ix. Loneliness

It was not the cold that nearly undid
 me those many years, for I’d learned
The Path of General Warmth. Nor hunger
 yet, for my jaw’s merry companion
schooled me to sustenance with her
 knowing cackles. So many nights I slept
beneath pulsing stars, like as a boy,
 & felt the hmmming throughout the
White Woods that included me as it
 did few men. Men I would meet one day.

It was the dripping, clawing, so close
 loneliness, what I could not figure
to undo. What packed with me each
 morning; traveled like a wounding ache
my days, my heart; tired me sooner than
 my young legs ought have; slept astride
me every night. A wordless, choking
 fiber in my beats & breath, slowing me
a little more each day. Wrinkling my faith,
 pocking the air as I hiked along. My doubts
formed a hard, cold skin around me.

Yet I walked on. Something still flowed
 freely in me, my senses still wrangled
with what they felt, still pushed me
 to find food, water. But more. Still harked
me to the elliptical, luring sounds of music
 in these Woods. The many kinds of trees
& bushes playing lovely through the wind.
 The way light rains & heavy would varied
strum & stroke the grass, bare earth,
 fallen limbs. The heavier darkness of
winter, its graceful recession in spring.

I avoided the places where men settled,
 or massed. At first I was scared, like someone
would fetch me back where I came from.
 But miles & years passed. I realized
I wasn’t that important to those back
 there. A memory, a smile, a nod, move on.

It was my heart that yearned back,
 that slowed my countless steps away,
that never accepted that I wouldn’t return
 one far day, matter one far day. Undo
those cruel, satisfied men their wrongful rule.
 Save the world. Save my home.

I wouldn’t stay anywhere long. Nowhere
 but mythical Island lured me to pause,
seemed important enough to matter. Wherever
 I was seemed along, seemed not there yet.
But how do you find a memory’s vision?
 And why didn’t this vision fade as the miles
& the many years passed?

Maybe it was the passenger in my
 hollow tooth. She was often quiet,
sometimes for days. I made myself be patient.
 Not fear for her safety, not fear I’d lose
her one night. I trusted her. We mattered
 to each other. We had traveled together
so long, & I believed would arrive together
 as well. Maybe then I would feel her
climb from my tooth, behold her small glory.

When did the long path turn? It’s like
 I didn’t know at first. Did the air riffle
differently, did I feel less lonely?
 Did the Island seem nearer than
it had since that distant night with
 the old women?

Yes. But was it was really her. I woke one
 morning from a heavier sleep than in
a long time. Woke to cackling & gnattering
 in my mouth like long unheard & felt.
I gathered my few possessions together.
 Clothes thefted from washing lines
long ago, soft & worn but still strong. I’d learned
 over the years: thieve from the rich.
Knapsack I’d found next to an old old man
 who’d fallen on his last walk, his leg
still bent wrong, yet a peaceful look in
 his light blue eyes.

Hurried, feeling her directly me like
 old with her strange noises, like again
I was the delightful game she laughed
 to play. There was something bright &
new in the air. The pathless trees
 welcomed my passage. I tried, as long
had not, to hmmm, to sing my excitement.

I came upon . . . a girl. Young, dark-haired,
 pretty. Someone’s prey, or property,
she flinched from me, till I smiled,
 raised open hands, kneeled to a crouch
before her, less able to chase if she
 chose to run.

She chose instead to let me protect her
 passage awhile. We had no common
tongue between us, or she simply
 chose not to answer me. Our arrangement
became: I walked, she followed. If noises
 loud or small occurred, she would flee
up to me, near enough for me to defend.
 Then trail off, as the quiet of these White
Woods resumed.

She was tireless, & would only stop for
 my aching legs, let me feed her of what
I had, if my face grew cross. Slept close
 enough to shelter behind me, like a big
rock. Rarely met my eyes. Never did I
 expect her to remain by morning, staring
at me through the back of her skull
 like sleep only let someone closer.

The last day we moved at our usual
 quick pace, but she seemed nearer to me
than usual. Spooked like Creatures get,
 feeling things deep & close that I could
not know. She let me feed her, agreeably.
 Smile me? Frowned? I knew not girls
of any kind, much less the silent, fleeing,
 feral kind.

