Sounding the Other Light...a biography Majena Mafe

8/14/2019 Sounding the Other Light...a biography Majena Mafe

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sounding the other light

… a biography

majena mafe



…because it was a woman

who built a house…a shining girl tore it down…

Hildegard of Bingen Scivias



Prologue

larynx of light 6

I

A Shining Girl

un-house bright 15

the bright within the blind spot 31

fetid flower 46

Interlude

stealing into the word for torch 50

II

A Woman Built a House

within the bright a blind spot 63

sounding liquid aside stone 79

Epilogue

nocturne’s iris 98



Prologue

larynx of light



LIGHT:

(this what

this… …where

darkness preceed-es the hole …as me…

ho-el-ed up

there is no nothing…or samething

…named. namename named as me)



(of reflection being as speech unwhole. unsaid…walled-up

as open. a tunnel a-cross…simil-ar sim-u-lacra. with-in hark-

dark halls welled written…(and I write it down for the

blind…light ) LIGHT…but am I not…the lighter of shared

darkness. am…I knot…the torch, your light-house, the flame,

sour aurora, lighting your all, your illuminant. not at nor on

nor one. I am within-goneglare. I am in you-r glaring gap,

piercein’ a gated glimpse, the glint,…as an glissade, I am

holed in the great gulf, your glissando, a-the listen, glisten,

your glister, glitter, glower, glower…without self…grief me

over…tear tears. unseenly. my blind bright unable to say my

face. what is my name? bare me wet shiny tears…)



(voices fall from the wooden mouths of small men who sit alive on knees of bigger men

in suits. strings play mechanisms. behind the wooded walled off throat-s.

some spit out messages that are if unclear, dear… they shape what I’d hoped for solid

to become.

some fly to firm reason because of…no doubt

some shake…no…they were never

some are doused forced through a bigger whole than many.

each time the mouth is open a new craw comes out, similar but not same as…be in in

two twinned collatical lapses of time and muscle around the same breath of air. some

voices make it a practice to cope a copy a way with a plumb in their mouths with the

accent, with a twang…minding the elocution spelling out rhymes to spit-air. others as a

profession become the voice of others disembodied their faces nonsense they become to

look alike too.

the anatomy the larynx situated as a bell curve suspended as a bone dove in the pillar

that holds the mouthpiece where they do come from… thoughts do they rise in their

heads flood in the throat pump air over the struction and back up pour out over the

tongues through the open teeth spat from the pursed and open lips through the air flung

to the face of the other entering the ear encircling the...

mouths open onto ears and breath love. I’ve seen it

AND THEN SOME)



(mechanical voices

the voice of the lover in the poem says come here …to this spot in the paper believe it is

me enter me… here

the voice of the… tyrant

the voice of the carmelite is rare indeed. the voice of the girl lurancy is shrill. or flat.

here is a doll says dora.

I can’t says the eclectic. I will says the liar. I did says the minor…

I will. lie. says the man.

henry was too big for his boots…

but lurancy…lurancy walks and walks till her feet sit her still.)

within the visible I head the dirge dire dialogue of the thin brightness

through the bare small words. the base the matter.

The corner of this page. in-moist frame…it wells up. tearing mine sinew. swell. at the

ocean of loss…spinning on the head of a pin, each one an eye, forward vapors. fog…dew

and droplet. lake. spoon. utter thunder and fume desiccated rainbow as spigots. deltas

and locks undone…a blind white of bellies slimed trout, toad-throat and pelted wigs hair

down dripping rivulets across bare backs, in blackened pools bore wells and ink pots, in

encompass cracks against crystal of blue glass whipped in the drip jugs medicine and

lineaments juice perfumes a tonic. in soak of to-bathe, instep the steep. in eternal launder

of floors and walls and ceilings. cloths midstream. clear cleansing. in the crack of a

boiled egg, at the gurgling of the throat. the death wheeze. in pneumonia and dropsy. in

the green and in the blue. in lapis. in phlegm and lymph. in dews and drifts and swift



shifts. in flows and eddies in jellies and in…all heat…in the fever of nervous palms, in hot

breasts that refuse milk…the blaze of anger, the flame of phosphorous, of frenzy, of hot

churned fear. in the firing and discharging, fuel, in allowment. allmovement…in heated

straining bowels…breath...in the basins that are empty and the basins grumble of

discontent, the rumbling cries…octaves of allegros…in throats and chests expanding

toward hope of more ever more and again…the fall back to empty…life…the next

thing…thoughts, hopes that move out…yearnings…needs un to fill, to furnish daydreams,

glut past reflections, tomorrows betterments…ground…the field, the open, the fell, the cut

the cut down...the flattened…the level raze…great girders as grinding stones and holes

that are uncarved out empty crypts the home the cave, the cavern. the hold up, the

hold...out. the clavicle at the sternum, caramelized bone the spleen…carapaces…

conglomerates…silica and carbon…salt. and in ether that holds all as luminescence on

the inner side…)

(refraction halves spit on the tongue

what do you see…

poured on over till the space of dark minutia flies

…a word

in multitude, bright all, is gone

mirage am I…here as the drop warm

that you seek.

to show.

you see.

and flame

this lamp the word words fall part in the

handle) and close to the corneal eye eyle

a harboring comes undone and enters the tryst of

utter unshape along the sinews of ganglion and cone…)



(…a syncope at atime

ahansomegodplayingwiththealphabetofnaming

to each segregating a thing a called for

the nothing- as Sophia say your wise words…

from selective portions

you see your hand

behind the flame

the frame behind…at the arms short length

my voice becomes me

a documenter of frames. The torch has fire at its throat)

(a reflection)…(in refraction)

my self erasure

ventriloquised

a camouflaged

dis-sembled flows

in choice lies the voice of the absent

nowhere…and now here…where…

a great small expansion has come into me

myself is further…something has fallen away...left with ‘that’…



from one estimate towards another the filament draws first one way and then not…)

(stoppard as sun as flame as frame)

(rather to. flow. out. on. through. away from words .overunder. up. inside…dispelling

into the walls of the throat in its breathing…down corridors of flesh, the lilies lie flat…in

structure this cosm of labyrinth fresh and verdancy…gene cells an awareness. a

succession of awful awarenesses…silent deserted cordon breakers…filtrate towards the

corners of the cornea that appear in consequence of doubling. fall’n between one system

and another of blood, of sap, of plasma of the imaginary, of memory…and wonder. bright

unutter. to be ever poured as, as heat, as flush…widest as to pool from an eye across the

field that shines heat …golden as husks slip against husk in narrow openings…and small

as mice in the womb of the first born of the first born hunkering for warmth. open in the

belly…winging back the peel as layered to most furthered openings and lungs un

thorax’d squeezed shut as they are pulled from the formed cages uttering a half formed

tone. a name. call me… I stand alone dripping…

beat then one two. to the nomore. to the denegrade and the sullen…decompose)

… paradoxically each tongue on my name is lies dark



I

A Shining Girl



un-house bright



GIRL:

…a move in me imploring, imploding the darkness pooled as me.as here.

…where small light sunlights. piddles puddles…where and there as boxed too.

on floor boards,

skirt dirted, dirty skirted walls, in just about space, neither here nor there, neither too

much or too wide a periphery on the cusp of brilliancy.

a yawn in each direction. all of them filigree lack. more lack with bright and gossamer

and sheathing restory windowed towards the outer-side.

two small filaments of bright white stab a delve across this room…the gap unclose as

specks swim poker dot three dimension spool pools of pollen splice hair and dust

this my skin.

the slow aching of moments in tiny splinters of how…catch swathes.

sun palms. open. up against.

circumnavigated in tiny frames.

the culminating.

the operating.

undone.



