Sunday, July 10, 2011

Paterson: Book II, Chapter I, p. 55

A Song for Nothing; or, "Rafters"

[horns enter]
Chorus of thousands:
arpeggiated risings, fallings
to a sound.

Let's sing, goddammit;
let's shout til the mother
fucking roof rises,
until it quakes
from the grey-dusted I-beams
posting up from the floor;
Let's sing until bolts rattle
in their holes
and hundred-year old washers
bounce on their foundings
 like makeshift tambourines;
until metal winks and shimmers
in radiating rooflight,
and silvered steel hisses out
the harshest cymbaled Cs:

Let's sing, you sons of bitches;
let's roar from our bellies
with full-lunged, full-
throated, fucking
full-bodied gutsongs;
let's shout until pressures unknowable
push out against the walls
of our skin;
until sound itself vibrates
our bones,
our fingers,
our teeth,
until something threatens
and will
burst, tear, rip
out of us,
splitting us each
down our alchemical

Let's break, crowd of crowds;
let's swell, rise, and part
down our seam;
let's climb in walls
of mother-fucking water,
riven as the Red Sea,
hemisected as our own 
grey matter;
let's, let's build
our song of everything
until it opens,
it unzips itself,
it spills itself out
of our split-husked selves,
pouring from the hives of us
like a swarm of 
unbelievable bees,
Oh, oh, my god:

Jesus Christ,
please take
take it
and keep 

KMC 7/2/11, 7/10/11