Inn of the Wandering Dragon

Yes I was finally able to get out and take in a play last week - the fabulous Nevermore, by Catalyst Theater. Based on the life of Edgar Allen Poe, the show weaves in imagery and verses from across Poe's poems and stories. It is a playful and macabre exploration of his life with speculation on where his inspirations came from. The stage design was simple and effective and it allowed the costumes and the acting to really stand out in all their glory. At times graceful and whimsical, at times frantic like a puppet desperate to cut the strings that bind, this version of Poe keeps coming back to the idea that we cannot deny what we really are.

I found a book on how to be invisible
Take a pinch of keyhole
And fold yourself up
You cut along the dotted line
You think inside out
And you're invisible

Eye of Braille
Hem of anorak
Stem of wallflower
Hair of doormat

I found a book on how to be invisible
On the edge of the labyrinth
Under a veil you must never lift
Pages you must never turn
In the labyrinth
You stand in front of a million doors
And each one holds a million more
Corridors that lead to the world
Of the invisible
Corridors that twist and turn
Corridors that blister and burn

Eye of Braille
Hem of anorak
Stem of wallflower
Hair of doormat
Is that the wind from the desert song?
Is that an autumn leaf falling?
Or is that you, walking home?

Is that the wind from the desert song?
Is that an autumn leaf falling?
Or is that you, walking home?
Is that a storm in the swimming pool?

You take a pinch of keyhole
And fold yourself up
You cut along the dotted lines
And think inside out
You jump 'round three times
You jump into the mirror
And you're invisible

In placid hours well-pleased we dream
Of many a brave unbodied scheme.
But form to lend, pulsed life create,
What unlike things must meet and mate:
A flame to melt-a wind to freeze;
Sad patience-joyous energies;
Humility-yet pride and scorn;
Instinct and sturdy; love and hate;
Audacity-reverence. These must mate,
And fuse with Jacob's mystic heart,
To wrestle with the angel-Art.

O I forbid you, maidens a’, That wear gowd on your hair, To come or gae by Carterhaugh, For young Tam Lin is there.

There’s nane that gaes by Carterhaugh But they leave him a wad, Either their rings, or green mantles, Or else their maidenhead.

Janet has kilted her green kirtle A little aboon her knee, And she has broded her yellow hair A little aboon her bree, And she’s awa to Carterhaugh As fast as she can hie.

When she came to Carterhaugh Tam Lin was at the well, And there she fand his steed standing, But away was himsel.

She had na pu’d a double rose, A rose but only twa, Till upon then started young Tam Lin,S ays, Lady, thou’s pu nae mae.

Why pu’s thou the rose, Janet, And why breaks thou the wand? Or why comes thou to Carterhaugh Withoutten my command?“

Carterhaugh, it is my own, My daddy gave it me, I’ll come and gang by Carterhaugh, And ask nae leave at thee.”

Janet has kilted her green kirtle A little aboon her knee, And she has broded her yellow hair A little aboon her bree, And she is to her father’s ha, As fast as she can hie.

Four and twenty ladies fair Were playing at the ba, And out then came the fair Janet, The flower among them a’.

Four and twenty ladies fair Were playing at the chess, And out then came the fair Janet, As green as onie glass.

Out then spake an auld grey knight, Lay oer the castle wa, And says, Alas, fair Janet, for thee, But we’ll be blamed a’.“

Haud your tongue, ye auld fac’d knight, Some ill death may ye die! Father my bairn on whom I will, I’ll father none on thee.”

Out then spak her father dear, And he spak meek and mild, “And ever alas, sweet Janet,” he says, “I think thou gaest wi child.”

“If that I gae wi child, father, Mysel maun bear the blame, There’s neer a laird about your ha, Shall get the bairn’s name.

“If my love were an earthly knight, As he’s an elfin grey, I wad na gie my ain true-love For nae lord that ye hae.

“The steed that my true love rides on Is lighter than the wind, Wi siller he is shod before, Wi burning gowd behind.”