…must there is sure. outside there is four times more.

more light most light than I can swallow more most light than I can hold up or away

from

more more most light brighter

(…outside the dark and play)

…in here a dark is slashed. a membrance. each. here once drab a drape, hung along side

another fabricated in a subtle remove from all others. one bordered by bunches of red

silk berries, stabbed over and over. ringed as coral of deeper long line slip shod

stitches…each pool hoping whispering/a little song cherry cherry cherry to thesun...shine. light. each other. another. holed up. pierced with slabs of shine entering

through here. door small (centrifuge). another is third with its muse. and another nother

is spun with tiny lemon spot dots.

is grazing in nicks…ticks…pricks…a face of gossamer, as breeze brings itself splash

up to me. mine eye. to mine as together I stand in the middle stilling and unreeling,

thoughts…of further and fuller farther.

.out aways.



(a container contained

from innerside outersee…but out she will say. sent to fudge… come to the edge

repeatedly.

often enough to preamble the blistered…she will be out on the innerside. out of the

outerside)

(in cupboards sun cannot light

…a dark flower a dark tulip)

…in this cupboard there is darkness doubled. two darkness’s in all the world

…a lift of latch to handle on pull…reaching for to open

and

…inside the flower is brimming with tears dark eyes struck/ open.



(sure memories past the seen)

…there was small light on the mantle, sure a sign

sure as light. a bridge

in the pane from the flame

…no light on me mine. cause I turn round

the house is fallen away. a dissipate in the glare ahead.

the shaped is broken the shaped broken away

…as I move memory so far away is fallow

(daydreams releaving (a) content)

…in memory…my picture…tiny glints in small holes on the pink china filigreed silver

and crystal chrome…the table laid with all the food and the air is full of voices and

them talking words of natter… …clinking worlds and rustling skirts against the legs

inside them. my chin rests on the edge…above…there is plenty everywhere…the table

capes the floor in boxed peaks of white stiff stuff sewn over with small bulbs of cream

.stitchery.

.below.



…to

arrange reassemble ro-tate seed’n read just

the unseen

unsaid.

the handle is off.

and look into light’s eye on-me

…to ask it its name…to speak it…bright

light will be gettable…possible come-at-able. a welt of hope. lettable.

moonset me no more.

I will pleat moist light into pintucks. plait it into cuffs,

shirr it in the hems of puckered dog ears.

the dimmer will eclipse. implying light within each crimple, wrap and wrath unfill.

(truly darkened)

…my true body pressed in here, lacks the full. its scuff swelt skin here won’t peel.

its mind meanders rooms within that dismantle and reassemble unclasped

repeatedly.

slip…discontinuity from form to empty. like a deepest pull.

…not constant in self anywhere.

I repeat

what dark is here.

so I see not the shade, in me. I leave… …. … …. …



…leaving the house the deadend hope box

I am stepp-ed-ed out.

towards’n forward’n from step to ground. pulling the hemmed skirted up with the right

hand as I swing down unpicking it with my left…my drawn in self is turned towards an

underside of feeling… a gulp of breath a lift, the head and opens hit out with my voice

blind aside

drazzle’n of sun wherein

a

glint

gleam

halo’d

a shimmer

(in a gulp of the outer the heat hot breath and at chestlift her head comes up. I saw it.

hit in the face with the sty of blind dazzle across her eyes. at.

wherein she stops and out and up…becomes the wide

something up ahead for brightness

is everything now for brightness)

…bright lightness

…a long line of more highness rightness

(and behind) …my feet will draw bright lines across the empting field behind-ing

If I walk, If I walk



( )

…to head out, to proceed to open to one two would walk forward

and one would cover over the dark this land by placing one step up and over

and then away from the place where one is and then was and then another repeatedly

the filling of the endeavor is breached one span at a time unknot.

and…continue…being there is no place to go back

…the glow is burning at the place unheard of as yet

…of what can be remembered…in words…are gaping gaps.

…one solid sun is a ball flowing forward from its behind.

(each step forward is one of reverie)

…each of everything has happened stance.

now I am

lit as the ground.

bright.

a hundred ways to explain.

to see.



(refusals lie flat upon)

…so much. all the bright against the field of grey ahead as a rising.

a red ribbon.

a sigh at a time.

my voice could/would can bounce is all over the land.

at my eye, at my throat/ bales, buckets pockets.

pulled wide out and open

inside of my tongue even

the undark even in the quiet night of nonsense.

books should be full of it.

(while dread ends circumscate

the hills of ants blur into ever colonnades of red to be read.

the closet’s vie as spun as spinifex. as the path.

course taken).



(ever towarding conglomerations of brilliance as sinews taken)

…on…this sun coming in to me. sun. sun. full of brightness.

a day makes it more or less so. I know a riddle. the wick.

the trick is one started in the deep crevice. of one day.

when it is not yet called yestermorrow at all.

waking because I have been asleep and in this half whirl walk directly towards going

out(side) where there are

no gates of anything much but of the inside my direction liveda pups call to liver

to get a farther…a something further

for the

need.

happen happens.

…one foot is lifted and swung forward. pirated bliss. forward it whispers.

out and away it consoles.

reaching.

it furthers outward as stretch becomes home to place again here further here again.

till the familiar echoes back distance travelled distance held open.

one step becomes another held as the mapping of land of space of yonder.

earth as smooth here. no hard from the standing in the yard.

the earth is soft here. blown with the dust from the bard.

the earth is finely cracked here.

ants move about abruptly arabesqueing whines between my steppings.

out and away the sky is my open.

dusting…

wallkin…

wallkin…



(the weight of pace on the ball of a foot)

…twelve reams fall from me

two spinning sapling spiralling signet swift swallow swallows

spin round my head.

raising my arms upwards entangling in the net of pale bindings…and of birds and of wind and sun and of threads of hair…

knot unknot…

a foot is a line a weight is a time the field is stream of feet.

each foot weighs four lengths.

a foot will not only walk as feted.

in each centre there is the tremor of weight.

(began and forthwith as a continuum, a tongue that eats its own foot

walking away a dark-more and more

as steps

taken with)



…everything of this bruised is form.

(until edges unknot)



(the land was whitethe seed was black

it will take a good scholar

to riddle me that)

I’m a narrate as rhythm a slip to field.…a linear lightwhite field opensout. fields to gallop and flee and open expeeel expand

and peel.

back as walled with warmth all over seeping in through rue and skin

and nose and eyes insinuating order evaporate within itself.

…field inside of very small box

satin in mud

wet bones and warm tea

yellow and ice

(the very tiny-tiled tin like box, is a series of small corners that when peered to

reveal seems of black dust and the smell of only loss)



(a neverthings fit)

…my mouth. a mouth mouths the full of the taste of burnt plums

…ears. fill. full with cool puddles of wet tears

…my eyes are full of small specks of referred wonder transferred into guillotine dregsof shot glass

…my tongue is heavy with the taste of lead weight sinkers

…my sinews are piped with bitter pips

…my nerve in my right cheek speaks of sarcasm to my ear listening to essential

kindness

…the bone in my right elbow skews the gesture as my hand opens wide to greeting

…my eyelid dips as I looked up to see the shadows at the feet of things

…my mouth is full of the memory of oil of cloves and the ache from learning to whistle

…my nose is full of dry caked spit that had grown brittle in the heat

…my bones are full of the spice smell of the dark

…my spine holds tickles of jonquils and in my knuckles bloom blisters of bleached

wisteria…in my desert



(…to fill…in her hems, seed, in her hair blossoms

of quandong…rose dock, grevillea, silvertails…horehound curry bush wire grass

full her a clutch of wrens egg set on the warmth of her mind…bright)

wall-kinwal-kin plac’n

tripwaalkin



(the wind of leaving is travelling backwards…

memory hits hard at the frail

the whinge of airpress reaches in hard…into the bare corners, and up each steep wall

and across the far away ceiling hung with a swaying grand piano, dining. suite. six.

chairs, two side boards and a sheet of corrugated iron with dinner be-sets and fine

china and crystal and linen piled high on it. swung.swung…the wind plays nineropes...attached as to pull across the expanse of ceiling. creak. sing soar crack.

louding to the tone of three then snap. in the gulp a clap a crash. iron falls and falls

down…bellowing every. everything. Fall’n out from. every thing falls out from above

from and lands out down from at separate pacing of just about and there spread about

in cut diamond slivers and wedges of crystal and white china handles and sledges of

cup scuttle as outward a rock to and fro. to and fro across the floor to and fro. and the

great of linen cloths unravel and billow wide before drooping as coverlets over the lot.

copper rounds implode and the door in the closed wall opens with a pinch of tight. All

of’n the wood moans tight againsthope. Tighter. and a stream of warm frightened air

expires from the closet…it stands open the width of an eye placed sideways in a

head…)

…distance BEING is a small eye moving from far away…FAR AWAY.

where…



the bright within the blind spot



GIRL: (FROM)

HER/E FURTHER OUT

…the orb of this eye is ceaselessa hole

gaping…gulping

this and thatthat and this

GULLETS

TASTESKNOT



(look out…look out sing-song one song to me un-home

one after another

dragging the known running a limp behind hrrr)

(in pace)

…my walking. out. the walking out to further gather is the farthest way to be…

situated.Here. there is nowhere to go towards and there is always one more step to step

nothing being finished. forward to go from either the steps are, two…halves, that arelimped over as one does not see everything that is accomplished as a whole. to walk

forward is many. to lift shift. pauses hold and swing forward and the across does notever complete any action that is it in itself

...seen.

