A Conversation Between Robert Browning & Wallace Stevens

A fancy restaurant, circa 1925.

B: Huzzah! My friend, what thinkst thou of my poem

Sordello?

S:          That Sordello of whom, or which,

Pound mentioned in his canto?

B:                                  That's the same.

Zooks, what's the hubbub there? Those waiters swivel

and swerve like dancers in Le Sacre du

Printemps. Hast seen it, Wallace? As a spirit

that lurk'd unseen, my keen unsubtanced eye

partook at—Paris, was it, or Verona?— Grr,

the memory fuddles e'en in afterlife!

S: Stravinsky's? Yes, but let's talk of Sordello.

I read the book, but like Lord Alfred, read

but two lines that seemed lucid, and the rest

mere huff and hum, a hullabaloo of words

put on the page to make poor widows wince

and scholars' fingers rush to dusty tomes

in search of fact and date.

B:                            Mere huff and hum

thou sayst? A hullabaloo of words!

Grr, Stevens, I had thought thee better read

than wincing widows. 'Zounds! that racket! Where's

my wine? But of Sordello, of my book

that critics found unworthy; my poor book

that left bluestockings and great men befuddled!

Zooks! Lizzy understood the thing, and more,

but what is that? The world is none the wiser

albeit a touch less patriarchal.

S:                                Hah!

Sweet Robert, have you found the time to look

at my Comedian as the Letter C?

Of all the scribblers come to Kingdom Come

I fancy you would find it to your taste.

B: What? Did you speak? Hoorah! The wine at last!

But hold, good sir, what's this? I said your best

chianti, in the bottle!  Take the glass

and bring a bottle ;  but make sure, thou knave,

the cork is stuck! If not, I'll have thy hide!

Lo! there he scampers. I'd not have his hide,

poor scamp, for I have yet a heart in me.

S: Forget it, Bob. Now where's that menu? Ah!

B: Zooks!  Look!

S:                  These prices! Ho! Harrumph. Harrumph.

7.30.15

Reynolds & Midway 61

Reynolds & I went walking once

over a hill & field to chance

  upon an ancient tree

so old & broad we couldn't hug,

and there we took a jolly tug

  of tasty Wild-Eye.

We didn't wipe upon a sleeve

  to dry the tacky top,

nor say a single by-your-leave

  but tippd the bottle up.

    The wind blew; our skin thro'

      was bumpd & bitter cold.

    We sippd some, & quipt some,

      like lambs slipt from the fold.

While far away the hills were green,

the trees were few & far between,

  the ground was hard & white;

and in that wide & stony field

long brown & yellow locks reveald

  two young men in plain sight.

And so he put the bottle back

  inside his padded jacket,

and we walked on. My teeth a' clack,

  each fist stufft in its pocket,

    I yelld then, "We're dead men,

      this fuckin' wind will freeze us!"

    But Reynolds laughd, his cheek chaffd,

      "Then say a prayer to Jesus!"

We made it to the winterd wood

wherein the slender birch trees stood

  whose bark was ashen, flaked;

out of the wind we stoppd again,

and, like a twain of tender men

  in whom scant conscience waked,

we opend up the Wild-Eye

  and took a second swallow,

and squinted off into the sky,

  assured a third wld follow.

    The birds yelld, for they held

      in there the honord claim.

    The sun flew; and we, too,

      returnd from whence we came.

7.29.15

Reynolds & Midway 60

     "The nest is full of nothing when the bird has flown." - I.A.

I see kiniggits pricking on the plain,

the crosses on their breasts, the horses' nostrils

steaming, and the stamping clopping hooves

with iron shod, I see the clumps of earth

fly up, and in the distance from a square

cut in the stone I see a rope, a braid

of maidenhair, say chestnut? Lethian,

or some rapunzeled girl, trapped in a cell

twain storeys high, of smooth wood and baroque,

fine carven, swirling stuff, and on the mantles

many vials, vases, polished mirrors,

porphyrian oddments, or of whiter work,

blue filigreed marble, flakier sandstone, veined

we should have said, for he was thinking deltas

deep inlaid, and Pound had come again

with some new brighter stuff, can someone list?

