Thursday, December 22, 2011

Tuesday, December 20, 2011

bruises











if you aren't human, what are you?

with silk ropes I tied his hands and feet
and began to shuffle cards and mete them out
many cards with many names
many names to come and try

come and try

the raspberry stains and the cracked rib
kegs of men's blood rolling in the bowels of a ship
his feet curl and the floor is made inebriated
there's a carcass out here
out here and in my memory
shafts of skin
a rose white sheet

and he is on his knees and he is on the ground
his face pushed unbelievably deep into the carpet
bells ring, places change, and a sour symphony bleeds the air
and in his ears are thunder showers
and a blood rain

someone yowls like a bob cat
that's a finish
hair is devoured
time moves on
the end is

just out of sight

and in the last hours we are going strong
might make it to the line and cross it
my soul's on fire for it
I clutch my heart

but his skin breaks
it always breaks


s. sparling

Sunday, December 11, 2011

scenes apart



dream with with the black drink of sith
nightmares like black orchids sit
still with a sleepy mouths
gaping with genital surprise
unknown and untouched
just a wet 




romance in a tea leaf strumming long fingers
across the great space veldt - stars
magnanimous and stupid
there is only nonsense
and the skull of reason
on a pole




oh my darling I've long loved and suffered
forward like a creature of symphonies
wild and covered in a skin that says
I am of old and cultured beauty
but I hear the sound of unbridled winds
the burst of the golden lung
baby I am looking to the glass
but it's already empty




saint mark and the panther
don't you know your life is hell
raise your spear and let the leaf linger
I don't want for you to cling to me
saint mark you've got nothing but sympathy
and your shield is heavy
rest now
leave that trail of fire forever




she couldn't tell me the way
she had to show me


the chrysalis













Friday, December 9, 2011

columbia urswell










hey fools get down
get deep
into the street
make the mutha fuckas weep
and reap the treat that your hands create
its the lush of the lush to touch touch and speak much
of legs that beg and arms that crutch
I've never seen such
mild mannered and hammered with nine eyes - like a pygmalion
focusing in on olympian thighs to mystifies and cups and lips and tits and suck
- to get luck
I neva get enough

Thursday, December 8, 2011

Nothing To Be Done (Part 1)




Waiting for Godot
tragicomedy in 2 acts




By



Samuel Beckett
















Estragon
Vladimir
Lucky
Pozzo
a boy





ACT I





A country road. A tree.


Evening.




Estragon, sitting on a low mound, is trying to take off his boot. He pulls at it with both hands, panting. He gives up, exhausted, rests, tries again.
As before.
Enter Vladimir.


ESTRAGON:



(giving up again). Nothing to be done.


VLADIMIR:



(advancing with short, stiff strides, legs wide apart). I'm beginning to come round to that opinion. All my life I've tried to put it from me, saying Vladimir, be reasonable, you haven't yet tried everything. And I resumed the struggle. (He broods, musing on the struggle. Turning to Estragon.) So there you are again.


ESTRAGON:



Am I?


VLADIMIR:



I'm glad to see you back. I thought you were gone forever.


ESTRAGON:



Me too.


VLADIMIR:



Together again at last! We'll have to celebrate this. But how? (He reflects.) Get up till I embrace you.


ESTRAGON:



(irritably). Not now, not now.


VLADIMIR:



(hurt, coldly). May one inquire where His Highness spent the night?


ESTRAGON:



In a ditch.


VLADIMIR:



(admiringly). A ditch! Where?


ESTRAGON:



(without gesture). Over there.


VLADIMIR:



And they didn't beat you?


ESTRAGON:



Beat me? Certainly they beat me.


VLADIMIR:



The same lot as usual?


ESTRAGON:



The same? I don't know.


VLADIMIR:



When I think of it . . . all these years . . . but for me . . . where would you be . . . (Decisively.) You'd be nothing more than a little heap of bones at the present minute, no doubt about it.


ESTRAGON:



And what of it?


VLADIMIR:



(gloomily). It's too much for one man. (Pause. Cheerfully.) On the other hand what's the good of losing heart now, that's what I say. We should have thought of it a million years ago, in the nineties.