…the centre is spun peripheried.



…sight across is distance traversed in increments

as slivers of incidents a range of possibileswithout the matrixical many it disappears

close-apsed.the range cannot be judged forward.

the way forward at the place is to move first and then by habit the body will take onetowards one’s destination, no doubt why then do I arrive beginning at the place of

begin again.and again.

an argument within the edge is incriminating. the refusal to give light up to me

…must the need.

(…looking up upon)

…on the ground under the crooked gum, ghost my head faces up the sky.

watch’n insects fall about each other in the space before me up above. measuring thegap between each particle. screaming. between each breath.

each midge takes each belch at depth.each bit of light is seen each star between each dazzle.

…watching my watching.I am yellowing the looking up is this.



(too far, too far to see…)

AFTER WE HAVE FULLY STOPPED SINGING THE WORLD IS ANECHO…THE SLIGHTS

SIGHT FOOLEDMOCK SUNS

THE ORB OF THE EYE CIRCLES ITSELF

(in sticks that crawl, in spiders with eyes on their back, in lizards that are stones

rosellas screech at budgerigars galagah screamtttsh…painted-finch me)

…on the ground broken as wide.

the creviced vertical deep deeply. here between my feet a gap.one pace. the ground down teeth of an old dog. Faces. Up.



(here there)

REGULAR STRIATIONS SEDIMENT A SIGHTSEEN…SIGH…SEEING

(here there jelly the fish mesh to mock. in pause.

fossils of fringes disked)

…everything is rock out here even the birds, the lizards eyed denser becomesformingcrystal.

…the small stones that are lifted roam the surface in the wind and in gizzards they are

the colour of red and black so deeply stained that there is no long or short opening in upthem.

to find a find…a stone-pebble white and clear and full of its own milk in places. one

two can look in and see it inside. a cavity less than the hole of it and it can be swishedtoo and fro in a small way from minute side to minute side

making waves break inside of it.like all the seas in-between two fingers held tight to the light. to want is too want this

more than anything. it is an ocean in a dry book sealed off and held.what rain filled it and season. Forced as an inside in its depths of it’s sleep in the earth.

tears?a spring of always water.

the unnavigatable.

…up ahead the sky is holding back and away through a flapping blanket of wings

green and now blue…a blaze abuzz of tipped screeching pour across now a this wayand now that

waves across the light. budgeries fly so close they hold each other’s wing tips they singinto each other’s ears they lie in a bed of slipped space in dreams a blanket.

they whisper toorali…tooroli and in the midst of me happiness pleases.within pleases.



EYESeyes

(watching. her. her eyes gather all around her into herself. the vastness, the ether of the

sky, the infinitude of distance measured by a step and a blink. of the eye. the intake of

breath.

looking the far the deep the within she gathers it all up. from layers at the distance of

an arm of a span of two)

… there is watching me there is watching. the depth of the big paddock.

of the road to a town broken wide of even further…the flies fly at each other and knock their bones gether

the breath of spiraling hawks leave a traildust…filtrates in eddies across thin cumulus…

(across from her at that distance halved.

a lizard stony-eyes her skirt flapping as a large butterfly. let it see it see it her

a termite with one eye on stillness makes it known to another that the sky is

falling heat enough to always continue

all watched by a face of rock

that by conglomerate as aspects of eons and epochs dark with crags that spell…snake

to the dark beads of a small wren twisting the shadows of spinifex into a hawk,

a shade, a hawk

a dozen blind chicks smell nothingness and then a moist warmth)



…out across this sky this gaze traverses each edge into invisible cloud handsand the shape of droughts

of dry draughts and hot air pocketswings spread out into found dimensions of certitude never dreamed of. spoken.

the sky narrates the season as thin of moisture by peeling wounds as filaments a finger depth deep. like words across a tract of land, small as a spider-egg’s corpuscle.

(a thin cloud looked upon another and another looked to another

there is a small gathering above a cord of white trees…the leaves are full of wind

turning them this way then that away from the horizontal bleed of the sun and in each

one a colony of mites are eating slowly the whole of the green…there. planning to eat

the whole if they can)

…the trees look out

for the horizon

and then as far as the roots had milledout and with a gulp push’n ‘em forward a skeric in all very very direct-tion,

centipedes shake blue eggs

backbone fossilfish

saltunderground courses

eons looked back from their rest and see.

(a hundred years ago(men carry a dry boat across the sway…)



…the eye this-eye this I is but a hole in megathering more

holes.

where does it ever lie flatto grasp.



the empty. AN EMPTY IS SCROLLING WORDS IN WHIRLSFURNISH

(now that all finishing has remove)

…the house emptying was now filled,

the darkened furniture belches bleach in the sun.as appears,

and the walls flocked light patterned plumes at corners of my eyesand windows are becoming walled bigger as heavy drapes fall up under

the away.spinifex blankets the screen door



…I look I walk. I look

through the whole

swollenness.

…I stand just about…I look across unless I lie down and look up longer.

(reasoned a measurement around the whole…

I’ll take your measure girlie girlie

…at a distance

at the beginning and end of each day. busy in the half light…with all your own

memories measured as yardsticks. you are wide and high enough and you have the

more too gone…but when it is night…even the dark licks the light from the smooth

mouth of the land. up. you’ll close. two worlds became one in the shadow. you walk

ahead I see towards…in all the day and now the sun has ceased you have stopped

parted absconded. you turn your face up. look up to see your light leave the sky last…it

is this unspace…from behind you tomorrow that you will start out again… and

follow…some light, that same light you say…getting lost-er every day. where are you

going except across…light I have. You say I became the one standing still. at a place.

still standing. at this hour else pauses, in repose, before either sinking further or rising

up away…but you…you stand up against something fluid in the dark…for as long as

you feel you can … your pupils grow succeedingly large and fill first your eye and then

your whole face as I look on from morrows…the black pours back over your face and

then your head and neck and chest…they empty you out.

I can not stay for the rest)

…five foot



(four bends in the body cavern to make

a small mark in the dirted land)

…light corralled in concentration destroys the order of the edge of their edges.in my eye.

…a pile up of dark whiteness suffices

as a centreof the whole.

unstop

a line.across my footfall is a lineground formed by the waist of a snake

skirting the heat. the rivulet. bending on my haunches at my ankles at my hips and waist

white pebbles venture rivers within a parallelthinking- a rumour

east and west directa line of quartz broken out of the red land wefting.

everything being outside of me from this centre.

…if I follow the sun I go towards it at every turn – I bump into the previous.said.

said.said and am I tangled.

draw in the sound the roundness of the circle with no name.

I draw the eternity of line with no frame.from the unmade.

Empting.

…both bright and its dark pull away at the pattern walking by my side withinme

with me. the different shades take it in turns…they move things into a way.to make my eyes grow wide…

the animals talk of kissing, births from tree rot, beautiful death, I come back to the unsaid the ungathered

a snake in my mouth.a bend at the hip.



STRUCTURE (UNREASONED) BEGS NO FENCELINE

(structures (unreasonable) take the place of no fence line)

(from piles to holes)

…from holes to circumspect radius…a field.

I make the field with my eye before me.

(for a long time first there was a gliding of my bright into the darkness that had filled,

my posse, that conjured the smells of warm with it and hid in the ground the tastes of

the dark. she smelled the warmth before it came on her and she knew that she was

thinking this and it warmed her to feel herself moving in her self again she was ready

for it coming to her…)



NIMBLE SIMPLE

…the placing of a pile of the grey of seeds

two inches by two inches by two inches on the red sand

is (BIGGER)

(FURTHER)



(a cup

a funnel

a recess

I aspire)

…a whole DEEP I prepare…

is gone

is gone



fetid flower



GIRL:…no further…

a broad pain

STILL ONE

(and the broad pain in her chest…stops her still seeped through her

and sinks into her lap

unfolding a great breadth

of darkened bright warmth

and a sweetness which fills all her immediate. In her

rising, it drops through her knees to the

ground of her floor and curles around

her brown toes lapping there like too much

honey is right



STILL TWO

(and approaching her stilling / her fingers grow

ever long.

spooling words.

that lay in her lap upturned

across valleys of dull wool, skirting up and

over the rise of her thighs

they swell’n and wheel’n from her palms

out and over the space that is still inside her.

their whiteness milks all the aglow a glow

and lisps at the gasping shift between the no wall and her.

stumble

and still they pour on pouring. words. till the whole

of around her is fold.

their eternal moistened cupping the

dark and the smoke and of her and her.

all of her. quietly throbbing.

elongating. moving out and out)



STILL THREE

(and she reaches into her folds then and parts them and from elbow deep within her pulls there

out something so bright she falls back as shadow

the beast the straw floor the stone wall

all still. all reeks the aglow of her iron blood and

the birth breaths of moments never repeated.

her tongue rises to the rafters of height and hangs here

eternity blessing possibilities. outside here

old men piss themselves and worry about tomorrows.

and the whole of her eyes fill with the bright/bright

and her arms nestle her own milk and the

lapping of lips. and dew and down.

and kiss when she kissed it, the burn seals

her lips and the awash thereinside her I here.)



Interlude

stealing into the word for torch



A LADDER OF SCRIPT

(to slab words in increments

‘…perception is a form of pain’.

‘…if therefore thine eye be single…the one who openeth his eyes…and there is light …

an angel will appear in a blazing fire. graze gaze…all is aflame… darkness is upon the

face. of the deep. separate the light from the darkness. there is evening…therefore let us

not sleep. but let us watch…’watch in pause.

‘the light of the body is the eye; thy whole body shall be full of light…’

and then there is mourning…

it is morning)



(morefraudulent your fesses.

Worded

falsehoods fathomed as firm

undearing the slips from

the light on ariadne’s veil…the shadow in persephone’s heart)

your reals all suffer all differ

I suffer bent

the worth of difference is undone

your love is a strange love a small love

a tiny unsustained love…)



(order disorder

The space of appearance

My quiddity as phrased comeuppance

I am unable to read

There you bear the word

we sit together separately

as in a window

Picturesque as Verse Scrap the manuscript…What remains of a beloved?)



(…a chorus of codices echo all which we behold…and so strongly doth it entwine

itself…and fill all space radiant, put to flight blindness…Hildegard whispers her

name…‘touched and I was set on fire’…the deiform placed as…the frontier between

sense-ible and the knot…enabled through the former to see…and to what pertains to the

body, 'when I was forty-two years and seven months old…the light of the sensible

world shone more brightly within compelled to stand midway, light through

participation…a fiery light of exceeding brilliance came…permeated my whole brain,

and inflamed my whole heart…I saw with an inner eye I did not perceive it in

dreams…but burning like a warming flame…as the sun warms everything its rays

touch. not sleep, nor delirium, or by the eyes of the body, I received them while awake or

by the ears of the outer self, in a hidden place… and the eyes and ears of the inner

self…in open places…fire, incomprehensible, inextinguishable, with a flame in it the

colour of the sky…the viscera are within the human being… into the changing sky and

spreads… and because of this way…the light that I saw is not spatial…nor do I

perceive by thoughts…of my own heart or by any combination of my five senses,…as

partial. I am not fallen prey to ecstasy in visions, but while my outward eyes are open, I

see the wide as awake…and it is far, far brighter than I can measure neither height, all

the words…nor length, nor breadth of it all…in this vision are… but like a shimmering

flame…Moreover, I can no more I see how I see…but while I see it all…sorrow and

anguish leave me…it was as a woman who as a shining girl tore it down…unclouded

the brightest of light domains…though it teems with things unnumbered… unsettling

all. I see above my mind, and below, the light…as if the light were to shine far, far

brighter than…it is something quite different from any ... it shines above, and I below

(or lower) because this light knows eternity…’)



(a reflection)(in reflection)

(my self erasureventriloquised

a camouflagedissembled

in choice lies the voice of the absent

nowhere…and now here…where…

a great small expansion has come into mea self. myself is further…fallen away...left with ‘that’…

from ‘that’ estimate towards another the filament draws first one way and then not…)



(palm on

still on balmed knuckles you crease painfully in and further in till the stiffness stops you.

on the page and across the text the small scribbles fall into relief as ideas as thoughts as

hopes.

on the pin at the throats knife slim.

on the dull mat splattered mud and shit and sheep in the field milling together to push

across each other towards somewhere warm somewhere else.

seep out from the warm centre of pale green pearls.

still-further on…the faces of pinched babes, red and white confluent,

wax and blood and thin spit words and cries now to opening.

in the earth of the ground beneath the feet sigh in coal and shale and shit.

across the laps amongst the skirts of young women.

in linen drying flat on the side of hills and round balls draping lavender bushes. out

flay past the reasoned spacing of trees, down the avenues of hammered poplars, pillared

candles falling up the sky.

repetition follows endless repetition and gaps fly home

a need

I need to find darkness to wrest to rest)



(onus on

…so I can be done with…so I can stand up…as the shape of the thing held up. on the lips

of gazed at children. a parameter glistening in spools of milkspit…held aloft from

tumbling by sudden sucking motion of the involuntary…carving out, holding back on the

backs of bare heads at dawn and dusk. a face held naked in the halo that enters the lines

of repose…necks open to the hold of dresses, shoulders that arms fall out from, chests and

flanks and flayed book tidied down upon…

see me…)

(evident the duty

argument a fist. ache me which am unalone…am I one or twinned to two. or tied three

created to tier…unbright light. an unheat … burn in the spark that flies between embers

of hopes detained…as glasses raise the eye, windows open, eyes rubbed the harder for,

shepherds guide, ships stars counted, rooms are aired, bodies are left to lie open. the

depths of the resting. throats song that cry ahome, for…songs



(evident the dark

here is your face and hers. her face theirs. now them. hers. everynow theirs. here thems

also...all too twoing and froing…big slabs gulping a line of treacle spun time for. ever.

there is a lot a lot of the darker pleasings, the face, a face, crowds everywhere over above

in side and out, towarding. two faces. a closure of faces. walled up. in slabs of thatch

walls wood across the emptiest of fields. spreading the out in the hallows of land tracts of

place on the spill of dew dried up bits twill me from each stalk of grass…as far as that

and then further more so down stone corridors a wedge inching at dawn from one front to

another past grovel and slight and towards the back and up into the frame and through

the slump of the glass and full the curtain gauzing the slightest breeze a girl standing up

to leave in a room over her face spilled with blank…a happiness…… …of the out………

………………………………one gap towards another the spread of the way across a flow

towards song on the deep of an interior. small bubbles break from one world to another

constantly, lulling me to the granulation of their depths…in shafts grown soft and

wide…teaming towards where dark becomes again…in the belly of beasts and across the

fringe of anemones. as a frame for the darkened singing in the margins of great heavy

books. I flee with all bright on there).



(evident the wish

in their necks. of the small. glazed eyes find all and on gem pearls twilling within the

thoraxes

wing wing

across the steam of the lottery in the breath of the two mares…at dawn,

in the furnace of forgetfulness and the pit of despair. the hope. for me is more more)

evidence of repetition

the feeling of sometimes held up comes from not the slip between but in the grasp of the

gap in wondering for a moment…yellowing teeth increment smallness endlessly repeat’n

and no hold on fix. the nature is to shine on, the task is to light but the doing is once

removed from something not found for to dazzle. here now spread many monuments and

moments towhere there are any inconsistencies.

where is something or someone that will stand up or lie down or refuse…)



(evident memory

all seeing…being as the one seen and the one reflected. around beings there is only a

distance of just about…past there flows nothing but dreams and memories, left tagging

behind caught. …on and on, away from the handhold…every creature identifies with the

centre of their world that is them they say but there is no centre only an endlessly rolling

on and out and over and through…

speaking backwards …not even the frame

From the flamethe undone

evident

in rest for movement in memories and in meters…

one holds all that has been said and it is a joy…

two lights they said.

two if only. no horizons. no inside no outside. no edges still me.

there is nothing to see there cannot be anything to see no object.

some say they hold me. some say they see me enter their throats or pour

from some eyes and hearts some do some simply say they do.

the various wells stationed at every turn in the spectacle are stoppered

as refreshment. everything swallow pains.

the certainty of loss lost…forever undone…the eye beseeches…opening wider…always for

more… more light…more more more more more some…more.

I separate from brilliance).



(dream’n of being a part…no name no edges no solution…now

dream of being embraced…

a dream of being set free of…

dream of becoming dark, resting…undone

a dream I have come to sympathy)



II

A Woman Built a House



within the bright a blind spot



WOMAN: THE-EYE THE-SEEING

iris flower

cornea cornflower similarca similar familiar

lens lessenretina retractinator

foveaoptic nerve

vitreousorbit orb

eye ball storm pupil

ganglion green gantryI eye-mind



fragment 16

in wrestle…

I write you downa sphere at a time…



fragment 17

meaning. un solidifies

…my hand. a wrist before me turning

up across a parchment of words andknots a quill…blunt and frayed and

blackened with ink, the wax tablets asmilk sours before here, the wet small

height of the ink slitting the black puddle on the lip of the shell. a mind.

on the powdered pigments… in thedark within we are firstly lost to the

breadth of nothing excepting if we are binding to dark, that dark as light and

then there are suddenly an equal to all.

on the edge of my hand writing I cansee my hand reflected back to me as

itself familiar…all versions of it travelendlessly between my eye and the

touch of me…one touch and thenanother…building

I can think I see everything…I think I

think all things but I think only a fewof the things thought of possible

things.

with this quill as my vein if I open nowwill I find I find bright?

if I open this…this what is this tosee…at its edgings every shifted

edge…



fragment 18

what is this brightness burning in meat me?

words fall about nothing holds. tillnoteven this question is part of the

questionable



fragment 19

closeted light.cloistering within each thing

I am growing light in my belly

in the eyes, in seen…seeing stretchesthe inner dark away…so in the habit of

pausing before that which I am beforeto do…to watch. and wait. there is to

see everything. not to move not toenter the place till all is still. but toenter it…all…at will. the stilling

happens by being behind my eyes andwaiting. waiting. waiting for along

while nothing happens and then I seehow it is here now…before me is a

deep box of sunlight punched throughwith warmth and…from the stone it

floods it to a granulated softnesshaloed on all sided so bright that I

cannot see where the light breaks glassand where it breaks wall…the flood of

its brilliance then pours towards meacross the stretch of tables and

shelves…glints as jewels on the chainssecuring the tomes to each other and to

the world of matter …before me Iknow is the psalter of saint…whose

eyes were torn out. and the whitenessof light makes of the illuminating a

white sea of the heaven it refers to. I

stub my toe on the first bench as I walk through the spectre of the glowing to begin work. I am in a script, in a

scriptorium. I am in a land I am in acountry I am in a sea that surrounds. in

my throat I can feel it stretching thedark away.



fragment 20

there is seen in watching

increments of differ… between each slip towards one more

there is a loss of the first that is shapedfrom the first between its death and the

new. its elements monuments of consequence. before it. each time. and

still it carries on grouping with other moves towards something or

other…awash with the opaque veil of time pulling it…always pulling it out

more and more so towards theconclusions that shape light bigger

than the eye.

…the icon the painted faces that areare not one thing true but layered

within one another, many many facedcreatures, beasts, mothers and

vagabonds. one eye strays of beingovertaken and stares hard out from

layers out. the other is new each time Ilook towards it the work, the pupil of it

being the dark one remains the same. Iam the pupil if truth be known I am tosee…it sounds me



fragment 21

versions OF un-BLINDNESS

in two…in oneI see in one I am bound dumb as

blind…inside vision I am most completely

but inside the screen of my brow andin the depth of my heart I envision

myself as mud as light.it fills me like the surging of sunlight

into the vault of the chapel. like thevessel it warms me deeply. between

mournfulness and the sun. between myness manifest…a double sight. inside

each, finger and tooth each stone,gem, bird, each womb and its seed is

this sight this-light.

sighing



fragment 22

to focuses one’s eyes on the root or base of each form before one

one sees that each is split in two thatreflect each others repose. This is not

the space to root

roots show the trees true nature theroots of the trees for all we know may

be the flowers of the darker side beneath do they glow as the blossoms

fall.

aspen and elms, walnut, a forest of oaks cork trees laurel elder holly.

all the trees as words.

(ThymeHorehoundElm

LilyIvyGrapevineHawthornTrefoil

IrisSorrell

SagePrimroseLadiesmantleIrisToadfax)



fragment 23

what is truly seen? further further than clumps of stuff strewn

about. around. layen thrown. open below. under and before and behind

and closer…on the river and the landfar. this body. on things that hold and

the things that lie deep…as thatch and barn and gaunt flocks, as trees filled

with blossom on small rises acrossgreen sways on spires, as piers upheld,

doors with iron latches. the lock in. thelock out. the horizon is full of it.

…what eye in this portal quads light

the delicate thinly. across the mantle. astone angel bespecked green plaster.

white snow and her furrow under feet…in the crevices of ragstone.

doves break the stone sky above.across it all the great window shatters

into coloured fragments…yet does notin itself touch lights breath…being

only the beginning and the end of eachday of creation. light’s exodus…the

grand march forward and back of great plain columns forward and back up to

the rounded close of the apse. towardsthe death of things, as a pattern, of the

geometric as a yellow stain…as fog amist a blood green hail.

I am sad white snow.



fragment 24

…the inner eye dreams of the edgeof evening. about to fall into a

borrowed night. digging a hole in thewall of dark brightness. shovel I am.

somebody’s digging out. digging outof it. somebody excavating a darkness

or a light with a blade, a funnel, their hands, a book.

…what eyes see this delve…

leaf…across…handbooks. paintedmanuscripts…pierce the pattern books

as pictures poised. the letters…imagethe instruments for digging for

gathering. the crypt. dry throats of pastchoirs. an apex of windows. the whole

naive flooded through…amber soft.light wasps fly off…dripping honeyed

varnish. alms boxes. canopied pews,naive benches clinging to deep places

of long hallow…chambers

…what participle…the innerside…when light falls from inside the eyes

‘sanctuary’ the sight of a one reachingup and claiming the knocker as refuge

‘I beat travelled to the edge of thekingdom here I will rest’…the

ordinary and the ordained bewailing…tears of bright form as

chipped pink plaster…when you know.how. wonder moves in into thats dark.



fragment 25

faces that are holesnot shone back from.

cross one face appears another…there

are a multitude that hold open possiblecartilages of predilection. if pause to

space before what will come…atomorrow?…patience of an internal

craft?…mulling over the feel of awizened tongue without answers dry in

a mouth…waiting for the pain to passwaiting for…

something…someone…being one…to truly see.

in waiting watch.

fragment 28

…I watch red light read the yellowingglossary aloud to itself across each shoulder

I watch blood light finger the page…in watching the sound of it, I am struck stranded at

the entrance to myself and in watching, I am. struck..

stranded.



