An Amorous Discourse in the Suburbs of Hell
Deborah Levy
Part One
He
There you are
All wonderful and winged and leaking
That smile
Let me in
Want to
Walk through snow storms
Burning for you
Peeling oranges for you
Shimmering and
Shivering my
Assured
Modern
Woman
Who are you
Anyway?
she
i have come
to save you
from the suburbs of hell
to rub my skin
against
the regularity of your habits
to bend your thoughts
like a spoon
to find your memories
lost in software
dived like a thought
out of paradise
into
your acrylic arms
He
Uninvited
You flew into
My semi
And ate all my daffodils
I woke up
To your
Starry tattoos
Fingers
Tangled
In your hair
I asked
You
To stay
Now you make
Incense
From my heart
And liver
Spit
Mean small
Feathers
At my good intentions
she
good intentions
are there
to be ruined
look at the tear stains on your tie
newlyweds
wear a band of gold
full of good intentions
look how they jitter and panic
when the bus stops to change drivers
at the junction between lidl and chicken cottage
He
No wonder you
Fell
From Grace
Into
My poor lap
Fearful pigeons
Scurry about the roof
Ever since you arrived
she
ever since i arrived
on your blue planet
most of it ocean
i hear the breath of an octopus
bigger than a car
eggs in her arms
calling for you
ever since i arrived
i hear the historic echo of yesterday’s lambs
under the tarmac of the ring road
baaing and frolicking for you
ever since i arrived
you walk from the table to the window ledge
cursing the pigeons on your roof
their ragged wings
opening and closing for you
He
How your ragged wings
Open and close
And tell me what to dream
I am my own dreamer
And I’m dreaming of a white Christmas
A little garden
Someone to love
Enough to get by
I can speak French
You can’t
I can make shelves
And a wardrobe
With mirrored doors
You can’t
If I were more ambitious
I could build a sturdy bridge
But I don’t need the acclaim
she
yes you can speak french
you read recipe books
as if they were sonnets
yes your wardrobe door
slides on its aluminium runner
yes your shoes have blind eyelets
fastened with coated laces
yet you got hauntings in your eyes
i saw your schoolboy bible
tucked in a corner
you have an uneasy relationship with god
could be interesting
be interesting
be interesting then
spread your hands towards the sky
ask Him in his mercy
to hear your uneasy love
there is no other kind of love
there is no easy kind of love
i don’t want provençal dinners from your freezer
i want delirium from under the lake
bang! bang!
watch out stanley
i’m not just unhappy
i’m trigger unhappy
watch the curve of my arm
the sun melt
into the tips
of my fingers
the trees
bending and bowing
He
Look
I can’t afford rhapsody
I was born in Hurstpierpoint
My dad sucks lemon jellies
she
then you shouldn’t mess about
with an angel
especially one that has been
washed up
on the oil sluck beaches
of yr shores belly
heaving with the smaller
bellies of fish and birds
find someone sweeter
(unaccustomed to terror)
to laugh at your jokes
He
Let’s get a takeaway. Listen
To the rain
Fill holes.
she
suburb man you are cold and unbothered
unlock your front door
the yale and chubb and the chain
take off your shoes
let my wings lift you
to skyscrapers and cornfields
to outraged sons and daughters
to the ferry boat on the 黄浦江
to the currywurst wagon in Friedrichstraße
to the North East SuperFast Express (Delhi-Mughal Sarai-Guwahati)
take off your shoes
take off your shoes
dance on a nervous scorpion
dance on the eyelash of a bull
dance on the edge of an oar
unlock your front door
the yale and chubb and the chain
He
These shoes (size 10, 44 in Europe)
Are for walking in parks, tea
And toast
Afterwards.
Forgive me.
Courage not there.
Sucked by wear and tear
Of 9 to 5 & blocked drains
Eyes are closing.
she
die die die of safety
your failing pension plan
a shroud of blind snails
searching for the last green leaf in eden
He
You are beginning to bore me
Bile and gloom tucked
Tight into your incandescent
Cleavage. I would
Rather watch
T.V.
she
it’s true i have these moods.
i might just
fall
into
despair
and singe the carpet
with the heat of my wings
and then
how
will you
console
me?
i wander around your suburbs in a haze
you fit so well into the seats
of england’s expensive trains
i find that when those passengers
who work in financial services
gaze at the back of my head
my garments cease to glisten with light
all my languages desert me
the vibrations of the universe
freeze in the knuckle of my sixth finger
today i will dive under the high-res screen of your smart phone
float in the galaxy of samsung
swim through blue tooth and back to ask you
what in essence is an angel?
she is a messenger, mediator, watcher and warner
only trouble is
desolation
numbs
the memory
who was my mother
who was my father
how long have i been falling
is god dead?
am i sick
or have i health?
