Nichol - Martyrology Books 1 & 2

Let me recite what history teaches. History teaches. Gertrude Stein of those saints we know the listing follows saint orm married saint rain gave birth to saint iff and saint ave this is the oldest family saint iff married saint rive gave birth to saint reat who married saint agnes gave birth to saint rand saint ave married saint raits gave birth to saint ranglehold who did not marry of the other families these we mention saint ill married saint ove gave birth to saint and & saint rike saint and did not marry saint rike married saint ain gave birth to their son the nameless one saint aggers wife is now forgotten gave birth to saint ump & saint rap gave birth to noone dying in the fire reat had set is nothing but a history brief at best an end of one thing beginning of another premonition of a future time or line we will be writing one thing makes sense one thing only to live with people day by day that struggle to carry you forward it is the only way a future music moves now to be written w g r & t its form is not apparent it will be seen k l m n b r v a hymn for saint iff a song for his only son the lonely one who died less lonely & for his son who never knew him a song to carry him thru to the end the martyrology from The Chronicle of Knarn ive looked across the stars to find your eyes they arent there where do you hide when the sun goes nova? i think its over somewhere a poem dies inside i hide my fears like bits of broken china mother brought from earth milleniums ago i dont know where the rim ends to look over into the great rift i only know i drift without you into a blue that is not there tangled in the memory of your hair the city gleams in afternoon suns. the aluminum walls of the stellar bank catch the strange distorted faces of the inter-galactic crowds. im holding my hat in my hand standing awkwardly at the entrance to their shrine wishing i were near you. were they like us? i dont know. the sun is dying, ive heard them say it will go nova before the years end. i wanted to send you this letter (this poem) but now its too late to say anything, too early to have anything to send.) i wish i could scream your name & you could hear me out there somewhere where our lives are we have moved beyond belief into a moon that is no longer there i used to love you (i think) used to believe in the things i do now all is useless repetition my arms ache from not holding you the winds blow unfeelingly across your face & the space between us is as long as my arm is not the language i write is no longer spoken my hands turn the words clumsily

Bp nicholTo the man who lives without saints all
this must appear like flies on the surface
of reality. i wanted to send you this letter (this poem) but now its too late to say anything, too early to have anything to send.) i wish i could scream your name & you could hear me out there somewhere where our lives are we have moved beyond belief into a moon that is no longer there i used to love you (i think) used to believe in the things i do now all is useless repetition my arms ache from not holding you the winds blow unfeelingly across your face & the space between us is as long as my arm is not the language i write is no longer spoken my hands turn the words clumsily Bp nicholTo the man who lives without saints all
this must appear like flies on the surface
of reality.

And are we necessary? we who
have achieved immortality in name only? from THE WRITINGS OF SAINT AND for lea without whose act of friendship quite literally none of this would have been written & for palongawhoya he made the whole world an instrument of sound

the breath lies on mornings like this you gotta be careful which way you piss As to what auguries attended his birthnothing is said. Perhaps it was simplythat nothing of importance happened. so many bad beginnings
you promise yourself you wont start there again december 67 the undated poem is found and forgotten passes like gas & hills bank of clouds no returns goodbye to this world gold frame the windows ive looked out your eyes years now saint and how i tell you no things cannot measure thee motion oceansas ina western mode of thotenshrine the deeper bluesmoving intothe edge ofblacknessthe minds passage thrua weight offeeling is eternal your eyes? so many times now occurs a charm fingering the present real the feel of colour in the fingers tips your hands questions words cannot understand joy casts a tent in your midst hucksters strip your trees & leave centre poles fall in the ring saint and trips in a circle on his head face red eyes blue elephants drag your words over impossible hills into the valleys beyond the mouth takes up the feeling & confuses the fused words move out where the ears were a numbness grows flowers sweet smells dumb the lips saint and enshrined in organdy flows out the chimney no smoke blows it is a landscape without hearing a sea of cries the lies are simply the listening without replies the carnival ride a tree with false branches lady lady have you met saint and? he knew death when death was just a man now one half crawls with maggots the other wears a grin slim lady lady of light lady who is not ive lost my head (better off dead) rides are still two for a quarter make the setting here an ocean moved in becomes a lake mountains flatten & the hills contract one gazes out the panes are not the same the black letters dispatched over a field of white saint and does not amaze but is a statue a corner lost the fading light conceals his hands they are as still as hills if hills are still this far inland tents cast on the sand children run toward the sea clutching their nickels & dimes it is a freak show of improbable changes the bearded ladies & men parade themselves in purple bathingsuits offering smiles to the crowds below in the back room the midget deals another hand cursing the upcoming spectacle saint and moves innocuously thru the scene nodding his head at the awestruck faces it is not an easy thing to do the terror in his heart cant be shown only his blue eyes let it thru in the dressingroom he removes his make-up the huge smile & blue hair evaporate the red paint on his face is streaked & bare he rests his head in his hands & doesnt care the sea moves in upon the tents then stops despair is not an ocean it is a sea you walk upon till your feet are sore saint and has lost all hope & cannot walk or swim there anymore Next page