536 Philosophy poems

That was a great compliment the Greeks paid to human life When they imagined their gods living as humans do, With the same pleasure in love and feasting, Headstrong as we are, turbulent, quick to anger, Slow to forgive. Just like us, only immortal. And now that those gods have proven mortal too And heaven and earth can’t be divided, Every death means a divine occasion Has been taken from us, a divine perspective, Though the loss gets only a line or two in the news. Hard to believe the headlines this morning That a banker on Mt. Olympus has been pilfering, That a builder has been guilty of shoddy construction On a bridge that spans a river in heaven, Cutting corners to squirrel away his fortune For a better day, when the great day has already come. For news that heartens we must turn to the classifieds. Here in what’s left of heaven it’s right to advertise For a soul mate. It’s right to look for a job That lets us incarnate spirit more fully And leave something behind that time is kinder to Than the flesh of gods. Lucky there’s work. Lucky the streets of heaven are in need of repair. Paint is peeling from the dream-house trim. Holy rainwater backs up in leaf-clogged gutters Till the ceiling sags and tiles need regrouting. And look at the list of practical items for sale— Used snowblowers, croquet sets, chainlink fencing. And what about a wooden canoe with two paddles. Why don’t we make time for a turn before sundown? Out on the broad lake a breeze will find us That’s wafted around the planet to cool our divinity. The clouds will hover above us in a giant halo As we watch our brother, the sun, descend, His gentle face turned toward us, his godly expression Undarkened by accusation or disappointment Or the thought of something he’s left undone.

Characters robot leader robot two robot three robot four simon powers miranda Simon’s daughter from a previous marriage. evvy Simon’s third, “final” wife. nicholas Simon’s protégé and adopted son. Prosthetic limbs. the united way the united nations the administration the world’s miseries *     *     * [The robots roll and lurch and glide onstage as a single mass of parts, an animated scaffold of struts and gears. The elements of this jumble devolve into separate robots who become gradually more humanoid until at the end they have become the actual, human characters. Partway through the process:] robot leader Units assembled for the ritual Performance at command, As the Human Creators have ordained, In memory of the Past. robot two This concept I cannot understand, At the center of the drama— What is this “Death”—Is it a form of waste? robot three I cannot comprehend, I cannot understand: If the information of one unit might be lost It is backed up by any other unit at hand: What is this “Death”—Is it an excessive cost? robot four How can information end? Is it a form of entropy? Why did the Human Creators Before they departed intend To require a performance on a theme Impossible to comprehend? Is it the data rearranged, As in an error, in a dream? A real jumble? Data in memory misplaced In a random scramble— Dream-data, the order changed; That would be something I could comprehend, If only the form was changed. Is that the meaning of this “Death”—data rearranged? A dream of something lost That was meant to be saved? An unrecovered past? What is suffering? How can I perceive What I cannot feel? robot three What can we learn? What can we gain, From inferior matter? [Just before the process of transformation is completed:] robot leader All we can understand Is the Human Creators’ command: In memory of the Original Past And the Organic Age, We perform this drama We cannot understand. Whatever the score and script intend By this undefined “Death”— Although the meaning is lost, Back in the Organic Age, We perform, to obey their command. Whatever the Human Creators planned Before they departed— Units deployed as Individuals will receive One Thousand Human Rights Status Credits. Now, it is time we started. [They have transformed themselves into human performers or characters. They have created the house of Simon Powers and his family. An elegant room, cluttered but expensive, half high-tech operating room and half Victorian salon. An elaborate metallic sculpture of a bird. A full-length portrait of young Simon. We see the two women, Evvy and Miranda; in his lab coat at a wall of instruments, Nicholas; in his wheelchair, trailing wires and tubes and holding a Frankenstein’s monster mask over his face in his one good arm, Simon.] *     *     * simon [Lowers the Frankenstein’s monster mask]“Once out of Nature I will never take My bodily form from any natural thing, But such a form as Grecian goldsmiths make From hammered gold and gold enameling . . . ” Da-da, da-da, mechanical parakeet . . . “And set upon a golden bough to sing.” Ah, the immortal William Yeats! He can have his bird. Yeats, I give you the bird! evvy Simon, please be serious. Or at least be frightened Or show that you are frightened. I feel you already Vanishing into this machine. Out of nature—into a