Waves au revoir into the chill, red sun.
Back from Greece, we’ll find our paper done.
And that will be the end, we hope,
Of too much emphasis upon possessions
Worldly or otherwise. No more spirits, please.
No statelier mansions. No wanting to be Pope.
Ephraim’s book is written now, is shut.
Stonington is shut. As our minds are
To much beyond the long-awaited lightning
Which hits—at least we’ve told it where and when—
Athens in April: the old Jacksons fly
From California. Drastic measures, but
Nobody else cared. How were they to die?
Tottering forth, tagged round the neck, they peer
Through the bright haze of either hemisphere.
Next door, a flat is furnished with soft blue
Coverlets and curtains. Die they do
All too soon. The broken hip. Pneumonia.
Listless crystals forming in the blood
Of the survivor. One had somehow trusted…
No. Come July, they’re resting side by side
A crow’s black glide from our adored Maria
In the non-Orthodox division of
Necropolis. Birds sing. White roses climb.
“Too soon” has been, it turns out, more than time
For doctors and a clergyman to call.
Time for stupor, fear, incontinence
To fill the house. For such compulsory
Treats, then, as a farewell, original-cast
Restaging of the Play that, seasons past,
Inaugurated, as it had and would
Countless other Western theatres, this
Innermost one of David’s. Here they were,
Old Matt and Mary, for their graybeard boy
Still to…keep together? keep apart?
Problem now scalding clear as a hot spring,
Now ancient, blurred, a tatter of papyrus.
Nature, still the prompter, overcomes
(While a robust Greek nurse looks on enthralled)
Their stage-fright: “Get your fucking hands off Mother!”
“My wife, goddamit!”—poor old eyes ablaze,
Old claws brushed from the son’s shirt like crumbs.
Boys will be boys. She questions the outgrown
Gilt-washed sandal—where’s her baby gone?
DJ comes home from them exhausted. Feels
Everything and nothing. Falls asleep
Flung across the telephone-grenade
—Which, one June dawn, would burst in shattering peals.
.3
Those last days before Mary died, we made
Contact again with Ephraim. As things were,
Where else to look for sense, comfort and wit?
Also, upwards of a year had passed
Since fleeing the celestial salon
Half out of fears that now seemed idle, half
Frankly out of having had our fill
Of funeral cakes. Shameful to eat and run
But ah, we’d needed exercise. Our friends
In any case received us as if nothing
Had ever gone, would ever go amiss.
Maria: CHERS ENFANTS Ephraim: KISS KISS
How right we were, they added, to equip
Mary with letters lest her coming trip
Be clouded. So much nicer to be met,
Helped through Customs. Patrons could forget
THE HORROR OF THOSE FIRST CREPUSCULAR
MOMENTS IN THE BUFFET DE LA GARE
FIGHTING BACK TEARS D chuckled through his own
To sip again this warm, unsweetened tone.
What in fact had frightened us away?
Intrusion (cf. Ephraim, Section U)
By a peremptory, commanding power:
One of those E had hinted at?—the winged
MEN B4 MANKIND whose discipline
Thrills through the nine Stages like long waves
Or whips that crack above the heads of slaves.
It nailed DJ’s free hand to the Board’s edge,
Blackened the mirror Ephraim saw us in,
Issued its ultimatum. Over and out
In no time flat. A guest from the beyond
We hoped would not call back. To find, on gingerly
Getting in touch again with our beau monde,
No hint of past or future nastiness
Helped make the hour a distinct success.
Two friends in particular had died
The previous year: Maria Mitsotáki
In January, whom we’d once or twice
Called but, when we cut our ties, abandoned
The more unconscionably since Heaven
Disillusioned her, on a first glance:
NO PRIVACY NO COFFEE & NO PLANTS
Then in December Chester Kallman whose
Suicidal diet—grief, wit, booze—
Did him in; though he’d at least have Wystan
While poor Maria…Now to no avail
The gadfly flick of her pink fingernail,
The tease of her contagious “Ah, come on!”
