Witch Doctor

I

He dines alone surrounded by reflections

of himself. Then after sleep and Benzedrine

descends the Cinquecento stair his magic

wrought from hypochondria of the well-

to-do and nagging deathwish of the poor;

swirls on smiling genuflections of

his liveried chauffeur into a crested

lilac limousine, the cynosure

of mousey neighbors tittering behind

Venetian blinds and half afraid of him

and half admiring his outrageous flair.

II

Meanwhile his mother, priestess in gold lamé,

precedes him to the quondam theater

now Israel Temple of the Highest Alpha,

where the bored, the sick, the alien, the tired

await euphoria. With deadly vigor

she prepares the way for mystery

and lucre. Shouts in blues-contralto, “He’s

God’s dictaphone of all-redeeming truth.

Oh he’s the holyweight champeen who’s come

to give the knockout lick to your bad luck;

say he’s the holyweight champeen who’s here

to deal a knockout punch to your hard luck.”

III

Reposing on cushions of black leopard skin,

he telephones instructions for a long

slow drive across the park that burgeons now

with spring and sailors. Peers questingly

into the green fountainous twilight, sighs

and turns the gold-plate dial to Music For

Your Dining-Dancing Pleasure. Smoking Egyptian

cigarettes rehearses in his mind

a new device that he must use tonight.

IV

Approaching Israel Temple, mask in place,

he hears ragtime allegros of a “Song

of Zion” that becomes when he appears

a hallelujah wave for him to walk.

His mother and a rainbow-surpliced cordon

conduct him choiring to the altar-stage,

and there he kneels and seems to pray before

a lighted Jesus painted sealskin-brown.

Then with a glittering flourish he arises,

turns, gracefully extends his draperied arms:

“Israelites, true Jews, O found lost tribe

of Israel, receive my blessing now.

Selah, selah.” He feels them yearn toward him

as toward a lover, exults before the image

of himself their trust gives back. Stands as though

in meditation, letting their eyes caress

his garments jeweled and chatoyant, cut

to fall, to flow from his tall figure

dramatically just so. Then all at once

he sways, quivers, gesticulates as if

to ward off blows or kisses, and when he speaks

again he utters wildering vocables,

hypnotic no-words planned (and never failing)

to enmesh his flock in theopathic tension.

Cries of eudaemonic pain attest

his artistry. Behind the mask he smiles.

And now in subtly altering light he chants

and sinuously trembles, chants and trembles

while convulsive energies of eager faith

surcharge the theater with power of

their own, a power he has counted on

and for a space allows to carry him.

Dishevelled antiphons proclaim the moment

his followers all day have hungered for,

but which is his alone.

He signals: tambourines begin, frenetic

drumbeat and glissando. He dances from the altar,

robes hissing, flaring, shimmering; down aisles

where mantled guardsmen intercept wild hands

that arduously strain to clutch his vestments,

he dances, dances, ensorcelled and aloof,

the fervid juba of God as lover, healer,

conjurer. And of himself as God.