Can someone come along with us, O come

ye blousy spirits, there be avatars

in me and many, may we be possessed

of thee, but soft, for there beyond the door,

beyond the gate, be darkling things that cry

and wait and lie, that gibber in unjoy,

ungainly in ungrace, not far afield

but close and clustered, toady moist and gaunt,

or in an ungallumphing gravid mass—

Then pray upon the Cross, and say, O Christ,

for Thou art with me, I shall fear no evil:

None shall taloned tear me limb from limb,

O Lord, for I have with my rubbing thumb

upon Thy body, narrow on the Cross,

thanked Thee with gratitude, and anxious love,

and unaccosted laid me down to dream.

7.21.15

Reynolds & Midway 59

O let the briddes in tha greenie bours

pip & preen and lolligagging flutter

up & over happie one another

hoppynge beakèd thro' the dais longe hrs

& hrs of ioy; than wettend in them shours

that clap & bang i' th' welkin's darklynge wether

where Artymis, that hath the sea in tether,

silver-sickled ghostly bluely lours

whan even mingles light & dark and bringeth

nighte, who w her sable coverlette,

ouer the sleepynge villages she slingeth

gently, whan that Jewès harpe doth twang

and John of Birmingham dost croonynge sing

of cockerels crying whan the sunne is sette.

O let us run now many marathons

and race ahead to when the letters come

in proper order and the under drum—

its pitter patter in continuance—

remains, but in a subtle variance,

as Keats sd softly: Let it vary some,

her foot be sweetly sandald, nor by thrum

of rote be measured, yet shun violence

that want of fixd attention needs must bring,

the clash and clutter of the lack of Love,

the dearth of passion, and the paucity

of pulsing blood, and that still more dread thing

that kills her, which we shall not speak here of,

but bear in mind, for our posterity.

O let us open up our throats and sing

as Vachel did who thru America's towns

like Bertram, Cino, spoken of by Pound's

poems, troubadouring, minstreling,

cried poetry and did a wonder thing

w pockets full betimes, who made his rounds

as one be-loved by God & Christ Who crowns

w laurel all who sing in gude faith. King,

O Abba, Father, in Gethsemane

whan Jesus kneeld & prayd, and whan he sd

they set Him traps, then floodgates ope in me

and come the tears, here come the tears, this head,

O Lord, too full. Our overrunning cup

we raise to Thee. For aye O lift us up!

7.15-7.16 2015

Ditto and Kiddo: A Limerick

         for Liz Walker ("Ditto on the dodo")

There once was a boy bird named Ditto

who married a girl bird named Kiddo.

Kiddo didn't know, though,

that Ditto was a dodo,

and now poor Kiddo is a widow.

7.11.15

Reynolds & Midway 58

       Mother Mary comes to me, speaking words of wisdom, let it be - famous song

Morrison said something to the effect: The barrel

is an extension of the eye but I would venture

cliche as fact: The gun is an extension of the cock,

its stiffness at the ready, aimd to fire its shot,

O long and slender but the bringer of sudden death

also preserver of life, in good and righteous hands

brute force in stasis and potential, masculine

hard arm and not of power which is Feminine,

O Mary Mother of Christ, eternal Mother of God,

Thy breasts the Power and the Glory, Hera's milk

sprayd vast and cosmic by the naked eye espied

the Way of life, the white of love and purity

O Arc of Triumph, whereas also sprayd & white

the seed of man, by that hard gun of fearsome force

O passive vulva Pound had spoken of, but power

incarnate, hidden mouth  O Solomon the pit

of Hell, Oh really?  Seven hundred concubines

and golden megamillions? Now thy words of wisdom

let us reinterpret for the sake of sparing youth

the folly of contradiction, for the spread of truth,

for mass dissemination: Brute force is not power!

And shun false witness: for the muscle of man is weak

and force is death without the guiding hand of Power

behind it, God in perfect balance, God the Father

and Mother, Lord of dreams & glossolalia, tongue

to Moses & Baruch, Guatama, Christ and Jung,

O hear me not O Lord lest I be blind and trickd

O chasten me, O Lord, lest I, a wolf dressd up,

be liar— O majestic Christ, o midway—   cry     
Be Silent!