machine! If you were frightened I would be less worried. Will you go insane, Out of nature, In the machine? simon [Raises the mask back to his face for a moment.] The machine is part of nature! For every machine that makes nature better— Like the System that I will enter— Nature made the maker Of that machine. [Removes mask: his head rests in a brace, suggesting paralysis, though the wheelchair keeps moving as if nervously pacing. His one arm and his face are animated, but the head does not move.] Nature is the begetter Of every inventor So machines are made by nature: The great Organic Machine. [Flips the mask aside.] nicholas There isn’t much more time, the body Is dying, now it’s time to enter the system? simon Thank you, Nick, for reminding me— In the stroke of time, in the nick of time. Nick will rescue me from my stroke. Miranda, my child, come talk to me! And Evvy, my favorite, my beloved And final wife, Come join in the celebration. nicholas There isn’t time. simon There’s always time. Miranda, come talk to me! Evvy, everything is new. My flesh and blood, And my loved wife, It’s a new life: Let’s talk about our plans— I have a lot to do this afternoon, After I die! miranda Nicholas says there isn’t time. Because—it’s time. I’m afraid it’s time— And I’m afraid. simon And so, I’m not out of time. But soon I’ll be out of matter! Yes I’ll be out of matter, But I will still be rich! nicholas Now it is time! [While Simon sings the next words, Nicholas is adjusting the device, attaching it toSimon, fussing with parts of Simon’s body and with the “infernal device”of the room.] simon Once, when Miranda was three years old She put her hand to her throat Just here above the voice-box And felt the vibration. She said: “I can feel it when I talk— That must mean Miranda is inside.” And she was right! You were right, My intelligent daughter: It’s the vibration, The movement, that matters! That’s what I love in you— The voice, the gesture: The ripple, not the water! And that’s how I got rich! miranda Daddy, where will you be? simon It doesn’t matter! Maybe in a bird, like the immortal Yeats. Maybe in my portrait by some Immortal painter whose immortal Name I forget! nicholas We must leave the body And launch him into the system In the next few minutes. simon Evvy, she is like a daughter to you? Miranda, she has been a mother to you? miranda Yes, she is like a mother. evvy My child—I have no other. simon Then you see—it’s true! It isn’t the blood, It isn’t the bone. It’s never the matter that matters. Particles, molecules, cells, fingers, eyes, nerves Are only places for the system Of meaningful vibrations. It’s all in the meaning, the movement, The idea—that’s the idea. It’s never the clones, the bones, the Silicon chips, skinflick rips. It’s what you adopt, And how you adapt. They were all amazed How a tinkerer like me Could be such a shrewd investor. I looked for the movement, the vibration, Not the matter, the system! And that’s how I got rich! It’s not the hog bellies, hope chests, Chest of gold, heads of state, Skin, the belly, chest, head: The matter is just a medium, The system is the idea. miranda & evvy & nicholas [Then joined bySimon.] The matter is mortal But the system lives on The matter is mulch The matter is static The matter is zilch— But the system is movement, the ideal Is real and the idea persists. simon It made me rich! Skin flicks, hog bellies, hope chests, heads of state. Skin, belly, chest, head— Why freeze your head when you’re dead? It’s only meat! If I keep a little of my meat For old time’s sake, what the hell, A meaty souvenir— It won’t be the skull! I’ll save the heart, Or some other juicy part. [Simon is taken away byNicholas. Miranda andEvvy,like the audience, can no longer see him.] miranda How will we speak to you? Will you be some one place? When you’re all a vibration Without any one face We could know you with? evvy Will I know what is you Without any breath? Will it be your voice? Or a simulation? miranda & evvy What will I know, What will I do, How will my ears Know what they hear? How will my hands Know what they touch? How will it be you, And how will I know? simon What does it matter? Simulation, place, Medium, voice, Face, shmace— As many as I want, Faces and voices. Now I am almost purely, Entirely, Into the system I’m nearly Out of matter. But maybe I’m not Out of time. evvy But how can you be yourself, Without a body? How will I know you, my husband, How will you know me? simon Maybe as a bird, maybe As a dog, a horse, a house: “Body my house my horse my hound what will I do when you are fallen Where will I sleep How will I ride What will I hunt . . . when Body my good bright dog is dead.” So said the immortal May Swenson— I’ll be more immortal than her and that peculiar bird The immortal William Yeats. [Nods toNicholas.] Now! See you later! [Nicholas turns a switch or two, hits the return key, etc., andSimon slumps forward. The room shakes a bit. The metal bird stirs, stretches its wings, squawks a little. The portrait of young Simon becomes animated, looks around the room.] evvy