We needn’t have worried. Our crowd sees her point
Better than we did. Wallace Stevens: SHE
BELONGS TO THAT SELECT FEW WHO PREFER
TO SNIFF THE ROSE NOT BE IT So she promptly
Finds her niche. What doing? U TELL ME
Not gardening! CLEVER ENFANT U GUESSED
Like Maya with St Lucy, filming dreams,
Maria (whom St Agatha employs)
Is planting FLEURS DE MAUVAISE CONSCIENCE
In politicians’ beds. Her late husband
Being a diplomat, her father—worse—
Three times Prime Minister, I NEVER MINDED
GETTING MY HANDS DIRTY Has she got
A representative? MUST WE SPEAK OF THAT
From the start insouciantly childless,
She doesn’t seem the type. And does she still
Wear black? OF COURSE NO LONGER NOW UNJEWELED
WITH 4 STARS IN MY HAIR (she’s at Stage Four)
TOO FLASHY BUT THE WARDROBE MISTRESSES
INSIST YR POOR MAMAN WHAT CAN SHE DO
We all but kiss the cup that spells her news out,
And to her fearless charity commend
DJ’s old parents, now the end is near.
.4
Came that midnight in the hospital
When Mary, since the day before unconscious,
Eyes open suddenly, looking clear into
David’s (whose own dream-voice filled his ears:
Come to me and I’ll dispose of you)
Breathed her last words, as to a child, “Bye-bye…”
With which he stumbled from her hand’s live cold
Into the corridor for a cigarette,
And mercifully did not see her die.
The burial was painless. Old Matt, wheeled
To the raw trench he would another day
Get to the bottom of, those gates of clay
Ajar for him, glared round at strangers—who
Ever imagined things would end this way?
.5
Let alone imagined what came next!
Marius Bewley, who once gave her tea
Eighteen years ago on Staten Island,
Takes Mary up. Reads her the Wordsworth Ode,
Pours out the steeping innocence she craves—
One cup too many, and he’ll see her home.
A final life on Earth THIS VERY SWEET
JAPANESE WO
MAN TELLS ME lies ahead.
Cowed by delight, as with DJ’s old phone-calls,
She pleads confusion: TALK TO U KNOW HIM
—Matt snatching at the line, alive or dead.
IM NOT CNOFUSDE GODDAM THIS TYPEWRITAR
Dad, just tell me where the bankbooks are?
WHAT FOR CANT TAKE IT WITH U (long pause) NONE
I GUESS THINGS GOT EXPENSIVE TOO BAD SON
I see…well, how does Mother seem? FINELOOKING
WOMAN AS ALWAYS WHY HELLO THERE JIM
THOUGHT U WERE TEACHING No, Matt, not till Fall.
YOU 2 ARE OK BUT THAT MARIUS
CANT SEE WHAT YR MOTHER SEES IN HIM
Perhaps he shows her some consideration
For a change. You know she’ll be leaving before you?
SHE WILL WHY Both of you must be reborn.
DONT SELL THE HOUSE Oh, pay attention, Matt.
It won’t be California. This time maybe
You’ll be a little black or yellow baby.
HA HA JIM I MUST REMEMBER THAT
All right, don’t believe me. Ask your patron.
CANT NOW IVE GOT TO MEET A FELLOW WHO
RAN A CAR AGENCY IN KALAMAZOO
Marius: EACH TO HIS OWN MARY & I
ARE OFF TO SEE HER VIRGIN NAMESAKE WHY
DO PEOPLE BOTHER ALWAYS SUCH A CRUSH
She holds court? TRAFFIC COURT Mary: BYE BYE
And starts to leave, but D has broken down.
NO TEARS O DARLING STOP HIS TEARS DONT CRY
Mama, your last words—YES YES & YOUR FIRST ONES
Was it awful? Did it hurt to die?
I LOOKED DOWN AT YOUR POOR OLD WRINKLED FACE
THOUGHT OF MY BABY LEARNING HOW TO TALK
MARIA LOANED ME HER VOICE MINE TOO WEAK
She goes. —Maria, is that done? ENFANTS
ALL THINGS ARE DONE HERE IF U HAVE TECHNIQUE
To share jokes with Maria—a godsend
Among her flowers; then the gasping purr
From humor’s blackest bedside telephone;
Then silence. Yet this time she’s ours for good!
