NIGEL HOLT

  

The Gong-Farmer's Lament

Weialala! Weialala!

Après la chute
de
l
a
n
g
u
e
,
the Rheinmädchens' call
of relief
gallops down the garderobe
and resounds and resounds
and resounds.

I shovel,
measuring out these fragrant rocks
(or the proof of life)
in spadesfull.

Slap the gong!

Slop the gong!

Il faut cultiver le jardin.*


Song of Sorrowful Songs

Golgotha in a chair
and the wheels within wheels move not.

God in spit that streaks the cheeks
and wets the jowls,

God in shit that soils the sheets
and smears the towels.

Eloi! Eloi!

Dans la pueur d'eau de javel,
Dieu joue piano avec Ravel.*
*

Creuzfeld in a cell,
Jacob falls from the spiral ladder.

God in prayers etched in the wall,
that make no bloody sense at all.

God in fists with bleeding fingers,
God’s indifference that lingers.

Eloi! Eloi!

Ston levko pyrgo dhen yparchei psyche;
o theios einai o thanatos ste nike.*
**

*We must cultivate the garden.
**In the stink of bleach, God plays piano with Ravel.
***In the white tower there is no mind, God is death in victory. -ed.