Wednesday 13 July 2011
REQUIEm
klaus’ asleep .a cloudy night ,silvery flowers sleeping in folktales without snow .in klaus’ sleep
rain falls slowly & upwards .crows cry out harshly .silvery flowers become a cloudless night &
turn to snow .she turned the key in the door ,the room was loud with a television from which crows
fly alarmed by the turn of the key in the door .in the hot sun she wore a sleeveless dress .klaus
fears blindness ;fears the fear of blindness .he turns on the bathroom tap & drinks from it
.crows settle on seaside bandstands .deborah is neither fearless nor afraid .the streets are quiet ,a
church dwells behind large green trees .they marched in a type of nightgown or medical disguise
.anne was sick of the sound of that song ,fears the emotions dead people experience in klaus’ sleep
.grandmother bakes macaroons ,they cool in the kitchen ,noise of children scuffling in the street
.klaus ties his necktie ,looks at the bedside clock to tell time .it’s not yet midnight .through
absentmindedness he had left the kitchen light glaring .jim pours a glass of alcohol & looks at the
dark & all its shivering shapes .in a folktale it’s raining .the pretty girl in a sleeveless dress loves
handsome paula in a sleeveless dress .cédric chases crows on the lawn ,you can see from the
photograph he was laughing .they point to their mouths as if to say listen .klaus lay back down
on the bed fully clothed his tie buried in snow .a fox moves through a city the fox moves through the
suburb .he was hurt ,his jaw hanging open like mariners on a becalmed sea .it was up to you to
make it secure .in a hot sun she wears the dress with thin sleeves .fascination ,razor blades
.overnight it had rained heavily ,silent like a warning cry ,& they stripped off their clothes & ran into
the sea glittering & changeless & mutable & the gold red above them & the red gold reflected under them
& the houses became so thin & tattered & poor & vera pulled back the chicken’s eye to look into its dreams
& they kiss
they are fascinated by wounds in the television news .are they real or are they illusory ?dressed
in splendid rags or rags of splendour ?they investigate rain for sexual aspects .they become
small town butchers’ shops in the past .paula drove the hire car out of the city towards his mother’s
childhood .the moon hides behind an enigmatic countenance reminding paula of a butcher’s apron
.henry approaches the butcher ,throat red & cream with fear a butcher reminded him :“there is no
fear ,only form” .you sing in the daytime ,at night you listen to yourself singing at night .”there
is no form only fear” .compulsion to imitate machines at their destruction .kristin sleeps through
a railway journey ;rain burns deep into the carriage windows ,the passengers sublimely scarred
.through a few failed states utopian shadows turn purple & dance to popular music as it exists in homely
paintings .the child looks at its countenance ,wonders at the candour of its smile .you become
tired ,yet cannot sleep .soft hills ,undulations , a text enacting drift of clouds beneath a river bank
.helen walks through fallen leaves & falling leaves ;a low sun wobbling along the path alongside her ,she
thrusts her cold hands into her coat pockets & laughs to see an angel on every bush & tree .bert
slumps ,bored ,at the butcher’s counter .he drops thick steaks into a paper bag then paints his lips like
sunsets at dawn .he reads a poem he wrote on the way to work ,& asks kristin for a beautiful word to
make his poem the most beautiful in europe .kirstin is in london to buy furniture for the secret
meeting .they drive out into the suburbs & on ,to a great warehouse where all the furniture is kept
deep frozen .bert takes the last bus out of town .cowgirls ,each weighing thirty stone ,lift
sleepy bulls above their heads & drop them through the open roofs of sleeping houses .it is incredibly
cold ,clear sky ,no snow ,stars glittering & clanking .kristin is being chased through the corridors of
abandoned tower blocks , one after another , infinite series of snowfalls , proleptic history books
klaus experiences his fists rolling away in anger .his thighs are in the clouds ,the day is clear & warm
.saskia knows the secret of an alphabet ,how all its numbers live naked & alone .klaus wears a grey
suit & has three glass eyes distributed about his face .another hospital shone in the afternoon sun &
was far out to sea .klaus had documents in his inner pockets .lucy knots a scarf under her
