Читать книгу Lisa Robertson's Magenta Soul Whip - Lisa Robertson - Страница 5

I designed my own passivity. I present it to you by my face, by your guts, and in the name of human space. I was born into a rough little city, site of hasty invention actively dissolving into steel sky. The city was a glittering ruin sucked upwards.

I

great virtues are numerous and wisdom has a laughable magnitude. the circumference of a human creature is his own testimonium, her superb mortal resistance as a creature is a liquid gate. our hearts are intelligible. to excite and to tempt you I will relate the ways of my past unhappiness. should I invoke necessity or fate? quomodo item I invoke is unbelievable. all gods are gravegods. what is without predicate? let’s sing to the god who requires it. let’s sing to our enemies also. quœram te, invocans te et I’ll invent credens in te: a predicate is a noble enemy and my fidelity is my own disaster, inspirasti mihi per feeling humanitatem with this speech.

(Another version of the same beginning is simpler and more direct: in the long science of submission it is the mind that, quietly spectacular, unhooks the bodies and opens the face.)

II

the dominator is cuddled inside me: what would you call that? when we quibble and feast, what would you call that? since tua quidquid fades, has faded, this quidquid that’s your name. all that’s feral in me, whatever being I am, eats into my docent. I invoke dominance to undo myself.

I had no enemies, no parent, no clock. dominant you filled the nurse’s tits and so abundantly taught me to sip. I’m telling you about things I don’t remember, nothing more, fibbing and sipping, sipping and fibbing, very similar. et cum non intellecto me obsessit, non subditus indignation, no servitude. quam scientes is my nutrient. dominant qui est semper vivus and nothing in us tu creasti et really instabilium et immutable. quam illa intra visceral matrix? dominant my soft word, no memoria could have prepared me for your earth. I am the first suckling among multa, your artifice, your animal, gaudy with cries, gaudy with hunger and lovely with hunger and hunger.

III

listen to the humans fib. misery dictates. I remember the fibs of my infancy, a fib per heartbeat cooked by earth. will this commemorate me? dominant do you remember me?

my ego’s made from milk, abundant fountains of milk, my dominant, my own, which dedicate themselves to the illuminant corpus, instructress of senses, so that I speak to you in the syllables of your name dominant and as bonus I make for you a nest of my ordinary thighs, tu, forma omnia et lege.

ergo dominant for you I have the fidelity of a fox a piglet an enemy a name multum so many fidelities and oblivions for you are shadow and concept with no memory no vestige no need.

IV

remember the undulant speech of your childhood enemy saying give it give it give it? I give it as various vocables and membranes voluntarily like this I name the liquids and seconds that move the body turning towards memory and emitting sound among its quorum this turning and opening this masking and what gets called humanœ vitœ authors no greater horror.

So who possesses the stamina to parent their own sensibility? no brat does and beneath the school of belts a language its audibility no refuge, no accident. to be coherent is to form enemies. dominant I wanted to wear memory like a moulded hunger willing ahead of myself some form of satisfaction or vindicate legendary torment with what certainty did I console my welts.

V

though dominant even my fibs are ordinary as belts flicking against authority a peccadillo diligently diligently unspeakable.

a kid’s weaned on eternal promises and humiliation. dominant give me your superb sign so I can use it as a crutch or a rope cast into my pointless fidelity, yes dominant I’ll tell each dilated fib with my dripping tongue as delicious recreation, enstate my credo of necessity, the tongue like an ego to me, dominant – whom shall I serve? without you for whom welts fatten I’d be minus agency minus glory minus number my author who cuddles me insatiably my soul’s bulky with you as it is bulky with fibs.

VI

whatever the cause of the grace of dogs, the soft odour of books, the quibbling of kids, it’s unbearable. no docent knows such grammar. nor am I parsed, me, a vain wreath of milk, vanity itself, caro factum, quia certiones, non spiritus ambulans and islands of written stuff, a vast itinerary of errors as I died upwards towards you, vita mea, like a magnet, sure, like girls die of fierce love and friezes commemorate the fierce cords of light that are their souls and soldiers eat sponge cake and I don’t love you and I fornicate towards you singing down down and it is the solemn world I pull against my tummy, down down and no fierce extreme sedates me no sequence of the lips and teeth.

say nothing of the soul that flutters its sleeve dictating not this not that not this muddled doctrine. I’ll not name each oblivion each venal carthage each dumb rut written up in verse. dominant my ink’s not diligent like yours. I simply tug and vend and strum at pacts secundum signa quibbling litteris in commodo. sit poetica stupid with words past their sweet-arsed date.

it is the difficult tally of my tongue to admit that such songs and those of puerile docents stroked my milky ego.

VII

dominant may I call you rex now and feed you tidbits? my heart calls you rex because you’re my first part, as rex I’ll serve you what are called tidbits and each locution and scribble and number just adores you rex what is vanity is really your discipline for vanis peccata delectum multa for the rest of my life to please you I won’t fib rex, I promise.

and towards what illusion my little rex do I tighten the cord that is my ink and adulate everything sentient. rex my pet what is suspended between us is sewn of figura.

who can resist a Human? who doesn’t finger lies?

VIII

a word’s a precious vase to sip from, an illicit verb. both kids and scholars sip there the sweet lubricity spilling over tongue and rex I sipped also I can safely say this now since I sip from you no other figment no other persona no other sentence rex what is suspended between us

the soldier reaches from behind the falling man’s neck to grasp his snout; he is becoming a horned animal.