sampled ekphrastic tragi-comedic songs of growing pains meandering from ‘only human’ to ‘only humane’
Psi-ed, the Goddess
CANTO FIRST:OF HER MONOGRAM, SOWN
Eunuch hand conceives the ‘Why’
Manifest made, this maiden Eye
From pulsing Grecian tongue-ed Psi there comes a thrilling humane sigh;
Plucking sown protein quartet’s strings
Subatomically Her uni-versal DNA now sings.
Awakening to endless morrow’s task
(While Crick-ed necks, with Mars-born heads
dream ‘W(h)at’sOn–and missed–
in laboratory bench
or chalky blackened board,
thought they: ”IT’ shan’t be found by so pale and sheepish a wench.’
Rosa lends* illumined Venusian eye,
For atomic decay’s reveal it asks.
Intuiting Her-aclean feat–
ignored by that ignoble Nobel ‘Greek to me’chorus–
Crystal clear to Her the helix shape’d task’s
Reward, as serpentine lines entwine, Caduceus,
A concerted hallmark, Her Protean quartet plays
Her heart conducts and syncopates the beat.
Frissons shimmering voicing whispered ‘Strive, I’ll…’
Amplifying trembling quavers of rejoicing in Her ways.
Kissing frail fingertips
of serene stone no more, but now Pygmalion’s rival
Rosalind’s* spear-like mind did shake loose Life’s form long-sought
fished with luing pluck from clouds of streaming thought.
(*Rosalind Franklin, Co-Discoverer of DNA/Unrecognized by Nobel Committee)
CANTO TWO:OF HER BODIES ELECTRIC
Elsewhere in a chalk-boarded classroom quirky quarky
Diagrams seeming to writhe and Grow in glinting light
Their white-flaked chips forming tiny brightly fluked whales
amid a sea of dust motes that float like tiny krill, refracting, now half-shadowed;
Tricked beclouded minds shaping shapeless dreams ,
Professor’s chalk-covered scientific hands still, at rarest rest,
Arms fin-like, akimbo,
face Sun-tanned, a silhouette of African aspect–
Dr. FeignMan’s double being
receives through fingers splayed as though antennae
Her ablative songs of Humpback whales
Calving, teaching calves Off Cape Horn.
Through Cage-like open window rusty sounds of traffic compose
And Demonstrate amid miming neon placards
While another gas drives vehicles that in chaos honk and veer
Assaulting annoyed human ear
white noise, ambassador of organic mettle’s modern wailing.
Student Daydreams of languid ease
Wed to childhood carillons and carousels
Professor professing what began in and with Basement chemistry,
collected shiny-speckled crystal-laden rocks,
Piezo’s electric effects bringing tears
of joy in and to Doc’s and Doe’s child-hoods means, modes
And warty toads,
to Her, maternal fears.
Upstairs, abed, young dreams of jumpy electrons dancing with
a phonograph’s vibrating sound
(S)he conjures someone named Tahan–
a person the teacher seemed to know,
and Tahan’s ‘phonitron’, hooking up these two;
peurile brain’s neurons gossip,
calling it the cooler Mexican jumping beam.
Now grown mind hitchhiking through galaxies of possibility
Wizard Ph.D. potters science as Nature’s art
from Mr. Adams’ Deep Thought begetting Her future
past, Big Dada;
“It’s supersonically downloading Russian nesting doll progressions from the
murmuring data-rich meta-conversation Life has been having…
with its vibing self!”
A female symposium member’s hand shoots up:
“More like Big Mama’s vibrator…”, earning her an A.
CANTO THREE: OF HER REVENANT AGENCY
Simon casts a pall,
written on each higher rising babble’s wall
pallbearer She-lley, no longer merry…that Spring it strangely snowed.
Her teenage (though doctoral) frank recreation,
paddled toward reawakening
Stirs Her neuro-peptide waves near a Lake in foreign nation,
Lapping at Her last psychic resort, a shaken thing–
Its primoridial beach head’s tsunamic waves
Thrumming Her deepest ‘see’
with Apocalyse awareness from which nothing, no one saves.
Plunged deeply inward, backward within amniotic pools
She swims reptilian, flails
tails, Pisces scales,
(no, not fish)
mammalian, knowing fins for fingers,
Her universe-sized sonic mind, it lingers,
Bubbling chirps, clicks, whistles,
rebound vibratory onto unseen stringy membranes, seaweed for thistles,
as Adams’ por-poises purpose thanks to Her for the many fish
silently speaking Pauline prophecies of the coming of Undone, and by frothing deadly wish.
CANTO FOUR: OF HER DECONSTRUCTION
Curves curve along time’s warping arrow
Space’s strumming chords oscillate,
Now Lincoln-logged mystic cords lay broken,
held by unseen ‘only human’ hands at throats,
smoke, choking, rubble strewn, treachery’s own substrate.
Her cosmogenic voice now strains with rasp–
Unheards by eyes, unseen by ears
That voice, thin, a whispered gasp:
‘Only human’, but for elusive suf-fix-ive, ‘e’
You–then, You and You again–may cease to be…’
Ageless pointed well-traffic-ked koan,
Though grasped by but one hand–yet not by mind–
faintly clapping, came dawn, escape velocity
high above a funereal horizoned City
of other hands played-out darkened shafts of inhumane, so mined;
discoveries, striking and grave
white-clad dirges emerge from gravity’s shadow
Pale white pall casts upon under-armed ‘only human’-kind(?)
Dungeon-deep dulcet chanting from monkish cowls
echo through once-engines’ cowling,
a cello-induced dream state’s populace howls
dwelling within once solitary boxes
set free by melting of elastic bars
refashioned of enlightening gossamer cord, oddly woven by guile of hungry foxes.
Comes, then, a pointillist sea of crimson dots,
signifying fallen rescuer, victim, responder;
as if plotted upon the resounding geometry of music’s paper,
now thrust into Libes-kind-ian Isaac Stern-praised hands, to ponder
Their illustrated scores of re-composed zeroed-out ground fragments
randomly strewn dissonant cords cut from rabid ratio–
9:11‘s syncopated beat’s cacaphony repents.
Came Her whole–some holy–parts Lennon-ed together,
Once timorous, escape artists,
Leary-like, former tribes now ashened, space-going,
leery of bad vibes;
Her mantra, now, harangues all corporeals for rearming, resetting
to channel, freshly attuned forks converge, restart
row in streaming consciousness together, summed greater than apart
Dropping out budded ear’s empty bloom–
Yourselves they do entomb,
Turning off electron-drivel,
Whitman’s guitar-shaped sung body electric charms
with newly fashioned shimmying rejoined reverberating tremelo arms.
CANTO FIVE: OF HER HOMO HUMAN(E)
Did not the maker of that miniature Globe shake theatrical
Awake the sonnet-eyes
dark lady and young lad’s minds
the spearing of Her truths for eye and ear it finds?
With pent-up ambering I-am-bing,
Playing forth sound-scapes which joined
Aural, to and with oral may enlightened voices sing.
‘To sea-change look with thine ears!’, (S)he playfully said, ‘You striderss of this globe’,
such rhythms as do guide our spheres—
of influence and confluence—
the same as silicate players that do play
their role of grit unto the oyster-like ‘only human’ ear, within its cartilege shell,
Yielding up the cultured p(ear)l, adorner of its lobe.
So mightily eyed and eared
We may dwell so,
better armed in each’s compact frame,
now crowning You and Earth, re-formed, in gilded heart the same.
Fuller equipped to more fully see Her dome’s Buckminster geodesy—
mouths mouthing Her universe-mother’s exclamatory praise:
‘More verb, than noun make, this, Your odyssey!’
Plucking lyric sinews dynamic, shaming static superstition,
Mocking rightly its blind and feckless sight Your mission.
Closely, then, we enconter Other,
of any kind, and kindly
With Zoltan’s Koda-ly-zing gesture of our hands,
inspired by Her bodies gestures brother,
Reti of music theory, and
Curwen and the tongueless signing of the hand—
not upon mere surface, but upon muted silent beings double-working eyes:
All skyward we,
no matter how, look,
and welcome Her, and hers, who from the Heavens
they did come then
and ever tireless, come again, renewers of our humanely given prize.
CANTO SIX: OF HER SECRET SERVICE, FOR EYE/EAR/HEART, IN E SHARP
Her wholly dAndied aesthete
taking on life
as his/her short filmic time and space,
With soundtrack set to quarter-hour time,
the infamously famed Warhol
warned with the stanza-like refrain of a scratched
skipping broken recording
‘…all lives will have soundtracks……………’
Her eyes through yours
stepping aboard the subway car, into collective isolation,
All those faceless apparitions, on a kinetic track, go;
Dangled wires, flowering electronic tropism,
spindly finger-like digits of the digitALL, feeding limbic waves to their neural Narcissus,
addictively adoring some other-authored self-imagining:
feedback, a track-ed thing, it will be,
the new personified prosody.
Support groups abounding, so great Your perceived heartfelt maladies—
Imagine Her unsurprised by one called ‘Loners Anonymous’;
or another, Big Bangers, sad parody of Her uni-verse, affrighting,
Clubbed with endless internecine fighting,
this rapidly expanding social gathering, Twittering incessantly with noise,
with hashed-up divisive name taggings: ‘#EveryonesNameHyphen-ated’, planting their flagging patients patience in more virgin soil of unitary Cosmos, and thereby erasing
their claim to have deciphered an infant universe’s googlings and gurglings
driven by mug-shotted doggerel-eared Book of Self-effacing.
Alas, forgotten, equipoise.