pointed chin .rain lashes down ,the buses are packed & the passengers imagine a world in which
darkness occurs ;at night or in sports arenas ,like an obscene laugh emanating from a field of bulls
.bert makes a small whimpering sound .snow covers the sea which scarcely moves under its shroud
.jim finishes his alcohol .sickness invades his throat .he vomits tears ,as they fall to the
ground fleshy flowers spring up ,scenting the room with boiling tarmac .their furniture is out on the
street ,they listen to a radio ,clap their hands & dance ,they sing requiem for klaus’ three glass eyes inert in
a bucket underneath the operating table .in silence we make love ,the trees outside our room
whispering & laughing :in silence they lock the door to their room from the inside , descend some
few stairs from the front door down to the street .the trees are silent ,not a breath of wind disturbs
them , not a rustle of leaf( it was early summer )nor a creak of branches .in the mild blue sky brilliant
crimson stars solemnly circle & lift up out of sight .rául & his sister paul hunch down low , like they
are evading sniper fire .you went into the kitchen to check if any of the onion soup remained on the
stove .you pour the remaining onion soup into a bowl & drink it-your damaged teeth shuddering with
a pain all their own .you feel no discomfort ,only surprise that any of the soup remained for you
.a nearly plucked chicken hangs , dripping salt water , from a butcher’s hook from the ceiling . lucy
dives into the clear grey water & strikes out for the open sea
james stares drunkenly at the hospital night .a system of communication against love .saskia
wedges the parcel under her arm & runs for the ferry .james fell asleep on a hospital bed .terror
of endless night equals terror of endless morning .the sky is a sea wherein the birds do swim
james shouted imploring for more blankets never dreamt such cold & such noisy silence saskia
sets feet on the opposing bank ;it’s quiet here ,a few birds sing their stories ,the trees & bushes whisper &
moan .they roll james in his chair away from the bed & into a vast corridor made of thick steaks
jim forces the liquid down his throat ewa slides on the ice & laughs- her breath frosting in the
warehouse air .has there ever been a more perfect system of hope & hopelessness ?such that sex
had never been on the history of the earth .chunks of painted masonry fell to the earth .standing
pools & boggy field ,glittering across surfaces everyday language .sherwin waits for the lights to
change ,the hire car heater on full .a river hurries ,thin & panting ,alongside the road ,there’s a box of
envelopes on the seat beside him ,every time the lights change each envelope seals itself & the mice on the
back seat scuttle in luke’s consciousness .klaus stood at the water’s edge .the river in this place
slides around some structures of ambiguous human origin specks of white & grey matter emitted
shrill alarums :shrill alarums are emitted by specks of grey white matter .klaus sniffs at the lapels of
his jacket ,weirdly enough they are scented pine & juniper .he understands from the mirror elena
holds up to his face that he is weeping ,without control .klaus’ poor eyesight & the blurring tears
transformed a river barge into a horse & cart .the cowgirls whoop & drink lemonade until the town is
shot to pieces .he explained to him ,how it was he had once seen the world gone dark ,glowing
like a burning coin spinning under the earth early light ,& we are in one another’s arms ,a tap dripping
in another building & language never devised
the animal dance in their nest the animal dance in their net pinhole light emerged through
white green strips & rag .came in out from out in coming .every silence so solemn ,plural
.extreme noise .maurizio rumages through flags of nations in a warehouse out of town a head
glares at him ,from out of the refrigerator .the animal call in out through daybreak & mist gold
deepens into tree splash ,the animal dance on top of maurizio’s head .karren washes the head in
minty water & throws it into the hire car boot .often they fall to their knees in the middle of the street
,& as inspiration calls them they call upon angels to wash their heads .now the walls of the building
soften & fade .a few sprigs of wire ,a thumb & finger full of hair represent the inner partitions .a
solitary television calls out to its echo ,a solitary television balanced perilously near to the edge of a world