fragment 29

sophia opens her lips in mine…

(build on the dirt a level that holds fivetypes of matter, colours five fields,

five foundations, five flows, a walledspace that contains five couches or

tables with five objects on theuppermost levels, and shine five lights

on each. in the above raise fiveceilings and five roofs and then finally

place each in five night skies).

my eye in memory traversesmemory’s guise.

the foundations dug nightly.inside walls of stone sweat.

tears corner red darkness … still me.there are cut to a size that flows

beyond the self edges the small theeffervesce and shift. I look hard

towards and out to them. I open myears and see the lines of my palms

knotted in branches of crossed outtime. Its gone.



fragment 30

all…

all that’s possible…

the perceiving falls towards a hundred

score perspectives.the voices rise

diagram:

detailing the edge of colour

the edge of the ball of the unseeing.

diagram:indicating the innerside of…

as filled. as filled



fragment 32

this new cell in me

ripe infirm of my edges pulls apart the wall of me. to the whole

makes naught but a series of dry roomsand corridors a concealment to the

open…most. edge of this room at theedge of two corridors that connect a

library to the orchard the cloister wallsat the edge of the edge of the edge of

the wall spill small gleams of crystalline as tiny gleams. as candle

flame flickers in the darkness. it glintsa thousand suns...a tiny mosaic of

gold-stone floods in. all the sun in thenight all the sun that is hot and makes

all things full of itself warming bonesand fruit and hair and cheeks cloth at

the lines drying on the lavender thedirt. love unfades in this light. the sun

my old sun…I am loosing you for anew.

I make a move to lay five colours

down…innerside black then red then yellow then green

and white.

in this place mud does not lie alone, it

lies within a bigger field that isimpatiently radiant. and sing



fragment 33

I take from scriptorium felted fat

…black and make a parapet of light.

wall and beyond

wall of emptinesswall of self details emerge as points of

bright.

my throat

tunneling

my hand…my feet…coming up to the wall of

existence…bumping my skull hard onit falls open one eye emerges from the

gore and seesthat the eyes see only that the veil is in

the seeing.

tunneling

with the lips of my everything



sounding liquid aside stone



WOMAN:

fragment 48

through…through…

red capitals. flame. knot. inlayconfiscating. the word. with one frail

flay glimpse. an eye, mine, falls outupon a foolstring of words lying

limp. lying low. mortar stones of unline. wailing for mordancy.

reach me lifting fingers toward’n page. at torn touch worn linen

shroud. wefted.

slipping into still.

pressed foundates.



fragment 49

I am aside as a multitude…throughthe tip of the tip of my tongue, my

finger, the stain aching in the vein inmy arm, through the pause between

breaths, the deep hollow quiet in mysighs.

sob holing through the tall wall of tissue of blood of spit and tears. I

enter a portal cut as me. zeroallowed. in iris. one times one. I fold

three planes through compressure, anabiding smooth against the every

skeined skeric. with my arms closebyI leave nought. I leave everything

out…for every number rhythm or rhyme there is a largess behind. the

feigned falls into me over and over awell draped cord round my

shoulders…the darkest of halls arewalled pockets of light. shaped frame

told telling words wynd holes withinthem. trivium that are made of more

trivium indecipherable. the pages aresmall stars scraped thin amid the

berry ink. midnight thorned and burned. I dream in a dream in a

dream I am lying asleep on the book of all books and I push up on my

arms, to lift my head it is a pillowthat is hardened to leather stuffed to

fat with the things known. heavingwords that screech on and on…above

the delusive dread of being. of beingseen as the darkest dark, a swag, a

form, a line, a mould, cast as a diesphered. indecipherable

indistinguishable from the page…what feels to be small is largest.

night ink on fire. wording tonguessinging the undone.

(chimeras refuse to lie low,

lean. close upon

spit split. in recitation name spills a

genuflection, reflection as spoken.

echo near at the contained distance.

the root of uttering enters skin and

grows there when handled attend, I

had words when to contain. seen no

one seems to know. saying as feign

ignore. unvoice the sounding as

stone drop to the bottom of deep dry

talked words hold together by the

broken of weft)



fragment 50

ssshh

an open wordstone

whimpers….chasms dark and bothlight

fall to down digging a below morein weight

then above in distance.

echoing babbles

lisps

(ash vespers cloud the minds of

aspirants detailing pocketed gestures

as congestions of praise. swarm to

the break of the apart as you. sweet

love. swear...on your sigh. your hush.

sight is a half cleaved flame

devisable by nine.

chewed in its own half frame

attended by two.

one is by one diminutive.

smaller than the I aside.

having none but a name. mine own…

being one with eyes turned in.

the other one has as body turned out.

four eyes hold six open.

stand it as still and right

all slight flies pared back

from swamp ink

vague tongues as shape splatter

one flowaway…a black lochia.)

…and one become yawn in a throat

alert to. beginning. building. what

does not fall down what that that

holds.



fragment 51

…there is a rising up. four square.the throat. first-there are six-score

sunk and leaded into sheet earthmade hollow to all change. the floor

is ground as standing up onto me.

my tongue is burning, a siphonspitting song

in a within…I am careeningacross a widening alley. walls a

stream rivering away.

…unframe. being built.

ever-always a… fore time oblique-

ing doubledog as a infinite diagram a mapped

bi-story their own tongues.is a dark is a map with a wider neck

at next you will say track a wolf is milder

wings of a raven move so beating draughts into tie me over

air drawn into light space coalescenight

all around me-it is bright as the brightest day

look I taste…tasting

sight…memories are the unroomthe house is built the house it is

broken

(afore shapes thoughts to fill

corpuscles within sinew and bone…

blankness thought dark. as between

the apse in the heart and the nestling

of the lungs and all partpast the

compression of length, each

emptiness is blank. come call to a

shallowed shadow. in ear vessels

hollering deciphers ease as praise.

the way. as it is lit as movement

forward once begun with honey a

wax fissure into flame. mourn as the

sun comes to ward the loose hold of

night from one of to nother in a slow

but endless come up, with seamless

eyes corrugation each artery each

corpuscle each dream each hope

empty dark. the core of each particle

of thought is flesh. a participate at

the edge of named…name here here

here. something very much does form

ever unshaped unnamed slippered

bright. out of the limbs fire pours. air

breaths me. teeth chatter.)



fragment 52

plain weave look to-throughwale and warp as shapepace

danceing across the all ungone.undone.

catenate half light as half shadow

the scrape inside misshape.must be to be that …in deform

firmament a filament…love

ismy throat a deep a weight a taste

bitter-sweet-sour, and I am cold in anunsweated death…

roughened at each edge its scrapingout my tongue. unround like a glass

sphere…each bone bolder grown intome from without – and then out of

me holding voice come up from me,keening and spinning form to delight.

a lament to pine. it holds no laughter.heaving a heavy weight drawing

down in a drag of throat. cheeksache. past the edge of my tongue so

it cannot be seen, it is there in theunseen that it pulls every joy, every

breath every happiness back downinto my belly and holds it there as in

bursting in the hollow compress as it passes under my hearts asp and

pushes ( ) divisible apartmyself in two.

… a girl, a girl spit splitting.

(half

memory it is in the eye…lives

cuckold…love look takes up place

enter a chart burrowing a wall.)

(with sharp teeth.

she has bitten the whole inside of her

mouth …made of it little mouths that

speak…)



fragment 53

a container contain undonestructured unstructures that hold.

the sound… ing

nothing is to untie. everything onceknew…cannot hold to be contained

without an… holder. The house doesnot hold. the container. space. has

five many rooms more than. allroam. ceilings multifarious far wide

as the edge of a sphere from theinside at a limit of stretching it is as

light as dark. everything aglowcontrasts constant shine at

seamstreams of dust as phenomena.inform felicitous dunce.

as once was.

ever always doubled.

memories are rooms.