7.9.15

Reynolds & Midway 57

Now let us speak of Gorlim, Barahir,
& Beren, not of Bob, who in the hands
of Julia lay idle in the bed
of Mark that beta who with mouth full-wet
did thru the fluttring shutterd lens betray
himself & wife; and that of Midway, torn,
conflicted, pinprickd by a rash of arrows,

redfaced & sacrletsinnd, who w/ clencht knees
did hearken unto demons & those angels
of his better nature, led afar astray
but not with fierce twang, as had sung that Robt
who told to Wm of those loaves of stone
where 2 cld walk abreast & of those birch
& apple trees, of departmental ants

(& those w Quaker hats were Simic's ants),

& waiting wives by hills where millers stalkd
where low greene hills did pop w dandelions
milkweed (milkweed?) daisies, beetles, cows
whose mild & comely girth did frighten Willie
whan he had hid behind his mother's hip
and thoght him that that milk wast tasty pee
& dreamd of ants that nite whan Daddy sd
Billy the ants are in yr head

& Billy cried in terror anxious fear
& dread of dreams before the skull machine
welcomd such visions: That Lovecraftian crackt
and cakelike mould of stinky mildewd stairs
where chains did clang below & clammy walls
& gappy crookéd wooden concrete steps
that wound & wound 
around & round
O cabbages & kings 
& queens & guillotines

far farther down than any wandring lad
wld wander had he will & wakend choice
deep in the ground where moles & slippry snails
& salamanders newts (who knew too much)
did slyly slither with those slithy toves
beneath the stones that gatherd Howard Moss

whan older he had taught us how to sing
in perfect measure, him the poet prophet
spectacled & modest, editor
& master, who had made the summer start—
and in a renaissance of rings—
who told of Midas who wld touch
the world to gold & thereby sufferd much—

O cabbages & kings 
& queens & guillotines
& Brad's left fingers dazzling on the board
we thoght were Joe's whan we were young & narrow|

Now, we have never spoke of Barahir
nor Gorlim, nor of Beren & we shant
for one far greater did that wonder thing
& died, alas, but lives w Luthien
in that Tol Galen, island in the stream
of Adurant, where they forever thru
for aye far fresher fields make pastures new.

7.2.15

Blue Red

                for Tad Rapid & Tirds McGee

Blood is blue inside and red

outside ∴  Blue good, red bad.

Red: Alarm. Red stands

for police & ambulance.

Blue: Mel's Passion: Think

Gesthemane, in blue: Good.

Blue link, good link;

Red link, no link ∴ 

Blue good, red bad: Red light:

Stop, but green light—

wait, no, yellow that— wait

Red cross good, right?

Yes, right, right ∴  red cross

should be blue cross? And?

Blue Cross Blue Shield !

Cross is Christ, yes, and

plus sign tilted becomes an X and

x means times, that's right, and yes,

t means Time, of course, of course

∴  plus/minus one/zero equals a little and

of course a horse

is a horse of course

and Paul saw Peter

and Peter saw Paul

and 42

means

at all

6.20.15

Reynolds & Midway 56

My odalisque be narrow, lithely gilt

at tail, but swiveld @ her centre, made

of goodly stuff, and mayhap she will tilt

just so, adornd with diamond emerald—

a prick—a sapphire black obsidian

and there, just there below meridian

beneath and to the west & east that white

enamel nub prest out against the sheath

of velvet satin olive alabaster

Rotormobile, savage, pigeon-toed

and knobby kneed, not splayd:

No waddling duck for this sick drake

of twisted form, not made for sportive trix

his spine 19° curved left for sin

@ 15, lockt in padded corsetbrace

in pimpled shame, in bumping corridors

hard plastic puppetboy, strapt in, tied up|

Thy odalisque be slender, spider-leggd,

come cherrytopt & cherrylipt and slay

us, brown black Dian Artemis O silver

horn, we watching in a thorny thicket:

Horny hunters, thou in Grecian glade

nimroddy toms, we peeping, run us thru

Thou odalisque O comely concubines

my slim & limber troupe

of cantaloupian musky melon loves

in closely clusterd groups like grapes

and bunches of well rinded fruits

of yellow, tan, or tawny

flesh O mellow meat O no !

she saw
                                

6.18.15

2 Poems About a Bird and a Fish

           For Heather

1.

