Sleeping
with the
Dictionary
For, by Carol Snow
Enola Gay, by Mark Levine
Selected Poems, by Fanny Howe
Sleeping with the Dictionary, by Harryette Mullen
Commons, by Myung Mi Kim
The Guns and Flags Project, by Geoffrey G. O’Brien
Harryette Mullen
Sleeping
with the Dictionary
University of California Press
Berkeley and Los Angeles, California
University of California Press, Ltd.
London, England
© 2002 by the Regents of the
University of California
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-
Publication Data
Mullen, Harryette Romell.
Sleeping with the dictionary /
Harryette Mullen.
p. cm.—(New California
poetry; 4)
ISBN 0-520-23142-2 (cloth: alk.
paper).—ISBN 0-520-23143-0 (pbk.:
alk. paper)
1. Language and languages—Poetry.
2. African Americans—Poetry.
I. Title. II. Series.
PS3563.U3954 S64 2002
8II’.54—dc2I 2001048050
Manufactured in the United States of America
11 10 09 08 07 06 05 04 03 02
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
The paper used in this publication meets the minimum requirements of ANSI/NISO Z39.48-1992 (R 1997) (Permanence of Paper).
Dark words
more radiant
than onyx!
André Breton
Contents
Acknowledgments
All She Wrote
The Anthropic Principle
Any Lit
Ask Aden
Between
Bilingual Instructions
Black Nikes
Blah-Blah
Bleeding Hearts
Bolsa Algodón
Coals to Newcastle, Panama Hats from Ecuador
Coo/Slur
Daisy Pearl
Denigration
Dim Lady
Dream Cycle
Ectopia
Elliptical
European Folk Tale Variant
Eurydice
Exploring the Dark Content
Fancy Cortex
Free Radicals
The Gene for Music
Hitched to a Star
Jinglejangle
Junk Mail
Kamasutra Sutra
Kirstenography
The Lunar Lutheran
Mantra for a Classless Society, or Mr. Roget’s Neighborhood
Music for Homemade Instruments
Naked Statues
Natural Anguish
Once Ever After
O, ’Tis William
Outside Art
Present Tense
Quality of Life
Resistance Is Fertile
She Swam On from Sea to Shine
Sleeping with the Dictionary
Souvenir from Anywhere
Suzuki Method
Swift Tommy
Ted Joans at the Café Bizarre
Transients
Variation on a Theme Park
Way Opposite
We Are Not Responsible
Why You and I
Wino Rhino
Wipe That Simile Off Your Aphasia
Xenophobic Nightmare in a Foreign Language
X-ray Vision
Zen Acorn
Zombie Hat
Acknowledgments
I gratefully acknowledge the editors of the following publications and web projects, where these poems have previously appeared: African American Review, A Gathering of the Tribes, American Poet, Aufgabe, Best American Poetry, Black Renaissance, Bombay Gin, Booglite, Callaloo, Cave Canem Anthology, Colored Greens, Columbia Poetry Review, Combo, Crow, Dia Center for the Arts Poetry Broadside, Empty Set, Facture, Fence, Framework, Gare du Nord, Giant Steps, Hambone, In Celebration of the Muse, Konch, La Jornada Semanal, La Vitrina, Lipstick Eleven, Long News in the Short Century, Mirage, Otra Cancion: Seis Poetas Norteamericanos, Parnassus, Poetry in Motion, Role Call, Santa Monica Review, Southfields, The World, Tripwire, Womenhouse, and Xcp: Cross Cultural Poetics.
My thanks to Enrique Chagoya for permission to use his work Line Essence Color on the cover. Thanks also to Judy Natal for the author photograph.