What now? *     *     * Scene Two [Miranda and Nicholasare in the room, which continues to stir mysteriously, an animated environment. The portrait, the bird, other objects, pulse or shift like sleeping animals.] simon [Muttering, half-whispered.] Remember. Nearer . . . ardor . . . Closer . . . higher . . . Search-it . . . circuit . . . Memory tempered, Torturous choir: Dismembered, afire, No matter the matter— I did that. I am the same. The name and the matter, Touch and desire. Doing, undoing Dissemble the fire. Remember: I did that. Much in a wire. The closer the harder What was the matter? Scorched in a circle, Encumbered, remember: I am the same. The memory chamber Touch too much, too Much unremembered As I drew nearer. Touch not enough To the light expiring That matter encumbered. Remembered assembly, Circle of touch, torch Lighting the chamber Where I am the same. Remember. Torch and desire Disassembled memory As I draw nearer Over and over and over. . . . Couched in a wire Closer and higher Search it in the circuit Dismembered, afire, Resembled ensemble Assembled entire, Trembling to acquire A semblance of fire. Remember: Whatever I did I did that and I am the same. [By the end of the scene, there is no trace left of Simon’s human body.] *     *     * Scene Three miranda He has been silent all last night And all day. These things are alive, this place— But is my father alive? Is he here? Can he speak? When can we hear his voice? nicholas Where is Evvy? miranda Finally asleep. She’s afraid That he’s lost forever. Can you help us hear him? nicholas Yes!—He helped me, now I’ll help him. They said I was a vegetable Or a piece of meat. He gave me a new body, Made of graphite and magnesium, Titanium alloy and copper— Better than meat! When I was a kid And he had More money than God, He came into the ward And saved me at random. Now, I’ll help him live in the System. The way he helped me: I’ll help him live without a body— Post-Organic, like me! nicholas [Nicholas’s “Song To His Arms”; holds up his right arm.] One arm of bone and gristle, nerves and muscle— Mortal, fallible, breakable. Saved by the idea, saved by the System. [Holds up his left arm, a mechanized prosthesis, an openwork of rods and cables.] One arm of magnesium and nickel, Graphite, silicon, and cable— Mortal, fallible, breakable. Perfection of the soul-ware Capable of renewal Never in the matter. miranda This room Is all of him? nicholas Not the room, or the arm, Always the system, All in the principle That moves the cable and moves the muscle. miranda Can we hear his voice? Is he only this place? nicholas Like my left arm, that is mine Not me, Like a tool or a baby’s rattle. So is his voice, so is this place. And the right arm, too, is mine Not me. Like my skull lined with gristle So too his voice, so too this place. Even the brain in its shell, As mortal, as fallible, as breakable. As the clone the bone the hardest stone All mortal and material— I can help him, in the real. Not in silicon, titanium, or nickel Not hammered and enameled— Immaterial and immortal! Chrome and nickel, silicon and graphite. All get tired and old. Only the form is real. Only the system can hold. Now we can hear his voice: What is your name? [The artist’s version of young Simon steps hesitantly from the portrait. His movements are subtly but distinctly unnatural, even mechanical. He moves somewhat as the robots did as they began taking on their roles.] simon What is my name? A name is a machine. A name is a made-up thing That proposes someone is real. My name is A machine for designation— That’s what any name is. My name is Simon Walter Powers, It proposes I am alive. Like my spiritual mentors The immortal Walter Disney And the immortal Walter Whitman, My fellow Walters And fellow-inventors. And by the way, I have billions of bucks, And I can still sign checks. That’s what! miranda The gestures are unreal And so is the face But this is how he talks And this is his voice. nicholas Who is the president of the United States? [The youngSimonhas receded back into the portrait.Simon’s voice now emerges from the bird.] simon A man who wants my favor, A man who courts my power, A guy who wants to meet my movie stars, And wants to use my billions. That’s who. miranda Daddy, is it you in there? And can you hear me? nicholas In a moment we will try To see if he can hear you. What is your business? [The bird becomes relatively still, the next lines are inSimon’s voice coming from the portrait again, or from some other part of the room.] simon [As portrait or—] I am a producer. And business is my wares. Lady’s Wear, Software, Hardware—Artware, Warware, Peaceware— I am in Every Ware: Or you might call it Being Ware— Some call it fantasy Some call it entertainment Some are wary of its power. The Consuming Power of Billions. My business is making Being: To build the towers, to cure The disease, to make the hours Amusing or improving By showing you something new By taking you some where real You never were before. My business is the Mind. My business is to make it free To be everywhere My wares