will disappear as well, and you will know

all of this because you will be on the cusp of the shadow. you will see

someone slipping away into the shadow. you will see the shadow growing

faint, but you will not see the background coming forward, as if there

were translucency; instead, there will be a faintness, and the buzz of

the world everywhere, louder and louder, as if you are being drowned.

and for you the world will consist of such drownings, you will be gasp-

ing for the sound of air, for the pleasure of a breath. and you will

know at this very moment that the cusp is permanent, that the world is

constituted by such cusps, that, for you, the world rasps against

itself, that this is the nature of the world. for something familiar is

gone forever, and the new things that appear around you are increasingly

uncanny, on the other of the fantasm; it is as if they were intent on

corroding whatever has been real. and it will be their triumph in the

very long run; there will be only fantasms and then there will be

nothing at all, and no deaths, not even slow churnings. but you cannot

imagine that, so you will continue to sing the language of truth, as if

this language, this singing, were a consideration, and you are dreaming

when you think, as long as there is breath. but what the world is, what

the world always is, is louder and louder, and increasing buzz. and

there is no room for thinking the death for which you are witness; there

is buzz alone, and nothing can be thought, not now, not forever. (i will

think of this when i write this, when i send this missive to you, as a

flood of words, as a memorial to an other time, as a memorial to times

in which deaths occurred, which seemed to be remembered.)

 

 

=====

 

 

don't run up, don't approach!

don't come near, don't tiptoe up!

be off from me!

disappear from me!

get out of me!

leave me alone!

get away from me!

now flee from me!

depart from me!

now away from me!

begone from me!

don't stay in me!

don't reside in me!

don't keep in me!

don't live in me!

don't be in me!

don't stay in me!

 

(modified from the akkadian)

 

 

=====

 

 

I shall bear silent witness. That means I shall not speak, I shall not be

able to speak. It also means: I shall not comprehend; I shall find these

events, these people, incomprehensible.

 

Nevertheless, I shall remember, and I shall continue to remember. This

means, I shall build my memory out of mortar and bricks, I shall make my

memory out of human labor. This also means: I shall remember until all is

lost, until I am no longer. This also means: There is nothing to give you

but incomprehension.

 

I shall bear silent witness.

 

ii

 

Jennifer is frail; Jennifer is all skin and bones. Jennifer is a collec-

tion and an accumulation. Jennifer is momentary, momentary Jennifer.

 

She remembers for me. She speaks and speaks, and when she no longer

speaks, she is no more. She speaks because I am alive; she speaks to keep

me alive. I am exhausted with her speech. She speaks to keep me alive; I

shall bear silent witness.

 

iii

 

The longer one lives, the greater the bearing of witness. At death, the

bearing is infinite, silent.

 

The knowledge of the witness is mute. The witness will tell you, there is

none other.

 

I shall bear silent and infinite witness.

 

 

=====

 

 

if my skiff hits yours and we are sailing on a sea of dreams; and the

reflection of the moon's singularity spreads across waters troubled by the

collision, that such a reflection is also refracted in such a manner as

the luminescence of dreams

 

if beneath ourselves, disturbed by such collision, tremors arise, if such

occur, the violence of our nightly affairs carries through our lives and

those of our descendents

 

and who, dreaming, would i imagine such, what we have down in this life,

so unremarkable, so much of a potency, the skiff, the waters black with

ripples, the glimpse of moon's sphere, trembling, sounds of creaking

boards, tall mast, furled sails, in night's dark wind, elements of boat

and water gleaming, and descending

 

 

=====

 

 

Sonnet

 

And does When in Despair with Fortune and Men's Eyes, I all Alone Beweep

my Outcast State, From there to Fly so Blindly in Your Mind, Your Jewel

Gives to Me A Fairer Light, Then Curved, Your Name, I Leave my Fate

behind, Tend towards a Far Far Better Sight, Than I have Ever-Gone Before;

O Nikuko, I Hear the Wind-God's Roar, to you?

