FAUNE et JEUX

I thought that gold was harder than paper,
but paper turned out to be harder

– Vaslav Nijinsky

Prelude

A wicked ball, a fluent veil—

dance itself     the object of desire

not the one who wields or wears.

So many eyes—it is the war

and time is out of joint

with ink—     everywhere

the notebook keeps on sliding;

all shapes and beauty fluid

as the fountain pen unleashed.

This door is never locked

though people are afraid to say:

I do not understand—but feel.

I. L’Après midi d’un faune

My madness is my love towards mankind

– Vaslav Nijinsky

Mischievous sanctuary—withdrawn

into the score     alive!

               another crime:

the faun is me—

          it’s all in the choreography

grinding the pastoral air

         two flattened hooves in profile

                              blades

This is my body: piebald     on a mound

quietly, grapes

               one bunch

                    two     is all you do—

delight in slow time          tease

a fire in the narrow green

          of Bakst’s impression—

                    need for nothing else.

                    *

A distraction: nymphets on the incline

fleet-footed arms wide open

crossing flat space like so many lines of poetry

three

two                              

one     rouged by the stream imaginary

The faun is I—control

oh     head thrown back

the teeth bared     hideous

the ears pricked

your lost children, easily spooked by the eye in my forehead.

I know the true beast

Ah! Ah! is not horror but joy

They think I am funny

unhook my arm and run!     

The goat in me will eat the veil     lick it

push it to the mound     

grinding                           

Know this:

     my instrument     though roundly hissed

          will whistle life into the vase

       as an outpouring of encore flowers

II. Jeux

His cruel and barbarous choreography

trampled all over my poor rhythms

like so many weeds

– Claude Debussy

I have a secret to share with you:

a ball thrown astray

in the garden at dusk

is how people come together, even

if we cannot recall

          contact     fault     love

               sidelined for a flirt

            ~ twentieth-century triple kiss;

            ~ a Zepplin or an aeroplane disaster

            ~ the tango and the turkey trot

all my ideas, rejected.

I want pointes in the court—

back and forth, a three-way match,

weird trajectories!

Observe the working of my brain

as I butt you in the stomach     and then you, too!

It’s a two ball dance and the rhythm is fierce

enough to knock you up

stage     

               match, set, game:

The crowd turned wild.

Curtain call

                    Jerky handwriting means kindness of heart.

               He is a bad man.

My trunks are packed.

A cure for cancer and a new pen.

I do not reason in the theatre square.

I am a pupil of the round

          and round I go—the dance as life

               the life as fun and games     “mere delusions”

Oh     now the blood has rushed to my head and down I fall

easy prey for beasts               

in Zurich’s withered garden.

Well:     I will stalk your faux propriety—hoof

at your iron closets with my short tail wagging.

I am the faun, and Jeux is incomplete.

Elusive game!—

I know what earth is

even if the steps are gone.

One giant leap across that stream

could prove the skill in an idea—a dream

          of thrusting forward, somehow.

But          what kind of leap to court

                    with the wings, closing in?

(some thought)

                    silent, san rigueur:

                              return to the mound

                              remove the circlet

                              discard the veil

Ah.                                                  

Ah.                                   

          Wild joy is in the brown study

          where the faun will take his leave

          fold inwards

          and sleep, peacefully.

          Sleep, sleep peacefully.

Jessica L. Wilkinson