.they hang around the waiting area looking up at the big television on its ledge & across at children
clumsily jumping from wall to wall .synesthesia in blindness television & echo merge
,although certain discontinuities & non convergences ripple & howl the length & breadth of the stony
desert he falls to his knees in the middle of a busy street , angels their lips on fire their wings iced
over tumble from a narrow cut in his throat & hurl concrete slabs through the windows of art galleries &
sex shops sangita called the cat to come from where it curled in the undergrowth .cautiously ,as
if artificial language ,the cat came to her & leapt into her arms .cat smell & damp afternoon .no one at home
.deep river star mirroring curtains .damp in the vanishing walls ,a greeny mirror ,lipstick ,cat shit
.steven sprawls on deck a near empty ferry .only a few passengers sit above deck ;the remaining
handful huddle below against the raw late autumn day .he drifts into sleep ,dreams he’s driving a hire
car for miles through a bright & snowy night .he looks like a ghost has seen him & did not survive it
in a clinic doctors cut the tongues from ghosts’ mouths ,so are we all sung like a worm’s eye view of
birdsong .sylvia dressed hurriedly for fear she become a pantomime character .dolorous
map ,future of its destruction written in some past of its amnesiac pornography !now it’s no longer
childhood how much younger the buildings all appear ,their basements like tongueless eyes sucking in
crows ,their roofs like trains tumbled down embankments !klaus wrote down the first thought to come
into your head .the butcher’s shop filled with passing fish .& as the train hushed onwards among
well wooded country ,a farm & outbuildings ,the belly of a storm sucking in cows .georgios arches his
back & commences the wrestling match .his opponent vanishes through horizons flat as farthings
must become .bernardita wears a top hat in the bath .they are very ,very still we fear they are
breathing still :subtle positioning of a bed to ensure visibility & anonymity .are condemned food
.messages began to appear to selected recipients in locations associated with their failed love lives
.junichi passes a sealed envelope to hank who wears a beard & scar .no sunset is less sublime than a
sublime moonscape elsewhere .& now they hasten against night ,loading their hire car with boxes of
envelopes & applying make up to charm surveillance cameras .klaus runs the hire car along a dirt
track ,its wheels spinning furiously as the tide strengthens & the car gets pulled deeper into choppy waters
.ewa shivered in the deep freezer warehouse .her gloves & boots feel thin & rough & dry & slippery
as fish scales .the right to peaceful protest ,the right to non existences .this narrow door ,left
rocking on its hinges in a summer breeze a generic cradle song makes you uneasy ,you hear where it
originates ,you see the scarred head & the beautiful lips miming it .you are going mad ,but in such a
way that no one least of all yourself will notice .the breeze died down & the song became a few
simple statements of fact ;of date of birth ,of official numbers ,of address temporary or permanent or last
known at
one creature in twelve month or so uttering less than thirty word formulaic .eating foods quiet &
desolation .red of night in a milky window .impossible to define species .lament
.the other birdes gather about their fallen comrade .chivalric .i rip out my thoughts
.quotation .an other creature in ten year or so of seasons autumn spring winter summer winter uttering
no sound onlie musick that resounds as if from under the earths .jukka irons his fine white shirt at a
red & trembling window .the stricken birde lift his head & his eyes are becoming light bulbs
.jukka buttons his fine white throat to the shirt & the bicycle skidded on black ice .earth & sky
,curving & carving .is a monotonous city ,where dead clerks make the lovingest lovers .jukka
curses his misfortune .his white shirt reddens with his blud ,the trousers of his suit are ripped at the
knees ,the wheels of his bicycle spin unstoppably for many seasons in many countries on many continents
./t/ /j// /////o //\rl .the bird filled with skies .klaus handled precious material with care ,a slight
tremor affecting the little finger on his other hand .he collapsed in a series of opening envelopes ,the
wheels of veronika’s bicycle abruptly ceasing to turn .hanna feels nameless in this garden