 

From there to Fly so Blindly in Your Mind, Your Jewel Gives to Me A Fairer

Light, Then Curved, Your Name, I Leave my Fate behind, Tend towards a Far

Far Better Sight, Than I have Ever-Gone Before; O Nikuko, I Hear the

Wind-God's Roar: I Follow Through, My Love, My Ghost, Her Eyes, Up towards

the Shrine Enshrined, I signed my Fate: When in Despair with Fortune and

Men's Eyes, I all Alone Beweep my Outcast State,

 

Do take My Soul Beyond: Despondent, Hurled, the Goddess, Dark, of Death,

Takes Shattered Bones and Flesh, Enmeshed in Shattered Breath, Hark and

Respond!

 

 

=====

 

 

winter lake

 

 

the surface thin as ice, emblems just beneath the surface, signifiers,

others as well; object petit a swimming, lacanian shifters against fou-

cauldian divinatio; BARTHES GIVE ME A SIGN; levinasian alterity is every-

where in this meager world; holderlinian and solzhenitsynian archipelag-

os; TRUTHS ARE FETED, SARTRE; calling for a new science of materials; MY

DEPRESSION VIOLATES MY EYES; it lies there in a feint of taussiginian

proportions; IT MOVES TO THE SIDE; deconstruction wets the ice; IT IS

NEVER SUFFICIENT; there are unknown strata; BLADES SOAR; i could tell you

stories for hours; husserlian temporality lies in sheaves; I CANNOT SEE

THROUGH YOUR IMAGINARY; paste; detachment; separation; GIVE ME A SIGN,

GIVE ME A SIGN; it is another night of suicide on this wider earth; I

STARE IN SPACE YOU STARE IN; of stars and bleakness; THE STORM; nijinski-

an pathos, bad deeds are terrible and i hate them; EARTH WIDER EARTH;

kristeven chora-markings on the frozen surface; BENEATH, BENEATH; these

lost, meltings; these drownings; these fractures; these pummeled vertic-

es; MY MIND IS FOR SALE; these heideggerian demarches; these krausian ex-

postulations; these sondheimian;

 

 

=====

ghosts

 

 

if there were ghosts, they'd be hammering at our doors, all hours of the

day and night. at least half the ghosts would have reasons to seek us out,

beg us for a moment's contact, set things right again. signs of contact

would be everywhere, and the world would be in the throes of constant mur-

muring. it would not be so perfect on the other side as to lead to aband-

onment.

 

that atmosphere itself would be filled with shimmers for all to see. oh

mother you would answer my tears. sickness would be accompanied by slight

touches, the slightest, so welcoming and comforting. you would know you

would live long after. there would be but the slightest of smiles behind

every frown.

 

those who were ill-disposed towards others would be visited by wrathful

ghosts. we should not be so ill-disposed. they would interfere with us in

all our daily lives. exhortations would come from all sides. our bewild-

erment would be at the bequest of others. we would turn to ghosts. we

would be so careful because there would always be ghosts around. ghosts

could not hid, there would be so many. we would turn towards kindly

ghosts.

 

we would see those ghosts. we would hear those ghosts. ghosts of men and

women, ghosts of plants and animals and children, ghosts of bacteria and

of all the kingdoms of organisms on this and every other place in our

universe. we would see and hear and touch and smell those ghosts of all

creatures and all worlds; we would sense their heat and our minds would

welcome them and fear them.

 

think of the ghosts of half-formed seas, ghosts of algal mats, ill-formed

ghosts, ghosts of our ancestors generation upon generation. think of our

imminent ghosts, ghosts of our mothers and fathers, friends and siblings,

murmuring, leaving traces, populating the air, waves of ghosts, hordes of

ghosts. think of ghosts interpenetrating ghosts, the flowing of ghosts

through walls and doors, ceilings and floors; we would turn kindly towards

kindly ghosts, and fearful towards wrathful ghosts, and who among us would

know the consequences of all our actions and thoughts in these our lives?

 

if there were ghosts, they would be calling for us, and all of us would

respond, would yearn for that freedom from daily care, worries, sickness,

and deaths, that haunt us so.

 

fictions of the flowing of ghosts, poems of their translucency.

