A SONG
I wish you were here, dear,
I wish you were here.
I wish you sat on the sofa
and I sat near.
The handkerchief could be yours,
the tear could be mine, chin-bound.
Though it could be, of course,
the other way around.
I wish you were here, dear,
I wish you were here.
I wish we were in my car,
and you’d shift the gear.
We’d find ourselves elsewhere,
on an unknown shore.
Or else we’d repair
to where we’ve been before.
I wish you were here, dear,
I wish you were here.
I wish I knew no astronomy
when stars appear,
when the moon skims the water
that sighs and shifts in its slumber.
I wish it were still a quarter
to dial your number.
I wish you were here, dear,
in this hemisphere,
as I sit on the porch
sipping a beer.
It’s evening, the sun is setting;
boys shout and gulls are crying.
What’s the point of forgetting
if it’s followed by dying?
TRANSATLANTIC
The last twenty years were good for practically everybody
save the dead. But maybe for them as well.
Maybe the Almighty Himself has turned a bit bourgeois
and uses a credit card. For otherwise time’s passage
makes no sense. Hence memories, recollections,
values, deportment. One hopes one hasn’t
spent one’s mother or father or both, or a handful of friends entirely
as they cease to hound one’s dreams. One’s dreams,
unlike the city, become less populous
the older one gets. That’s why the eternal rest
cancels analysis. The last twenty years were good
for practically everybody and constituted
the afterlife for the dead. Its quality could be questioned
but not its duration. The dead, one assumes, would not
mind attaining a homeless status, and sleep in archways
or watch pregnant submarines returning
to their native pen after a worldwide journey
without destroying life on earth, without
even a proper flag to hoist.
ANTI-SHENANDOAH: TWO SKITS AND A CHORUS
I. Departure
«Why don’t we board a train and go off to Persia?
Persia doesn’t exist, obviously, but inertia
does. It’s a better vehicle than any old engine, Johnny,
and we may have a comfortable, an eventful journey».
«Why do you call me Johnny when you know I am Billy, Mary?
Perhaps because of inertia? It’s Johnny you want to marry,
not me. But he is not in Persia, he went off to Warsaw,
although after 1945 it’s a different city also».
«Of course, you are Billy, Billy; and I’m not Mary, either.
Actually, I am Suzy: you are welcome to check my Visa.
But let’s be Mary and Johnny, like in the Ark of Noah,
or nameless, the way we were when we were spermatozoa».
«Because there are but two sexes, there is a lot of nuance,
and history’s where our exes join kings and ruins.
When someone’s whereabouts become a mystery,
you should take the train of thought that goes to history».
«Ah, there is so much action! In history, willy-nilly,
Mary becomes just Suzy, and Johnny Billy,
B. C. becomes A. D., and Persia Warsaw.
For history breeds inertia, and vice versa».
«Ah, mixing inertia with history bespeaks individuality!
Mary, let’s take a chance, this father of causality:
let’s take the express to where folks live in utter penury
and where the reality quickly becomes a memory».
«Oh, he is my dear boy, my slowly peeled banana!»
«And she is my sweetheart filled with Tampax Americana!»
«The future arrives on time whistling Domine Gloria,
and we must take it eastward, where it’s always earlier».
II. Arrival
«What is this place? It looks kind of raw.
The trees stand as if they are about to draw,
their rustle is so menacing. They, no doubt,
have seen too many movies — but were they dubbed?»
«I don’t mind the place, but who are these guys?
Is this their true appearance, or disguise?
They all sell shoelaces but wear no shoes.
Can we explain to them that we are not Jews?»
«I never knew that history is so much
inhabited and curious, and prone to touch.
Oh, do they have a leader? A shah? A khan?
Frankly, I regret I don’t have my gun».
«But I’ve read many people can’t wish the same
wish. Unless, of course, they are insane.
I think we are quite safe; they don’t want to kill,
though frankly I regret I am off the pill».
«Ah, this is the past, and it’s rather vast,
and in the land of the cause its effects go bust
or else get outnumbered in more ways than one:
we’ve brought them all the future, and we are left with none».
«One shouldn’t speak for others when things get tight.
You might not have the future, but I just might.
The future is derivative; they may crack skulls,
but because they’ve been so primitive, we’ve had Pascals».
«So it’s goodbye, dear Mary. Hope all goes well.
We’ll meet not in the future but, say, in hell».
«Oh, that would be nice, dear Johnny, that would be great.
But the afterlife in history occurs quite late».
III. Chorus
Here they are, for all to see,
the fruits of complacency.
Beware of love, of A. D., B. C.,
and the travel agency.
A train may move fast, but time is slow.
History’s closer
to the Big Bang than to Roman law,
and you are the loser.
So, our advice to you is, Stay put
if you can help it.
Always be ready to say Kaput,
but wear a helmet.