Tuesday, March 31, 2009

"It Was Like Hearing Punk Rock For The First Time"


It was like hearing punk rock for the first time, like seeing the Replacements onstage and realizing,
"You can just get up there and do that?"

(Rob Sheffield when remembering his first time reading Mina Loy)



Mina Loy's "Songs To Joannes"

I

Spawn of
fantasies
Sifting the appraisable
Pig Cupid his rosy snout
Rooting
erotic garbage
"Once upon a time"
Pulls a weed white star-topped
Among wild oats sown in mucous membrane
I would an eye in a Bengal light
Eternity in a sky-rocket
Constellations in an ocean
Whose rivers run
no fresher
Than a trickle of saliva

These are suspect places

I must live in my lantern
Trimming subliminal flicker
Virginal to the bellows
Of experience
Colored glass.


II

At your mercy
Our Universe
Is only
A
colorless onion
You derobe
Sheath by sheath
Remaining
A
disheartening odour
About your nervy hands


III

Night
Heavy with shut-flower's nightmares
---------------------------------------------
Noon
Curled to the
solitaire
Core of the
Sun


V

Shuttle-cock and
battle-door
A little pink-love
And feathers are strewn


VI

Let Joy go solace-winged
To flutter whom she may concern


IX

We might have coupled
In the bed-ridden monopoly of a moment
Or
broken flesh with one another
At the profane communion table
Where wine
is spill't on promiscuous lips

We might have given birth to a
butterfly
With the daily-news
Printed in blood on its wings


X

In some
Prenatal plagiarism
Foetal buffoons
Caught tricks
--- --- --- --- ---
From archetypal pantomime
Stringing emotions
Looped aloft
--- --- --- ---
For the blind eyes
That Nature
knows us with
And most of Nature is green
--- --- --- --- --- --- ---
--- --- --- --- ---


XI

Green things grow
Salads
For the
cerebral
Forager's revival
And flowered flummery
Upon bossed bellies
Of mountains
Rolling in the sun


XVII

I don't care
Where the legs of the legs of the furniture are walk-
ing to
Or what
is hidden in the shadows they stride
Or what would look at me
If the
shutters were not shut

Red a warm colour on the battle-field
Heavy
on my knees as a counterpane
Count counter
I counted the fringe of the
towel
Till two tassels clinging together
Let the square room fall away
From a round vacuum
Dilating with my breath


XXXII

The moon is cold
Joannes
Where the
Mediterranean----------------


0 poetic mutterings: