Sunday, March 31, 2013

from "Sunset Debris" by Ron Silliman


from "Sunset Debris" by Ron Silliman

Can you feel it? Does it hurt? Is this too soft? Do you like it? Do you like this? Is this how you like it? Is it airtight? Is he there? Is he breathing? Is it him? Is it near? Is it hard? Is it cold? Does it weigh much? Is it heavy? Do you have to carry it far? Are those the hills? Is this where we get off? Which one are you? Are we there yet? Do we need to bring sweaters? Where is the border between blue and green? Has the mail come? Have you come yet? Is it perfect bound? Do you prefer ballpoints? Do you know which insect you most resemble? Is it the red one? Is that your hand? Want to go out? What about dinner? What does it cost? Do you speak English? Has he found his voice yet? Is this anise or is it fennel? Are you high yet? Is your throat sore? Can’t you tell dill weed when you see it? Do you smell something burning? Do you hear a ringing sound? Do you hear something whimpering, mewing, crying? Do we get there from here? Does the ink smear? Does the paper get yellow and brittle? Do you prefer soft core? Are they on their way to work? Are they feeling it? Are they locked out? Are you pessimistic? Are you hard? Is that where you live? Is the sink clogged? Have the roaches made a nest in the radio? Are the cats hungry, thirsty, tired? Does he need to have a catheter? Is he the father?

Source of the text - Ron Silliman, The Age of Huts (Compleat).  Berkeley: University of California Press, 2007.

TJB: Question-drumming. With undeniable rhythm and simple constructs—you, we & it—which put meaning in the direct object, the poem-prose sings.

"Thomas Rymer," anonymous ballad


Thomas Rymer

1   TRUE THOMAS lay oer yond grassy bank,
        And he beheld a ladie gay,
     A ladie that was brisk and bold,
        Come riding oer the fernie brae.

2   Her skirt was of the grass-green silk,
        Her mantel of the velvet fine,
     At ilka tett of her horse’s mane
        Hung fifty silver bells and nine.

3   True Thomas he took off his hat,
        And bowed him low down till his knee:
     ‘All hail, thou mighty Queen of Heaven!
        For your peer on earth I never did see.’

4   ‘O no, O no, True Thomas,’ she says,
        ‘That name does not belong to me;
     I am but the queen of fair Elfland,
        And I’m come here for to visit thee.

     *     *     *     *     *

5   ‘But ye maun go wi me now, Thomas,
        True Thomas, ye maun go wi me,
     For ye maun serve me seven years,
        Thro weel or wae as may chance to be.’

6   She turned about her milk-white steed,
        And took True Thomas up behind,
     And aye wheneer her bridle rang,
        The steed flew swifter than the wind.

7   For forty days and forty nights
        He wade thro red blude to the knee,
     And he saw neither sun nor moon,
        But heard the roaring of the sea.

8   O they rade on, and further on,
        Until they came to a garden green:
     ‘Light down, light down, ye ladie free,
        Some of that fruit let me pull to thee.’

9   ‘O no, O no, True Thomas,’ she says,
        ‘That fruit maun not be touched by thee,
     For a’ the plagues that are in hell
        Light on the fruit of this countrie.

10  ‘But I have a loaf here in my lap,
         Likewise a bottle of claret wine,
      And now ere we go farther on,
         We’ll rest a while, and ye may dine.’

11  When he had eaten and drunk his fill,
         ‘Lay down your head upon my knee,’
      The lady sayd, ‘ere we climb yon hill,
         And I will show you fairlies three.

12  ‘O see not ye yon narrow road,
         So thick beset wi thorns and briers?
      That is the path of righteousness,
         Tho after it but few enquires.

13  ‘And see not ye that braid braid road,
         That lies across yon lillie leven?
      That is the path of wickedness,
         Tho some call it the road to heaven.

14  ‘And see not ye that bonny road,
         Which winds about the fernie brae?
      That is the road to fair Elfland,
         Whe[re] you and I this night maun gae.

15  ‘But Thomas, ye maun hold your tongue,
         Whatever you may hear or see,
      For gin ae word you should chance to speak,
         You will neer get back to your ain countrie.’

16  He has gotten a coat of the even cloth,
         And a pair of shoes of velvet green,
      And till seven years were past and gone
         True Thomas on earth was never seen.


Source of the text - English and Scottish Popular Ballads, edited from the collection of Francis James Child by Helen Child Sargent and George Lyman Kittredge. Boston: Houghton Mifflin Company, 1904, pp. 63-65.

TJB: Elf road trip. The queen of elfland explains it all to us—spend seven years in Faerie & all we hear about is bad fruit and a picnic speech.

About Me

Followers