Mallarme’s Mirror

Posted: February 2, 2013 in Chat
Tags: , ,

 

To be disembodied is to be emboldened

to allow that face he could not own

a maliciousness, that, admit it,

only life loves.

 

Highlights on nose, forehead, chin;

the lights of a man cluster like bees,

the molecules and atoms of the fact of him,

a writhing of idea with facility….

To be an eye sees in whilst looking out,

the room, reversed, opens within his face:

table, window, a white deal chair with pipe,

irrevocable in their positioning,

nouns sounding darkly in space….

 

A purposefulness appalling in its purposes,

a gorgeousness for so cheap a display:

this mirror ornately framed for mere glassiness.

So little of him left in its laid-bare room;

he is gloss on glass, the room’s order reporting

every thought-lapse from its purpose as a room.

Is it the glass construes him

from ornamentation, reporting his trespass

to Lords of Lapses, who lift

bears muzzles to the mirror, to that hive

of clustering lights?

 

Provence night swallows the neighbouring olive of Tournon;

stars whirl within his own frame,

the Great Bear treading the gas-light’s glare to fix

itself in him, a starry distortion of him….

Then if that beast should set in, say Fiji, Tahiti –

the impossible Gauguin of him – what would remain?

 

A mirror. And a maliciousness

that shatters light. A yellow radiance breaking through,

clothed in clustering admonishments

of light, to re-create him in oils of light,

breaking his root in that room altogether until

yellow fades to white and he is cleansed

even of that, runs clear and pure through

unwritten literatures of light.

 

 

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Comments
  1. viennafamous says:

    So many gorgeous lines, it’s a cracker! “the lights of a man cluster like bees,” “the impossible Gauguin of him” too many, too many!

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