ESTRAGON:



Ah stop blathering and help me off with this bloody thing.


VLADIMIR:



Hand in hand from the top of the Eiffel Tower, among the first. We were respectable in those days. Now it's too late. They wouldn't even let us up. (Estragon tears at his boot.) What are you doing?


ESTRAGON:



Taking off my boot. Did that never happen to you?


VLADIMIR:



Boots must be taken off every day, I'm tired telling you that. Why don't you listen to me?


ESTRAGON:



(feebly). Help me!


VLADIMIR:



It hurts?


ESTRAGON:



(angrily). Hurts! He wants to know if it hurts!


VLADIMIR:



(angrily). No one ever suffers but you. I don't count. I'd like to hear what you'd say if you had what I have.


ESTRAGON:



It hurts?


VLADIMIR:



(angrily). Hurts! He wants to know if it hurts!


ESTRAGON:



(pointing). You might button it all the same.


VLADIMIR:



(stooping). True. (He buttons his fly.) Never neglect the little things of life.


ESTRAGON:



What do you expect, you always wait till the last moment.


VLADIMIR:



(musingly). The last moment . . . (He meditates.) Hope deferred maketh the something sick, who said that?


ESTRAGON:



Why don't you help me?


VLADIMIR:



Sometimes I feel it coming all the same. Then I go all queer. (He takes off his hat, peers inside it, feels about inside it, shakes it, puts it on again.) How shall I say? Relieved and at the same time . . . (he searches for the word) . . . appalled. (With emphasis.) AP-PALLED. (He takes off his hat again, peers inside it.) Funny. (He knocks on the crown as though to dislodge a foreign body, peers into it again, puts it on again.) Nothing to be done. (Estragon with a supreme effort succeeds in pulling off his boot. He peers inside it, feels about inside it, turns it upside down, shakes it, looks on the ground to see if anything has fallen out, finds nothing, feels inside it again, staring sightlessly before him.) Well?


ESTRAGON:



Nothing.


VLADIMIR:



Show me.


ESTRAGON:



There's nothing to show.


VLADIMIR:



Try and put it on again.


ESTRAGON:



(examining his foot). I'll air it for a bit.


VLADIMIR:



There's man all over for you, blaming on his boots the faults of his feet. (He takes off his hat again, peers inside it, feels about inside it, knocks on the crown, blows into it, puts it on again.) This is getting alarming. (Silence. Vladimir deep in thought, Estragon pulling at his toes.) One of the thieves was saved. (Pause.) It's a reasonable percentage. (Pause.) Gogo.


ESTRAGON:



What?


VLADIMIR:



Suppose we repented.


ESTRAGON:



Repented what?


VLADIMIR:



Oh . . . (He reflects.) We wouldn't have to go into the details.


ESTRAGON:



Our being born?
Vladimir breaks into a hearty laugh which he immediately stifles, his hand pressed to his pubis, his face contorted.


VLADIMIR:



One daren't even laugh any more.


ESTRAGON:



Dreadful privation.


VLADIMIR:



Merely smile. (He smiles suddenly from ear to ear, keeps smiling, ceases as suddenly.) It's not the same thing. Nothing to be done. (Pause.) Gogo.


ESTRAGON:



(irritably). What is it?


VLADIMIR:



Did you ever read the Bible?


ESTRAGON:



The Bible . . . (He reflects.) I must have taken a look at it.


VLADIMIR:



Do you remember the Gospels?


ESTRAGON:



I remember the maps of the Holy Land. Coloured they were. Very pretty. The Dead Sea was pale blue. The very look of it made me thirsty. That's where we'll go, I used to say, that's where we'll go for our honeymoon. We'll swim. We'll be happy.


VLADIMIR:



You should have been a poet.


ESTRAGON:



I was. (Gesture towards his rags.) Isn't that obvious?
Silence.


VLADIMIR:



Where was I . . . How's your foot?


ESTRAGON:



Swelling visibly.


VLADIMIR:



Ah yes, the two thieves. Do you remember the story?


ESTRAGON:



No.


VLADIMIR:



Shall I tell it to you?


ESTRAGON:



No.


VLADIMIR:



It'll pass the time. (Pause.) Two thieves, crucified at the same time as our Saviour. One—


ESTRAGON:



Our what?


