Floating City VI

Last Year in Marienbad-Alain Renais 1961

This outer dazzling radiance
Imbues with melting desire
Refracting in stained glass
Shines over frothing waves
Casts over sundial shadows
Haloes the heroic statuary
Banished within four walls
Where silence, solitude reign
Realm of inner marvels

Floating City IV

Xia Gui-Remote View of Hill and Stream c1180-1230

The surface of the canal is stilled momentarily
Glass like textured colour of perfected clarity
Drifting pellucid azure and liquid wisps of white
The grey of gargoyles on the bridge where I’m standing
Looking into depths of this quicksilver mirror
Marvelling at the pastel vision of innocence
Decadent dream of a long vanquished Empire
My reflection stares back past and beyond
A transitory tranquillity falls like water into water.

Imaginary Country

Night Rain at Oyama-Utagawa Toyokuni II-c1834

For a fractured moment I was in an imaginary country
(Though all countries are imaginary in the context of eternity)
Dreaming delicately within the confines of the Palace of the Moon
Of melting and malleable nephrite, diamond, mountain
While the scent of jasmine and rose lingered throughout centuries
Sunlight and shade colluded to cast a permanent twilit glow
Rendering every corner, corridor and doorway mysterious
If I stop at a window the view is always surprising, different
Sometimes birds and butterflies hover motionless in the spring riot
At the next flight a blanket of snow covers the sleeping earth
In between lotus eating I await the one mandated by Heaven
The Empress of desires whose kiss resonates on my lips forever

Ill Defined Locations

Jonathan Andrew-Bunker
Jonathan Andrew-Bunker

 

I.

I am bored with symmetry, logic, systems, and rationales
Please don’t bother yourself to explain the why where or how,
Whatever happened to losing ourselves in some threatening city?
The thrill of taking a wrong turning and sensing the shadows shift-
Shape into lives that only in this moment have any relation to our own:
Becoming unmoored from our painstakingly constructed personas,
Thinking acting dying in the vertigo inducing deep instance.

II.

Please don’t tell me where I am going or where you have been,
The only maps I read fringe the expanse of blank space with monsters:
I have always searched for a location with ill defined co-ordinates,
A place where the boundaries are frangible or porous,
Here I can stage the break out, the break in, the break through,
A clue to the exit, entrance, waiting room or maybe terminus,
It’s been said before but I will say it again: existence is elsewhere;
In the recessed wardrobe in some forgotten attic spare room;
Down a rabbit hole in a field or through a silvered looking glass;
At the opening of the hidden eye or the tingle at the base of the spine;
A broken lift stuck between floors high up in some sink estate;
In the pressure on the solar plexus, in the hollow nexus of flesh;
Or a graffitied toilet cubicle in some abstract hotel of the future;
The cellar of a church scrawled with incantations, exorcisms and veves;
In an abandoned concrete bunker on a desolate stretch of shoreline;
Beneath an island of black sand and volcanic glass in a complex of caves;
Or the receding house in the borderlands shifting in the distance;
Somewhere or there if you say the right words at the appointed time
You could find yourself in some subterranean underworld or Wonderland,
To re-encounter all the savageries of childhood games and innocence,
Meet the chthonic deities, secret rulers, invisible masters, sovereigns
Of all they survey in these latter days of the Fourth Decadency.

III.

I have heard a rumour that they are hiring, press-ganging, shanghaiing,
Suitable personages, help is always wanted, space can sure be found
For lieutenants and officers of a studious and introspective disposition;
Rehabbing Ingénues resting in between a succession of difficult roles;
Be-bop gynaecologists smoking before inserting a fist into localized wombs;
Free-styling surgeons coming hard and fast as they make the cut into flesh,
But remember that incision is always first, anaesthesia only ever after:
For Sisters of the Immaculate Silk Stocking and Perpetual Pain
Raptly murmuring well sorry but you to me are just a pigeon;
Purveyors of all kinds of reprocessed filth and high spin deviation;
Hard noise volatilized followers of sinister charismatic cult leaders;
Aberrationist lexicographers in league with heretical cartographers;
Natty dogs with polka dot ties telepathically communicating weather reports;
Architects and designers specializing in the style of the Neo-New Brutalism
Or are actively working towards the Retro-Chaldean-Rococo-Monstrosity;
Procurers of contraband urine analysis and recondite pharmacopeia;
Contortionist courtesans of a pan-dimensional renown and fame;
Deep cover agents that have forgotten that they are in fact agents
Subverting the suburban norms that they ostensibly embody.

IV.

In the presence of the sublime and the grotesque our eyes will dilate
As we experience the miserable miracle beyond all artificial paradises;
But it is the only destination worth setting out for so let’s carry on
Without lodestones or compass, no navigation aid beyond still beating hearts.

My Life as a Gothic Novel

Jean-Marie Poumeyrol
Jean-Marie Poumeyrol

My room is strewn with the detritus
Of my attempted past lives:
The deadmens suits of discarded personas,
Soiled with sweat and stained at the crotch;
On the floor lie at succession of cracked masks,
Obscuring chalk drawings of circles and pentagrams,
The walls are lined with shattered mirrors
A procession of refracted images
Which if superimposed would reveal
To everyone interested a detailed confession
Of my life as a Gothic novel:
The sad eyes heavy with unquiet sleep
Stare back at me unfocused,
People used to say I was bleakly handsome
And though I couldn’t quite see it myself
I took them at their word,
Ran with this perception and granted it half a reality
But is this any excuse for such overweening vanity,
Because looks are always waving goodbye
In the darkening glass as the autumnal light fades.

The rain is soon to set in,
I doubt it will stop until after journey’s end.