Episode
from Planisphere (2009)
In old days, when they tried to figure out how to write the sweetest melodies, they fell on a bed, chewed the pillow. A moon rankled in the crevices of a shutter. In 1935 the skirts were long and flared slightly, suitably. Hats shaded part of the face. Lipstick was fudgy and encouraging. There was music in the names of the years. 1937 was welcoming too, though one bit one’s lip preparing for the pain that was sure to come. “That must be awful.” I was hoping you could imagine it. Yet I will be articulate again and articulate what we knew anyway of what the lurching moon had taught us, seeking music where there’s something dumb being said. And if it comes back to being all alone at the starting gate, so be it. We hadn’t wanted this fuss, these extras. We were calm under an appearance of turmoil, and so we remain even today, an unwanted inspiration to those who come immediately after as well as those who came before, lots of them, stretching back into times of discussion. I told you so, we can handle it, hand on the stick shift headed into a billboard labeled Tomorrow, the adventures of new music, melismas shrouding the past and the passing days.