(…what flows as withdrawn from the

pressure to stoop. to stop. if when the

pressing lisps anxious, swallow the

waxing at instances the point in the

field that becomes is the move as line

merging as too shallow. a solution

and knowing so sure is its becoming

something someone thing that it

scalds the tender shut and goes

forward and onward. interside itself.

space moves leads more. my away

from is known from. a great distance

at great speed.)



fragment 54

to enter the point of hark is the

opening to an unknown. the way toheld becomes to hold one above

every all thing. all unpart removed.the opening of forward pouches the

heart as pocket-kerchiefs of wonder.unexpanded. heat whole transparent.

matters songs singing. it is said thatthe broken is spun together with

gold. this heart mine is a maze at base a torch of yellow azure…the

opening of the inner-eye is ablue,…if thine eye be sound-ed…it is…

the source for touch.

where enter the great un-doors are

shaped like the bow of a ship heavywith oak the boughs of which grow

in all my mother’s gardens. or andthey are a sheet of wet fog that

clothes one from out the pours. herethey are un doors and I am in relation

through an inner gesture like thelifting of my arm. in my mind. one

must stand in cupellation to un-or what one is…and in a way that is not

eager or too still and one must steadyoneself as one reaches up or out for

them and pushes. pushing with mywill and not my will with my

emptiness and with not with my acheand my hollow hand pushs for-ward.

with my weight of longing only andrest as against a breast the comfort of

the other… and they or it gives wayto me and I enter with no name.

rattling.

(…the crunch of pressure swoop

reams step as off all steps pulled,

pullen endlessly the open door wide.

at feet the belly evermore a sweet

something calls…empty wordings

many times over sweetness a wider nothing handed emptily back to me.

once repeated till tired. and so now

with nothing once black broke into

thirty penances of bitterest…there is

more then three and all became…me

and not me. all are something added

up to more. still there is no shape

that holds -anything open…in the

refused dark is one secret wish. to

open the closed as all open is stilled.

this is a risk that holds at the edge of

possibiles that speak…if I tell I say, I

be. one more of the beautiful and the

still blistered, my hands drop from

arms heart bursting from vein, tol

prove true there is nothing…but if a

throat that one is aching of lack then

the full will perhaps come into

me…now…now gesturelate. tongue

soaring…endless edge…)



fragment 55

enter/ the stepstone /leaves duty,

virtues, all purity, divinity even thehand of charity behind. one’s back.

one leaves the veil the body the lightthe hope…all. the trouble and even

goodly in oneself. till one is low of toshadow but one is not lessened one is

as wide as the fields swarming withswallows at eventide, one is as deep

as a well of water called sea,fantastic with life’s creatures that

breath the sea itself and showthemselves to ride on beams canalled

across an inner eyes.looking sighs

(all.

all is stilled fever in me. the rush is

hushing itself in a cradle cooing

sweetly it mouths contentedly of the

comforter

the deep(er) as seen.

the lifting of the veil…requires one to

open ones robes lift ones arms and

throw back ones head.

the spaces between the known are as

vaults in a huge heart that pours

endlessly upwards ceaselessly

imploring…follow…do fall…do.)



fragment 56

tongues do enter the second throughthe roots of men, with milk pouring

from buds…skimming sighing on theedge of both worlds,… ...such

wordings... and the all then is so thewhole that it lifts with the geese as

they move out across the world in theautumn and return in the spring is all

that they encompass, further thanimagined…that is how big I am

become when in step from shadowsfrom small lights…from the simple

sun it…it appears to see you and youas blind like a solid denseness that

can not be pierced. all of it stoneasp of the holy encrusted there. a

swarm of the holies line up beforeyou showing who they are by their

gestures or their…

there is…

in my own entering

the roots of things pour out as skinsand fall about with tender aware

the meaning of journey was return…

now a ground. a dream. a stepforward.

I cannot stand anywhere in the world

outside of myself: I standeverywhere

this preciousmore the so

with each breath it fades… away.Gone.

(as enter the…further this breaks

up…

bright undone

one brick

one hand

one word

at a time)



fragment 57

enter this third through the flayedunworded skinned and fall about

apart, the emptiness stands still and itflies fall away. the enter is fashioned

through a mud that lays deep intourched trenches of felt. each night.

each night of my day I forget…

and now within are all foundations.and all floors and risen stone blocks

as all walls that are all cornices allmarked as all apprehend as

word…holding. and writing turns tovoice singing as more stones fly

flung next to each other a chorussung a chorus of granite

annunciating. and the walls become aroar of singing. in ears. ears.

near…the thing that is fine…enough

is placed so together to gather uplight that pauses there

fleetingly...across the walls that aretextured snuff of stuff fine colored

that I am seeing the seen through…

no breath is gone from me for ever.held. I am a pause between

uptakes…I empty forever only.antiphonal arches swim

in the forecourt all treatise’s arewritten simultaneous open. quills as

words appear like flocks of crows.in throated beak. my footsteps ink.

plato winces and aristotle looksabout him…the comedies…

whore-horse detailing argumentsanswer a frame that holds flimsy.

their muttering voices travel upskirts…‘this or nothing will

work…stay here in the (said) most

(…ahh A GREAT CRUST

like the appearance of lamps

adamant surfaces.

you will go where I go and I and you

go together

you remain me.

………be

caming…)



fragment 59

the ascending is disjunct…it is spoke

broke broken by broken open broken by a look harder underside

every together all gesture made phrase,

the sum of its maker…the lief in belief meant me to wish

be wish…

all floors scriptulates forward as theystands to still. I have no hold. the

uncobbles a multitude of codex.aglow. me wetted of meaning…there

is Parmenides… Hesiod. they lay the place that has no top or bottom

except by way of my comfort…thisworld-hoard in relation to my known.

(a feet fall) a small voice mouthswalking on. each foot fall feels what

has been written as a stabbing at thedark. in me. if I stand still I am

swollen with a treatise. or hereanother. some are sickening and are

full of smirks that grin up my legsas I pass...when I look to them

squarely they drop away and other layers replace them thoughts… … …

pauses for breath. but being is toenter standing one has to walk to

walk one has to stand one has to gofurther in and one is in all the time

one. one is full of the mistness andfrom ones eyes the skin that clings

must be removed it floats repeatedly back towards the known and one

must keep shaking ones head whichlooks to be a refusal or a paradox

riddle both game as to function butfurther it prevents the trysts from

forming again…the sheaths of foginside must be ripped from one too.

for about me and all things I preceptthere are layers that float around the

density diminished

(walk on )

(in curtains in films and forms as a

shadow before all you see. see the

world darkly…shadow falls most

easily from a body twisted this way

and then the opposed other animated

by resistance to dissolve either

before or behind but in truth unless

seen clearly echoing inside…no

thought or idea of kindness…has

room…has room…)



fragment 60

there is one room a vault formed here

in another round another there aretwo. there is another in front of it or

over the face of it then there isanother where the doors slip into

each others frame though one be astone arch and the other a bower in a

line of trees…the door is perfume thedoor is a small hand the door is an I

open.

everything that is holding stretchesforward. folds. tilts as to flow into

shifted shifting …the spaceplacedoor leaks…and the walls are

bleating a cinnamon cowl…aboutme…I gesture to forward one foot

fall and the other appears from out of a hem. my hands reach for ledges or

handles and I grasp first one thenanother as everything multifoils…I

grasp. I hold of…an axe, a pen, astick burning with flame that does

not burn…I hollow a brass knocker that is smooth with a cool firmness

of a hundred gestures that becomesthe stem of hollyhock hot in the sun.

all rooms are spheres separate as

rainbowed. differing color each. twoand more at once are the thin shell

that divides each itself full of lightand whispers and streams of thoughts

half spoken…break in waves. I moveforwards by a will softened like

sunned butter and find myself staringat myself watching melting as

ground mustard in a brook.



fragment 61

wordwalls…move to upwhich become other floors for the

revolving sense of…ceiling-heightand low. across it all pours the

biggest glow everywhere I place myattention…the light which is

somewhere held swells the surfacewith what it touches there and

phrases and forms move out to me. I place my hands over everything and

smooth tears. every seen screams…more some moresome. the thing I

cannot say… a spit a slobber, bendmyself in three. squat.

squatting I lay my palms against a

volume, an open page that was oncemy comfort…script moves in waves

out and across off from the pageacross my eyeball and out and I see it

flicker that wrote the origin reflected back to me like the other side of a

deep pond…and there is the handthat holds it and there is the arm and

the shoulder and its face inconsternation piercing the world with

searching…attempts…and I can seeits worries about children and the

though is as struck with the pause inits stream and I move back and it

continues writing…dreaming thewriting writes itself a letter at a time.

torch light plays on everything…itsface its hand its words…the inside of

the letters.