BE CAREFUL HAD I KNOWN
— Ringing off (why now?) as during her
Final ray-therapy in lassitude
Such that those plots of color by the end
Took more strength to imagine than at first to tend.
.6
Maria (early the next month): BUT WHAT
A LESSON MES ENFANTS THIS MFJ IS
MISSING HEAVEN BY A HAIR & NOT
LETTING IT TURN ONE EITHER WE HAVE ALL
QUITE HUMBLY KNELT THAT SHE MIGHT STAY WITH US
This “us” including, Mary has let fall,
A BLOND GIRL & BLACK BOY WHO CALLED ME MOTHER
FROM 2 PAST LIVES How did you know each other?
I WORE A DIFFERENT FACE TO ANSWER THEM
So all one’s old lives ultimately do
Run together? That must be upsetting.
AS WITH THE OLD LOVES ONE FORGETS A FEW
Actual confrontations are, however,
Available chiefly to THE PASSER THRU
Like Mary. Or to newcomers—Maria
Was hailed on arrival by HORDES OF POLYGLOT
SELFSTYLED ENFANTS PAS MA FAUTE JETAIS TOO
HEAVILY FERTILIZED BUT NOW A DECENT
VEIL IS DRAWN & I HAVE NONE BUT U
And Mary’s? Were they pleasant? I CANT SAY
SHE WAS NOT FOR THOSE MOMENTS MFJ
But you must have seen— WE DO NOT QUALIFY
AS WITNESSES EXCEPT IN YR MINDS EYE
Will it ever, ever solve itself,
This riddle of appearances in Heaven?
Its claim is slight yet nagging. As we shift
From foot to foot, poor Mary, measuring
The fretfulness she turns a collar for,
Does her best: DEAR JIM JUST THINK OF LETTERS
OR PHONE CALLS WHERE THE ABSENT FRIEND IS SEEN
In the mind’s eye. But after? In between?
We feel the cup change hands. MES CHERS (says Ephraim)
DO NOT OVERLOOK OUR EVERPRESENT
REPRESENTATIVES THRU WHOM THE WORLD
IS QUITE INEXORABLY WITH US MINE
THIS VERY MINUTE STUDIES THE DESIGN
OF A HORSE & RIDER TURQUOISE BLUE
PARTLY FILMED OVER BY CONGEALING STEW
You see yourselves, then, in the mirror only
Of a live mind? OR IN THE TALL ANTIQUE
COBWEBBY ONE OF A PAST LIFE BUT WHO
HAVE WE HERE
& WHO DOES THIS DUMB GREEK
THINK HE IS Words fail Matt. Unspeakable
Rumors have reached him THAT A SON OF MINE
—Dad, what is all this? DONT GIVE ME THAT
YR SMARTASS FRIENDS CAN LAFF THEIR HEADS OFF I
WAS A GOOD HUSBAND & FATHER JM: Matt,
Stop carrying on. No one denies your fine
Traits, your loyalty and optimism;
His friends see these in David and thank you.
What better legacy?—and so forth. The cup,
Stunned at first, commences piteously
To lurch about. FORGIVE ME LET ME IN
THESE NICE FOLKS & MY MARY LOST FOREVER
ILL DO MY BEST IM USEFUL I CD ALWAYS
MAKE HER SMILE Absurdly touched, we say
The proper things (and Ephraim, sotto voce:
HES LOVING EVERY MOMENT) but the hour
Has tired us. Mary, bless you—au revoir!
MY BABY BACK TO INNOCENCE BYE BYE
Exeunt omnes. Wait— CIAO Who is this?
SWEETIES YOUVE JUST SPOILED YR MOTHERS DAY
Mama? Mary…Chester! IF U SAY SO
What Stage are you at? DONT ASK ME NOBODY
TELLS ME ANYTHING But you’ve had eight
Whole months—since last December—to find out.
Come off it! What does your patron say? MY WHO
Well, in that case, what on—what do you do?
READ BUFF MY NAILS DO CROSSWORDS JUST LIKE LIFE
THOSE YEARS WITH WYSTAN ONCE A BACKSTREET WIFE
ALWAYS A BACK Stop this! STREET Chester! WIFE
Pull yourself together, for God’s sake.