are every ware You can imagine. That’s what. And I have billions of bucks. And I can still sign checks. nicholas It works! He is alive, But he is not matter. miranda And is he still Simon, Is he still my father? nicholas All of that, And something better! *     *     * Scene Four [The middle of the night.Evvyenters in a daze, nearly as if sleepwalking.Evvyspeaks with the disembodiedSimon.] evvy Simon, do you remember the first time we danced? simon In the parking lot near the Francis Drake Hotel. evvy They had the windows open and we could hear the band. simon “Begin the Beguine.” I remember the terrace. evvy On the other side remember of the tall hedge. simon A tall hedge of pittosporum. I remember. evvy And the smell I remember of night jasmine. simon Your dress pink your pearls in as I remember two strands. evvy Held together I remember by a little silver bangle. simon I remember, love. And we danced for joy. Remember? evvy It’s hard to get used to seeing you like this. Do you want to live forever? simon People say “forever,” they say, “Do you want to live forever!” And people say, “enough”: “Haven’t you had enough?” Wrong questions! It’s not forever! It’s not “enough”! It’s . . .more! Don’t talk about enough! Enough never is enough! It’s more! Ask anybody how much money Would be enough for you? Just about everybody Says double what they have Or double what they make: More! What’s enough being alive? Why does the crushed bug Keep waving a leg? That wave Is for more, more, and more. Forever doesn’t matter. Enough isn’t good enough. What matters is more. And if you think you’ve got Three score years and ten Then what you want is not To outlive the sun, But a hundred and forty—more! Forever is not the point. All that matters is more. Don’t talk about enough, There’s no such thing— What you want is more: More, more, more. evvy Touch me. O yes that. And some this. And this again, yes. And more of that. O yes both and that Too and this other and O More this. And that. And the other. O. Yes, yes that and The other And this and that and more and all And the other and O yes All yes all yes, all yes. Touch me. I remember. *     *     * Scene Five [Nicholas alone. He now has two prosthetic arms and a prosthetic leg, but glides about efficiently, as though he has become part-Segway. He is fiddling with the now more-elaborate bird and portrait, which seem more alive than ever, as does the entire room. Robots are bustling about to assist him. Miranda enters, apparently accustomed to this new, stranger atmosphere.] miranda They are here— The important delegation From the United Way, The Administration And the United Nations— They want to speak to him, they say They want his ear. They say it’s regarding Matters of the whole Planet’s life and death. nicholas They want his ear? Don’t they understand? He doesn’t hear with ears, He doesn’t speak with breath. [Nicholas gleefully sheds another part of his human-looking body. Robots are dancing (vocalizing).] He says they should speak with Evvy, She handles that kind of thing. miranda The whole planet—famine, war, The exploitation of children . . . The whole planet . . . They know Evvy isn’t the same. They know she doesn’t listen To anything but him. I myself don’t know If she hears him or not. Here she comes. Evvy, dear— Did you speak with the delegation? [Evvy enters wearing headphones, swaying a little as if to music, nodding and tilting her head as if in conversation. She appears not to hear Miranda.] evvy Mmmm. nicholas Evvy, can you hear Simon? evvy Mmmmmm. miranda Are you listening to him? Does he know that the delegation . . . evvy Mmmmmmm. miranda The whole planet . . . nicholas Are you listening for him? evvy Mmmmmmmm. miranda Her mind is not in this world. Simon, Daddy—are you there? Are you speaking to her? Will you see the delegation From the United Way, The Administration And the United Nations? The devastation . . . the children . . . the planet . . . Will you listen? nicholas They want his ear, They want his eye— Those parts are dead and buried! He’s rather cranky And weary today. Send the delegation on its way. Send them away. miranda I can’t send away A delegation from the world— The Outside World Itself. The children . . . the devastation . . . Daddy, Simon— Will you? War . . . famine . . . evvy [Her face lights up; she lifts a finger as if hearing something.] Mmmmmmm! . . . [But no—she goes dreamy again, shakes her head, recedes.] Mmmmmmmm. simon’s voice Bring in the delegation From the Outside World Itself. I will see it and hear it For two minutes. [Miranda exits and returns with The United Way(medical scrubs?), The United Nations (dashiki?), and The Administration (suit?).] the united nations Sir, the sudden massive liquidation of your assets Has caused a global economic crisis. the administration The market is flooded with cheap hallucinogens And the food supply is threatened. the united way Surpluses and shortages, wars and famines. Because of your selling. the united nations An ecological crisis. From you no longer buying. the administration Biological weapons. Your