(tall stories collapse on the tongue

and ring hollow on passing

jokes now that’s a good one unravel

in their plot schemes

slurs slip under their consonants

fluency sticks behind the teeth

double talk repeats its plie

they talk over and over the same

thing said but backwards to the

beginning again

small one word messages are

scrawled on teacups

are bitten into nails

are sucked down with gin

sighs are queried

honks are rubbed back to pinnacles

formed in the walls between of the

larynx as sound and uttered

aimlessly as a sword a tongue

against a drum by the mouth

hearing a voice

has lost her voice

voice box

the voice of god

voice opinion

especially common talking singing

shouting gossiping whispering,

joking, talk nonsense

rumor glossolalia)



fragment 62

the invisible is as sympathya ground

is being.make as to move from solid to

openness. in a lap, is tender in tender to hold, in open. to happen by

dissolve and to expanse of space…by space. mosaics are the

ceiling swim in flame a multitude of pause a bodied light. pointed.

my breasts fall from me.

my fingers grow so long theydissolve. burn wicks dry.

smelling of wet aeons.

and in small boxes mew dry lime.there. there. there. suddenly its

beautiful. if it is so round and roundand round I will stand here and here

and here and flat to all the diminside. close at once. so smooth of

softness it comes forward. all pink.all glass that dazzle drops of glow all

over floor stone. and in the sunlight pour out deficits of sign,

inconsistencies between earth andheaven. buried between the

foundations are the patrons on whichfeet of petitioners in prayer or half

cocked wonder shuffling repeatedlyto and fro consistently regular.

all pink upright with all dazzle flungstone of ages anchoring the whole

crypt to earth. and then there is therhythm of between benches and their

layers of bee’s wax singing the eyesand you stand or sit or kneel-except

one way.

(for what is said

is said being said…a lot has been

said…

is said…

this mine voice has a shadow a

flatter emptiness hidden

peripheried…anyways now aways

presence calls open the throat and

parts the lips and lifts the tongue and

pours breath from below up and over

the glossary spitting out myope’s

words are stuffed in to carapaces

inside the caverns of her cheek

under the tongue remedies douse

poison promises and…along the

rows of teeth carries of mistruth are

thrust apples are not oranges…yet

in the jaw lies ache hinged as the

clapper.

open…shut it…give a little laugh)



fragment 63

the walls stretch one away and then

each to nother. next they fly in andout. out as thin things shift aside as

everything is rushing at a great wailand gathering in stalls that break

open and out rushes a pig or a shapethat was a pig but now it is a small

reason that has fled itself…no.

(everything bright glimpse gathered

a bruised light seen as seeing...

great excess a great flame I am an

epiphany…)

the past lines up diminished. the

future lies flat and famished asfortune or at the edge of it. great

gulps of pressure swim through thearc of compress...to sigh to laugh to

cry out loud at the very edge I am thevery centre peripheried. I am

sounded circumferenced whole. oneskerrick is every whole holed. the

one then the other now then gonegreat forces compressed. bliss. great

light rhythms a flood a field a field.

(dry dry fire)



fragment 64

…as one does lift ones eyes up, andthere seeing a light in the sky, solid

in its brilliance, a cause of warmth tothe body, flows, tenderness in

openness pauses, so…warm warmthof the inner eye forms a fielded fay

correspondences. but in this lifting of the inner eye…oblique to gentle…

the light in the walls of this mindones own warmth, of my own

tongue, my blood my own heart. justas one lifts the arm to hold fast an

object or to flail in gesture, so too tolift the arm in the mind is as a most

tender event. for the inner hand ismade of light, woven from particles

of wonder itself, participles of deepcaress. of infinite still eternally

erupting…that hold together

fleetingly to shape and flee asunshape. this pitch, this pitch, totouch to tongue in this light both the

strange and mundane one becomesthe container and the contained. it is

in itself figured here all things possibly gentling one cannot hold

them still. but if one shapes there astructure wide that contains all that is

probable…and holds it very very stillin its erupting on its walls there of

its own firmness and integritythen…it can only be a gesturing

toward the very brightestwhole…undone

the great garden is blistered …



fragment 65

in the great smoked silence sophia

whimpers and thrashes held back bythe many handed… opening her

mouth her throat stiff as tunneledstillness falls apart and cries out. …

there is, to reach in. over the pounding of hoofs this way and then

that…and metal flashing closer thereis here cries for…(refuge) against the

locked all is closed except my fist asa great yawn of brass and here before

us all a feast of horrors of terrors…

before me disjunct jubilasthe organum is flesh proudburning

bodies their limbs in candelingflamecomerun comerun

… one and one.the steps dissolve go out out

…I will leave the house…

pushing at the wall of outsidethe flame is a small wet face.



fragment 66

the meat of my mother the veil of

gristle a grille wetting my eyes…the fascia against the ash-oak

forest…this body. against and withinentering inside it. it is inside a room

and there are instructions being readout precise the chorus discant

dictates them…I cannot hear onevoice clear from another…they pile

up in great depth.. murmur tender. Iam aflamed fire fretted water is

break’n open I hear this mind pauseson the colour red. one eye closes as

off from me. leaving shale shadowsas filaments of nothing. gone further

from broke open…

the womb I came through alight

…I am imploding sound a songsungat a time

(the falling fallen is apart

is sighed simple whimple metendering tendering tend

-expected-

there is a structure. one makes.

though dismantling the structurea pause a paradox cell…( )

each build is/has structure-ing a-doubt

each frame stain structure-iesit further

in your alchemies nothing bears fruit

without being more mor-ti-fi-ed

as light.



Epilogue

nocturne’s iris



THE REQUISITE INQUISITION

…you take refuge from me and I am refuge

woman: here lie the unexamined certainties

girl: the house has many rooms

light: spool

woman: to build is to enter, the

girl: skin

light: …

woman: here

girl: on away

light: now



ANSWERS:

colours green, red, black, yellow, white…fields earth, air, fire, water, ether/light…

flows winds, a river, tears, blood, words…foundations stone, hope, love, sorrow, mud…

floors bones, marble, carpets, cries…couches straw, wooden, moss…

objects a beast whelping her pups, a bear, a cup/golden, a bag of seeds…lights oil lamp, candle flame, phosphorescence, the rainbow, a sun…

ceilingsroofs

night ursis minor, black sapphires…all blue



LIGHT:

(multi faceted I fold the sky wide and the earth depth deepens.

this is no place for me on the ground of things

nor in any part of the poles of dark

no one fears

an exile

as cruel as mine

but I make made this earth brightstill with its shaped fears…eat this scroll Ezekiel)



A DIAGRAM OF MEANING FOR THE STILL-BLIND

(…or, moving from the abyss towards the image impressing through imaginal transfer

onto a panel does only half sooth and never does satisfy the load is too heavy to bear andthe burden is on the interlocutor to be supremely articulate as if we were ever able to

have one speak without others echoing in our ears…rhythms and rhymes between the

symbol and the word are simultaneously expressed in the gap seen as an abyss between

the two that we avoid in horror as horror of the unlit self is avoided in the pure wonder

and joy of the self seeing itself division as a luminating fulcrum of perpetual flickers

between content and the container in actually seeing the falling away of the image into

the screen that birthed and momentarily held the self, at the imaginal, as both daughter,

the mother, mothers life and the mothers mother. whilst not the self is the self it is

constructed as its contents from the infinities of possibilities and from the substance-

matter- fine enough to reflect and illuminate all ever possibiles, as is transfer this

substance is. the mother of itself, becomes the creative that was at first its other, mirrored

Sounding the Other Light...a biography Majena Mafe

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Transcript of Sounding the Other Light...a biography Majena Mafe