:experienced namelessness in those gardens .they strip posters from a blackened wall ,the queue for
taxis stretches half way around the moon .jukka folds his fine white shirt & packed it in his suitcase
.his hotel contains albert’s memories of finding himself dead one morning .jukka has never to know
what job it is he does ,who employs him ,whose fortunes depend upon jukka’s decisions .he read
pictures on a computer ,bent double they drown their animals in honeysuckle drowsy ditches .she
often fell asleep at her place on reception ,fat police gliding noiselessly by .he can’t rid his clothes of
the smells of himself the bird’s comrades lift the bird into the branches & there they laugh to watch
trams go by .jukka washed the back of his neck with soap & soapy water moonlight had
clambered down to shimmer parallel to his window .where is you
then their car turned from the road & they parked it on a raised & grassy bank .telephone wires were
beaded with droplet beards ;a solitary soldier masturbated beside a meat processing plant .hamish &
ellen climbed a stile & ran for a life from car to barracks .no sentry stood at the gate & from the guard
tower came a mooing of cows .a car turned from a road & then they parked it on the raised grassy
bank .the solitary soldier forced the terrified meat processor to masturbate beside democracy & the
rule of law .it was no longer autumn ,never .hamish ambled about the wayside gathering wild
plums oh that hang like swans from under the chattering brook .a solitary soldier masturbates klaus
under a sleeping bag .ellen shooed swans away from her car .a hotel so near a railway line you
could hear clouds ,their forming & dissolving .if you are afraid call me ,yet don’t be afraid to
.he’s with klaus in winter .the fence has a dusting of snow ,there’s a grey sun on their mantelpiece
.they’re scrutinising envelopes ,to determine which are life sentences .the room is unheated ,now &
again furniture creaks & groans .klaus digs down into the floorboards with a garden spade .in the
blizzard that’s left over from last winter we can only see as far as the meat processing plant .the
barracks are invisible , as is the frozen over brook .as you stumble in the ice on the ice over the ice my
eyes inhabit a retail outlet nearby .under the ice swans stretch their wings .ellen backs the car
from the grassy bank & out on the road .redness of snow ,diminishing pale pink & sky flattened to
railway .a solitary soldier walks into klaus’ head & begins to shop for bread & onions .ella
parked the car miles from where she parked the car .upper class accent .a solitary soldier falls
from the guard tower & falls & fell for always .some drunks cross alone to the meat processing
plant .time & history collide .unique .i’ll make the visit to your friends tomorrow ,today
i’m a bit too tired .then
one day awaken ;ancient systems for writing .they weave building into building ,as always their
simple food & extreme terrain .illegible & significant dries his eyes on a summer’s afternoon
.the people with their dry broken feet .many years of those songs ,cloudy ,flitter ,majestic
.within a place a jug & a knife ,a book of pins & a plastic snail .she’s her mother’s winter coat
.voiceless habitation .as a bitter wind skimmed the pond’s surface robert cautiously took her letter
from inside his winter coat ,folding it down against his heart to save the letter blowing away .his gaze
disappeared from the small map sketched below the letter’s final text on the reverse side of a second sheet
of unlined notepad paper ;& the small map slipped from the page ,establishing itself as the terrain
where he was standing .despite the wind & the cries of angels from out the bracken & marshy grass
surrounding he discarded his coat & folding it returned it to the inside of her mother’s winter coat lick
at a drying pool of blood .on claws ,cautiously ,ears attuned for messengers .he slammed the
boot shut ,heard music from the lockup -so they’ve been here all along !for hours retracing those
letters the boom of a world somewhere ,grinding his teeth & observing stars sailing by .gertruida
dragged his body to the basement .tumbling stairs mumbling stars his hair combed to resemble an
operating theatre in a war zone .turning her sorrow away she reaches inside his father’s coat for her
mother’s letter .the little drawings of household pets cause her to learn how to play the piano
.she props klaus’ ghost in a sitting position ,spine against a rocking chair .they’d selected furniture for