VLADIMIR:



Our Saviour. Two thieves. One is supposed to have been saved and the other . . . (he searches for the contrary of saved) . . . damned.


ESTRAGON:



Saved from what?


VLADIMIR:



Hell.


ESTRAGON:



I'm going.
He does not move.


VLADIMIR:



And yet . . . (pause) . . . how is it –this is not boring you I hope– how is it that of the four Evangelists only one speaks of a thief being saved. The four of them were there –or thereabouts– and only one speaks of a thief being saved. (Pause.) Come on, Gogo, return the ball, can't you, once in a way?


ESTRAGON:



(with exaggerated enthusiasm). I find this really most extraordinarily interesting.


VLADIMIR:



One out of four. Of the other three, two don't mention any thieves at all and the third says that both of them abused him.


ESTRAGON:



Who?


VLADIMIR:



What?


ESTRAGON:



What's all this about? Abused who?


VLADIMIR:



The Saviour.


ESTRAGON:



Why?


VLADIMIR:



Because he wouldn't save them.


ESTRAGON:



From hell?


VLADIMIR:



Imbecile! From death.


ESTRAGON:



I thought you said hell.


VLADIMIR:



From death, from death.


ESTRAGON:



Well what of it?


VLADIMIR:



Then the two of them must have been damned.


ESTRAGON:



And why not?


VLADIMIR:



But one of the four says that one of the two was saved.


ESTRAGON:



Well? They don't agree and that's all there is to it.


VLADIMIR:



But all four were there. And only one speaks of a thief being saved. Why believe him rather than the others?


ESTRAGON:



Who believes him?


VLADIMIR:



Everybody. It's the only version they know.


ESTRAGON:



People are bloody ignorant apes.
He rises painfully, goes limping to extreme left, halts, gazes into distance off with his hand screening his eyes, turns, goes to extreme right, gazes into distance. Vladimir watches him, then goes and picks up the boot, peers into it, drops it hastily.


VLADIMIR:



Pah!
He spits. Estragon moves to center, halts with his back to auditorium.


ESTRAGON:



Charming spot. (He turns, advances to front, halts facing auditorium.) Inspiring prospects. (He turns to Vladimir.) Let's go.


VLADIMIR:



We can't.


ESTRAGON:



Why not?


VLADIMIR:



We're waiting for Godot.


ESTRAGON:



(despairingly). Ah! (Pause.) You're sure it was here?


VLADIMIR:



What?


ESTRAGON:



That we were to wait.


VLADIMIR:



He said by the tree. (They look at the tree.) Do you see any others?


ESTRAGON:



What is it?


VLADIMIR:



I don't know. A willow.


ESTRAGON:



Where are the leaves?


VLADIMIR:
          It must be dead.



ESTRAGON:



No more weeping.


VLADIMIR:



Or perhaps it's not the season.


ESTRAGON:



Looks to me more like a bush.


VLADIMIR:



A shrub.


ESTRAGON:



A bush.


VLADIMIR:



A—. What are you insinuating? That we've come to the wrong place?


ESTRAGON:



He should be here.


VLADIMIR:



He didn't say for sure he'd come.


ESTRAGON:



And if he doesn't come?


VLADIMIR:



We'll come back tomorrow.


ESTRAGON:



And then the day after tomorrow.


VLADIMIR:



Possibly.


ESTRAGON:



And so on.


VLADIMIR:



The point is—


ESTRAGON:



Until he comes.


VLADIMIR:



You're merciless.


ESTRAGON:



We came here yesterday.


VLADIMIR:



Ah no, there you're mistaken.


ESTRAGON:



What did we do yesterday?


VLADIMIR:



What did we do yesterday?


ESTRAGON:



Yes.


VLADIMIR:



Why . . . (Angrily.) Nothing is certain when you're about.


ESTRAGON:



In my opinion we were here.


VLADIMIR:



(looking round). You recognize the place?


ESTRAGON:



I didn't say that.


VLADIMIR:



Well?


ESTRAGON:



That makes no difference.


VLADIMIR:



All the same . . . that tree . . . (turning towards auditorium) that bog . . .