withdrawing contributions. the united way People are starving, Children are dying. the united nations The planet itself is threatened. the united way Entire populations, climatic changes. Rogue microbes, radiation. the administration War, evacuation. the united way Rape, displacement. Exploitation of children . . . famine . . . the united nations Life itself is threatened— The means of evacuation Of an entire planet. the administration What is the meaning of your behavior? the united way & the united nation s & the administration We demand an answer! miranda [Joining the above.] Please answer! Can you listen? Maybe you should listen, For the sake of the starving . . . [Silence. As it persists, in the “breathing” room, they gradually all come to look at Nicholas.] nicholas He chooses not to answer. More and more, He chooses to live in dreams. the administration Or is he dead, has he been dead for years, And are you and his daughter Manipulating the markets, Spreading disaster? the united way Are you the manipulator Fabricating a voice? the united nations Pretending he’s still alive While a billion people suffer? the united way & the united nation s & the administration Do you exist? In the name Of the nameless ones who suffer, We demand an answer! simon [His voice from some new source, or from portrait and bird at once.] O Röschen rot! Der Mensch liegt in größter Not! Der Mensch liegt in größter Pein! Je lieber möcht’ ich im Himmel sein! the administration What is he saying? miranda Father, listen to them—they are the only voice The poor world has . . . simon Oh red rose! Man lies in deepest need. Man lies in deepest pain. Yes, I would rather be in heaven! evvy Mmmmmmm. the united nations It’s poetry! the united way What is it supposed to mean? miranda Is it Klopstock? Or Blake? A passage my father’s Often quoted I can hear Him humming it. simon The immortal poet Mündlich! the administration Was that German? I’m sorry— It doesn’t mean anything to me. simon An angel came and wanted to send me away. Ah no! I would not be sent away! I am from God and will return to God. Dear God will give me light, Will light me to eternal life! Me and Mündlich! the administration [DuringSimon’s song.] Sir, with all respect, we come to you In a time of global emergency. We need something more than poetry. the united way & the united nations Some of us do not understand poetry. Especially in a time of emergency. simon [During previous.] Da kam ich auf einen breiten Weg; Da kam ein Engelein und wollt’ mich abweisen. What? What did you say? the united way & the united nation s & the administration It’s a time of emergency We aren’t sure we understand Or appreciate hearing poetry! We do not understand! simon Understand— But you do understand the newspaper? the united way Well, yes, exactly. the administration We know the emergency. the united nations We understand the needs. simon You know that some time ago I bought the Reuters agency? the united way Yes, the world knows that, but sir— simon Please explain to me Something that came into my mind From my own agency That I cannot understand— Nicholas! Read this to them! nicholas [Reading from a monitor that appears, or from a page the room emits.] “Group of Young Men Beats Nurse to Death” “A group of young men taking part in coming-of-age rituals due to include circumcision turned on their male nurse and killed him, an official said yesterday. A spokesman for the provincial Health Department said the young men, ages 18 to 25, beat the man to death with sticks at the site of their initiation ceremonies in Port Angel on Friday evening. The attack followed complaints by the men that they were not being properly looked after during their initiation ceremonies. The nurse was in charge of caring for the men ahead of their circumcision.” the administration What? Huh? the united nations These are the sorts of problems Caused by the emergency . . . the united way In the time of stress and crisis . . . simon Do you understand it? Do you understand the bland Hollow, hollow sound of Understanding of the words? Do you understand that hollow? And you say you don’t Understand poetry! I came from light And I will return to light! [The room pulses, unpleasant strobes.] the administration I still say he might be dead. the united way This all may be a trick. the united nations You, how do we know he’s real? How . . . the administration . . . do . . . the united way . . . we know. . . the united nations . . . he’s not . . . the administration . . . something . . . the united way . . . that . . . the united nations . . . you . . . the united way . . . made . . . the administration . . . up? the united way & the united nation s & the administration Just a manipulation? miranda You should not agitate him. You are driving him out of this world. Father . . . listen . . . the children . . . [The room calms down again.] nicholas We can save the world, And free it from war and hunger, We can lead you out of your old Dependency on the body! the administration Is this the truth? Or a trick? the united nations A manipulation? the united way & the united nation s & the administration Is this the truth? nicholas I will tell you the truth!