There once was a bird who loved a fish.

He thought the fish was quite a dish,

but the fish was playing hard to get,

and the bird got nothing, except     wet.

2.

There once was a fish who loved a bird.

The bird thought that was quite absurd,

so she chirrupped out a reprimand.

But the little fish didn't understand.

about a month ago

Reynolds & Midway 55

     I love a kitchen boy, and William is his name. - Steeleye Span [trad.]

Endless corridors, passageways, lights,

a sense of confusion, of having been

newborn, or born again, in some new world,

to seek out, strange, dark. Scotty. Born,

Dotty. Born. Yes, I remember, Oh My

Gawd.  Laughing. Daughters of some, bright-eyed

laughing daughters. Daughters. Tricorder.

Check. Mr Checkov. Checkov, run

a full sensor scan.  Off & on. Onward

rode the seven. 7 hundred. No.

it was 6 hundred. Six hundred men! Scotty.

The stars, you're fired mister. Dilithium.

Crystals. Dilithium. Lithium. Salt.

Water. What?s. I want answers. Speculate.

Spock. Spock. Please report to the. Quarters.

My quarters, Bones. Tricorders. Zones.

Neutral. Zone. Scotty! Dammit Bones.

Lieutenant. Yeoman Rand. Who is John Galt?

Yesyes lieutenant, I sd code. 2. Arm

phasersmister. You have yr orders.

6.11.2015

Reynolds & Midway 54

     Bros before hoes. - Wise man.

I am that I am & eye yam what I yam, cried

Yahweh & Popeye when Lo & behind

us crept up beside us, she that did lob from her

guts the rotgutting catgutty strings

that, spat from her, tangled in webs of deceit

us menfolk, sickly & wan we: Waxen, pallid,

pellucid-eyed saps for the pelvicly maddening

midriff asway & aswivel. The drivel we spit

O cherry red ripe O snowy white Phyllis O

Chloris, Corinna & Daphne. Daft we

dribble in dulcet & docile deblitity,

prostrate & vexed with a witch's hex, he

sd, as he gasped his last breath, sexy,

& forkt o'er the fee. Fie! Fuck her fertility.

6.5.2015

Limericks for a Few Friends & Fambly on National Limerick Day

There once was a lady named Heather,

Who liked going out in bad weather.

She danced as it rained

And never complained,

And then flew away like a feather.**

*

There once was a lady named Lorie,

whose life had a lot of backstory:

She'd model and hang

with some rockers who sang

of their days of hootch-induced glory.

*

There once was a lady named Jenny

Who went to the bank for a twenty

But it seemed that the teller

was an obstinate feller

And refused to give Jenny any.

*

There once was a girl named Tamara

who stole the gurl Billiam's tiara

to show she was queen

of the hospital scene

(in Havasu, not Guadalajara).

*

There once was a chimp named Unky

who was a spectacular monkey,

and his Uncle William

(a.k.a Billiam)

was a diehard Jethro Tull junkie.

*

There once was a boy named Jordan

who was really quite handsome, accordin'

to some; and he drew

lots of pictures, and knew

his Karate. So Don't piss off Jordan!

*

There once was a young man named Tirds

who had a great talent with words

that he got from his father

and also his mother

who both were poetry nerds.

^ for my eldest, Jared, who writes villanelles and groks Opeth lyrics. He calls himself Tirds McGee.

*

There once was a Mama named Kim

who always went out on a limb

for her babies. Her love was

as pure as that dove was

that Noah saw flying to him.

