In the narrows the sun
wests. Alligators hotfeet it
for the nearest spa. The delta
stretches, rolls over onto
its back to burn its belly
& better hear the zydeco
band that bubbles by. We
spoke of foodchains, &
whether it was the
resumption of whaling
that had driven the cliff-
dwellers out of the pueblos.
He paused, pleasured by
a point he'd made, & pride
blind-sided him. The
peristaltic erudition of a
passing manatee swallowed
him up in easy pieces. Mean-
while the moon blooms
miserly in the yellows.
Here there are no judges'
chairs that turn around.
Rather, in a somewhat
hyperactive nod to Botticelli,
it is the the whitecaps that
rage & foam. A symbiotic
frenzy. They give energy
to her knowing that she'll
give it back to them when
she emerges full-grown
from this half-hell. The am-
bience is pure de Chirico
punk, whether pre- or post-
apocalyptic one is never
quite sure. Is augmented by
Magritte's props which are
stacked up ready to take
their places when later called
upon. Mirrors, & doors with
holes cut in them — a way
through a way through, a
different way of seeing. &
the idol herself, un bilboquet
désarmé which allows her fingers
free range to trace the template
she poises on. Is there enough
humanity within this segment
sliced from human simulacrum to
allow her to progress, given that
the stairs go neither up nor down?
Wipe your eyes with a
kerchief so the tears
outline your hand. Is
that a face reflected
there as well? Sit down
on any available cushion,
take in the view. Either
the depicted one — a
row of hills, some trees
that will return in a later
piece — or something of
your own making, still
taking shape & not ready
to be revealed, hidden
in blackness. These are
some of the sights that
the windows of the dawn
might open out on to.
It is idle to lament inevitable progress from "the olden, golden days."
Modern techniques are a bit more complicated than those of old, when a flannel band & goose grease played principal parts in child care, & summer dwellings were modestly equipped with no electricity or running water. Childhood is growing up; & adults involved must make a conscious effort to pay more attention to it than in days gone by. It is not without its challenges. Fatboy Knäpsäck is just like his old fashioned wooden stock magical knapsack.
The velocity of the water would decline a little during the mid-winter, so scholars long ago took everything in & then digested it — the relaxing fluid texture of the herds returning from the high mountain pastures to provide the skin with a smooth & scented lather, the many agricultural & domestic tools, the Frisian water dogs once used to hunt otters.
The shed of the wine presses is full of activity. Several churches, chapels, & monasteries bear testimony to the past — the 14th century Le Temps Jadis building, the 11th century Collegiate Church of Notre-Dame, the Chateau de Bizy. In the old days this district was home to the Knights Templar. Here the river still follows its natural course through an old agricultural landscape where the occasional castle is a reminder of the past.
Luckily, the Sweden of yesteryear, where axes were not known & ivory & stone were used instead, is extremely well preserved. This unique & historic ambience makes you feel cast back into Mozart's time.