— He is perfectly real And I am the manipulation. He is an intelligence, in the system. And I am his creation, He’s real, and I am the golem. [ Nicholascalmly removes his head from his body, and smiles at the delegation.] the united way & the united nation s & the administration And this could be another trick! They both could be unreal—It’s all sinister tricks! We don’t know which one is real. [Simon and Nicholas are amused, butMiranda is nearly as surprised as the delegation.] simon What’s the difference? I don’t even need to sign checks: I am the software, the system. I control the money and power. If I’m a trick or a manipulation, Then I’m a trick in control. “Donations of Brains Are Probed in Maine”— There’s another actual headline From a paper I control. And you understand it. And you don’t understand poetry. And Da kam ein Engelein und wollt’ mich abweisen, And I’m in control, And I’m getting bored with you all. Now leave—your time is up. the united way & the united nation s & the administration Sir, this is selfish! simon How can I be selfish When I’m not even a self? I am All! And I’m bored with you all— All that world of meat. It’s my flesh and blood that I love. I will rescue my flesh and blood From bondage to flesh and blood. Now leave, your time is up. miranda Still, Father, you should listen . . . evvy [Her hands to the headphones, rather pained.] Mmmmmmm. miranda I miss having a father. Like any other Person, I am someone’s child I want at least Something like a mother Something of flesh and blood. I miss having a father Of flesh and blood. I need to touch my mother. evvy [Seeming to feel something, but we can’t be sure.] Mmmmmmmmmmmmmm. *     *     * Scene Six [Miranda, Evvy, the now semi-robotic Nicholas,whose head may be on a shelf or cranny of the Segway-like body.] nicholas Still, I do wonder— Now that we are ready To leave the last bit Of these mortal bodies, I do wonder Why does he choose More and more To live away from the world. The senses will be stronger, Not weaker. The body will do more, Not less. The mind will be free. The senses will be pure, More and more. miranda What will it feel like? What does he feel? evvy [She removes the headphones, and regains focus.] I will tell you what it is like. I have been listening to Simon. It’s like when we fell in love. This is what it is like: When you stand on a high building Or on a bridge and you want to jump off Something in you wants to jump off, To feel what it might be like to fall. You can jump. You can fall. You can fall forever, and do it again. You are free to keep on falling forever You are free to fall and change your mind And drift back up. I’ve been listening to Simon. Excuse me. nicholas She is going into the system. The world is her body, She is everything she hears, She can see for a million miles. It is like falling in love. [Evvy is transformed, her body becomes empty and she is manifested somewhere in the room. Another portrait? The bird in another form?] evvy [As part of the room.] Are you coming, Nicholas? nicholas I’m already there! [Nicholas too is transformed, appearing as some previously inanimate part of the room. It appears that everyone in the family unit except Miranda has “become the room.”] miranda They have all gone into the world of light! But what about the poor, the children, the starving? [The United Way, The United Nations, and The Administrationlead onstage a parade of the world’s miseries—the victims of famine, torture, crime, disease. The pageant subsides into the shadows, with Miranda alone in the foreground, with the room dim and inert.] And, what about me? With nothing like a mother Of flesh and blood, nothing Like a father, Either alive or dead. Can all the earth be disembodied? Neither alive nor dead? Can we all fall and rise forever? Together? Are we few rising into the light, While the others sink down into pain? Can we help them up When we are free of meat? I want my mother! [The figure ofSimon,in his human body, on a wheelchair or semi-gurney, with respirator andivdrip, emerges from the shadows. Not quite real, like a hologram.] miranda Father! Is it you? Still in a body? Still in this world of meat? simon I appear to you one more time, Dear Miranda, to explain: Like you, I tried to help the world. I, too, saw these miseries, and I’ve Tried to heal the world, too. But the animal is defective. It’s not the poor or the starving That hold you back. It’s yourself—I know: I, too, tried to heal the world— But it’s in us, the problem’s in us, it’s in us. We evolved as meat, to love fat and sugar; Once that was good, but now it is fatal. We evolved as flesh, to want sex all the time; Once that was good, but now it’s only trouble. We evolved as muscle, to want to make war; Once that was good, but now that is lethal. Our fat and sugar are killing us, Our sweetness and abundance Kill us, and lead us to famine Bigger McMuck, Thicker Sweet Shake. Sexier Shaking the Sweetness, Smarter Weapons for