Transelating "The Waste Land"
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Laura Gianonne
A pearl crawls constructing moths, seeding
small sacs of heads and hands, mincing
what was said and what was done, tearing
lulls out with new lives.
The time before was softer, soft palms hovering
ears thinking the forgotten things that fell, seeding
pinches at a time without using water.
The next thing came like the seeds that actually grew, without water, like light
penetrating scalloped walkways We stopped there in sudden water,
and when it ended we emerged, surrounded by cacti,
We sank into seats, thought out loud of our whole.
Containers gawking in a great black city stammered at our language, at our eating habits.
An era in dens, slaying roaches and nukes,
mitosis shook the red back into our faces,
I sighed. Husky marine,
marine, loosen your grip. Endowments of lent didn't work anymore.
Mounting trains we felt the air exhale and transpiration lifted us.
We ride, slouch in the dark, and rise again with the rain.
I don't understand the things that grab, that cinch into
piles of cast offs. Nat Turner,
slaying cans, dresses, forests of knowledge
into pools here, under broken mirrors,
another drinking another whip, another endless sound,
dirges crumble in this dry place. On deeds
here that hide in a valley of monuments where shadows lengthen under solitary stacks of ancient sea creatures, packed under
years of pressure into burning slabs, jabbing against the sun and heavy horizon
(sun into sun into shade and onto sky they burn),
Irises doused in another ether,
the hottest part trailing from your heels will reveal how it really walks
and the coldest part how it really sings;
Dust storms frequent this place and fling red earth against the air.
Finding what the wind
does hitting you
my iris kindling
whittled dust
"I got the last of the blooms before a God tore them away;
"I was branded reaper."
-We set sacks, plates, homes of cinched rows of blooms,
dulling our embrace, and you a harlot, I pushed
to say, but my irises had already faded away, and I knew her
I knew she was dead,
dust locking the parts of speech.
Ships disintegrated on dry waters.
Yellow bicycles roam, famished soothsayers,
old hags, undress
in town under eyes lit under years of rope,
wicks stacked in shards. There, it is silent,
hissing shard, hedonist phoenixes railing or
(see the shells that held his sight. He sought!)
where Isabella donned rocks to die,
melody of places and times.
Another captured at sea, betting,
clinching planks, harried in his organs,
Again blinding everything on the other side of skin. Idle knots
are things in hands. Torn teeth flying towards her.
Sinking crows off populating, balking rounds.
Tanks hew. Fucking scenes of equines,
All harried in rings holes scoping hyacinths:
ther hooves fall fully these days.
A peeled sinking Persepolis,
Thebes utter, owning the haze that comes with spring,
When a crow flowered long and above the span of man,
Unaware it killed him with the beat and flux of its feathers,
high and hot ending focused, impaled and deflating,
the shadow pointed arrows on the ground for man to follow.
It flew down a draft and up a singing heat,
towards Saigon via Norman time
whispering flatly as the bell towers held the bells, swinging.
Ferries moved, you, pausing in the street to lie, "That Son!"
"We fought together in a place of oils!
"How is your mother,
"still dead, decaying? What has come of her?
"Or has she already risen with the thaw?
"I have a scarecrow for your mother, to keep the rats away,
"from swooping down on bulging soil.
"We confuse each other, shouting in the street, away from battle!"
Everything must must
be in place, hair straight
new cracks can spread into big cracks
through roads
can reveal inconsistencies,
where no one went anywhere but through.
Paper-thin ownership
Accept Christ
and thoughts of darkness, the buried things, are buried
Dirt fills eyes, irises crack, lithify
and drop dust onto tattered gowns
casting small shadows on translucent thighs
when they press together, trapping water
clothes dyed with wine and mud
each time they're dunked they spread dye in a stream
So many dirty
white sheets, washerwomen wring sounds
for all ears
hair grows even from hallow genitals
and mothers cling small arms into numbness
their hands too small to swat all the mosquitoes
all raise torches, shake hearts in the dry air
buoys in the sea miles away, up and down
the walls of the pounds shake, wire fence holds them together
catchers deafened by the warning colors
pupils tighten on the horizon, the sky, edges
they rattle bones
throw them up
spinning, spinning, threads wind
fingers, elbows, across lips- a wave
crests, on a distant shore
rats claw at ribcages,
trying to get out
hot, bothered- clouds flee
then the bandits come in, identifying banks
mothers small hands swat swat
sneaky children, crawling under flailing hands
and run to the rivers
Books, horses, with wooden walls they know
a wave rises on a quiet shore
thighs a foot apart, three feet apart- people look up
nodding nodding, a wave hitting a plane
heads turn, eyes close
Eye to eye they stared at each other's molded noses
that watch, riddled with lies and diamonds
cotton picked and silk worms worked to the bones, an ugly sweater
habits learned from the best, the Holy
nightly whispers into the soft ears of Dior and Prada (never surprised at the deity's hot breath)
and countesses and purses fly, counts
all hold onto a guided rope and walk, fingers slide across twine and pearls
gold pulses under pale skin, jets groan above and
Moths conquer the handpicked black-browns, ambrosias, mustards, grenadines
pews creak, the same, the same, only now fed on pan grease, things that take their last breath in a warehouse
under white lights, they flicker, irregular, the buzzing of machinery accommodates all whispers
the last person to touch the food (with gloved hands and face) returns to a building
there's no room for children, overflowing garbage
urban sprawl, sprawlsprawlsprawl
All arms, all three eyes, couldn't save it
falling through, a blue throat gulped
Fields of grains withered, calling out to her
Judas puckers his lips
(winemaking, an ancient practice)
Men on small bicycles circle through the park: "Bud, bud bud…"
We live in dirt, walk on it
sweet-sour pork sometimes the only consolation
after casting spells into the sky
rote rote rote again and again
They all saw the spines curving from sitting so long, sinking
flowers bloomed outside
They chased lies in the dark,
everywhere they went crickets fell silent
Each time the chirping returned they were scared it was a siren
Warsaw in hands
Great p-waves, s-waves rippled out, an unmoving epicenter
duststorms filled in the cracks
They all fell into the cracks, reaching
Exodus, red tide? -chanting emerges from the dust
"We are sinking!"
