Autumn Collage - Serge Gurkski (smallest ebook reader .txt) 📗

Autumn Collage


by Serge Gurkski

for Holly Rene Hunter because she saved my life


Take a deep breath and start reading


Dionysus


In the woods of the Parnassus

they slaughter a sheep

on hot coals:
Pythian odes
evaporate

kingsandqueensandsiegesandfalls,

heaviest air

implode in my praying warriors' brain.

Cutting down my
fears

she saves me


Out of the Parnassian woods
I exhale poisonous
dust
upon
another world lost.
My waters are stilled.


I

The devil in me

Don’t come closer
Because I promise danger if you do.
You ask me why I smile?
Because I knew you’d give a shit on my warning.
So sit down, sip wine and listen
And now know this:
I used to be a peaceful man
Before I came to this place
But what attracts you now so fatally
Is just a mask,
That the demon has put on my face.
That demon’s name ‘s Dionysus,
The king of elegance and terror,
And I am his sparkling bait.
Help yourself with wine, please,
And while you’re at it,
Why don’t you take a cigarette from me.

It will somewhat ease your pain
On our fun ride…

She asked for the bathroom,
And while she was wasting
The last free minutes of her life,
I stood up and walked over to
One of the wonderful windows
Made of Butzenglas ,
And watched the landscape
(Through a Bull’s eye pane that is,)
Beyond the castle freeze in agony.
And suddenly the floating in of memories:
Bohemian Krumlov on a cold February day
In 1608… Gore at the castle…

But she returned
And I smiled her into comfort
So that she might find
Delight in the stories
I was to trap her with
Which went like this one,
Which was the first:
“One day past or future – it matters hardly -when
Dionysus tightens his grip on me once more-
He leads me in paths so wrongfully dark
Off the Bourgeois track
And through the snowy sideways of
A pretty city close to the Alps.
For you are with me in that valley of death
And I surely will dwell…
In that house of booze.
Amidst those present
-Gamblers not boozers btw
Except this one
Grayed-in-the-wool guy
Who’d stomp his left hoof
With annoying loudness on the floor-
Stood ostentatiously
Our landlady ,our barkeeperette
Body yummy, nose crooked though
(Though this being no obstacle)
But a plenitude of blond hair
Enough –to cut it short – to distract me
from keeping strict attention to my glass.
She would not take a drink
But as I applied this technique:
Pretend to be fascinated by whatever
She seems to find worthwhile to share
And be assured: her sweet little
Subconsciousness will tenderly start to vibrate for you…
Alas, she kept me from drinking seriously,
Which alone would have saved me
From committing what
Evades me now.
Because the rest of the night
Faded into a blur –a mere smear of time-
Sentiment-free
At least
Retrospectively.
And while taking the cab
Next noon to the next exhibition
Of … grandeur
And equipped most orderly with
Emotional painkillers
I – with earned concern - could not help to notify
Numerous police cars heading at
A place I could only
Faintly remember.

II

We pass the gate …. our path emerges for a while (Ernest Dowson)

One summer night in 1989
You will find me spread out
All over the marble-floored,
Ample parlor of my parents’ house
Who are spending their holidays
On an arbitrary Mediterranean shore.
The moon is not yet out when
I take a step outside on the patio
Smoking my cheap strong tobacco
And not the heavy Cubans
Oh so presentably resting
In the teakwood humidor
But at least sipping (no: drinking)
An unbelievingly expensive red wine
With grimly anarchistic delight,
While I let a most majestic massacre
Of some Straussian waltzes
Namely: Ravel’s La Valse
Burst out into the extended neighborhood
And let it beat a couple of horny tomcats
Deep into the dark bushes
On the brink of les jardins de mes parents.
Nice people by the way
When off.
And finally when bored enough
Of the splendid view, evening breeze, smell of flowers
In short: the luxury
I take a cab downtown
To get dirty…