Sleeping
with the
Dictionary
All She Wrote
Forgive me, I’m no good at this. I can’t write back. I never read your letter. I can’t say I got your note. I haven’t had the strength to open the envelope. The mail stacks up by the door. Your hand’s illegible. Your postcards were defaced. “Wash your wet hair”? Any document you meant to send has yet to reach me. The untied parcel service never delivered. I regret to say I’m unable to reply to your unexpressed desires. I didn’t get the book you sent. By the way, my computer was stolen. Now I’m unable to process words. I suffer from aphasia. I’ve just returned from Kenya and Korea. Didn’t you get a card from me yet? What can I tell you? I forgot what I was going to say. I still can’t find a pen that works and then I broke my pencil. You know how scarce paper is these days. I admit I haven’t been recycling. I never have time to read the Times. I’m out of shopping bags to put the old news in. I didn’t get to the market. I meant to clip the coupons. I haven’t read the mail yet. I can’t get out the door to work, so I called in sick. I went to bed with writer’s cramp. If I couldn’t get back to writing, I thought I’d catch up on my reading. Then Oprah came on with a fabulous author plugging her best-selling book.
The Anthropic Principle
The pope of cosmology addresses a convention. When he talks the whole atmosphere changes. He speaks through a computer. When he asks can you hear me, the whole audience says yes. It’s a science locked up in a philosophical debate. There are a few different theories. There could be many different realities. You might say ours exists because we do. You could take a few pounds of matter, heat it to an ungodly temperature, or the universe was a freak accident. There may be a limit to our arrogance, but one day the laws of physics will read like a detailed instruction manual. A plane that took off from its hub in my hometown just crashed in the President’s hometown. The news anchor says the pilot is among the dead. I was hoping for news of the President’s foreign affair with a diplomat’s wife. I felt a mystical connection to the number of confirmed dead whose names were not released. Like the time I was three handshakes from the President. Like when I thought I heard that humanitarians dropped a smart blond on the Chinese embassy. Like when the cable was severed and chairs fell from the sky because the pilot flew with rusty maps. What sane pilot would land in that severe rain with hard hail and gale-force wind. With no signal of distress. With no foghorns to warn the civilians, the pilot lost our moral compass in the bloody quagmire of collateral damage. One theory says it’s just a freak accident locked up in a philosophical debate. It’s like playing poker and all the cards are wild. Like the arcane analysis of a black box full of insinuations of error.
Any Lit
You are a ukulele beyond my microphone
You are a Yukon beyond my Micronesia
You are a union beyond my meiosis
You are a unicycle beyond my migration
You are a universe beyond my mitochondria
You are a Eucharist beyond my Miles Davis
You are a euphony beyond my myocardiogram
You are a unicorn beyond my Minotaur
You are a eureka beyond my maitai
You are a
Yuletide beyond my minesweeper
You are a euphemism beyond my myna bird
You are a unit beyond my mileage
You are a Yugoslavia beyond my mind’s eye
You are a yoo-hoo beyond my minor key
You are a Utah beyond my microcosm
You are a Uranus beyond my Miami
You are a youth beyond my mylar
You are a euphoria beyond my myalgia
You are a Ukrainian beyond my Maimonides
You are a Euclid beyond my miter box
You are a Univac beyond my minus sign
You are a Eurydice beyond my maestro
You are a eugenics beyond my Mayan
You are a U-boat beyond my mind control
You are a euthanasia beyond my miasma
You are a urethra beyond my Mysore
You are a Euterpe beyond my Mighty Sparrow
You are a ubiquity beyond my minority
You are a eunuch beyond my migraine
You are a Eurodollar beyond my miserliness
You are a urinal beyond my Midol
You are a uselessness beyond my myopia
Ask Aden
for A.D.
Are aardvarks anxious?
Do dragons dream?
Ever see an eager elephant?
Newts are never nervous, are they?