Janet has kilted her green kirtle A little aboon her knee, And she has broded her yellow hair A little aboon her bree, And she’s awa to Carterhaugh As fast as she can hie.

When she came to Carterhaugh, Tam Lin was at the well, And there she fand his steed standing, But away was himsel.

She had na pu’d a double rose, A rose but only twa, Till up then started young Tam Lin, Says, Lady, thou pu’s nae mae.

“Why pu’s thou the rose, Janet, Amang the groves sae green, And a’ to kill the bonny babe That we gat us between?”

“O tell me, tell me, Tam Lin,” she says, “For’s sake that died on tree, If eer ye was in holy chapel, Or christendom did see?”

“Roxbrugh he was my grandfather, Took me with him to bide And ance it fell upon a day That wae did me betide.

“And ance it fell upon a day A cauld day and a snell, When we were frae the hunting come, That frae my horse I fell, The Queen o’ Fairies she caught me, In yon green hill do dwell.

“And pleasant is the fairy land, But, an eerie tale to tell, Ay at the end of seven years, We pay a tiend to hell, I am sae fair and fu o flesh, I’m feard it be mysel.

“But the night is Halloween, lady, The morn is Hallowday, Then win me, win me, an ye will, For weel I wat ye may.

“Just at the mirk and midnight hour The fairy folk will ride, And they that wad their true-love win, At Miles Cross they maun bide.”

“But how shall I thee ken, Tam Lin, Or how my true-love know, Amang sa mony unco knights, The like I never saw?”

“O first let pass the black, lady, And syne let pass the brown, But quickly run to the milk-white steed, Pu ye his rider down.

“For I’ll ride on the milk-white steed, And ay nearest the town, Because I was an earthly knight They gie me that renown.

“My right hand will be gloved, lady, My left hand will be bare, Cockt up shall my bonnet be, And kaimed down shall my hair, And thae’s the takens I gie thee, Nae doubt I will be there.

“They’ll turn me in your arms, lady, Into an esk and adder, But hold me fast, and fear me not, I am your bairn’s father.

“They’ll turn me to a bear sae grim, And then a lion bold, But hold me fast, and fear me not, And ye shall love your child.

“Again they’ll turn me in your arms To a red het gand of airn, But hold me fast, and fear me not, I’ll do you nae harm.

“And last they’ll turn me in your arms Into the burning gleed, Then throw me into well water,O throw me in with speed“

And then I’ll be your ain true-love, I’ll turn a naked knight, Then cover me wi your green mantle, And hide me out o sight.”

Gloomy, gloomy was the night, And eerie was the way, As fair Jenny in her green mantle To Miles Cross she did gae.

At the mirk and midnight hour She heard the bridles sing, She was as glad at that As any earthly thing.

First she let the black pass by, And syne she let the brown, But quickly she ran to the milk-white steed, And pu’d the rider down.

Sae weel she minded what he did say, And young Tam Lin did win, Syne covered him wi her green mantle, As blythe’s a bird in spring

Out then spak the Queen o Fairies, Out of a bush o broom, “Them that has gotten young Tam Lin Has gotten a stately-groom.”

Out then spak the Queen o Fairies, And an angry woman was she, “Shame betide her ill-far’d face, And an ill death may she die, For she’s taen awa the bonniest knight In a’ my companie.

“But had I kend, Tam Lin,” said she, “What now this night I see, I wad hae taen out thy twa grey een, And put in twa een o tree.”

We are entitled to our own
definitions of the world
we have in common

earth house (stay)
water well (carry)
fire stove (tend)
air song (sigh)
ether dream (die)

and try out new combinations
with key words
unlocking power

house on fire sing!
stove under water stay,
earth filled well die.

The spells and spellings
of our vocabularies
are oracular
in translation.

One woman in Pagnito-an
another in Solentiname
still another in Harxheim
naming
half the world together

can move their earth
must house their fire
be water to their song
will their dreams well.

Black lake, black boat, two black, cut-paper people.
Where do the black trees go that drink here?
Their shadows must cover Canada.