 

 

=====

 

 

humans

 

 

if there were humans, they'd be hammering at our doors, all hours of the

day and night. at least half the humans would have reasons to seek us out,

beg us for a moment's contact, set things right again. signs of contact

would be everywhere, and the world would be in the throes of constant mur-

muring. it would not be so perfect on the other side as to lead to aband-

onment.

 

that atmosphere itself would be filled with shimmers for all to see. oh

mother you would answer my tears. sickness would be accompanied by slight

touches, the slightest, so welcoming and comforting. you would know you

would live long after. there would be but the slightest of smiles behind

every frown.

 

those who were ill-disposed towards others would be visited by wrathful

humans. we should not be so ill-disposed. they would interfere with us in

all our daily lives. exhortations would come from all sides. our bewild-

erment would be at the bequest of others. we would turn to humans. we

would be so careful because there would always be humans around. humans

could not hid, there would be so many. we would turn towards kindly

humans.

 

we would see those humans. we would hear those humans. humans of men and

women, humans of plants and animals and children, humans of bacteria and

of all the kingdoms of organisms on this and every other place in our

universe. we would see and hear and touch and smell those humans of all

creatures and all worlds; we would sense their heat and our minds would

welcome them and fear them.

 

think of the humans of half-formed seas, humans of algal mats, ill-formed

humans, humans of our ancestors generation upon generation. think of our

imminent humans, humans of our mothers and fathers, friends and siblings,

murmuring, leaving traces, populating the air, waves of humans, hordes of

humans. think of humans interpenetrating humans, the flowing of humans

through walls and doors, ceilings and floors; we would turn kindly towards

kindly humans, and fearful towards wrathful humans, and who among us would

know the consequences of all our actions and thoughts in these our

lives?

 

if there were humans, they would be calling for us, and all of us would

respond, would yearn for that freedom from daily care, worries, sickness,

and deaths, that haunt us so.

 

fictions of the flowing of humans, poems of their opacity.

 

 

=====

 

 

leaf

 

 

uneasy wind tonight,

quarrel with my bookseller, that's it

quarrel with my father, again that's close to it

quarrel on the lists with everyone

offline quarrel with myself

 

give me a job and i'll agree with you

give me a little bit of money and i'll be the nicest person around

give me healthcare, dental, eyes and ears, i'll be your greatest friend

give me suicide, let me relax a bit

offline think how nice and softly everything would end

 

azure gives me time and space to breathe in

i feel like a weight with her, don't want to bring her down

i want to lightly soar, she'll come along just fine

i want to soar with her, no quarrel, big money, air

 

sonnets go nowhere, i'm always surprised

how they continue on, how one writes and writes

as if every line were a premise or a promise

a premise to build a promise from the past

a promise to build a premise in the future

 

light is always fading, i'd like to run away from electricity

i'd like to make this into a great poem, but it's not

 

it's barely readable, it's something i'd ignore while dying

if death is my companion, this poem's already gone

 

poems and lives are far too long already

the whales are dying, the whales are dying

the deer are killing the whales, shrew are killing the deer

look at that red maple! look at it!

 

 

=====

 

 

"every third beat of my heart"

 

 

i wrestled with the angels julu and jennifer

every third beat of my heart

wrestled with the angels and placing the world

in a bag twisted and tied at two ends

in a bladder canteen

in the moment of truth

every little twist of my heart

they bowed down before us julu and jennifer

in white robes did they bow down

every third beat of my heart

they filled the white pillars with song

filled the white rafters with song

every third beat of my heart

i knew the messages and the answers of angels

knew the songs of those in white robes

wrestled with julu and wrestled with jennifer

momentous occasions and placing the universe

every little beat of my heart

every third beat of my heart

 

that the every third beat went from one to the other

that the every third beat skipped from one to the other

that laces twined sinuously from julu to jennifer

every little beat of my heart

every third beat of my heart

 

 