The moon above full, a rouse to these
 White Woods, a song compelling to sing,
to travel along this night sky, a-sniff
 for some new knowing, & yet I slept,
early, hard, like this girl’s fear a fever
 I longed to break. Give her words to tell
her what & why, give her strength to ask
what the world might offer.

My dreams filled, slowly at first, then
 fuller & fuller, with the Hmmmmmm
all through the White Woods, with power
 that seemed ancient, long beyond
men’s simple rick of good & evil.
 I felt the Hmmm flow over me like
a stream of warm light, & then sink in
 me, my soul’s every open, thirsty pore.

Did I wake? Did I wake? We were
 in a clearing now, aswim in a sea
of full moonlight. I tried to stand,
 & couldn’t, so crouched as I had
when we met. She was standing,
 though, naked, long wrapped hair
now down, arms stretched to the moon,
 the Wood, the wide, wide world.

Her body young but womanly full,
 & I realized she was hmmming in
almost a not human way. She sang
 with her torso, her breasts, her hips,
her long legs. The braided hmmm around
 us braided around her.

I felt she could tell me if I asked,
 if she chose to speak. Where is
the Island? Where is the Tangled
 Gate? How do I save the world?

I am so alone.

She turned & looked toward me, never
 ceasing her singing, & yet answering
me. I fell back, helpless, let myself
 do so. Trusted her as I lay on my back
in the full moonlight, & she sang &
 sang me deeper into something, into
something, into feeling what undergird
 the world, not a rock or a hand
to cling to, but a song, a simple
 shared song. First & last & always.
There was no less. There was no more.

Learn to sing. Learn to sing together.

I woke by dawn, along a road, something
 I’d not seen in a long while. She was gone,
like she’d never been. Except she had.
 She’d opened herself up to me too,
that long night, saw what I yearned,
 & left me just a running distance from
its tents, & flags, & carnival wonders

******

x. Creature Carnival, Part 1

Some nights I would wonder my
 half-dreaming way deep into the stars
so high above my small, prone form,
 & I would think: do they too expect
suffering more, & marvels less, as they
 mature to whatever they best become?

I traveled these weird, wonderful
 White Woods for years. Sent as a
bony, crooked youth into a world
 I didn’t know how strange twas, to save
it from I knew not way, nor little how.
 Carried in my very jaw the world’s
token & reminder how it is a laughing game
 with rules no man contrived, or controls.

Yet I would wonder into those million
 speckled lights if they had been revealed
an easier path for love to be shared,
 & received. What potion, from which
alien leaves & berries; what soft, strong
 god suckling; what fine dreams did
fill them, wake with them, flow
 among them, build better their worlds?

My time among the Creatures had
 hinted something to me, caused me
to feel beyond my own eyes & bones,
 compelled me to grasp of new marvels
in this world, & their fragility, & what
 half-known powers in me could do
to protect, to teach, to perpetuate.

The strange dark-haired girl had let me
 find strength to protect on closer
to myself, even if not that close,
 even if my protecting may have been
more an obscure lesson than reality.

But I still wasn’t sure, still didn’t know,
 still looked to those colorful tents
in the distance that cool morning &
 did not imagine marvels waiting there.
Only men to be avoided as ever.

Until I saw someone approaching me
 from there, coming down the road
hmmming what my ears had slowed,
 as always, to detect in the air,
all around me. But then there is
 was, this ancient wordless song,
like an open hand if I could grasp it,
 if I could keep mine own in it.

A bear walking upright, no higher
 than partway to my knee, hmmming &
smiling right to me. Wearing a vague
 sort of warm black hat, & a neat
little black bowtie. Black eyes but
 otherwise snow’s first white.

I did not stand, as I had learned
 I was too tall for Creatures to behold
calmly. But I pulled up into a crouch, &
 opened my hands as gesture he
would understand. Yet had came right
 up to me, & I heard a pleased titter
in my jaw. He offered me a handbill,
 & then a wave of his paw, & then was
returning whence he came.

A sheet of thick, rough paper, &
 figures upon it made by a coal or
charred stick. Yet the image of
 those tents, clear upon it, &
the words “X’s Carnival of
 Mysteries & Wonders” in legible,
simple form. Much smaller below,
 these were the words writ:
“For those lost.”

I stood. I stretched. I drank
 plentifully from my water sack, as
though my usual rationing was for a time
 now past. Dusted myself off,
swung my knapsack on my shoulder,
 & set off at a good walk to those
tents. Unhesitant, unslowed. Unsure
 why yet unsure this uncertainty.