A little light is filtering from the water flowers.
Their leaves do not wish us to hurry:
They are round and flat and full of dark advice.

Cold worlds shake from the oar.
The spirit of blackness is in us, it is in the fishes.
A snag is lifting a valedictory, pale hand;

Stars open among the lilies.
Are you not blinded by such expressionless sirens?
This is the silence of astounded souls.


Crossing the water, by Sylvia Plath

language begins at the tongue

but dreaming london doesn't mean it's the only dot on the map. not when you grow up different, not when shopping malls suffix every parking lot


and when it doesn't begin at the tongue? I've whispered with fingertips, written words that no longer know how to speak. Japanese chases itself inside Turkey then sits on the page a vision of China. appearances speak volumes. 1... 2... 3...


or like other times, when linguistics was a map of my mouth. when a sentence will end long after the period. a promise you hadn't yet said. when latin replaces math

they didn't notice, but "I" and "r" can be versions of the same letter. can be, to her ear, the same sound. listen, there's a reason dreams happen beneath eyelids. there's a pattern. Trust me when I say I'm going to sew buttons on the underside of shirts, read them across ribs


hearing sideways in the morning may be your idea of verbal action. in turn, I will be consumed by midnight, only not that mercuric. the street crammed with lawn intentions, remnant of camouflage, veiled postures, faux balconies


lip service - by Nicole Markotic

On either side the river lie Long fields of barley and of rye, That clothe the wold and meet the sky; And through the field the road run by To many-tower'd Camelot; And up and down the people go, Gazing where the lilies blow Round an island there below, The island of Shalott.
Willows whiten, aspens quiver, Little breezes dusk and shiver Through the wave that runs for ever By the island in the river Flowing down to Camelot. Four grey walls, and four grey towers, Overlook a space of flowers, And the silent isle imbowers The Lady of Shalott.
By the margin, willow veil'd,Slide the heavy barges trail'd By slow horses; and unhail'd The shallop flitteth silken-sail'dSkimming down to Camelot: But who hath seen her wave her hand? Or at the casement seen her stand? Or is she known in all the land, The Lady of Shalott?
Only reapers, reaping early, In among the bearded barley Hear a song that echoes cheerly From the river winding clearly; Down to tower'd Camelot; And by the moon the reaper weary, Piling sheaves in uplands airy, Listening, whispers, " 'Tis the fairy The Lady of Shalott."
There she weaves by night and day A magic web with colours gay. She has heard a whisper say, A curse is on her if she stay To look down to Camelot. She knows not what the curse may be, And so she weaveth steadily, And little other care hath she, The Lady of Shalott.
And moving through a mirror clear That hangs before her all the year, Shadows of the world appear. There she sees the highway near Winding down to Camelot; There the river eddy whirls, And there the surly village churls, And the red cloaks of market girls Pass onward from Shalott.
Sometimes a troop of damsels glad, An abbot on an ambling pad, Sometimes a curly shepherd lad, Or long-hair'd page in crimson clad Goes by to tower'd Camelot; And sometimes through the mirror blue The knights come riding two and two. She hath no loyal Knight and true, The Lady of Shalott.
But in her web she still delights To weave the mirror's magic sights, For often through the silent nights A funeral, with plumes and lights And music, went to Camelot; Or when the Moon was overhead, Came two young lovers lately wed. "I am half sick of shadows," said The Lady of Shalott.
A bow-shot from her bower-eaves, He rode between the barley sheaves, The sun came dazzling thro' the leaves, And flamed upon the brazen greaves Of bold Sir Lancelot. A red-cross knight for ever kneel'd To a lady in his shield, That sparkled on the yellow field, Beside remote Shalott.
The gemmy bridle glitter'd free, Like to some branch of stars we see Hung in the golden Galaxy. The bridle bells rang merrily As he rode down to Camelot: And from his blazon'd baldric slung A mighty silver bugle hung, And as he rode his armor rung Beside remote Shalott.
All in the blue unclouded weather Thick-jewell'd shone the saddle-leather, The helmet and the helmet-feather Burn'd like one burning flame together, As he rode down to Camelot. As often thro' the purple night, Below the starry clusters bright, Some bearded meteor, burning bright, Moves over still Shalott.
His broad clear brow in sunlight glow'd; On burnish'd hooves his war-horse trode; From underneath his helmet flow'd His coal-black curls as on he rode, As he rode down to Camelot. From the bank and from the river He flashed into the crystal mirror, "Tirra lirra," by the river Sang Sir Lancelot.
She left the web, she left the loom, She made three paces through the room, She saw the water-lily bloom, She saw the helmet and the plume, She look'd down to Camelot. Out flew the web and floated wide; The mirror crack'd from side to side; "The curse is come upon me," cried The Lady of Shalott.
In the stormy east-wind straining, The pale yellow woods were waning, The broad stream in his banks complaining. Heavily the low sky raining Over tower'd Camelot; Down she came and found a boat Beneath a willow left afloat, And around about the prow she wrote The Lady of Shalott.
And down the river's dim expanse Like some bold seer in a trance, Seeing all his own mischance -- With a glassy countenance Did she look to Camelot. And at the closing of the day She loosed the chain, and down she lay; The broad stream bore her far away, The Lady of Shalott.
Lying, robed in snowy white That loosely flew to left and right -- The leaves upon her falling light -- Thro' the noises of the night, She floated down to Camelot: And as the boat-head wound along The willowy hills and fields among, They heard her singing her last song, The Lady of Shalott.
Heard a carol, mournful, holy, Chanted loudly, chanted lowly, Till her blood was frozen slowly, And her eyes were darkened wholly, Turn'd to tower'd Camelot. For ere she reach'd upon the tide The first house by the water-side, Singing in her song she died, The Lady of Shalott.
Under tower and balcony, By garden-wall and gallery, A gleaming shape she floated by, Dead-pale between the houses high, Silent into Camelot. Out upon the wharfs they came, Knight and Burgher, Lord and Dame, And around the prow they read her name, The Lady of Shalott.
Who is this? And what is here? And in the lighted palace near Died the sound of royal cheer; And they crossed themselves for fear, All the Knights at Camelot; But Lancelot mused a little space He said, "She has a lovely face; God in his mercy lend her grace, The Lady of Shalott."