I only don’t spare you the smelly fact
That I molest the cab-driver by farting
So much that as soon as we hit the city limits
He stands on his brakes and tries to throw me out
And only decides otherwise
After I have stuffed a big note
Between his bad excuse for teeth
Because you, my sweet lady,
Might be inclined to think that I am
Bragging with my huge knowledge
Of cultural history when I blether
That when I hit the second or third bar
This night I happen to meet
An ugly Frenchman
And very relaxedly get into
Discussing the most important 400 years of French literature
Starting with Villon, ending with Rivarol,
And a short outlook, even
On the Renouveau Catholique
Which I will try to acquaint you with much later.
I end up here with confirming
To this funny frog in heavily broken Creole
That I don’t like Le Breton
But mean Le Pen, what an ugly mistake!
Anyway, I don’t find anything resembling a bathroom here.
So when I move myself further complete with full bladder
To the next nicely decorated filling station
I hint out to my new friend
Who just happened to squat along my path
Most innocently
The wonderful cream-colored old-timer
Waiting opposite an Irish bar
With – because it is summer-
Open windows.
I smell the fine leather while peeing on the seats
And I don’t become aware early enough
Of the owner both of bar and car
And it costs me a lot – including money –
To appease him.”

It is most appetizing to watch you chuckle over this,
My sweet guest,
Let me serve you another glass, bottle, gallon if you please, of
Шампанское (Crimean Champaign)
And take some oysters if it helps.
How soft your cheeks feel!
I’m not a vampire, you must know,
I prefer things to end
When they end.

And now and i know you won’t mind this
Let’s get into a slightly dreamier, bluer state of mind.
How lovely your head rests on the purple cushion
While your lips and tongue and lungs make love to the shisha!

“ Nowadays I prefer Miles Davis
But back then exploding in this discotheque
is Jeff Healey RIP
With “See the light”
The guy was blind
And quite the groover.
So I dance along and fall over
A stout G I’s feet.
This Joe or whatever is a bit aggressive tonight
Or maybe the rest of us is, hard to decide in hindsight.
And so we fight back to back
Not sure why but we win
And earn us a taxi back home.
And it feels good to ride home,
The 2 of us sweating musketeers
On the back seat of the cab.
I confess that we two don’t look too polished on this early pre-morn
And black eye staring into black eye
I all of a sudden have this absurd idea
To show him, show his ears , make him listen to
Ravel’s La Valse
And while I force the neighbors to listen again
I will admit to you
That he didn’t care,
Well, how depraved can you get in one single summer night!
I hand him I don’t remember what it was – some filled glass
And our Joe, he thinks he is at his shrink’s
And makes this confession:
“Buddy, didya know that Ah Am a murderer…”
Grins the bastard. “Of coazze not, but it’s true…
Ya know: I cut off someone’s head.”
I just nod and switch records,
Put some relaxing BB King on the stereo
And blow some reefer smoke into his, this
Dangerous bull’s, nostrils.
He takes it all in
I am so glad when Joe relaxes
Well, his time is up soon anyway
So I listen: She (he hands me a photo)
Was my girlfriend back then.
When I had just returned from the battlefield.
And that bitch, ya know had been cheatin on me all the time
While I was earning our living by risking my life any second out there..
And I come home and call her and around
The corner I see them
And my baby has his dick in her mouth
And I guess it was then that I kind of lost control
And drew out my machete and…”
But I will spare you the details of that somewhat
Some may say inappropriately gruesome slaughter
my new friend had committed
back then.
I cleverly refrain from inquiring of him,
My sweaty stony Jim,
We are bro’s in arms, mind you
What had happened to his girlfriend.
And it is not yet dawn
And I excuse myself for a pee
And when I return I am full to the brim
With holy anger some evil angel of the old bible must have blown into me
And do you see that knife, where did it come from?
And in the Lord’s own name
I slaughter the sinner
And cry over his bones
As any decent Christian would do.
But over a decade later
When I happen to stroll into
Strassburg’s murky Cathedral
Our Lord speaks to me thusly:
My son you err. It was Dionysus back then.
And I am so filled with joy
Because I had only been possessed
By that filthy, outlandish Thracian demon
When I did the abominable.”

I end there
And as I have foreseen
You have fallen into a warm somber slumber.

III

listen to it

Markéta Annapúrna

A pretty sentimental interlude

It is long past midnight,
It is that wee hour of 3 am and the fat blue moon
Is firmly nailed above the winter forest’s silhouette
I supply our lungs with some chilly December breeze
Then close the man-high windows and I cry.
You rest and sway
Within a satin dream.
I nervously