Wystan admired you. Would there have been a Rake
Without your knowledge of opera? You know that.
Plus what you meant to your friends: the funniest,
Brightest, kindest—must I go on? LET ME
& THE MOST WASTEFUL GIFTS THE MUSES MADE
TOO OFTEN BOUGHT A HUMPY PIECE OF TRADE
ENTIRE NEGLECTED SECTIONS OF MY MIND
SOUND ROTTEN WHEN I RAP THERES LIGHT BEHIND
BUT STRENGTH I NEVER HAD IS NEEDED TO
BREAK DOWN PARTITIONS WYSTAN CRASHES THRU
WITH GLAD CRIES THE SHEER WONDER IN HIS FACE
DIMS & DIMINISHES MY LITTLE SPACE
My dear…& AS FOR INNOCENCE IT HAS
A GENIUS FOR GETTING LOST I FEAR
ONCE THE BABE FINDS PLEASURE WHERE IT SUCKS
THE TRAP IS SET ALREADY ITS TOO LATE
Excuse me, that’s the doorbell— OR THE BAIT
But no one’s there. Or only an unfamiliar
Black dog, leg lifted at our iron gate,
Marking his territory. Dusk. The mountain
Rippled by heat, scent of green pine, a star
Delicately remind us where we are.
.7
We hear from Matt that Mary’s two weeks old
In Iceland. Better late than never, he is
Making st
rides: I HAVE 1000 EYES
DEAR SON FORGIVE ME NEVER LET MONEY SOUR U
I PITY THE OLD ME I AM AT LAST
AWAKE ALIVE & LEARNING IN A GREAT RUSH
DO NOT RUN YRSELF DOWN MARY DID THAT
HER WHOLE LONG BEAUTIFUL STORY WAS ONE BLUSH
IN A WOMAN FINE IN A MAN WEAKENING
DAVID I WANTED U TO BRING US BACK
TOGETHER I STILL WANT IT FIND HER FIND ME
IN MY NEW LIFE HER NAME IS
Censorship.
(It happens now and then. The cup is swept
Clean off the Board. Someone has overstepped.
We hesitate to put it back, then do—
But will we never learn the limits?) WHEW
Matt, they corrected you? IN NO UNCERTAIN
TERMS O JIM WE LEARN U HERE You read me?
WELL FOR THOSE OF US WHO ARENT GREAT READERS
LETS SAY IT IS AN EXPERIENCE WE HAVE
& I PICK UP SOME STATUS THRU MY SON
David, you mean, being the psychic one?
NO D SPEAKS WE USE HI Censorship
Stronger than usual. THEY I DONT KNOW
WHO ARE U A COLD PLACE O GOD O GOD
Help him, Ephraim! Ephraim? O MES CHERS
I WAS EXPECTING U ANOTHER TIME
What’s happening to Matt? LET ME INQUIRE
Pause. NOTHING GRAVE But the cold place? His cries?
THE REPRIMAND CAN BE SEVERE Matt: BACK
SMARTING & SMARTER I SHD NOT HAVE SAID
WE WELL EVERY LESSON HELPS MY SOUL
IS CLEARING LIKE THE CREEK AFTER MY BOOTSTEPS
A clarity you’ll bring to your new life—
SO I HEAR BUT LIFES JOB IS TO FORGET
FOR THOSE OF US NOT SPECIAL Then why learn?
As when a cactus blooms, Old Matt’s reply
Wakens in us a slow, prickling wonder:
WE TOO WILL BE RETIRED SOME DAY & NEED
OUR HOBBIES Dad…I LOVE U SO LONG SON
MES CHERS EXTRAORDINARY THERE IS TALK
OF HIS PROMOTION AFTER 2 MORE LIVES
DJ: He wanted one more life with her…
JM: But haven’t we learned, these twenty years,
Better than to meddle? Why this increasing
Censorship? It can’t just be our own
Anxieties projected. Need I say
How very edgy everyone has got?
The cup now moves like lightning. I AM NOT
EVERYONE MES CHERS NEITHER ARE U
WHAT U ONCE WERE 20 YEARS AGO
Sorry, Ephraim. I should have said Certain Parties
Were edgy. QUITE FOR THERE IS MORE TO COME