Michael McClure. 1980th

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from Fragments of Perseus (1983)
________________________________________
LISTEN LAWRENCE
LISTEN, LAWRENCE, THERE ARE CERTAIN OF US
INTENSELY COMMITTED
TO
a
real
A REAL,
REVOLT! A REVOLT
that we only begin to
conceptualize as we
achieve it!
THE CONCEPTION
BEGINS SLOW
-- as we do it -- as we really do
it -- as we make the revolution
with our bodies -- our real BODIES!
OUR REAL BONES ARE NOT DIVISIBLE
from the bulks of our
brother and sister beings!
We''re alarmed by the simultaneous extinction
and overcrowding of creatures:
WE
BELIEVE
that the universe of discourse
(of talk and habbit-patterned actions)
and the universe of politics
are equivalent!
THAT POLITICS IS DEAD
and
BIOLOGY
IS HERE!
We live near the shadow
AT THE NEAR EDGE OF THE SHADOW
((TOO NEAR!!))
of the extermination
of the diversity
of living beings. No need
to list their names
(Mountain Gorilla, Grizzly, Dune Tansy)
for it
is a too terrible
elegy to do so!
COMMUNISM,
CAPITALISM,
SOCIALISM,
will do
NOTHING,
NOTHING
to save the surge
of life -- the ten thousand
to the ten thousandth, vast,
Da Vincian molecule of which
ALL LIFE,
ALL LIFE
is a particle
*
LISTEN, BELIEVE
ME,
none of us can afford to luxuriate,
if we care about the presence of life.
The
whole scene
IS ALL ONE DIMENSIONAL!
MARCUSE was right!
because he saw there is
only one, one-dimensional, planet-wide civilization
and realpolitik.
Unfortunately
it is modeled on one of the most
perfect aspects of our nature: THE DESIRE
TO GROW, TO WASTE, TO BREED, TO BURN UP,
TO EAT, TO TOSS DOWN, TO TEAR UP, TO FINGER
AND TWIST, AND TEASE, AND MAKE ALL
THINGS TERRIBLE AND DIVINE,
AND GLORIOUS! And we have
succeeded TOO WELL,
TOO WELL!
We are the most complete successes
the world has ever known!
POLITICS
is
part
and particle
of this horrific success, success
which is -- in fact -- an explosion that has
ALREADY OCCURRED. We have charred
the surface of the earth leaving behind
buildings which are cinders from the blasts
of oceans of petrochemicals!
Look, books and papers are
the fossil fuel explosion of trees!
LISTEN, LAWRENCE, this
is the same old politics! ANY, ANY, ANY
POLITICS
is the POLITICS OF EXTINCTION!
*
IT IS TIME FOR PEOPLE TO COME OUT OF THE CLOSET
ALL RIGHT!
ALL RIGHT!
IT IS TIME FOR THEM
to come out of the closet --
OUT OF THE CLOSET OF POLITICS
and into the light of their flesh and bodies!
NOW
is
THE TIME
to learn to see
with the systemless system
--with the systemless system
like a Negative Capability --
of anarchist-mammal perception!
THAT''S BIOLOGY! Now is the time
to see that
it is our nature to be beautiful
and the destruction wrought by politics
is part of our beauty. Now we can learn
to see why it is our nature to go on with
this destructive politics. NOW WE CAN SAY:
LET''S STOP! LET''S STOP
THIS ENDLESS MURDER BY POLITICS!
LET
US
DO WHAT
WE CAN TO STOP
so very much useless pain!
It is our nature to overbreed and kill!
but our nature has endless dimensions! We
can choose among them -- we can reject,
we can reject the flowers of politics!
* * *
HYMN TO KWANNON
BEAUTIFUL KWANNON AND BEAUTEOUS GODDESSES OF MERCY!
WE THANK YOU KWANNON.
WE THANK YOU GODDESSES OF MERCY.
HAVE PITY ON EVERYTHING.
HAVE PITY ON EVERYTHING.
HAVE PITY ON EVERYTHING.
BE KIND TO YOURSELF, AS ALLEN SAYS.
BRING GENTLENESS TO EVERY LIVING BODY.
HAVE PITY, HAVE MERCY.
EVERYTHING LIVES.
HAVE PITY --
MERCY.
HAVE MERCY --
PITY.
EVERYTHING LIVES.
BE KIND TO YOURSELF, AS ALLEN SAYS.
BRING JOY TO EYES THAT ARE STARS.
JOY TO EYES THAT
ARE STARS.
ERASE
OUR
PAINS.
WALK WITH SOFT HEALING FEET
OVER OUR GRIEFS.
EVERYTHING LIVES.
KWANNON AND GODDESSES OF MERCY
FROM EVERY SPACE
IN THE UNCARVED BLOCK,
HEALING BEINGS IN EVERY REALM,
COME AND STEAL OUR PAINS
AND LAUGH AND KISS THEM.