If coldness here then only
something fully-fledged
that scuffled
in the courtyard
& survived
left this upheaval
in every direction

Something that got loose
just in time
before central heating
& hot-water system
admitted their failings
before the house
gave in

Something I sensed
coming, though not
born to it
in the complete cessation
of movement
in the sky's tightness

Something intact
The level of shutdown
The going on

- Snow, by Tracy Ryan

It's hard to accept that your day there

rolls on, is still to happen

while mine is done

as it's hard to accept that the dead

go on, loving, growing even

distinctly away from us,

their voices thinner than telephone wire.

What kind of letter can bridge this?

How can the feet we once

dropped all disgust to kiss step calmly

over new continents or turn firmly

for destinations unseen by us?

Dust is the mouth's taste

in absence, dust the ground

that swallows all footprints

with indifference.

Transatlantic, by Tracy Ryan

Odly enough, it was in a brief interlude at work today while watching myrtle scratching at the rock that brought this poem to mind. I first read the poem in the belly of a sailing ship roughly 6 years ago. We were at anchor in the Banda islands in Indonesia and I had freely pillaged the ship's library while enjoying a quiet time before the heat of the day set in. Back then this poem was for me a solid kick to the ribs and all the homesickness, lonliness and heartache came pouring out in a rush of tears that lasted the better part of the morning. Those few crewmembers still around at the time were suprised to say the least. As was I. It remains one of my favorite poems to this day, like favorite works of art and memory I carry several poems around with me. Now and then one of those poems comes to the forefront although I may not know why, but I will dig through my books to find it again and re-read it for the umpteenth time. Such is the power of those things and ideas that truly resonate with us.