Barbara Guest

Grass grew long in the story. Pieces clung to bedclothes. In the night he believed he grew taller. Grass covered the dream of a serpent, eyes sunk in his head, tail of silk clover. The dream translated into silver tone. More serpent heads and the dream turned into an opera. It was the opera that made the dreamer famous. Location of opera could be in any country, could be Antarctica, more likely Finland, where they believe in silk clover, it is gold in a land of starved desire for summer. The opera had a clover leaf copied in porcelain by Aalto, the famous designer, who sewed the clover leaf into a white curtain. He designed a window for the man when he looks out to sea in his serpent costume. This opera that begins with a dream traveled to Rome and Zagreb, traveled across continents, once by camel. The travels became more famous than the opera. People began to forget whether the grass really had grown long, and where the serpent came from. The opera was called by another name and included a gold limousine. Somewhere in Oceania they added mermaid elves.

Since I’ve decided to revolutionize my life since ” decided ” revolutionize ” life ” How early it is! It is eight o’clock in the morning. Well, the pigeons were up earlier Did you eat all your egg? Now we shall go for a long walk. Now? There is too much winter. I am going to admire the snow on your coat. Time for hot soup, already? You have worked for three solid hours. I have written forty-eight, no forty-nine, no fifty-one poems. How many states are there? I cannot remember what is uniting America. It is then time for your nap. What a lovely, pleasant dream I just had. But I like waking up better. I do admire reality like snow on my coat. Would you take cream or lemon in your tea? No sugar? And no cigarettes. Daytime is good, but evening is better. I do like our evening discussions. Yesterday we talked about Kant. Today let’s think about Hegel. In another week we shall have reached Marx. Goody. Life is a joy if one has industrious hands. Supper? Stew and well-cooked. Delicious. Well, perhaps just one more glass of milk. Nine o’clock! Bath time! Soap and a clean rough towel. Bedtime! The Red Army is marching tonight. They shall march through my dreams in their new shiny leather boots, their freshly laundered shirts. All those ugly stains of caviar and champagne and kisses have been rubbed away. They are going to the barracks. They are answering hundreds of pink and yellow and blue and white telephones. How happy and contented and well-fed they look lounging on their fur divans, chanting, “Russia how kind you are to us. How kind you are to everybody. We want to live forever.” Before I wake up they will throw away their pistols, and magically factories will spring up where once there was rifle fire, a roulette factory, where once a body fell from an open window. Hurry dear dream I am waiting for you under the eiderdown. And tomorrow will be more real, perhaps, than yesterday.

sound opens sound shank of globe             strings floating out something like images are here opening up avenues to view a dome a distant clang reaches the edifice. understanding what it means to understand music

There is no fear in taking the first step or the second or the third having a position between several Popes In fact the top can be reached without disaster precocious The code consists in noticing the particular shade of the staircase occasionally giving way to the emotions It has been chosen discriminately To graduate the dimensions ease them into sight republic of space Radiant deepness a thumb passed over it disarming as one who executes robbers Waving the gnats and the small giants aside balancing How to surprise a community by excellence somehow it occurred living a public life The original design was completed no one complained In a few years it was forgotten floating It was framed like any other work of art not too ignobly kicking the ladder away Now I shall tell you why it is beautiful Design: extraordinary color:    cobalt blue secret platforms Heels twist it into shape It has a fantastic area made for a tread that will ascend Being humble i.e. productive Its purpose is to take you upward On an elevator of human fingerprints of the most delicate fixity Being practical and knowing its denominator To push one foot ahead of the other Being a composite which sneers at marble all orthodox movements It has discovered in the creak of a footstep the humility of sound Spatially selective using this counterfeit of height To substantiate a method of progress Reading stairs as interpolation in the problem of gradualness with heavy and pure logic The master builder acknowledges this As do the artists in their dormer rooms eternal banishment Who are usually grateful to anyone who prevents them from taking a false step And having reached the summit would like to stay there even if the stairs are withdrawn

Y otras pasan; y vi é ndome tan triste, toman un poquito de ti en la abrupta arruga de mi hondo dolor. Cesar Vellejo I won’t let anybody take a drink out of this barrel of tears I’ve collected from you. Least of all another woman. I see her coming along. I know the type. I can tell you what she’ll be wearing. I know the type I won’t like it. She’ll look at that barrel she’s had a few in her day. Not that she’s ever filled one. She’ll remark casually, “Sweet water, good to wash my hair.” And who doesn’t know tears are purer than rain water and softer on the hair. Just as she steps toward it and makes for the cup, I’ll see phantom you and what you were brought up by the sea. And scraps of paper from this ditch of my brain will float on the water and choke her.