some impossible tuesday
LITTLE SLEEP’S HEAD SPROUTING HAIR IN THE MOONLIGHT
by Galway Kinnell
You scream, waking from a nightmare.
When I sleepwalk
into your room, and pick you up,
and hold you up in the moonlight, you cling to me
as if clinging could save us. I think
I will never die, I think I exude
to you the permanence of smoke or stars,
my broken arms heal themselves around you.
I have heard you tell
the sun, don’t go down, I have stood by
as you told the flower, don’t grow old,
don’t die. Little Maud,
I would blow the flame out of your silver cup,
I would suck the rot from your fingernail,
I would brush your sprouting hair of the dying light,
I would scrape the rust off your ivory bones,
I would help death escape through the little ribs of your body,
I would alchemize the ashes of your cradle back into wood,
I would let nothing of you go, ever,
feel the clothes fall asleep in their hands,
and hens scratch their spell across hatchet blades,
and rats walk away from the cultures of the plague,
and iron twists weapons toward the true north,
and grease refuses to slide in the machinery of progress,
and men feel as free on earth as fleas on the bodies of men,
and lovers no longer whisper to the presence beside them in the
dark, O corpse-to-be …
And yet perhaps this is the reason you cry,
this the nightmare you wake screaming from:
in the pre-trembling of a house that falls.
In a restaurant once, everyone
quietly eating, you clambered up
on my lap: to all
the mouthfuls rising toward
all the mouths, at the top of your voice
your one word, caca! caca! caca!
and each spoonful
stopped, a moment, in midair, in its withering
you cling because
I, like you, only sooner
than you, will go down
the path of vanished alphabets,
to the other side of the darkness,
like the shoes left behind,
like the adjectives in the halting speech
of old men,
which once could call up the lost nouns.
And you yourself,
some impossible Tuesday
in the year Two Thousand and Nine, will walk out
among the black stones
of the field, in the rain,
and the stones saying
over their one word, ci-gît, ci-gît, ci-gît,
and the raindrops
hitting you on the fontanel
over and over, and you standing there
unable to let them in.
If one day it happens
you find yourself with someone you love
in a café at one end
of the Pont Mirabeau, at the zinc bar
where white wine stands in upward opening glasses,
and if you commit then, as we did, the error
one day all this will only be memory,
as you stand
at this end of the bridge which arcs,
from love, you think, into enduring love,
learn to reach deeper
into the sorrows
to come – to touch
the almost imaginary bones
under the face, to hear under the laughter
the wind crying across the black stones. Kiss
which tells you, here,
here is the world. This mouth. This laughter. These temple bones.
The still undanced cadence of vanishing.
In the light the moon
sends back, I can see in your eyes
the hand that waved once
in my father’s eyes, a tiny kite
wobbling far up in the twilight of his last look:
and the angel
of all mortal things lets go the string.
Back you go, into your crib.
The last blackbird lights up his gold wings: farewell.
Your eyes close inside your head,
in sleep. Already
in your dreams the hours begin to sing.
Little sleep’s-head sprouting hair in the moonlight,
when I come back
we will go out together,
we will walk out together among
the ten thousand things,
each scratched too late with such knowledge, the wages
of dying is love.
from The Book of Nightmares by Galway Kinnell
I ❤ the book of nightmares
(in fact, I HAVE NOTHING LEFT TO WRITE because The Wasteland and THe Book Of Nightmares have been written. There are many great works of poetry and literature…but all I ever want is to write is either of those.)
(and while Im at it, let me say that James Franco’s life has one purpose and that is to be sexy in Freaks and Geeks. otherwise, he needs to stop. stop it right now. Freaks and Geeks is hot though. who am I to deny it.)
and just because its funny, Im going to post relationship advice from Galway Kinnell. I WAS SUPPOSED TO do a writing workshop WITH GALWAY KINNELL this summer in Tahoe…but the program only afforded me a spot, they did not give me scholarship money. so it was not to be.
anyway….LOVE ADVICE FROM SUPER GORE MASTER Mr. Galway Kinnell
“We’re all seeking that special person who is right for us. But if you’ve been through enough relationships, you begin to suspect there’s no right person, just different flavors of wrong. Why is this? Because you yourself are wrong in some way, and you seek out partners who are wrong in some complementary way. But it takes a lot of living to grow fully into your own wrongness. And it isn’t until you finally run up against your deepest demons, your unsolvable problems—the ones that make you truly who you are—that we’re ready to find a lifelong mate. Only then do you finally know what you’re looking for. You’re looking for the wrong person. But not just any wrong person: the right wrong person—someone you lovingly gaze upon and think, “This is the problem I want to have.”
I will find that special person who is wrong for me in just the right way.
Let our scars fall in love.”
― Galway Kinnell
(this quote tickles me especially because FAULKNER is always arambling about writing”THE MOST SPECTACULAR FAILURE” like Joyce’s Ulysses… or Virginia’s Waves or Melville’s Dick. Funny how most masterpieces are so nautical, right? Faulkner did not respect Hemingway or other peers as much as he respected those who FAILED GIGANTICALLY by pushing their writing to most outrageously capture as many angles of the human experience as possible. i want to fail real real real bad. maybe I also want to love awfully too.)
(dead white men give such good advice.) (except Galways not dead yet.) (I spoke too soon.) (as usual.)
“Sometimes it is necessary
To reteach a thing its loveliness”
― Galway Kinnell