ESTRAGON:



You're sure it was this evening?


VLADIMIR:



What?


ESTRAGON:



That we were to wait.


VLADIMIR:



He said Saturday. (Pause.) I think.


ESTRAGON:



You think.


VLADIMIR:



I must have made a note of it. (He fumbles in his pockets, bursting with miscellaneous rubbish.)


ESTRAGON:



(very insidious). But what Saturday? And is it Saturday? Is it not rather Sunday? (Pause.) Or Monday? (Pause.) Or Friday?


VLADIMIR:



(looking wildly about him, as though the date was inscribed in the landscape). It's not possible!


ESTRAGON:



Or Thursday?


VLADIMIR:



What'll we do?


ESTRAGON:



If he came yesterday and we weren't here you may be sure he won't come again today.


VLADIMIR:



But you say we were here yesterday.


ESTRAGON:



I may be mistaken. (Pause.) Let's stop talking for a minute, do you mind?


VLADIMIR:



(feebly). All right. (Estragon sits down on the mound. Vladimir paces agitatedly to and fro, halting from time to time to gaze into distance off. Estragon falls asleep. Vladimir halts finally before Estragon.) Gogo! . . . Gogo! . . . GOGO!
Estragon wakes with a start.


ESTRAGON:



(restored to the horror of his situation). I was asleep! (Despairingly.) Why will you never let me sleep?


VLADIMIR:



I felt lonely.


ESTRAGON:



I had a dream.


VLADIMIR:



Don't tell me!


ESTRAGON:



I dreamt that—


VLADIMIR:



DON'T TELL ME!


ESTRAGON:



(gesture toward the universe). This one is enough for you? (Silence.) It's not nice of you, Didi. Who am I to tell my private nightmares to if I can't tell them to you?


VLADIMIR:



Let them remain private. You know I can't bear that.


ESTRAGON:



(coldly.) There are times when I wonder if it wouldn't be better for us to part.


VLADIMIR:



You wouldn't go far.


ESTRAGON:



That would be too bad, really too bad. (Pause.) Wouldn't it, Didi, be really too bad? (Pause.) When you think of the beauty of the way. (Pause.) And the goodness of the wayfarers. (Pause. Wheedling.) Wouldn't it, Didi?


VLADIMIR:



Calm yourself.


ESTRAGON:



(voluptuously.) Calm . . . calm . . . The English say cawm. (Pause.) You know the story of the Englishman in the brothel?


VLADIMIR:



Yes.


ESTRAGON:



Tell it to me.


VLADIMIR:



Ah stop it!


ESTRAGON:



An Englishman having drunk a little more than usual proceeds to a brothel. The bawd asks him if he wants a fair one, a dark one or a red-haired one. Go on.


VLADIMIR:



STOP IT!
Exit Vladimir hurriedly. Estragon gets up and follows him as far as the limit of the stage. Gestures of Estragon like those of a spectator encouraging a pugilist. Enter Vladimir. He brushes past Estragon, crosses the stage with bowed head. Estragon takes a step towards him, halts.


ESTRAGON:



(gently.) You wanted to speak to me? (Silence. Estragon takes a step forward.) You had something to say to me? (Silence. Another step forward.) Didi . . .


VLADIMIR:



(without turning). I've nothing to say to you.


ESTRAGON:



(step forward). You're angry? (Silence. Step forward). Forgive me. (Silence. Step forward. Estragon lays his hand on Vladimir's shoulder.) Come, Didi. (Silence.) Give me your hand. (Vladimir half turns.) Embrace me! (Vladimir stiffens.) Don't be stubborn! (Vladimir softens. They embrace. Estragon recoils.) You stink of garlic!


VLADIMIR:



It's for the kidneys. (Silence. Estragon looks attentively at the tree.) What do we do now?


ESTRAGON:



Wait.


VLADIMIR:



Yes, but while waiting.


ESTRAGON:



What about hanging ourselves?


VLADIMIR:



Hmm. It'd give us an erection.


ESTRAGON:



(highly excited). An erection!


VLADIMIR:



With all that follows. Where it falls mandrakes grow. That's why they shriek when you pull them up. Did you not know that?


ESTRAGON:



Let's hang ourselves immediately!


