Martyrology Books 1 & 2

bp Nichol

• Editore: Coach House Books
• Anno: 1994
• ISBN:
  9781770561427
• Argomento: Literature
• Categoria: Canadian Poetry

'All of Nichol's work is stamped by his desire to create texts that are engaging in themselves as well as in context, and to use indirect structural and textual devices to carry meaning. In The Martyrology different ways of speaking testify to a journey through different ways of being. Language is both the poet's instructor and, through its various permutations, the dominant 'image' of the poem. The [nine] books of The Martyrology document a poet's quest for insight into himself and his writing through scrupulous attention to the messages hidden in the morphology of his own speech.' – Frank Davey

BOOK 1

the breath lies

on mornings like this

you gotta be careful

which way you piss

the martyROLOGY
of saint and

As to what auguries attended his birth

nothing is said. Perhaps it was simply

that nothing of importance happened.

so many bad beginnings

you promise yourself

you won’t start there

again

december 67

the undated poem is

found and

forgotten

passes

like gas &

hills

bank of clouds

no returns

goodbye

to this world

gold frame the windows

i’ve looked out your eyes years now saint and

how

i tell you

no

things

cannot

measure thee

motion

oceans

as in

a western mode of thot

enshrine the deeper blues

moving into

the edge of

blackness

the mind’s passage thru

a weight of

feeling

is eternal your eyes?

so many times “now” occurs

a charm

fingering the present real

the feel of colour in

the fingers’ tips

your hands

questions words cannot

understand

joy casts a tent in your midst

hucksters

strip your trees &

leave

centre poles fall

in the ring

saint and

trips in a circle

on his head

face red

eyes blue

elephants

drag your words

over impossible hills

into the valleys beyond

the mouth

takes up the feeling &

confuses

the fused words move out

where the ears were

a numbness grows

flowers

sweet smells

dumb the lips

saint and

enshrined in organdy

flows out the chimney

no smoke blows

it is a landscape without hearing

a sea of cries

the lies are simply the listening

without replies

the carnival ride a tree with false branches

lady lady have you met saint and?

he knew death

when death

was just

a man

now one half crawls with maggots

the other wears a grin

slim lady lady of light lady who is not

i’ve lost my head (better off dead) rides

are still two

for a quarter

make the setting here

an ocean

moved in

becomes a lake

mountains flatten & the hills contract

one gazes out the panes are not the same

the black letters dispatched over a field of white

saint and does not amaze

but is a statue

a corner lost

the fading light conceals his hands

they are as still as hills

if hills are still this far inland

tents cast on the sand

children run toward the sea

clutching their nickels & dimes

it is a freak show

of improbable changes

the bearded ladies & men

parade themselves in purple bathingsuits

offering smiles to the crowds below

in the back room the midget deals another hand

cursing the upcoming spectacle

saint and moves innocuously thru the scene

nodding his head at the awestruck faces

it is not an easy thing to do

the terror in his heart can’t be shown

only his blue eyes let it thru

in the dressingroom he removes his make-up

the huge smile & blue hair evaporate

the red paint on his face is streaked & bare

he rests his head in his hands & doesn’t care

the sea

moves in upon the tents then stops

despair

is not an ocean

it is a sea you walk upon till your feet are sore

saint and has lost all hope

& cannot walk or swim there

anymore

you say goodbye or you say hello you say both

not knowing the difference.

saint and moves with the circus from town to town

where the tents were

the grass is brown & the child

has only the memories

to return to

it becomes maudlin, death is simply

a way of giv...