grit clogs joints and faces all look the same under grains
muffled crickets mark where nobody has been.
They moved to the sea, zero altitude. The dust caked, only on outsides
filling the spaces in their minds
One spread the water with pulling arms
others grabbed at the soft hairs on his forearms, pulled the seaweed from his triton, his white beard
they felt his flesh under numb fingers
he rose on a wet horse, regal, shrugged
he fell. Oceans recede and the earth lies naked
he had muscled his lips into submission
and they understood his arms
he threw water over dust,
they, turgid, wavering
Reptiles retreated to the depths.
Odysseus is at it again, drooling on the rail passing women on the shore
his hat flies off and embodies the wind, crumples into eaves
Curving bodies under the sun- are they singing,
as they work? they have no idea, sunning in temples, the
tempests we've endured. We've sailed far and for the longest time
Look at them, beads of sweat on foreheads, sheer fabrics- their eyes are on the bow
skipping stones on the sea
the biggest swells we've faced thus far
We forget we're wingless, sometimes
and too many of us see our reflections in
the deep sea bubbles, perpetually rising…
His hand sweats on the wooden rail, small ripples
Each time the sun goes down it stains
Red stains, orange, pink, black, all dripping into the sea
the shore washed away
We drink in the celestial ooze
We drink until we can't hear the hum of the engine.
Gills filter blind under thermocline
Do trout leave tracks after flight
one bubble where they breathed; lungs understood
currents on currents blow through tides and tides
deep sea vents plumes of magma- black smoke streams from singed fins
and rows of fishing line drop in unison. They never cross.
Kelp strands float back and forth.
"What are they doing what are they?" They are mostly flat.
"Bulbs?" each air pocket lifts the previous flat wet leaf
there are shadows of flowers floating above.
Olive leaves flip drift through lines, waving
On top they weave on the surface, water snakes, spreading behind stroking arms, spreading behind steel boats.
"Are they restored?" Fishers tilt in boats looking down
their lines disappear after a quarter of an inch; hooked fish will push kelp up, germinating
The moon pulls and everything is shifting to land
smallest waves slap the sides of boats
"The ship comes in and are we above water?" see it?
sediments fall to the ground, under water, lithify
"Tonight we dredge them"
the only light in settled sediments from anglers' hooked eye
smothered in kelp forest abandoned by bubbles that rise then finally pop in air
serpentine arms heavy and thick leeching light
everything below drowns
Is there, piece, waves
what can I strain from sand
a bead of water, many beads, skin stretching on top of a penny
my forgotten tail wagging under skin and tendons
soundless phone calls to anonymous numbers
Stop. Look.
Less and less hearing
and the pressure in ears expands until drum skin
is so thin it tears out hairs, even the roots.
It took knives splitting cells to move anything
(on wind)
blood orange splattered under blades and sponge white peeled away.
An unknown humming- still
an unknown teacher- what's new
lies like snakes through sand.
Things nearby fighting each other, tough meat
and drunk on wine
wild grasses drowned in wine
never cut, delivered.
Where is the cut grain, where is it in bags?
only birds from a place to see it on the ground, but nowhere to put it
birds fighting queen bees for honey
crash and fall
children toss the carcasses into air.
We will never fly.
Reading pages and syntax
(what have I done)
absorption is best left to dry earth.
Withered breasts, consultations,
two fetal snakes emerge from one egg
I will be stunted
and look around
at the clock.
Intravenous (Jousting Twins)
The Old must leave. Their dead skin, their surviving hairs, gather.