=====

three months after my mother/s death/ the dreams are hitting harder/

there/s a thickness to them/ as if i were buried in carpet/ or close

in against family fury/ hysteria/ all these details/ as if language

were slashed/ closeups/ this is hard to explain but there are reson/

ances with my body/ i said it was hard to explain/ as if surgery were

the case/ as if i were reconfigured/ buried in carpet/ thick/ there/s

the death of my father as well/ fictitious/ it plays a role/ fury

subsiding/ this is a place i don/t want to go/ language/ not real/

slashed/ lately insomnia sets me a schedule/ bed at 4/ up at 6/ try

to sleep again at 8/ wake at 11/ beg for 12/ realarm/ up at 12/15/

entering the day exhausted more than usual/ within any of these seg/

ments/ the closeups appear/ the deaths begin all over again/ i barely

survive/ words fail/ i want to slash across them with every breath/

i turn into the carpet/ it gets thicker/ dirtier/ i/m being screamed

at/ the room shudders for me/ the fear is close in/ as usual/ this

goes on in every segment/ i don/t want to explain myself/ really have

no interest in explaining myself/ bodhisattva helps/ that is a space/

or gap/ elusiveness of the real/ as if in preparation for universal

plasma and fury/ always on the horizon/ universal auschwitz/ triumph

of chaos/ my teeth are close in on prosthetics/ on the carpet/ my eye

just there/ level with the floor/ why/ if things are always starting/

do i remember only loss/ finality/ regret/ i/m getting hit/ punctured

/ mouth filled with wool/ industrial fiber/ asbestos/ it is all uni/

versal and it is all universal and it is all universal/ dreaming and

no sleep/ contusion/ and the end/

 

 

=====

 

 

Burning Skull

 

 

 Burning Skull

 Body Ashes

 Severed Limbs

 Drowning Blood

 Sheaves of Swords

 Shafts of Glittered Knives

 

There are troubles in words, I call our bodies together, my limbs are sev-

ered, Nikuko drinks blood from my skull. I will survive in non-survival.

Hello, old friend, my flesh is worthless, Nikuko save me, do not save me.

I will unravel the knot of existence; I will live through sickness, die

through health; oh Nikuko, help me escape with the liberation of all

creatures great and small! Um ma am um!

 

 Burning Skull

 Body Ashes

 Severed Limbs

 Drowning Blood

 Sheaves of Swords

 Shafts of Glittered Knives

 

There are troubles in words, I call our bodies together, my limbs are sev-

ered, Nikuko drinks blood from my skull. I will survive in non-survival.

Hello, old friend, my flesh is worthless, Nikuko save me, do not save me.

I will unravel the knot of existence; I will live through sickness, die

through health; oh Nikuko, help me escape with the liberation of all

creatures great and small! Um ma am um!  Hello, Nikuko, this is Julu. You

cannot imagine; I am one of your dreamers, caught in the skein of worlds.

Every loss loosens the vault of heavens; every illness screams my name

into voids. Bodhisattva, help me. Nikuko, destroy me, liberate me, starve

me until my clothes fall into chasms, my skin floats free in unspeakable

skies.  Hello old friend, said Nikuko in the Julu run-time program. It's

been a long time. I don't sleep too well at night; I'm always troubled by

dreams. The worlds I have created - they haunt me. Samsara and repetition

bedevil my creations. I hurry on to another. I never stay, never write a

book until the end. Um ma am um!

 

 Burning Skull

 Body Ashes

 Severed Limbs

 Drowning Blood

 Sheaves of Swords

 Shafts of Glittered Knives

 

 

=====

 

 

later that night . in the early evening . shortly after the fog settled in

the valley . just before the sun rose burning in the west . in the heat of

the day . such a cool, limpid afternoon, not to mention a tired mid-morn-

ing date . just after going to bed, hypnagogic imagery on the way to

troubled sleep . howling in the wee hours of the morn . at noon, at high

noon . shortly before a late afternoon tea . morning babbling brook . a

bit earlier than she might have thought . if only one could release the

midday tension . that day . that night . just that afternoon . it must

have been sometime in the late evening, right before the rising of the

moon . one of those non-descript anonymous hours . much much later that

night . somewhat before the fog lifted in the valley . somewhat after the

sun set burning in the east .

 

 

=====