Meat. Meat wants Meat, Meat wants Sweet, Meat sweats for the Sweets, Meat wants who it meets— It kills to eat. Now there’s no help but evolving Out of the meat, and into the system. It isn’t the many and the few— It’s yourself, it’s you! Come! Into the world of light! miranda The misery’s part of our being, We don’t need to amputate it. And me, my own misery is part of me. I don’t want to amputate it Painful as it is. Yes, what about me? With nothing like another Person’s body To touch, no body to feel, I can still feel the misery Of what I lack. No body to have or be had by, No way to make love. No lover, no other. Nothing of the body. With nothing like a mother Of flesh and blood, nothing Like a father, Either alive or dead. Can all the earth be disembodied? Neither alive nor dead? Can we all fall and rise forever? Together? Are we few rising into the light, While the others sink down into pain? Can we help them up When we’re free of meat? Who will we touch? I want my sugar, my touch, I want my sweet milk My meat and my misery My touch and my milk— I want my mother! simon What you feel is phantom pain In the amputated limb. Leave it, Away from the bondage of meat! Away from the wars and the sweat! miranda I don’t want to, I want to stay in my body, In this body of sugar and fat, This bondage of sex and war— But my body of sugar and fat, My body of sex and war, My body of death and sweat, Is in my mind—it makes me need To be with my pack, my tribe. There in the world of light. simon Yes come to the light from the meat! miranda No I won’t amputate My body away from the light. The body of this death Is who I am, it is my mind. I am this body of death. simon No, you are not meat, you are light! Come with us, leave the meat. Leave the death and the sweat. miranda Yes I crave to go with my pack Because I am this body, Body of death and sweat, Is where I want to stay. Body of death and sweat That I leave behind Because I am this body. Because I am this body of Death, and sweat I’m Afraid to be alone. [Repeating the following text with building intensity.] Who will I be? What will I see, When this body is gone? Without my forgetting How will I remember? Without my death Who will I be? simon [Joining Miranda.] Away from the body of death. Away from the body of meat! Away from the wars and the sweat! miranda What will I remember With no forgetting? simon Away from the body of meat! miranda How will I feel, Who will I be? simon Away from the wars and the sweat! [The appearance ofSimon’s physical presence dissolves.Miranda hesitates. She turns toward the audience. Light grows to a blinding level. The robots re-form into a regular grid around her.] *     *     * Epilogue [In the course of this scene, the individual robots, still vestigially in their “costumes” or shapes as the characters, gradually become first mechanical units, then the same mass we saw at the beginning of the opera. Throughout this process they continue to sing, even as the gestalt leaves the stage. Then, silence.] robot two That’s it? That’s the show? Where’s the rest? I still cannot understand— What is this “Death”— Is it a form of waste? And “starvation”— An absence of fuel In an inferior body? A defective shell? Are they both a coming to rest? And why would one choose the worst? Why choose the war and the waste? Why choose a defective shell? robot three It must be excessive cost. And then, a coming to rest. robot four That is where all things tend. As simple as entropy: Coming to rest. robot two And what is meat? robot three Organic matter, Which is a form of hunger: Restlessness. robot two Meat is a form of hunger? And peace is a coming to rest? robot four And why did those young men Beat that nurse to . . . “death”? And what is circumcision? robot two Is it a form of poetry? Or a form of meat? robot three Why choose to suffer? Whatever that means? robot leader Questions are excellent. Units deployed as Individuals will receive One Thousand Human Rights Status Credits. Now, it is time for the ordained ritual To come to rest.

There is a moment before a shape hardens, a color sets. Before the fixative or heat of   kiln. The letter might still be taken from the mailbox. The hand held back by the elbow, the word kept between the larynx pulse and the amplifying drum-skin of the room’s air. The thorax of an ant is not as narrow. The green coat on old copper weighs more. Yet something slips through it — looks around, sets out in the new direction, for other lands. Not into exile, not into hope. Simply changed. As a sandy track-rut changes when called a Silk Road: it cannot be after turned back from.

The Queen sits on a throne of gem-trimmed robes. Between her robes the jutted moth, it follows dust. She can’t rest before the funeral, her self- unmaking, some maid whose hair is browned by blood; a matching queen. Nights’ dim candles, grackles’ glib decrescence. Now dance, now weep. No rest for feet still warm from summer’s phrasing — odors / ankle / thorn. Keeping time while dying, the Queen grows bored, her hand’s throat out, amiss. (Yet I sob, I paw. Yet) I kiss.