Most written on National Limerick Day, 3.12.15

**Co-authored by Heather Seip.

Reynolds & Midway 53

Perhaps it's time it's time 2 to begin the begin

again & again, sing all of the Michaels—mas-

ter Mikeys & Mikes, Tysons & tikes, the likes

of wich, sd he who leand or the Brooklyny

hare whod flattend is ears in fear & his spine

did then con cavi - cal - ly inward incline        |

Incline? No. Not the right word, I mean curve 

or push in, as Robert did push, but pushd out,

& outly a lot, like L a n c e l o t, who:  Ran &

ran & ran & ran & ran & ran & ran & ran &

ran & ran & ran & ran & ran & ran     until

the man with the thing in is mug in is tooth

SURPRISE! & waving & waving is brute

of a whacker did whack & make of the. Party

line is what they toed in there, Stan, thereby

it warrant yr place, yr proper place, where by

wid the power unvested in yooz we pronounce 

us free from argument, from chastisement, &

from immoderate wrath, whereupon. Countee

Cullen, you await   w/ Adonais             Wait

5.9.15

Reynolds and Midway 52

another Marlboro he sd and we were still

chuffed and chaffinch-fluttery flattering Clint

all six4 and that extry arm, the hard arm, black

or blue, a 44 or 5 of something magnificently

Magnum, and Tuco: he with his teeth white as

that which sent rushing past the silky curtains

brings the blueprinteddiagramd recipe for

jaws and choppers, tongue for slaw and speech,

bone and marrow, hair and twenty digits

which, with flicks of wrists and rules of thumbs

all carefully compacted apprehended

and remembered, we go icarusing upward

and carouselambling outward outnumbered|

Reynolds? Reynolds? where art thou, Reynolds?

sd Midway, tuning in to the yellowhammering

silence, hey, and he stands at that gate that hangs

agape and squeaks, the frontier of white stone?

Whitestone? now Hall's white apples echoecho,

did he find her, hoping, hands... predecessor...s

ancestors, yes, foreclosure, for themselves, for

closure, close is good, withdrawal, with-

drawing, leadership? Really, says Midway, not

me leaving, I was abominable? No, I was about

to say. Was I? Sorry, so sorry, I am mixed up, 

Conditional. I don't understand conditional. 

Explain. The word was going to be confused

3.2015

Reynolds & Midway 51

I can make a temple or church w my hands

it's easy, but to explain it, not, and I know

what yr thinking: not that thing we did as kids

with here's the steeple and look at all the

people—not that, w fingers waving. I mean

put them together, think symmetry, you are

sitting, look down at yr hands. Put your hands

together, as in prayer, then put some space

between yr palms, make like the letter A w

your fingertips touching equally, force out yr

knuckles, they are the boards, the woode that

made the walls of the church, now look at yr

thumbs: nails are, say, faces looking back at you

erect, standing: they stand close like houses whan

they made those houses huddle together like

people, in Amsterdam Rome Venice Napoli

Madrid Toledo etc. Have you got it yet? An idea

your hands made concrete, or was it the other

way around? Now the thumbs: let us leave below

the knuckles a wink of space, and that shall be

the door, and above the nails—and let the nails

be trimmd— there shall be, if you try, with 1 eye

closed (pick 0ne] a space shaped like a diamond,

perhaps a club, as in cards, not that which with

to beat or mutilate I mean that as in a deck of

to end in a preposition naturally and further up

above where those two little pinkies meet an-

other diamond shape or club, a window—

lookt at rightly, we may worship there.

2.24.15

En Route

We lay sidewise, to our left Mount Sholo loomed,

and beyond it, Nogun Peak. Walking Bear

a cloud ahead of Skyhorse. The wind screamed,

the fabric of the Cosmos felt a tear.

Above, below, the Ancients battled, bolts

of massive force collided in old war.

So we lay still, beneath our heavy pelts,

and spoke in whispers, glad for the sun's flight,

for the deep hours, like two newborn colts,

licked and awkward, squinting in the light.

Now when we turn we see the colored tents

on Trone, where we are pegged down for a night

of Everwinter, where the violence

of bitter winds and frantic, whipping snow

whistle and rip at rugged tarpaulins

that keep us safe and sound. Too soon the glow

of dawn leaks through the kinks that lay us bare

to God, the world. And so we rise, and go.

Tannhauser Gate shines dim and winks afar.

12.24.14 —2.22.15