Paterson: Book II, Chapter I, p. 57-58 (II)

Eisenstein’s Heavenly Man (II)

The film is a nickel

And worth it:

Eisenstein’s heavenly man.

“The meat is rotten!”: Vakulynchuk's corpse

Ice on the inside of a window: Alma-Ata

“Госуда́рственная пре́мия СССР!”: Moscow

Ca-ROCK-ithy, C-ROCK-ithy: 4 December, 1930

“Think of them as frescoes in motion!”: to Frida Kahlo

Whisps of chilled air: Alma-Ata

Strike!: Strike

“A film without equal in cinema!”: Joseph Goebbels

One hundred thousand dollars: py6 2,746,800

The numbness of a cheek: Alma-Ata

Fingers curling along the edge of a mattress: Alma-Ata

Iris out: Alma-Ata

In the morning, Rising: 11 February 1948


KMC 8/4/11

Paterson: Book II, Chapter I, p. 57-58 (I)

Eisenstein’s Heavenly Man (I)

Fifty feet           

On a silver screen //      

Eisenstein’s:      

HEAVENLY MAN.

The meat is rotten!

(Strike!)

The quarters unkempt!

(Strike!)

The wages unfair!

(Strike!)

The blood unjustly spilled!

(And in a darkened

room, eyes reflect light
and Tell: 
everything is shadows
moving faster
than they should be.)

Paterson: Book II, Chapter I, p. 58

(Priapus!)

Priapus!

Come and let me

have a look at you.

I'll not stare

at the obvious--

          the enormous,

          swollen,

          tired phallus;

                    the rises of strains

                    in the muscles 

                    of your forearm;

                              the purple bend

                              of awful skin;

                              the long-wished-lost

                                        weight.

I'll not share

your story broadly--

          the fetal curse

          of a jealous 

          goddess;

                    the chasing through fields

                    of Other-claimed 

                    flesh;

                              the thwarting,

                              (hilariously)

                              of an angry, stubborn

                                        ass.

I'll not mock

the life of verdict--

          the building

          in you    

          of the unspeakable thing;

                    the want

                    of love

                    or the thrust of it;

                              the longing

                              for finish,

                              and the prayer for

                                       ends.

          Rather, I'll wait.

          I'll look you over,

          with my own two eyes,

          and see you blink.

          Who would have guessed

          it would take your presence

          to undo you?

          Who would have expected

          the weight of too much of you

          would be the weight you could not bear?

         The envy, friend, is yours.

         Stand up (as if you could not);

         rise,

         and get out

         of my sight.

KMC 8/4/11