Native-like, these former states of being proclaimed pride
of prior place,
You, split, in two, a dual member, two, much too, too
redoubled You-ness forgetting to re-member, never to become YOU.
(counting that double in your mirror)
denser cosmic cooing, reborn, electrons for umbilicals.
So, with comics as new encyclicals,
You pinch a VIP badge from an inattentive registrar’s hemispherical desk
at the next big Comic-Con,
You figuring you’d have won
If you’d bothered to have entered, says Your
Passion, accompanied by the cooler Sangfroid slides beadily along the queue
stringing its way into the 30 foot egg-shaped All-O-Sphere,
a neuro-whisper inside Your selfie’s solo necktop version
pronouncing it ‘AliceSphere’,
a 360 degree data-scape, tunneling rabbit style
into a nano wonderland without diversion.
A bead of sweat glances off a harmonic steel railing strobing a throbbing sound before
shape-shifting into the form of a rabbit’s foot,
all than remains of Carroll’s truthful fictions, disguised as Your fears.
Bemused by this unforseen, unforseeable ‘coming together’,
unyoked from his intended unyoking of your minds from trivial matters tether,
only human, most humane
Sits Mr. Lennon enthroned alone, cat-like gut’s thrum
accompanied by Her ‘Fluxus’ ‘toilet piece’, in relative peace—
Wondering just(ly) why did he try—
Yoko’s John flush with Ono-nanistic excitement at the
rhythmic buzzing of his/her fly.
CANTO SEVEN: OF WHEN ROCKY STATUS QUO TABLES TURN SHE STILL SERVES
Why, She posits rhetorical, does the ‘status quo’ have a Latin name?
(An answer’s in this space, just in case…)
Do you not know,
as did the POEt Poe,
the need for ‘unmasking which,
tears away the face’?
Neither Latin nor Greek alone
can say it
Better than Sylvester Stallone:
What’s your status, She would very much like to know;
It tells us alot, do please understand, about the state of your….quo.
(By the way, Latin’s dead, or so they’ve said,
So why is it that for what it describes, to dozens of tribes,
that roamin old tongue’s death it just ain’t?)
Ya see, its enemy, ‘change’, like dogs with the mange, has such an odious taint,
That most people’s status is heard in reply: ‘thanks very much, we’ll just hang with the devil we know’—-
and what’s more they’ll shrug & then say: ‘it’s the way to go, the not-so-great
but always been that way, in this state’….
Tell you what, let’s go with your gut, without if, and or but:
you, yes you, sit yourself down at any old table,
no rush, no fuss, just whenever you’re able–
Now, aleatory matters aside, chances are the topic’s the ‘whirled’,
and about how, just in case, you’ve got some gold squirreled,
Away, somewhere safe—and not simply an ounce,
should your usual place of abode be in a mode
deserving the unstable label
of ‘anomie’, a Frenchified word you can hardly pronounce
and, nevertheless, should it, that abode, remain weirdly unstable;
She doesn’t know about you, but this talk of chaos’s making Her peckish,
time, then, it is to order some fittingly unpronounceable exotic dish.
So, now, then, in conclusion—-
just so there’s no chance of confusion,
Put down those remotes, and understand just what this instable anomie connotes:
You’ll pick up the phone, and place an order for training your tongue in Chinese,
and tell that nice non-Western lady,
if she’d please, presuming her name won’t be Sadie
—-but, without a hint of panderin—-
include with your Rosetta stone course a large platter
whose price just won’t matter
for that famous dish they call crispy duck,
just for luck,
to accompany that course for Chinese Mandarin.
HER MORE THAN SUPERFICIALLY ANDROGYNOUS VERY HUMANE LOGICAL EPILOGUE
Ah, so, now perhaps you see
that (S)he, part of You and part of me
ordains–and does so freely–
that, just as East & West be
but points of the mechanical compass
so, too as concerns ANY ‘only human’ rumpus,
Including ALL spats from the bending of wills to, well, the bending of gender
(and all in-betweens)
Reason & Logic cannot help but to render–[once we’re all treated at least as well as our pets,
call it ‘only humane’, Let’s…]
one syllogistic (look it up) conclusion:
To end Her bodily contusion
from all the previously sung of confusion,
it’s past time to stress–
and for some to confess–
that the Greeks had it right,
be that Force but Platonic or just at first sight,
Her Nature it’s greater
Far than any oracular fater
(though the latter be Greek)…
But to find you must seek
the truth of the Uni-verse’s only 4% matter,
dispensing with chatter
and seeing what’s shown in Her science and Her arts:
S(he) gave that initial Atom (Adam?) that energetic little molecule, DNA—
You’d be telling the truth, even you, Ruth,
that we’ve ALL got the same ‘initials’, thus did Rosalind assay;
So, doing the math
just follow Her path
And recalculate that You’ve on Your side both science and arts
When you acknowledge that You’ve got something literally greater
Where/Whenever their sum surpasses all its material parts.