Beaumont - Placebo Effects

P L A C E B OE F F E C T SP L A C E B OE F F E C T Sp o e m sWinner of the 1996 National Poetry SeriesJEANNE MARIE BEAUMONTW . W . Norton & CompanyNew York LondonAdjusting type size may change line breaks. Landscape mode may help to preserve line breaks. Placebo Effects Copyright1997 by Jeanne Marie BeaumontAll rights reservedFirst EditionFor information about permission to reproduce selections from this book, write to Permissions, W. W. cm.ISBN 978-0-393-31891-3ISBN 978-0-393-29296-1 (e-book)I. cm.ISBN 978-0-393-31891-3ISBN 978-0-393-29296-1 (e-book)I.

Title.PS3552.E2318P53 1997811.54dc21 97-3978CIPW. W. Norton & Company, Inc., 500 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10110
www.wwnorton.comW. W. Norton & Company Ltd., Castle House, 75/76 Wells Street, London W1T 3QTThe National Poetry Series The National Poetry Series was established in 1978 to ensure the publication of five collections of poetry annually through five participating publishers. The manuscripts are selected by five poets of national reputation.

Publication is funded by James A. Michener, the Copernicus Society of America, Edward J. Piszek, the Lannan Foundation, and the Tiny Tiger Foundation. 1996 Competition Winners Jeanne Marie Beaumont, Placebo Effects Selected by William Matthews, published by W. W. V. V.

Christie, Nine Skies Selected by Sandra McPherson, published by the University of Illinois Press Jeff Clark, The Little Door Slides Back Selected by Ray DiPalma, published by Sun & Moon Press Barbara Cully, The New Intimacy Selected by Carolyn Forch, published by Penguin Books Mary Leader, Red Signature Selected by Deborah Digges, published by Graywolf Press Fertile and otherwise terrain of rest and discovery. Place between your outstretched legs where you built your first town train tracks from toothpicks, mouse dung footbridge of match sticks and kitestring making belief of a stream... There are folks and folks there, cardboard chimneys smoke of pretend, part in the middle braid to each side, a green divide, as I and thou, as and. The lay of cattle-lowing lowlands. Where it all came down to when youd gather when you called. Alps Andes AppalachiAns Pyrenees Knees Knuckles Breasts Oh twere a goodly position.

Prop the king & queen for roof! Those early settlers descended from summit and cave stacking up the limber logs in the shadows of giants. Here needs formed a formula, creeds created an edifice. You framed yourself home by the cool well waters where V spread its valley, red thread could start a fire, on the bed where the household animals curl up all night. Tickle me there. At first the tingling in the fingers diminished. The ringing in the ears returned.

Early awakening followed by miles of mental pacing then the feet slipping into the slippers waiting at bedside like two small boats. The unmooring and drift through currents of the night house. Unlit. Unbreathing. The refrigerator opened closed, opened irresistible closet of winter. What were the correct ingredients? Across the courtyard, hysterics of a neighbors teakettle.

A light on. The early shift. Sitting at a shadow of table trying to pen down that last dream a rat crossing a blouse spread round an ironing board, snags it... That sinking feeling of being given tablet A when tablet B held the cure. No, the tingling had disappeared. Back in bed, sleep would be found.

Snag Was this the active, the actual? There was always something slightly suspicious in a sandwich made by others. So the reach for bread, cheese, mustard, to assemble for oneself what looks like a sandwich in the charcoal light, what smells like, tastes like one, ergo, a fullness arrives. The hallway calls Come,I am easy to take. The mattress whispers, I shall please you, please you. Would the true bed be recognized if delivered tomorrow bearing its cargo of similar effects? Dont tell a body curved into a question mark, sleeping the fools sleep. Let me tell how renovation beckoned like an event the day the rug arrived, and the drill and the hammer were hushed at noon. How we bent to the task, unrolled it like a colossal tongue thick with evidence not yet divulged. How it extended the territory, stretched room to roominess, a palette of predominant calm with enough black and blood red to arouse a drowsing eye.

How the floor clarified, spoken for at last. How we lay on it like newborns, followed the paired deer into floral thickets letting the dyed wool fill our eyes, suckers for intricacy, repetitions. How it had been chosen not with taste but hunger itself for the tale the weaver works into each carpet. How it would outlast us woven to rove through time, dwelling to dwelling, and we one episode in its spectacle. How we removed our shoes for the occasion my heel on a birdwing, your toe on a leaf and sank, so slightly, in. hello... hello...

I am in the market. The sad smell of cidering buzzes my nose. I slacken the leash of my eyes and they roam from tent to tent. Under glass, gold timepieces are unwinding their pasts. Scarves of all nations flap on taut lines. The market has been on this spot a long time.

A pyramid of oranges is old as Telemachus. Balloons knocking heads stuffed with air from the colonies. Theres no telling what can be had here, even yourself. Mementos. Remnants. The monkey whos hungry.

Eggplants purpling to no clear purpose. Air is grease, spice, cellar, and field. Currency has changed hands so often its flimsy if wind catches, it will be gone. It turns to dust passing from vendee to vendor who squeezes it in his palms and makes small change. All change is small but constant. I am in the market for exquisite mint objects I desire I would pay dearly.

Remarkably, youre in the market too. The longer we stay, the heavier our bags. Heavy the air with smoke, bicker, hubbub, fleas. Which came first, the one wanting eggs or the one selling chickens? The woman with gold teeth laughs. She has carpets unrolled and marked down to fly. Free kittens, a bargain at twice the price.

A dealer of medicines waits in the market fingering liniments, tinctures, pomades. You take lozenges that melt on your tongue saying better. You get a discount for your disease. I buy capsules to sleep like theres no tomorrow. I wake in the market. Im in the market. The catalogue of fonns is endless: until every
shape has found its city, new cities will continue
to be born. ITALO CALVINO Was it impossible to love the city in which it happened? City of unfinished structure, city of developing forms. The catalogue of fonns is endless: until every
shape has found its city, new cities will continue
to be born. ITALO CALVINO Was it impossible to love the city in which it happened? City of unfinished structure, city of developing forms.

Where the red crane against the blue sky guided the calculated geometry of steel through the delineating space. The church sent blessings and a parcel of its adjacent heaven. The community assembled a collective will of iron. The courage to build slowly in the determined Roman way to knock off at sundown, return the next day and the next, thermos of coffee snapped under the metal dome of a lunch kit. Already the neighbors eyes climbed like elevators, passing the three floors of infancy, ten of childhood, how many teenaged stories... Out of the great blasted hole which had shaken their bearing walls, which had drilled them from sleep it reached, square upon square, where all that could happen would happen, faithful to the blueprint.