Lisa Robertson
from DEBBIE: AN EPIC
(the sad parts)
MY HUMAN FACE A BLAZING SHIELD
is all that I could give or she demand
so I shall hazard shame for future love
and list with soldiers my degenerate name:
Debbie. My name is Debbie. Unhappy, purple
hope has made me dote and vainly tell
of parts obscene below the waves' crescent
now flecking heaven's screen with stuttered light —
dress up the supper, refit the beds
receive these trifles for the singer's sake
I'll weep and speak to you of food and
space and loss and how
freedom spoke a diction abstract as
we shared the hammered silver bowl
and banished fate and passed through
widely opened gates in triumph. Lust's
dumb muscle imitated velvet
jackets of uncertain manufacture, loopy
noble, some years from the spleen
of my topic. I'd like to live with an economy
that's beyond me — but I have long long
tethers attached. For the sake of communication
I die into an arm, encumbered. Dear
sexual friends: between the psyche and the drowned
tail, an expensive circumstance —
bumpety-bumpety-bump
my sinking pleasure no longer sustained
in wet arms and shaking hair —
and if I should dream when I'm awake
if I should describe the thing opaque
if I should lie, if I should fake
if I should be held by such formality as ice
a gentle fire she fed within my veins
with fruitless care — for my girlish part
sad cypress, vervain, yew compose the wreath
I pursued her exiled trace
as when a whirlwind holds to its mark
nor could I be mistaken
as long as larking punishment mocks
with fruitless care, as long as quarrelling
winds give sparkling face to the woods
— all things full of horror and light —
distract my pain and repell my fears
with rattling clangour tear the frocks
as long as I commit to screens
these notes and names and passing breaths
to seize my theme: how the soul can hate
as when a sudden silence stifles
hope and oars work at nothing
I beheld horror in the wet shade's message
and time left me there standing
I did not witness morning. Once rivals
loved with fruitful care. I haunt this ratio
or throw it to you shrinking sea in augured
tongue bastard Latin hard song my busy pain
in moody tissue grieving
you were mortal for a while. I can live
no better. Neither plenty of arrogance
plenty of gauze nor the hard wall of
fingerbones which is memory can erase
this fact: we were half made when the empire
died in orgy. Because we are not free
my work shall be obscure
as love! unlinguistic! I
bludgeon the poem with desire and
stupidity in the wonderful autumn
season as
rosy cars
descend
ROSE I BELIEVE I'VE FOUND THE SOCIUS
listening to rome's whimpering
clerics slack vernaculars purchased
us rose I mean franchised not purchased
Already I do not share their attitude
lilac I am still basking in the nine
teen nineties sun I had not died I
was erotically attracted to
my story I said it was a job for
someone else to stutter to count to be
a word moved across the kitchen I could
only call is it you Father crashing
the lamp I cursed his journey I did
not have much to do vast billows roll swol
len a sheer mountain of water parts in
to receding ripples wide is the still
ness transparent mistaken dreamt citizen
darkened by lilac the suburb near some
city but not my city I do not
love thee word whom I do owe
Don't be afraid tulip for time is fat
with our indiscretions
Gentian there is a death and no picture
for it and chucking utility one
longs to be useful — this place overwhelms
me I require a clearing just for a
moment o cancel this earth and this
effort of wanting then never again
but what would I learn from the exertion?
to grasp the speechless part? to what end
animals and stars who say nothing? what
purpose gentian? but the iterate name
in bland ecstasy coupling greenness and
want greenness and sugar I feel the tongue soft
ening as I swore I wouldn't this my
novice tongue I sell it to you persons
of praise and astonishment invisible
inks pooling nevertheless on nothing it is yours
Furthermore rose I have attributed
incorrect motives to an archivist
simply for something to happen. Stay — I
speak to the public transportation
TWELVE DAYS THE MARCH ENDURES AND DURING THOSE
the imperium's chained in gold for use and ornament
we question whether such ponderous prize may sustain
the role of stimulus: some shun the sight (the moody ranks
are anxious for themselves so renounce pleasure, maps)
then what is hope — fauve catalogue: milk-blue
beer-halls' deep-lying know-how as saecular senate, pre-
ex-officio half-Joe's demi-dreams of oak-leaf vine-leaf putty-
coloured thistle-downed lax weekend-spas
Good-bye! good-by! sea-sick isis-luna sea-cave moon-light we're
trench-digging trigger-happy bull-dog walkers. We're
quick-sand and take the victorious element