HAVE PITY, HAVE MERCY.
MERCY AND PITY.
BE KIND TO YOURSELVES.
COME KISS OUR GRIEFS
ON THEIR NOSES.
BE KIND TO THE BEASTS
CAUGHT IN THEIR TRAPS.
GIVE THEM GRAIN,
GIVE THEM SUGAR
AND FREEDOM.
MERCY FOR THOSE WHO LIE
IN THE MUD
OF
THE
WARS.
SAVE OUR BELOVED WHALES,
KWANNON,
KWANNON,
AND THOU,
OH GODDESS OF MERCY.
WE CREATURES OF TURQUOISE AND FLESH AND FLUFF.
CALL ON YOU.
EVERYTHING LIVES.
BEAUTIFUL KWANNON AND BEAUTEOUS GODDESS OF MERCY,
WE THANK YOU, WE THANK YOU.
KWANNON BEAUTIOUS GODDESSES OF MERCY!
________________________________________
from Rebel Lions (1989)
________________________________________
MAYBE MAMA LION
for Ray Manzarek
OH
YEAH
! !
No,
it''s oh yeah. . . oh yeah . . .; the wound
papered over, making paper tygers
--WITH A BANDAID . . .
BANDAIDS . . . BANDAIDS . . .
-
F
E
E
L
I
N
G
SO
BAD!
Out of body in the blackness.
Solid silver blackness of forty billion years
--in an agony of Crazy, knowing nothing
--looking for a self to hold the mind.
BEEN THERE MANY TIMES. BEEN THERE MANY TIMES.
The sand underfoot is just a blackness
to hold the blind. coming back to voices:
CALI, GOING BACK TO CALI, BACK TO CALI
FORNIA,
FORNIA,
NOT TO THE
FUR
N
A
C
E
-- but to the wound!
Many years covered over, still deep
S
T
I
L
L
there; TRIED TO BANDAGE IT
with long stem roses and white ferns.
((Lying on the beach watching chipmunks,
watching chipmunks and BUGS
and
ODD
patterns
ON
the leaves
HURT IN
MY SELF ES
T
E
E
M
!
((There''s a bloody war outside that''s whistling
through the wound!))
stretching
out to Someone
in
a
DREAM;
IT''S NO DREAM, STRETCHING OUT TO MAMA LION
IN A DREAM
SO BAD! FEELING SO BAD! ALL MY FRIENDS
HAVE LEFT ME
and we''re eating rich food, rich food,
with the sound of silver clinking
on the finest plates
--IN CALI, GOING BACK TO CALI--
KALI,
we''re eating you
in a dream. You''re a salmon.
California salmon coming back to rivers
flowing from a head
on a cliff where folks look down on
the top of eagle''s wings.
IT''S A GOOD LIFE!
IT''S A GOOD LIFE!
IT''S A GOOD LIFE!
(out of body out of mind)
--while the rain forests are coming down
Hear the crashing sound
IT''S DEEP INSIDE
Your life swinging round
your body.
Does Mama Lion love you?
Does Mama Lion love you?
DOES MAMA LION LOVE YOU?
Can the salmon drown?
* * *
DISTURBED BY FREEDOM
MY HAND IS A GUN AND EACH FINGER
IS A BARREL
and my arm is growing searching reaching
like a DREAM and I don''t know
what to shoot, surely not the robins who have flown
ALL
the way
BACK
from the mountains of Sonora over the desert
where I have driven amazed at the craggy
strangeness of raw beauty.
((THAT''S WHAT I AM ABOUT: BEAUTY.
--BEAUTY AND SENSE))
and these robins have alighted here
in these green meadows where sprinkled water
turning warm runs over the masses of pink blooms.
I CANNOT SHOOT THE SOUND OF THE TRAFFIC.
A hundred bullets
would not stop that bus and I
would not hurt the children
or the adolescents at the moving windows
with their pink mohawk haircuts
and their sexual cries
LIKE HUMAN MACAWS.
It is another day and another dollar.
I
WONDER
WHERE
I
AM
((ROAMING SO SWEETLY FROM FIELD
TO FIELD DIS-
TURBED BY MY FREEDOM!))
--AND LOOK AT THE DEEP SCRATCHES THAT MADMEN
make with their keys on the sleek red
lacquer of my car.
I taste coffee in my mouth.
MY MOUTH IS WHERE I AM LIVING TODAY
but I am lonely as a skinny
old white cat with blue eyes
and irregular jagged spots of gray and black
showing a tiger pattern.
I am a tyger, I am an owl. I am some ancient wisdom
taking its own pulse and listening:
BANG!
BANG!, goes my finger.
BANG! Lover, I wish
we had bought
the purplish polish for your
toe
nails!