Tuesday, August 23, 2011

the jungle and the city

jungle noises
different sounds

i am accustomed to sea speak and rain frying

birds i have not yet befriended or spoken to
it sounds green,
sounds like somewhere i have not had a space for yet
in my auricular memory...

will they push out the others, salt stored as stone?
i hope they push out the ones that stalk me
those that i heard from five to sixteen
ninety-eight must go as well
from two to five
and six to ten
and apart from the songs i wrote...

while we are culling, let me at it
what else shall i delete?
noises of weeping all my life.
my years, if added, don't tell me how many, but loved ones's tears too.

oh my blood of hearts to spill
and then rub out with turps!

what now have we left?

i should like to keep the laughing space.
you can't touch this, never, no
for it is holiness.
you should not pray and moan in church
clutching your rosaries like kid-swing chains
holding on with muscle clenched need
and kissing it with fervour
like a mother who has found her child again at the fair
relieved and angry too.
but you should laugh before the Lord
i am sure he thinks
thats worth his joy
far more than wailing women,
their black lace words.
being sorry for... utterly nothing.
for in their penance,  and their lives of pain
lives getting smaller, smaller still
until they have nothing to confess to Him
they may as well be frozen
even laughing at something you should not be
it is a noble noise

i should like to keep every sound i ever heard with him
his bleat when he giggles
his voice when he weeps softly, soft...
his sniffing in the mornings
his gentle speaking voice
''what would you like to eat tonight, what can i get you? we'll need to shop''
''do you feel you'd like a bath?''
''how shall you have your hair today?''
''shall we have have a walk to our bridge and take an ice or aperitif?''
''i have to go to the driving school now''
''i wanted you to come to sardinia...''
and his little teeny tiny noises
little quavers, like hearts blown out of bubble wands when i give him the nod to commence
plup! plup! and plup again, for all eternity!

those can all stay please, Lord.

i sit here and i smile
to be with my jungle noises
those in italy every day...
alone, free, in a vast apartment.
to count the rooms is too much effort
when i could choose to do just this...
listen, write, and all the while to
be with him and Him.
i use no discipline at all
for one time in my life
work comes easier naturally
with less effort or time
i drift from one moment to the next
and laugh it all off laugh it all away...

i am bohemian naturally
i wear flowing sun dresses
i let my hair all tumble down
i wear no make up when i'm at home
i go from one part to the next of the day with no distinguishing
from here to here, not here to there, or even there to over there
i do not want this space to end
i want the next space to start

and i should like to revisit when i'm in need of calm

even though the natives are screaming and laughing in town
smoke filtering thru every pore of mine
yes from miles away!
i do so love it here
my voice, my watermelon love,
my most silent friends, give me ease
switched off when i want, gone when i don't
dear people who will take no offence
dear people
yes thank god for them

i smile as i write because i love my jungle noises
i would love to meet a lion
(from a very safe place)
could one ever be in a monkey lock
and cling to a giraffe's neck
in an embrace so tight it bruises me
(like the ones we make
so we feel safe
and mould into each other so
our cells don't know whose are whose)
or take in an elephant
majestic, strong and stoic in its stance...
should be wearing jewels
traveling in club class
in givenchy shoes
diamonds in its flappy ears...
now i am bleating too!

oh but,
it needs to be free and natural
to live its beauty properly
so i will take the chocolates
the adornment and the foot attire
i can wear them in the city
and strip naked in our home...

jungle life is not for me
i like square cuts, and sculpted heels
hair and nails very promptly fixed
to be untouchable
box jackets, or sleek long lines
(you don't get those in the green of green)
to eat four courses
watch french films
it's at home when i strip off
and am...just me

i'd like to go there one time though
to hear the jungle drone
i know it can't be really
but it seems to sound like home