There was a wide entrance to this
 Carnival, as though all welcomed, rich
or poor. The sign that greeted me,
 that I passed under, said the same
as my handbill. I slowed to a walk,
 since I did not know if men trucked
here among these wonderful Creatures.

Yet no man met me, or was nearby to
 be seen. Instead, twas a curly furred
pink pup & her lovely white pony
 companion—each spangled quietly
in shiny baubles, each no taller than
 that bear had been—that met
me next. No words but what smiles
 do in their stead. A wish to welcome,
to lead me further in.

I hesitated. Too tall. Too much a man
 in this small magick. Too much of me.

They stopped, gazed me kindly,
 remembered in my mind how I had
held & comforted so many of them
 in the cold, how I had found
them the Path of General Warmth.
 How the tiny one in my jaw had
been taken bravely by me away
 from cruel captors. This all mattered.

I relaxed, a little, standing there, closed
 my eyes, tried to be something good,
generous, something a part of me was,
 & the rest looking large over it. A cackle
sounded deep in my mind, far deeper
 than my jaw, there was a nudge,
& I opened my eyes, wide, wider.

The white pony & pink poodle were
 looking at me face to face. Willing me
climb on the pony, & come along.

I climbed on. now them six feet
 high, or me barely twelve inches,
I climbed on & rode along.

There were many tents & booths
 along the way, mysteries & wonders
I was not bound for then. They
 were eager to bring me to past where
a blue & pink piglet was making
 strange tricks with a pack of cards,
catching my eye. Nodding me touch
 my head, where I discovered a tall
hat of her strange cards, arrived & formed.

Past a pink & white elephant tending
 a forest of beautiful pine cones &
lovely blooming plants. Past a
 candle of every color, taller than I
was now, flame swirling around me
 in sweet, sharp, soft scents.
Past a black striped White Tiger
 with blue eyes like the furthest
unvisited seas. And so many others.
 Hmmming me along, welcoming me,
 hurry, go & see!

A tent taller than the rest, much taller,
 a beautiful white like the bow-tied bear,
its entrance strangely shaped, almost like
 the ancient Gate I sought on the
timeless Island. And yet we passed
 freely through & I was arrived where
they all wished me, a glare & a darkness
 confusing my eyes a long moment. Yet
no longer afraid. I touched my tall playing
 card hat, still atop my head, smiled, &
trusted whatever good was to come.

******

x. Creature Carnival, Part 2

There is scent before I open my eyes.
 Many things in it. Feces, sex play,
things moldering. These Woods consume
 to create. The blood society of living,
mortal things, perishing soon or sooner
 by claw & tooth. But no men. Not yet.
Not here the Beast that out-thinks
 his prey, & smiling to it. Kills for practice.
Kills for trophy. Men will come & awake
 something in these Woods. The fear
of casual possession.

Open my eyes. I’m on the ground. There
 is no great tent before or around me.
Tis a great clearing, tallest Woods on
 all sides. But. There is, at the far
edge, a . . . platform? On it, a stage?
 I stand, gingerly, remembering I am
likely inches tall. Walk toward it.
 Looks anciently wooden. The stage
is at my eyes’ height. I stroke its
 edge, warm, hmmming. This is
living wood still, when at rest.

The clearing is empty, even of my
 former companions. Something here
they wish to show me. No men
 here but me. Yet they are compelled.
The Creatures? The Woods themselves?
 I try to feel something deeper here.
Listen for the cackle in my jaw.
 She is quiet but, I feel, not absent.
Cares me as friend. Would have me
 uncertain, alert for the telling of it all.

I veer toward the center of the clearing,
 walk its grassy way. Test each step,
then less so. How does a man teach
 himself to learn from his blood & bones?

It begins thus: I am a man. I come
 here as no other. I am welcomed.
I am . . . needed? I look all around
 this clearing, breathe slower, a beat,
& speak.

“Show me. Let me see why I am brought
 here to your special place.”

A pause. It lingers. I wait. Slow
 my impatient breath & wait.

I’m not sure how the clearing fills
 so full, or so sudden, nor quite
what kind of furry little beings
 it fills with. Long antennaes & tails.
Oversized beautiful eyes. Wearing
 patched together clothes like they
are not sure for why.

