These poems
are from a sequence, The City of Now and Then, concerning Dannun
Dwann, a city-state of mind which throughout space and time embraces
all cities, towns, villages, and middle-of-the-desert gas stations,
as well as the adventures of its oldest and misleading citizen, Frastus
O'Gallen.
tempus fidgets
Time will
not stand still
in Dannun Dwann:
it flows, ebbs and eddies,
Edies, Ebs and Flos
and keeps on Roland along,
retreats here, advances there,
inconstant as a lover
or the Mayour.
Dinosaurs
appear in the alleys,
startling drunkards
who think they are dreaming;
soldiers in ancient armor
ride the subways to war,
cursing in lost tongues;
monks fill in crossword puzzles
in ink, in ornate lettering.
The city
is powered
by a nuclear reactor:
on its high white roof,
a virgin is sacrificed
once a month
with a laserblade.
Dee-fense, Dee-fense
The watchtowers
along the great wall
surrounding Dannun Dwann
have not been manned
for many years.
One by
one, the guards
have deserted, gone back
to their farms and factories,
wives, families and mistresses,
leaving the city undefended,
open as a whore’s legs
or a politician’s mouth.
Lovers
sometimes spend a night
in one of the towers
with a bottle of wine and a blanket
The birds build nests there,
out of the reach of predators.
More than
once,
some pocket Alexander,
his legions trailing behind him
like a robe,
has scaled the wall
and looked upon the helpless city,
sprawled clumsily out,
inviting rape and pillage.
Each has grimaced,
and quickly left.
there are some benefits
Shakespeare
still writes here,
and Dante, and Homer.
Socrates imperils youth
in the agora.
Beethoven,
deaf and irritable,
still composes here.
Renoir still paints here,
and Van Gogh,
who has promised
not to kill himself
yet.
Christ
and Mohammed
cry out on the street corners,
unnoticed
except by a few.
Da Vinci
and Edison
go to dinner together,
speaking in different tongues
and gesturing,
confused and delighted
that they understand each other.
And Frastus
O’Gallen,
inventor of the wheel,
pedals along Fifth Avenue
uncertainly,
dipping and teetering
among the yaks and donkeys
and electrobuses.
it’s a very clean city
There are
no pornographic
films or literature
in Dannun Dwann.
Instead
the actors and writers
stare through keyholes and windows
at the acrobatic antics
of the general populace -
singly, in assorted pairs
or in groups -
"Amazing!,"
they whisper.
"Who woulda thunk
of doing it that way?"
the money tree
There is
a tree
in Gallenski Park,
the fruit of which, eaten,
gives one the power
that all he touches
turns into money -
lucre - gelt - moolah -
fins - Franklins - Frasti -
There
is, however,
one small drawback:
as the smiling, lucky men
gather in the green stuff,
each bill, touched, turns
into change - coins
into smaller coins -
the passerby
sees only
mounds of gold and silver,
crowned by hands like hungry flowers
clutching at quarters and pesos,
francs and lira -
the mounds grow higher -
a hand disappears - another -
and still
they flock
to eat of the fruit of that tree.
Copyright © 2001 JBMulligan