the crisis meeting from a deep freeze warehouse .lorries backed out into the night .it’s never
truly dark here ,explained jim ,only true .the lorries swayed & bucked in the strong wind
.robert looks to see if he’s being spied on .the angels are all asleep ,curled up in one another’s wings
.robert kneels at the pond’s side ,deep in the damp mud ,& prays .if i kiss you will you be angry yes
it’s time they rested ;ate a meal then slept .tentatively he removes the bandage .the wound is
dark red & angry ,with paler edges ,yet it looks clean & uninfected .he props his arm on the table &
paints it with the sun’s rays .the kitchen is an isolation ward .only the moon’s rays are allowed
in there .shadows of weeping willow are the material from which the room simultaneously vanishes
& appears .he’s read the page so many times .the language appears familiar ,more familiar than
he appears to himself .yet the words are without reference :either to external object ,or internal state
,or to themselves as words or shapes or a music of hisses ,grrrs ,scratches ,lulls ,drummings ,spittings
,slurpings .ashton quietly closed the door behind her .she was in no hurry to open the door
.milena opened the door ,hurriedly .a vivid wound of blue sky ,so intense it edged towards radiant
blackness .quietly she closed the door & approached julien’s arm .she unpacks ointment & fresh
bandages & some bread & onions from her shopping bag .into a hot pan she places the steak .the
butcher’s shop reappears ,unmysteriously Dearest Friend.
I was deeply distressed by your last letter. What can I say to you? How can I comfort you,-I who also require comforting? How dearly you are having to pay for your husband’s precious letter. What a terrible enclosure. I could feel no real joy at my good fortune; I could think only of you and your sorrow – not that the doctor’s letter has deprived us of all hope, because I cannot believe that the spring will not make you the happiest of women. But how terribly hard it is that our hopes for the immediate future should be snatched from us! My poor friend, how you must be suffering. But your fears also are only for the winter, are they not? You too hope that the worst will then be over? Your husband is not suffering as much as you are. What a comfort this must be for a woman like you. I cannot stir from my conviction that your dear one’s illness is cured but that his mind, unlike his body, is not yet fully restored. A letter from you makes him forget his loneliness for whole days and what a wonderfully soothing effect music must have upon him.
You remember how the doctors commented on your husband s first letter which you thought “unexpectedly sensible”. You don’t know what trouble I had to prevent the doctors from announcing to you, when in Ostend, that your husband s correspondence would be reduced. Remember, too, how much of his behaviour strikes the doctors as unnatural. When I saw him he put his hand to his mouth as usual, and the doctor said portentously to me, “Look, he often does that”! I replied “He has always done that”. “Yes”, he said, very gravely, “many people have told me that already.” There is much even in your husband’s letter which the doctors will not be able to explain. But oh, how childish I must appear to you with my inadequate attempts at comfort. All we can do is to have hope and faith. It is no good thinking about it, for that neither brings hope nor fosters or strengthens it. But you may derive comfort from the dear letters. They are so beautiful, so full of love. Was not the last to you the most beautiful of all? But I ought not really to say that. For see how he thinks of me – with what fond affection!
But forgive my letters and believe me when I say that I am graver at heart when I think of you than you can possibly gather from my letters. When I write to you I feel as though I were speaking to you. You bear your grief so proudly that one easily forgets all the pain of it and becomes cheerful; I am still young and often boyish, you must forgive me. You must surely believe and know that I really feel things deeply, and that although my youthful spirits or levity make me appear different, they can never allow me to forget. I have sent the letter direct to Joachim. How great your friendship for us must be to have allowed you to make this great sacrifice on our account. One cannot speak one s gratitude, one can only prove it. With deepest love and reverence, Your
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