Wavering bodies barely able to sweat, the taste is timeless.
Knowing nothing anymore, dry tongues cannot spit…salt encrusts.
Will they loosen their parched grip on fading papers? They hold pots and saucepans with swollen knuckles at the ends of shaking wrists
boil meat into soup into water into steam.
Herbs soaking soaking soak into limp fronds from a deforest
eyes close
lids hide on shelves too high
Old bones move, sinewless- juices long evaporated
A woman bulges…copies and limbs unfold inside of her
She ignores the dusty fingers
Her bulge expands- lint gathers in navels
Everything weened on the other side of skin…pushing
and now you.
And the darkness came, rouged cheeks.
The many muscles of frowns tire.
Dishwashers numbed to the sound of breaking glass
they were free, pushing blistered feed into dirt on mountains.
The rain came
and left.
The first minutes after rain, the first thin sheet of water on pavement, the most dangerous
cautious drivers glide like surfers, but into poles
Steel pointing to the sky
And looking past the cloud of smoke from the smokestack,
the sky
Rubber balloons that will not disintegrate in oxygen
they fall to the sea, eventually
rubber was never meant to fly.
The clear warm weather, and people gather outside
and the rain comes, suddenly. They look up, turkeys drown like that.
And the light comes, reaches under rocks and blinds salamanders and eyeless worms.
Creatures, sliding into houses with only red dots blinking on blenders, green on toasters, white and blue on washers.
in jails only red on tasers
(for remaking criminals) The rain comes- it comes Shadows pool from under homes, under eyes. They reach the sea. High-rises twist into each other until they form one massive blackout
Dogs pant
drool dry spittle
Planes crash
tear across earth covered in cement
tear under the cement and tile and into dirt and worms
they freeze underneath
Frozen lakes, even with ski tracks, are safe for only the weightless
fingers working across the snow to find cracks
melting ice
I am hiding
My feet cast shadows on blank heat
And everything I run from- solely morality; mortality.
I stare into the hot sun
Footprints melt into fresh pavement, steaming tar, each step I inhale lines.
Morays shoot from their holes and tell stories as they burn on the pavement.
I am here. Hoarding warring.
Leaping from cesspool to cesspool- all under the same planet, on fire.
Saturn's rings spun and spun until they choked the gas out of the planet.
Now I hide in holes, under mountains of burning tires.
The sky, possessed, bleeding
My ways are limited- beached like bloated whales on other orbs.
Civilization, civilize, civilize civil
Cities cities cite site -
Useless
A tomb draws veils
A bass thumping thumping pushing out eardrums
And cranes swoop down their wiry cables snap mid-flight
Their beaks too long too narrow to open anymore
They bust through windows, canopies
slip through sand, pipes
they are powerless swans, they write on blackboards
swallowing sighs whole but saving the seeds for the criminals.
A death chant, a death chant spread through mossy rows
echoing from a bare-walled room, where black cranes roost
Their wingspans link from window to window to door, they leave no openings
Their death chant- silent, escaping puffs of steam from sealed lips,
Condensation of the bile from their sleep
They scatter as a fire engulfs their empty walls
NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO nowhere
Arson plucked each feather. A dry wind scattered black ashes
They mixed with the damp air, and dropped a coat on all the graves.
Three spiraled into one, and floods
Spread, they stretched
Through
as the
Dry earth gasped, groaning from deep tissue.
The desert returned in silence, scarred
TAKE
Ella, will you help us reclaim what had been taken?
Ella, a sound from your gut
Many short men clambered to take us
A time of churned soils spread, pocketed
We were dead souls, for those men
The spread us with the soil
Wove our ligaments into their fabrics for uniforms
Metal stamps on our body parts for identification
Mbiras, talk us into a flatland again
CONTROL
Euthanasia, I do it to yourself in a world
With locks melting over floors and sealing
Us in, we stand in rooms of disintegrating constitutions
We are sponges for the chants of gods
They trap us but we trap ourselves halfway through salutes,
A crown advances through puddles of vertebrae, still saluting
CONTROL
Disorders, returning swifter than victories
Float under bright ribbons, fine-tuned to triggers and gauges
They enter and adjust sights, they see bombs in
Cans leftover from bar-b-ques, on grass under magnolia trees, they obey
Orders from within to fling
their twitching bodies to the
ground
We stood on ledges and
Dipped open palms into the last of the floodwater
Shallow dust rose and we
wondered about inhalation
Each of us fell under the mustard powder we burned we burned we burned
Habrá una nueva alba
Nunca más un México sin nosotros -Daedalus, we know the heat of the sun
The charred prince showed us, with his lighthouse
We know to build with walls, not bricks
Dry times on sweaty backs. We walk our lobsters indoors.
We don't sing we scat. We melt ourselves. We are under control.
Sweaty heat heat heat.