Between
My ass acts bad
Devil your ears Charybdis
Good engagements deep blue sea
Heaven my eyes your elbow
Last night jobs hard place
Now his legs hell
Rock the lines me
Scylla her breasts shinola
Shit the sheets then
Yesterday my thighs this morning
You your toes today
Bilingual Instructions
Californians say No
to bilingual instruction in schools
Californians say No
to bilingual instructions on ballots
Californians say Yes
to bilingual instructions on curbside waste receptacles:
Coloque el recipiente con las flechas hacia la calle
Place container with arrow facing street
No ruede el recipiente con la tapa abierta
Do not tilt or roll container with lid open
Recortes de jardin solamente
Yard clippings only
Black Nikes
We need quarters like King Tut needed a boat. A slave could row him to heaven from his crypt in Egypt full of loot. We’ve lived quietly among the stars, knowing money isn’t what matters. We only bring enough to tip the shuttle driver when we hitch a ride aboard a trailblazer of light. This comet could scour the planet. Make it sparkle like a fresh toilet swirling with blue. Or only come close enough to brush a few lost souls. Time is rotting as our bodies wait for now I lay me down to earth. Noiseless patient spiders paid with dirt when what we want is stardust. If nature abhors an expensive appliance, why does the planet suck ozone? This is a big-ticket item, a thickety ride. Please page our home and visit our sigh on the wide world’s ebb. Just point and cluck at our new persuasion shoes. We’re opening the gate that opens our containers for recycling. Time to throw down and take off on our launch. This flight will nail our proof of pudding. The thrill of victory is, we’re exiting earth. We ’re leaving all this dirt.
Blah-Blah
Ack-ack, aye-aye.
Baa baa, Baba, Bambam, Bebe, Berber, Bibi, blah-blah, Bobo, bonbon,
booboo, Bora Bora, Boutros Boutros, bye-bye.
Caca, cancan, Cece, cha-cha, chichi, choo-choo, chop chop, chow chow, Coco, cocoa,
come come, cuckoo.
Dada, Dee Dee, Didi, dindin, dodo, doodoo, dumdum, Duran Duran.
Fifi, fifty-fifty, foofoo, froufrou.
Gaga, Gigi, glug-glug, go-go, goody-goody, googoo, grisgris.
Haha, harhar, hear hear, heehee, hey hey, hip-hip, hoho, Hsing-Hsing, hubba-hubba, humhum.
is is, It’sIts.
Kiki, knock knock, Koko, Kumkum.
Lala, Lili, Ling-Ling looky-looky, Lulu.
Mahi mahi, mama, Mau Mau, Mei-Mei, Mimi, Momo, murmur, my my.
Na Na, No-no, now now.
Oh-oh, oink oink.
Pago Pago, Palau Palau, papa, pawpaw, peepee, Phen Fen, pooh-pooh, poopoo, pupu, putt-putt.
Rah-rah, ReRe.
Shih-Shih, Sing Sing, Sirhan Sirhan, Sen Sen, Sisi, so-so.
Tata, taki-taki, talky-talky, Tam Tam, Tartar, teetee, Tintin, Tingi Tingi, tom-tom, toot toot, tsetse, tsk tsk, tutu, tumtum, tut tut.
Van Van, veve, vroom-vroom.
Wahwah, Walla Walla, weewee, win-win.
Yadda yadda Yari Yari, yaya, ylang ylang, yo-yo, yuk-yuk, yum-yum.
Zizi, ZsaZsa, Zouzou, Zuzu.
Bleeding Hearts
Crenshaw is a juicy melon. Don’t spit, and when you’re finished, wash your neck. Tonight we lead with bleeding hearts, sliced raw or scooped with a spoon. I’ll show my shank. I’d rend your cares with my shears. If I can’t scare cash from the ashen crew, this monkey wrench has scratch to back my business. This ramshackle stack of shotguns I’m holding in my scope. I’m beady-eyed as a bug. Slippery as a sardine. Salty as a kipper. You could rehash me for breakfast. Find my shrinking awe, or share your wink. I’ll get a rash wench. We’ll crash a shower of cranes. I’m making bird seed to stick in a hen’s craw. Where I live ’s a wren shack. Pull back. Show wreck. Black fade.
