15 Adaptations
Whom do we write for
Cornelius
in a popular culture
under a cooling star
for the dear loves?
the lovely and the lonely
moments?
Catullus could sign himself away
and all his words
but Clodia?
this near world?
Never!
Here’s my thin sheaf
friend
take it it’s
(till the cows come home)
yours.
Clodia’s pigeon pair
one on egg guard
the other at large
or roosting above tomatoes
heavy with their siftings –
she likes the hard peck
they give her fingers
she likes their talk
of rolled oats
under the awning.
Ignoring my parallel season
she ripens in her deck-chair
eating the stained fruit.
I too like that tang on the tongue
softness of feather
pain of the sharp peck.
That prow drawn up on shingle
lake fishermen
cast into stream-flow –
put your ear to its hardwood
you’ll hear the slap of salt
snap of sail
rush
of long nights straining under bellying moons
northward to Suva.
On her side
like the star Cross she lies under
given over to calm and reflection
Catullus’ yacht
hot youth of Catullus.
Clodia
do you care
does it chip at you
that the old old
should frown?
Sundown over the lake
beyond the etceteras
bush-spike burned black on it
on the red flush
but we know
where and how it returns.
Not so our youth
light in the eye
fire in thigh
and is it
are you wanting
when darkness knocks
perpetual dormitory?
Lose count Clodia
lip and tongue tell
but not
nor mumble anything
but these kisses
and this
and these.
‘Countless’ as they say also of
stars / sandgrains –
ask a conventional question
Clodia, you get
for example
beginning at Ahipara and counting
north
along Ninety Mile Beach
grain by grain
or when you lay on your back on the golf course there
numb with cold
and watched the numberless clear stars watching us
‘myriad’
over my shoulder –
is how the poets counter
questions of many
of kisses
of what it will take
to slake a thirst, abate a hunger –
not infinity
but an unfixable
number
cardinal like
these kisses
and this
and these.
End of scene Catullus
Cut!
Snap go the wooden boards on the brightest days
hers
flower-burst and leaf-
break
twined vines
and a lurching tenderness shaking
underfoot
your whole earth.
Phone knock urgent cable
nothing rouses her now unless it’s to tell you
end of scene!
you’re not wanted nor welcome.
Very well then
it’s a hard school.
But you, girl
have you thought of the long nights
the subtle notations of silence
those spaces between the stars
we used to populate
with songs and jokes?
Who will ink poems on your pillow
pile your table with impromptu sculptures
phone you from the earth’s end?
You see this rigor
of the shoulders?
It’s what they call
the courage of a trooper.
More than a scene is ending.
Catullus uncomplaining
walks away.
Air New Zealand
old friend of Catullus
you offer a quick hike
to Disneyland
the South Pole
Hong Kong’s hotspots
Thanks brother
but I’d rather
you flew downcountry a message to Clodia.
Tell her she’s known to her 200 loveless lovers
as the scrum machine.
Tell her
Catullus loves her
as the lone lawn daisy
loves
the Masport mower.
This morning in bed it was
7.20 the papyrus a tangled
screen and through it ferns
condescended to the lawn flax
flew heavenward thinking as I lay there
of The True Confessions of George Barker
in pink paper covers I borrowed
from the pocket of that 1950s raincoat
of Asinius prince of poets who died
the month I returned it after twenty
years – lying there wishing I’d kept it
Asinius, as a memento of you.
Yes please
do (and
wel-)
come to dinner
don’t bring
any but
just
takeaways
a bottle and
your appetitive
Clodian self
things
(love
ideas
bananas)
your ever
readycatullus
will
provender.
Aurelius
I too revere it
rampant outsize unwavering
hard on course to heaven in the early
light
I remember
while Helios from the world’s lip
lapped dew from grass blades.
What a mouthful!
But keep it brother
east of my Clodia by a good ten
kilometres
and well down-wind.
If she hears of it she will have it –
if she has it
Catullus will take a simple
woodman’s revenge.
Furius and Aurelion
back from the Gay Rights Convention
Catullus ‘born on the sabbath day’ salutes you –
enjoy whatever your own
tastes in transport
pedicabs
irrumbuses
or just holding hands at the movies
and may the law stay out of your trousers!
But as a poet I protest
why GAY
you dizzy pricks?
That’s one
indispensable
irreplaceable
word
you’ve rendered unusable.
That was vandalism, brothers.
That was misappropriation.
Salt smell and the green green daylight
under
wharves
piles grinding and giving and
off the bollard winding
rope
and out in open harbour
fresh whatever-the
wind rain sun
or on summer nights
wharf lights
painting the water in oils.
Yes Clodia
I mean
Kestrel Toroa Peregrine
before the Harbour Bridge
before the North Shore was invaded
by insurance salesmen
before the Fall.
Our citizens don’t dance on their bridge
can’t walk on it either.
Clodia weeps for the days of her youth.
Fucking, I feel at one with the world
Clodia
it’s like rowing into heaven.
Through glass
the moonlit ferns and ponga
sculpted in the grove of Priapus
approve.
On this coast are white
wine
and oysters.
Suffenia opens her legs to life
– no doubt of it!
but she rides Pegasus
side-saddle.
Ianus I’m camped a hundred yards from your bones.
The moths attack the lantern and die as surely
as you did on that asphalt strip near home
we used to burn up with our eager wheels.
Defeated in love and in my dearest ambitions
I’ve come to visit one who took the last blow first.
The world’s sweetest when it promises nothing.
Remember our eel-trap that summer polio closed
the schools and drove us north? These tears are happy.
I wish you manuka on the eternal winds.
‘So long’ we used to say, not knowing what it meant.