He
My health was perfect
Until you fell
On my head and pressed
Your lips of mist and ice
To mine
You burnt my tongue
You make me nervous
I have a little worldliness
At university
I hennaed my hair
My mother said, only
Whores do that
I wore beads
And had an existential
Girlfriend in a kilt
But now I’ve grown up
My shirts do not
Scream and
Beckon and
I own
A water filter
she
worms
worms
worms
in the water
filter or not
there are serpents in paradise
this eden you murdered your discontent to own
oh kiss me quick
i’m fading away
it’s all this malice
eating at my angelic contours
save me …
He
Let me massage you with flower essence
Let me fry you sardines
Let me kiss your cuts and scratches better
Let me plait your saffron hair
Wings stretched East
To West and West to
East, I welcome the
Gift of your arrival
I think I have been
Waiting all my life
To try out the best
Parts of myself
Touch me.
she
my wings are tinged
with blush
beware
when i weep
there’s no stopping
this stuff
pouring
from the circles
of my soul
and i observe
that my cheeks
now itch with bumps
and welts
i think
it’s
pollution
Part Two
He
I need a woman
To live for
Play the piano to
Cook and have babies with
Share a bed
An address
To measure the sum of my self against
I’m getting on you know
I wake up in the morning
There’s a little pile of hair
On the pillow
A deciduous
I’ll drop my leaves
For you any day
I am here
In all my shedding glory
For you to
Love.
she
you want a woman
to complete
your plan but
it’s not my plan
it’s not my plan to be completed by you
i keep falling
in and out
of myself
just as i fell out of paradise
i like it that way
sometimes i don’t like it that way
for better
or worse
it’s the only way
He
You would destroy my fragile peace
(if you could)
With all the fury of the dispossessed
Look at you hovering above my porcelain egg-cup
You are too big for my possessions
And my possessions are too big for you
Linked as they are to an earthly family tree
I cannot find you on Google, no road no house
No town no country, all you bring to me
Is pain
she
discontent is not unattractive
the stage magician who knows nothing of alchemy
and plucks bright balls
from his sleeves grinning
is far more hideous than you
He
Discontent is not an achievement
It is not something to win
Like poker or golf or an Oscar
You are suffering
From the absence of
God.
Look how you flap
Your torn wings petulantly
At my modest wallpaper
she
i am suffering
from absence point
blank, there’s
a hole in my heart
tween you and me
a long-maned horse
could jump through it
with room to spare
He
Hey, Hey!
Let’s let the good times roll
Into the horse-shaped hole in your heart
Listen I’m under the
Influence of your sleazy
Vowels … I’m going all funny
And my eyes are shining!
she
aw …
i love you
like this!
He
C’mon sweetie
Squeeze into the motor
Let’s do 30 when we should do 20
Lets roll over the speed bumps
Let’s do that now
While my tank is full
And the price of petrol
Is stable
she
just one moment
while i take
this fishbone outta
my teeth.
He
No. You’ve lost
The moment. It’s
Gone. Stanley is
Himself again.
she
be someone else
pleeeeeeeeze. just for
the helluvit.
He
You hurt me
With your desire
For other. I am
Who I am and I
Am fond of myself.
she
now you
made me cry with pity
for my poor undone self. all ruffled
and done in
by aristotle’s concept of unity.
(384–322 BC)
He
What do you want
From a human lover?
An
Abstract and
Totally useless
Way of seeing to
Plunge
Toes
Waving
I know you swim at sunrise
With the newts and water voles
In the mud and silt of our Thames
Buffeted by currents and the wash from boats<
br />
(I have to blow-dry your wings for hours after)
No one would have you
Wet and melancholy
(You’re sort of inconsolable)
Weeping tears of gas
Over the spires of north Ilford
Talk to me straight
Like a motorway
Stay in the left lane
Do not use the hard shoulder
Do not drive against the traffic flow
It’s a straight conversation.
she
sit here.
Yes here.
that’s nice.
straddle my angelic
hips
with yr small town
thighs.
He
Like this
My sweet feathery
Tormentor?
she
it will do.
you ask what i want from a human lover?
i’ll tell you straight
like a motorway
a clang! a clamour! a new expression!
He
That sort of dumbwitted answer
Infuriates the logic
That makes me employable
she
it is true
i am a little feverish
soon i will fly to frinton-on-sea
to raise a glass with jane lynne thorburn at the three crowns
and then move on to campohermoso
to catch up with francisco rodriguez garrido
trouble is
there are knots in my hair
trouble is
the world is murderously mad
climate maladies, pharmaceuticals
lack of privacy, arms trade possibilities
child marriage in yemen and other tragedies
i will have to look (again)
at aristotle
(384–322 BC)
who i have mentioned
before.
under his
toga is much to peruse.
if i was to try on his
theory of tragedy
and agree it imitates human acts