Bolsa Algodón
A sack lined with silver
Coin purse full of change
Able windbag puckered to blow kisses
Plump white pillows on blue coverlet
Some Dixie gents bowling
In a giant football stadium
Shake a sack lined with silver
Coin purse full of change
Coals to Newcastle, Panama Hats from Ecuador
Watching television in Los Angeles. This scene performed in real time. In real life, a pretty picture walking and sitting still. It ’s still life with fried spam, lite poundcake, nondairy creme. It ’s death by chocolate. It ’s corporate warfare as we know it. I’m stuck on the fourth step. There’s no statue or stature of limitations. I’ll be emotionally disturbed for as long as it takes. You can give a man a rock or you can teach him to rock. Access your higher power. Fax back the map of your spiritual path. Take twenty drops tincture of worry wort. Who’s paying for this if you’re not covered? You’re too simple to be so difficult. Malicious postmodernism. Petroleum jelly donut dunked in elbow grease. You look better going than coming. You look like death eating microwave popcorn. Now that I live alone, I’m much less introspective. Now you sound more like yourself.
Coo/Slur
da red
yell ow
bro won t
an orange you
bay jaun
pure people
blew hue
a gree gree in
viol let
purepeople
be lack
why it
pee ink
Daisy Pearl
More than a woman’s name. Her traditional shape. Rapidly spread and rubbed with a wedge. Straight drunk with a crooked lick. A brief suck on time. Diminutive. Promptly popular still on the border. As one version of stamina went. A great show of suffering in order to arouse. There were sweet ones. Frozen ones and fruity ones. Her little resemblance to the original. Shake her one key part. Control her ice. Shake her poor stem. Her rim rubbed. Slice juice and pour control out with dusty salt. Or to taste if desired.
Denigration
Did we surprise our teachers who had niggling doubts about the picayune brains of small black children who reminded them of clean pickaninnies on a box of laundry soap? How muddy is the Mississippi compared to the third-longest river of the darkest continent? In the land of the Ibo, the Hausa, and the Yoruba, what
is the price per barrel of nigrescence? Though slaves, who were wealth, survived on niggardly provisions, should inheritors of wealth fault the poor enigma for lacking a dictionary? Does the mayor demand a recount of every bullet or does city hall simply neglect the black alderman’s district? If I disagree with your beliefs, do you chalk it up to my negligible powers of discrimination, supposing I’m just trifling and not worth considering? Does my niggling concern with trivial matters negate my ability to negotiate in good faith? Though Maroons, who were unruly Africans, not loose horses or lazy sailors, were called renegades in Spanish, will I turn any blacker if I renege on this deal?
Dim Lady
My honeybunch’s peepers are nothing like neon. Today’s special at Red Lobster is redder than her kisser. If Liquid Paper is white, her racks are institutional beige. If her mop were Slinkys, dishwater Slinkys would grow on her noggin. I have seen tablecloths in Shakey’s Pizza Parlors, red and white, but no such picnic colors do I see in her mug. And in some minty-fresh mouth-washes there is more sweetness than in the garlic breeze my main squeeze wheezes. I love to hear her rap, yet I’m aware that Muzak has a hipper beat. I don’t know any Marilyn Monroes. My ball and chain is plain from head to toe. And yet, by gosh, my scrumptious Twinkie has as much sex appeal for me as any lanky model or platinum movie idol who’s hyped beyond belief.
Dream Cycle
The ice cream truck
goes by again
It could snow me
under this heat
It could freeze my teeth
crystallize a sigh
and I could lick
a quick dream
when the ice cream truck
goes lullaby again
Ectopia
A stout bomb wrapped with a bow. With wear, you tear. It’s true you sour or rust. Some of us were sure you’re in a rut. We bore your somber rub and storm. You were true, but you rust. On our tour out, we tore, we two. You were to trust in us, and we in you. Terribly, you tear. You tear us. You tell us you’re true. Are you sure? Most of you bow to the mob. Strut with worms, strew your woe. So store your tears, tout your worst. Be a brute, if you must. You tear us most terribly. To the tomb, we rue our rust and rot. You tear. You wear us out. You try your best, but we’re bust. You tear out of us. We tear from stem to stem. You trouble, you butter me most. You tear, but you tell us, trust us to suture you.