"Fourth Elegy," "Missing; or, Fifth Elegy" and "52 Pick Up"

Fourth Elegy

                                       “The bony darkness presses on, sketches moral cheekbones,
                                        the gas of the armored train, the gas of the last ankle” 
                                                        —César Vallejo (trans. Clayton Eshleman)

 

                I.
The fiction of going back.
Bone metal proxies, sites of instigation—
All thwarted. Mandrills & explosive poppies
With everything left to hide.
 
It siphons the rememberer & remembered
With only history’s proximities,
A tender interplay of violent silence
Numbering surrender with dead forms,
Stricken homilies, an end of the future
 
Death of vital knowing
Death of song
Death of the self (the more you cede
                to tyrants, the less you are)
Death of latter days’ dignities
Death of childhood without labor
Death of labor without choice
Of human kindness, drowned eyes broken

 

                II.
Because it is recursive
        I’ll drown my book in a city of lost tongues
        Rosy ideologies
        Troubled newborns
        The dead who speak to have their voices murdered
        By sirens
        Blades of song
 
Because it is swollen with the mouths of dead children
        I’ll abide by awful places
        In my song until the wind’s obscene
        Regnant with unanswered lies
        Until only the wind
        Knows your name
 
Because it is not music
        Do strangers forget to laugh at my shadow
        Fulfilled of each others’
        Aimless grins
        Until night bursts
        Rationing the laughter of the poor
 
Because I forgot what I almost read
        Do I not so far see
        That death is tangential
        & Birth a rumor
        Perhaps as silence, lucid
        Almost thin
 
Because I remember Detroit
        Do I now describe myself as thin
        Glittering from pole to ivy
        Devastating valves
        Before I decide to become a pragmatic
        Angel of discontent
 
Because I often am
        At least
        Do I now
        Trembling
        Know your
        Name
        & Speak it
        Past forgetting

 


 

Missing; or, Fifth Elegy

                    “Black shirts— black shirts— some power
                            is so funereal” 
                                                    —Louis Zukofsky

 

Without even alive filaments
Tendrils at the edge’s provenance
A bruit country tending toward evasion
Ever as in dour or some sort of remix
The crux of it remade
As all creation hovers dread
Emplacement sundry motions
Fields aflower & the dying letter
In fealty to a lecher care to sing
 
Along home in the remains is redness
Redeemable as counting beneficiaries?
Who benefits? do vowels burn echoes? who
The idler & who the wavered?
These the wayward means    of drift a petty roar
Null diamonds in the attainment folly
Vast as others’ disappeared shadows
Before heat becomes thought    thought becomes
& Night takes heed

 


 

52 Pick up

Does language decompose?
Is it biodegradable?
If you put a word
On your tongue, can you taste it?
Are we ever free?
 
Here, crisp October after-
noon light bathes us. A wrought mess
In a jiff. When you cut
Words, do you make a whole
New being? On the slant that the sun
 
Hangs on? Words are tethers, living beings
I told my class once. Are we woven in?
What a mess. Leaves tremble. But I am in-
side, against the cold, cluttered forms. Fruit
In varying states of ripeness or decay. I write to free
 
Myself of these conditions. A cold
Upheaval. Living’s littered with
Forms’ debris. Notes that flower
Or fade, into the dead heap of
Rote, de/voted means. The disaster is always new—
 
Revolutionary, in that sense. The hand
That isn’t always ours. Can you bear it, barring
Starlings? Maps? Estimates & negotiable instruments.
A table set for one, but the moon isn’t
Done yet. When does the laundry get done?
 
Are you living or leaving? In time now stored.
A life consists of days. When will the next one be
Happy? Organically scattered like everything
Else that’s ever mattered
In cold traffic’s passing.

Add comment

Mark DuCharme

Mark DuCharme’s newest collection is Thousands Blink Outside, published in 2024 by C22 Open Editions.  Other recent publications include Here, Which Is Also a Place from Unlikely Books; Scorpion Letters from Ethel; and his work of poet’s theater, We, the Monstrous: Script for an Unrealizable Film, from The Operating System.  His poetry has appeared widely in such venues as BlazeVOX, Caliban Online, Colorado Review, Eratio, First Intensity, Gas, Indefinite Space, New American Writing, Noon, Otoliths, Shiny, Spinozablue, Talisman, Typo, Unlikely Stories, Utriculi, Word/ for Word, The Writing Disorder, and Poetics for the More-Than-Human World: An Anthology of Poetry and Commentary.  He lives in Boulder, Colorado, USA.