I am tall among them but not
 overly so. They don’t fear me.
They don’t know fear. Just the novel
 look of my bare face & longer torso.
Close to me all around & wanting
 me to see what’s come.

I look toward the stage platform,
 but now tis a cluster of Islands.
I count. Six of them, close, dreaming?
 These lands are living, like Creature,
how wondrously so? Dreaming close
 in a wide, wide sea. At peace.

What falls from the, strikes
 the shallows of one of them. A sound,
a splash. Then walk these Creature Islands,
 they wake to it & are terrified.
They terror & fly with each other.

I watch all but one flee far,
 & this one seems to grasp me,
& my strange fellows to come along,
 come in, come with me, something’s
begun.

We are pulled, lifted, & carried,
 through ancient Woods just like these,
deeper & deeper on this Island,
 until we come to something, a structure
so massive it fills the skies above
 entirely. A Gate. The Tangled Gate.

Now lifted through & within like
 this ever our dance, past a
fountain ancient, yet clear water,
 down paths whose walls rise high
above us, made of vines & stones.

Come, & less so all of these
 furry smiling strangers & me, &
more so my partner the Island
 is compelling just my torso,
holding just my hands.

Come of a sudden to a cave &
 into its blackness, & for a moment
I see & feel the violent bloodbath
 for gods cunts, & lands that is
ever & all of human history as I
 am now screaming & cursing,
pushed through & past it, & come
 of a sudden to a very quiet place.

Stop. I look around. Tis a Great Cavern.
 A tree its center blindingly tall.
And everywhere, everywhere, all the
 Creatures I have known. Awake.
Aware. Waiting. That splash in the
 waters above had done this.
They wait for . . .

Me? No. Her. A girl’s face, pretty,
 kind, sad. I watch this face mature
from round & pudgy to slenderer,
 her body matures around her,
the Creatures have awaited her
 take her place among them, at
their head, & they flow in & around,
 her like sea foam, like happy melody.

She lives in this cavern with them,
 though somewhere else too. She visits
& they receive her happy, unsure why
 she departs. How this is her dreaming,
from a remote place, staying as she can.

She hmmms with all of them, keening
 for hours, days at a time, & slowly
they know whence she comes.
 Where men struggle, explain cruelty
when they cannot sing together.

It darkens her, that world, saddens
 her, & they wish to help. Help this
loved friend amongst them.

They learn she likes when they dance,
 when they tumble. She likes their
casual acrobatics. Uncertain what
 any of it means, they try out
tricks & stunts to delight her.

It becomes something, in men’s tongue
 she calls it Carnival. They sort
through themselves for the highest
 jumpers, numblest dancer, touches
of something new & novel, not in form,
 but intent.

Throughout this place, a happiness
 builds up, spangles out. This becomes
something they do together, to please
 her. Then to please each other.
Orchestrate how they entertain her,
 how one marvel reveals the next.

A might the moon so full above,
 the Great Cavern lit every speck.
Creatures dancing, tumbling, riding
 one another for novel sport, singing
songs in her tongue, whatever they mean.
 She laughs. She loves them.
She must share this.

Over the course of many, many
 dreams, many frolicks & songs,
many slow teachings, she gives them
 to learn her tongue, many full &
dark moon nights.

She will let them go. She will keep them.
She will send them into the cruel
 bloodsport world of men, its lonely
villainy, iterate them into this world
 to sing & dance & entertain.
Find who will heed. Find who will learn.

I feel now lifted & carried through
 miles & years, like a speck, like a
precious speck, to arrive back
 here, in this clearing, & reck
that all I had just seen & been
 has not yet happened. The Islands
have not yet spooked & fled.

I sit, hard, on the grassy ground,
 & wonder what am I to do,
with all this. How to make it come
 to pass. How to make this world.

Close my eyes. Hold myself in a
 crouch in this wonderful place.
Please. Tell me. Please.

Open my eyes. Pink poodle. White pony.
 Many many Creatures now around
me. Loving me, that’s what. That’s all
 ever what. I stand up. A little
taller than them now, but OK still.

Want to say. So want to say. What?

I hmmm, as so often before.
I hmmm, for all they’ve shown me.
I hmmm, for what I have to do.
I hmmm, for how much I love them.
I hmmm, for how much I love this world.
I hmmm, for how I will find a way to save it.

