Just Suibine So
The Madness of Suibine.
Nothing I can do
wins her back again.
I flee, she does not follow.
I abuse, she is as stone.
I threaten, she disdains.
I come, she turns away.
Yet I know her heart weeps
For the love she has broken.
I rave before my desolation
& she like a nun pays penance
to a barren victory for
when a woman weeps,
she has beauty & power,
when a man weeps, it is forlorn.
Suibine on St. Patricks London 03.
How much is gonna blow –
Being here, I gotta know
Can’t just let it flow
Gotta say no
How much is gonna blow –
Life I’m told goes on
We’re gonna be reborn
After the explosion
The moon’s almost full now
Tomorrow it will blow
How much is gonna blow -
O St Patrick are you hearkening?
Are you there at the tavern door?
Today’s a day for celebration,
It’s just around the corner,
& we come not to the feast
but riding on the beast.
Just before commencement of war in Iraq.
Sunday Afternoon with Suibine. (i.)
He undresses like an ostrich, plume
All & pilot brain,
As with the genial smile of the flea,
Mottled and scrawny of limb, he
Leaps into foam.
On the ceiling shadow fighters zoom,
Before, in blaze of pink fume,
A collage of explosions
The minarets adorn.
The Mughal hordes swoop down,
Down from the Ukraine,
No room for immigration,
On this Sunday afternoon.
* Just after commencement of war in Iraq
Sunday Afternoon with Suibine. (ii)
Carnal carnivalesque on walls cavort
with stone age brain & chimpanzee heart.
Water, electricity & sewers,
desmene of rats, rabbit cats, ravenous
toads with kangaroo leaps, as
the elephants come trampling corn
& the locusts swarm through thin
blue & white walls in Ariel steam,
as spiders scurry to their crannies
abandoning molten dewy nets
with which he robes his naked self
in frail fronds, host to a house of ghosts.
Suibine in Bed.
Suibine in towelled turban
& eve scent mutation
Contemplates the evanescent
Cities of light in bed coombed
Head & foot an exodus of wanderings
To the bizarre marching of apocrypha
The treasure of Jerusalem disappears
With emigration - the Mughals in Herat
Convert from the Ukraine
Granada in India
Lawrence in Mesopotamia
Confusion to Robespierre & Napoleon
Capitals to the Guillotine
Chosen religions for chosen people
Secular despotism & soldiers of God
Riding the beast to the feast.
Life has been a series
Of long term broken relationships
But the children’s descendants go on
To their royal icons, wrecker
Beacons, bonfires of vanities.
Suibine goes on with nosegays,*
& a nose as big as Catullus*
* Anonymous saying if the night has a
thousand eyes it also has five hundred noses
Suibine more than Erect
On viagra fall flat on his back
She covers him with slow carnal sweat
Clouds billow send not know
For whom the bell tolls
Suibine doffs his hatt
Releasing a spray of doves in her hair
Suibine with Binoculars.
The world bursts into a bubble of foam,
lo, a new world is born, beginning,
not knowing what future can happen,
what cannot be taken from the beginning.
A Blake is born from agricultural
to clockwork time
to USA, French & industrial
revolution, end of the Jacobean
claim to throne
as a Cardinal in the Vatican.
Renaissance through Reform,
a predecessor to the unforeseen
Hanoverian Victorian muse
with Her gunboats to rule the seas.
Does he follow, aged in his pent mill, romances
of the aesthetic Shelly & fierce Byron
etching over Milton´s angels, Christian devils,
returning them via routes to the firmament:
But O Jerusalem, O City of God, you cannot
have it all, you cannot win it all, but fall,
not even through Suibine´s binoculars
focused on his Martian moon brain,
even he must be found in a RIP tomb
under reference myths anonymous.
Copyright Robin Ouzman Hislop 2003
All rights reserved