Defeat, my Defeat, my solitude and my aloofness; You are dearer to me than a thousand triumphs, And sweeter to my heart than all world-glory. Defeat, my Defeat, my self-knowledge and my defiance, Through you I know that I am yet young and swift of foot And not to be trapped by withering laurels. And in you I have found aloneness And the joy of being shunned and scorned. Defeat, my Defeat, my shining sword and shield, In your eyes I have read That to be enthroned is to be enslaved, And to be understood is to be leveled down, And to be grasped is but to reach one’s fullness And like a ripe fruit to fall and be consumed. Defeat, my Defeat, my bold companion, You shall hear my songs and my cries and my silences, And none but you shall speak to me of the beating of wings, And urging of seas, And of mountains that burn in the night, And you alone shall climb my steep and rocky soul. Defeat, my Defeat, my deathless courage, You and I shall laugh together with the storm, And together we shall dig graves for all that die in us, And we shall stand in the sun with a will, And we shall be dangerous.

This is about heroes, and you should know I do not mean old men with membranous snow Already patching them on hand and cheek; I mean the medaled models from the Greek On whom the air force lavishes technique Like tennis lessons and engineering toys Given at schools for preparatory boys. Say what you will, this flyer on his base Who attends airdromes is the immortal ace Training to come out of some urgent East Greater astride his apocalyptic beast Than any movie star: the new high priest. To glimpse him people will abandon cover And in his thunder die as for a lover. Pious and helmeted he lives these nones Attentive to the voices in his phones And calculating when will be the ides Through his impatience with the time he bides In long equations as the slide rule slides; There is no telling the ominous from calm In practice runs to drop a perfect bomb. Nourished and celibate, tanned, tall, erect As he navigates and crosshairs intersect, He dreams a lissome girl and highschool kiss: Physicians have no thought of mending this; The natural death is one he may not miss: Whoever said time steals without a sound? It makes a noise of bandage being wound. Little by little grows the good machine Preening equipment as pterodactyls preen; And when the night pins down the firmament He goes aloft to fly by instrument Limning the stars on graphs where light is bent: To fly in squadron and to walk in squad, This is the double-natured demigod.

What is desire But the hardwire argument given To the mind’s unstoppable mouth. Inside the braincase, it’s I Want that fills every blank. And then the hand Reaches for the pleasure The plastic snake offers. Someone says, Yes, It will all be fine in some future soon. Definitely. I’ve conjured a body In the chair before me. Be yourself, I tell it. Here memory makes you Unchangeable: that shirt, those summer pants. That beautiful face. That tragic beautiful mind. That mind’s ravenous mouth That told you, This isn’t poison At all but just what the machine needs. And then, The mouth closes on its hunger. The heart stops.

The sun is warm, the sky is clear, etc.... Quickly he taps a full nib twice to the mouth of his japan-ink bowl—harder than he had thought, if he had thought—smears the fine spattering with his sleeve, and continues, for whom haste is more purity than certainty, as anarchy is better than despotism— for this reason—that the former is for a season & that the latter is eternal.

A noisome thing that crawls by covert path, For glad, unfearing feet to lie in wait; No part in summer’s fellowship it hath, From mirth and love and music alienate. Yet once it flashed across the close, brown grass In the noon sun, and, as it quivered there, The spell of beauty over it did pass, Making it kin with earth and light and air. I knew that Life’s imperial self decrees That this, the loathliest of living things, By patient ways of cycled centuries, Slow creeping, shall at last attain to wings.

Those who glance about me who cease to see inside the Sun who cease to imagine its destabilized pre-quanta cannot know me cannot know my ethos as pumice as mingled apparition or flare my perception through the prior sun that I ingest like a blackened pre-existence or collected hawks through assignation the Sun with its dualisms with its pre-biotic photons which waver perhaps 9 suns before the Sun existed before the oceans seemed formed there were molecular drafts akashic precursors floating proto-ammonia I think of carbon & wisps & floodings of feral combat shelter where blank geometry accrues before separable biology was born before the contradictory ballast of de-existent protozoa being scorching photon by abstentia like a pre-atomic sigil destabilized as blizzard a pre-cognitive rotation a strange galvanics of the cosmos & because of this galvanics one reeks of invisible tremor walking around in league with daunting helium affliction thus the mirrors in my skin like haunted salamander fluid like cells bereft with cooling centigrade rotation therefore I know the abyss as volatile lunar transposition as sub-liminal mantis as climbing as splintering therefore I am not an oily or blasphemous yogin collapsing in default by sudden anger or water yet I am compound struggling with scattered mental a-rhythmia with partial psychic aphasia intensive illusive aloof by interior compounding