******

xii. Oscillating

“Well I’m here to tell you now,
each and every mother’s son.
You better learn it fast,
You better learn it young.
Someday never comes.”
—Creedence Clearwater Revival, 1972.

She leads me, the dark-haired girl,
 holding my hand tightly, close,
close, but her protecting me this time,
 & her powerful, & me feeling like
the boy I was when I fled with
 my friend in my jaw.

Through White Woods, full moon,
 pathless course, mile upon mile,
our feet hardly tread solid on ground,
 swift, swifter, I wonder if Creatures
are near, try to hmmm, but a
 broken croak comes out.

Does she hmmm? Any sound at all?
 Something deeper still than my ears?
I’m unable to speak, to anything but swift
 along. Then we come sudden to a clearing
& stop. The full moonlight so bright I can
 hardly tell what this is.

Then I see how the trees bordering this
 clearing, & the branches hanging over it,
form its light & shadows into a . . . building?
 A building of light. Shaped like a . . . temple?
As my eyes adjust, the building solidifies
 before me, never fully solid, but yet
there a door, above a spire. Real enough.

She’s behind me, waiting. Says nothing,
 as ever, but points to the temple
door. Isn’t holding my hand. Isn’t
 coming with me. This seems another
gift from her, like the Carnival long
 ago, whatever it is they are.

The door is open & I step in. I am both
 in a moony clearing, ground beneath
my feet, trees about me, & I’m not.
 This temple is very old & very purposeful.
Tis one room empty but for a small
 purple stool in the corner, waiting.

Upon it a book. Carved from the world’s
 first tree. Upon it, my breath quicks
to see, a dim but glowing image of
 The Tangled Gate, my long long quarry.
I lift the heavy cover & push it back.
 A single sentence on a white sheet.

“Events as they have, & may yet, occur.”

There are images of things I know, or
 feel like I know. The Island, its Gate,
Creatures in the White Woods. A man
 asleep in a ship’s cabin, his hand
clutching a strange, powerful-looking
 stick. Another kneeling in a narrow shack.

Who are they? Why am I led here?
 I turn more pages. A dark man, artist
at his easel, his painting of a White Birch,
 like I could step into this page & climb
its beautiful glowing branches. A woman,
 I think, coupling with a furious-faced man,
yet her look beatific & solely upon me.

A boy sitting in his tent, curled in the dim
 around a tiny thing twittering in his
hand. Twittering? Can I actually hear it?
 Another page filled will handwriting &
yet I can only make out the words
 “Remember some things” at it commence.

I turn pages faster & faster, like my time
 here is near gone, like I must learn
 something important. A great castle,
 on the Island, & a middle-aged
man, feigning the dignity of high office
 for others, walks restless its lookout to sea.

A young girl approaches him. She radiates power
 yet humbly, by long habit, defers to his
words, his views. They stand together.
 She is happy in this moment, yet his like
happiness wisps away, & he returns
 to a dark, secret room, a dark summoning
his loans pull him to.

The pages become harder to turn, & he
 feels the light passing that allowed
him his presence here. He crouches
 more frantically over the book, shoving
at the leaden pages. Something, give me
 something please.

A bridge. By an overgrown stream.
 The sound of frequent passage as
he sits beneath the bridge, the water
 fast & clear. The sound of laughing
voices in the distance. Approaching
 at a run. So excited.

I wake. I’m lying on a thin mattress in
 a small room in some kind of strange
inn. I’ve been here for days, or weeks.
 I don’t often eat. I have no possessions
anymore, so it is easy to leave.
 I walk slowly, long accustomed
to the road. To hope.

A bridge in the White Woods. All the
 rest. A dark-haired girl from long ago
in a dream. A clearing shaped like
 a temple in full moonlightj.
A book of maybes. A dream. A bridge.
 I need a stream.

The water is cold, so wonderfully cold.
 The bruises from whores’ switches
ached but toward healing. Nothing
 important’s withered off me. My
head, my hands, my heart, all
 remain. I sing as I scrub my
large but hungry body. My singing
 becomes hmmming as long it
hasn’t. Louder & louder, with
 laughing in it, like sugar, with tears
in it, like what must be done, &
 who must be found to help.

******

Continue on Many Musics, Eleventh Series

Back to Many Musics, Tenth Series

Back to Table of Contents