gondolas.
He demands and receives a large cascade where each of his mistresses is represented in stone as either a goddess or a water nymph. More forests appear where once there was only mud and toads. These he sees from his bedrooms, though they are five miles away!
He has broken the intimacy of rock and swamp wide open.
Now he feels much better.
Sleep.
TURNING BACK AT DUSK
These are deceptive spaces
windows bronze
a cold stone warms
I’m trying to connect
the break in the horizon
moving distance after distance
there are canals
thin as gold leaf
and dreams of fountains
collapsing at the edge
trees that tremble
just beyond my hand
are miles and miles away
the oval mirror of the lake
impossible to reach
I am trying to move
distance after distance
turning back at dusk
my declaration of withdrawal
I see the garden
as near to me
and as far away
The Poisoned Shirt
A third chamber, as it were the anteroom of the above, is correctly named the decaying chamber … the walls are enormously thick
.
– Saint-Simon
SOME OTHER GARDEN
The doctors come blindfolded
into the palace
they deliver babies
borne by masked women
anonymous screaming flesh
children
pulled from the womb
torn from the arms
the anonymous
flesh of the palace
taken to grow in
some other garden
next evening
the women perform at the ball
prepare their cards for the table
tiny fists
close up in their brains
THE PORCELAIN TRIANON
The only thing I ever asked
was porcelain
a playhouse here
among the trees
you gave me faience
pretending to be porcelain
see the pools outside the door
blue and white
blue and white
convince me that is porcelain
porcelain and privacy
you gave me a forest of spyglasses
focusing on faience
blue and white
convince me this is porcelain
and permanence
unfolding here without
your strict approval
I want to keep
my small false castle
built within the time
frame of a miracle
the tiny garden with its urns
blue and white
you tear it down
because you cannot change it
improve it or expand it
the little structure
worked upon a lie
blue and white
blue and white
imaginary porcelain
shards sing
all around your feet
THE ANONYMOUS JOURNAL
Today I walked as far as the Trianons – an incredible distance. The garden around moves from one point to another. You do not pass it by like any other landscape. It crawls by you and the weather changes before it moves.
I walk away from the palace in a light drizzle, arriving at the Trianons with the sun full in the sky. It is broken into splinters on the west arm of the canal.
I arrive, realizing that there is very little of him left there. All that remains is one intimate allée, designed by Le Notre for a porcelain playhouse.
The whole geography has moved smoothly into another time.
And there is not a sign of me. The Trianon de Porcelaine is broken. I remain in a neutral room on the north side of the palace, fading into crowds of courtiers.
Walking back towards the palace I have to face the wind. It is almost dark.
EVIDENCE
There were traces
there was evidence
the room moved in to
hold it
like a dark gold frame
we staggered round like saints
tiny ships sailed at our heels
lilies came to light
all evidence
the letter on the table
the ashes in the grate
until the day the dove
emerged
silent from your mouth
LE ROI S’AMUSE
The man who touches you
without love
arrives in a golden coach
drawn by a purebred horse
he carries his hands to you
like old sorrows
he is the death
of the child in you
the beginning of dark
there are no more songs
from the rooms
he moves through
the mouth he puts to yours
contains a brutal statement
your limbs become machinery
to the limits he enforces
he doesn’t lure you into
altered landscapes
keeps his time in
artificial daylight
speaking solid words
and the last glimpse of
his sail on the horizon
never finishes
the stones that felt his step
the sea the bed that you return to
all
He demands and receives a large cascade where each of his mistresses is represented in stone as either a goddess or a water nymph. More forests appear where once there was only mud and toads. These he sees from his bedrooms, though they are five miles away!
He has broken the intimacy of rock and swamp wide open.
Now he feels much better.
Sleep.
TURNING BACK AT DUSK
These are deceptive spaces
windows bronze
a cold stone warms
I’m trying to connect
the break in the horizon
moving distance after distance
there are canals
thin as gold leaf
and dreams of fountains
collapsing at the edge
trees that tremble
just beyond my hand
are miles and miles away
the oval mirror of the lake
impossible to reach
I am trying to move
distance after distance
turning back at dusk
my declaration of withdrawal
I see the garden
as near to me
and as far away
The Poisoned Shirt
A third chamber, as it were the anteroom of the above, is correctly named the decaying chamber … the walls are enormously thick
.
– Saint-Simon
SOME OTHER GARDEN
The doctors come blindfolded
into the palace
they deliver babies
borne by masked women
anonymous screaming flesh
children
pulled from the womb
torn from the arms
the anonymous
flesh of the palace
taken to grow in
some other garden
next evening
the women perform at the ball
prepare their cards for the table
tiny fists
close up in their brains
THE PORCELAIN TRIANON
The only thing I ever asked
was porcelain
a playhouse here
among the trees
you gave me faience
pretending to be porcelain
see the pools outside the door
blue and white
blue and white
convince me that is porcelain
porcelain and privacy
you gave me a forest of spyglasses
focusing on faience
blue and white
convince me this is porcelain
and permanence
unfolding here without
your strict approval
I want to keep
my small false castle
built within the time
frame of a miracle
the tiny garden with its urns
blue and white
you tear it down
because you cannot change it
improve it or expand it
the little structure
worked upon a lie
blue and white
blue and white
imaginary porcelain
shards sing
all around your feet
THE ANONYMOUS JOURNAL
Today I walked as far as the Trianons – an incredible distance. The garden around moves from one point to another. You do not pass it by like any other landscape. It crawls by you and the weather changes before it moves.
I walk away from the palace in a light drizzle, arriving at the Trianons with the sun full in the sky. It is broken into splinters on the west arm of the canal.
I arrive, realizing that there is very little of him left there. All that remains is one intimate allée, designed by Le Notre for a porcelain playhouse.
The whole geography has moved smoothly into another time.
And there is not a sign of me. The Trianon de Porcelaine is broken. I remain in a neutral room on the north side of the palace, fading into crowds of courtiers.
Walking back towards the palace I have to face the wind. It is almost dark.
EVIDENCE
There were traces
there was evidence
the room moved in to
hold it
like a dark gold frame
we staggered round like saints
tiny ships sailed at our heels
lilies came to light
all evidence
the letter on the table
the ashes in the grate
until the day the dove
emerged
silent from your mouth
LE ROI S’AMUSE
The man who touches you
without love
arrives in a golden coach
drawn by a purebred horse
he carries his hands to you
like old sorrows
he is the death
of the child in you
the beginning of dark
there are no more songs
from the rooms
he moves through
the mouth he puts to yours
contains a brutal statement
your limbs become machinery
to the limits he enforces
he doesn’t lure you into
altered landscapes
keeps his time in
artificial daylight
speaking solid words
and the last glimpse of
his sail on the horizon
never finishes
the stones that felt his step
the sea the bed that you return to
all
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