VLADIMIR:



From a bough? (They go towards the tree.) I wouldn't trust it.


ESTRAGON:



We can always try.


VLADIMIR:



Go ahead.


ESTRAGON:



After you.


VLADIMIR:



No no, you first.


ESTRAGON:



Why me?


VLADIMIR:



You're lighter than I am.


ESTRAGON:



Just so!


VLADIMIR:



I don't understand.


ESTRAGON:



Use your intelligence, can't you?
Vladimir uses his intelligence.


VLADIMIR:



(finally). I remain in the dark.


ESTRAGON:



This is how it is. (He reflects.) The bough . . . the bough . . . (Angrily.) Use your head, can't you?


VLADIMIR:



You're my only hope.


ESTRAGON:



(with effort). Gogo light—bough not break—Gogo dead. Didi heavy—bough break—Didi alone. Whereas—


VLADIMIR:



I hadn't thought of that.


ESTRAGON:



If it hangs you it'll hang anything.


VLADIMIR:



But am I heavier than you?


ESTRAGON:



So you tell me. I don't know. There's an even chance. Or nearly.


VLADIMIR:



Well? What do we do?


ESTRAGON:



Don't let's do anything. It's safer.


VLADIMIR:



Let's wait and see what he says.


ESTRAGON:



Who?


VLADIMIR:



Godot.


ESTRAGON:



Good idea.


VLADIMIR:



Let's wait till we know exactly how we stand.


ESTRAGON:



On the other hand it might be better to strike the iron before it freezes.


VLADIMIR:



I'm curious to hear what he has to offer. Then we'll take it or leave it.


ESTRAGON:



What exactly did we ask him for?


VLADIMIR:



Were you not there?


ESTRAGON:



I can't have been listening.


VLADIMIR:



Oh . . . Nothing very definite.


ESTRAGON:



A kind of prayer.


VLADIMIR:



Precisely.


ESTRAGON:



A vague supplication.


VLADIMIR:



Exactly.


ESTRAGON:



And what did he reply?


VLADIMIR:



That he'd see.


ESTRAGON:



That he couldn't promise anything.


VLADIMIR:



That he'd have to think it over.


ESTRAGON:



In the quiet of his home.


VLADIMIR:



Consult his family.


ESTRAGON:



His friends.


VLADIMIR:



His agents.


ESTRAGON:



His correspondents.


VLADIMIR:



His books.


ESTRAGON:



His bank account.


VLADIMIR:



Before taking a decision.


ESTRAGON:



It's the normal thing.


VLADIMIR:



Is it not?


ESTRAGON:



I think it is.


VLADIMIR:



I think so too.
Silence.


ESTRAGON:



(anxious). And we?


VLADIMIR:



I beg your pardon?


ESTRAGON:



I said, And we?


VLADIMIR:



I don't understand.


ESTRAGON:



Where do we come in?


VLADIMIR:



Come in?


ESTRAGON:



Take your time.


VLADIMIR:



Come in? On our hands and knees.


ESTRAGON:



As bad as that?


VLADIMIR:



Your Worship wishes to assert his prerogatives?


ESTRAGON:



We've no rights any more?
Laugh of Vladimir, stifled as before, less the smile.


VLADIMIR:



You'd make me laugh if it wasn't prohibited.


ESTRAGON:



We've lost our rights?


VLADIMIR:



(distinctly). We got rid of them.
Silence. They remain motionless, arms dangling, heads sunk, sagging at the knees.


ESTRAGON:



(feebly). We're not tied? (Pause.) We're not—


VLADIMIR:



Listen!
They listen, grotesquely rigid. #

Wednesday, December 7, 2011

witch grass





I'd wind a coven creature 
mist of mistress maiden's axe
eyes of wax 
and diamond's  cover cabal's right
and time is timeless, 
ageless, spineless, 
elusive

gather blades of grass
gather blades of grass

s. sparling







a real curse








HASH










a lost community






sadness








Tuesday, November 15, 2011

a wisp of dark cloud

you are the colour of ash wednesdays
and the hash hands of your sensitivity
reach out to bristle the air
to fall asleep
and remain soft
so soft




















so soft
forever

vibrant life