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Sunday 22 January 2012

Dom Gabrielli-

 The Body Without Organs-

 he said legs crossed/listening to eight cellos sing/eyes closed to better see/the notes paint the sounds/softly relinquishing/any will to rise/this notebook his blank lung/he was floating /he was India in monsoon/heaven a concept/he had played as a young man/he had dabbled in paints/and women and sex/he had learnt how to live outside/beyond the tracks/without losing this libertine core/later they came for revenge

/women and dialects with rage/in their bloody bosoms/asking for money for stints/they had done inside/as jailers of the writer's words/about then he turned to time/playing symphonies/with kisses out at sea

/pianos and cosmic-coloured fish/he had been convinced/there was an exit/for something in him and the pen/from this prison for coded riders

/but now all that mattered little/because blood/was controlled directly by the pen/he hadn't a brain to think/nor thoughts to speak/because the notepad was outside/and he imagined his hand alone/without a body

/scrawling black words/on infinite papers/they said this is very eastern/all this nothing and unwilling/this breathing/he retorted it is very western/Artaud had gone west not east/and the rite of the black sun

/had finally got the better /of both the poet and the sorcerer/because there is a moment when wills/are better not being wills/but lungs and hands and blood/moving in waves against the jugular/Artaud's merit beyond all other poets/was to state clearly that man not society

needed to be transformed/his attack on sexuality on organs and god

was a radical manoeuvre/to regain a non-human will beyond the man form/from beyond the grinning man-mass/with eyes of soul theft/he foresaw in his marvellous madness/the panopticon and its necessary implosion/our loss our welcome apocalypse in the bone/and van Gogh was suicided  /because society couldn't tolerate/his new found freedom

/because they don't allow you anything for nothing/you have to pay and they know how/instinctively like sucking/they learn it young/as they run/and push your hard-earned beauty/back down your lung/because an ear wasn't enough/they needed more of him/a corpse to stampede

and erect as a shrine to the dollar/and the nuclear bomb/a dead artist to worship after murder/no cross that's the modern jump/make them/do it to themselves/innocence and joy/the last pure emotions to die

as the mob sings murder dressed as suicide/to kill the artist/and what is intolerable/is that precisely what he had learnt/how to rid oneself of the will to kill/how to die/to collapse and rebuild the body as it were

with breathing and reciting poems form the journey/with a notepad to fill /with his discoveries/so the man is just an accessory /and this is how we see him now/sitting in the park/barely noticeable barely breathing/with a wry smile on his face/of perfect imitation/as words poured from his pen/he calculated about five or six pieces/every sitting/there is no measure of time for that/it's the pulse from another sphere beating/with poems for units/he likened them to winds or waves/or reptiles in the sun scampering and slithering/there was no need for revenge anymore

it was the ultimate anti-fascist act/it couldn't even frighten the masses with a stick/because he was dead to them dead to the world/he posed no threat to the mind of the law/because they were incapable of reading/and history had gone blind/and was cumbersome with its murders/so the man just sits/outside in the park with his stubble and his nobody mind/breathing in poems/proper name on a book with a mast and a sea/his signature two snakes dancing and black/mating in every twist and turn/of frenzied words caught open in a shriek
gone away with every line/with every word 

Dom Gabrielli studied literature at Edinburgh and New York Universities and prepared for his doctorate in Paris and New York. Gabrielli’s passion for French literature and thought led him to begin writing, translating, and teaching. He translated widely including published works by Bataille,  Leiris and Jabes. In the early 1990’s, he left the academic world to travel and devote himself to writing. He has published two books to date. The Eyes of a Man (2009), his first book of poetry, and The Parallel Body (2010), which earned considerable praise. Several new books are on their way. Gabrielli has also published several individual poems and interviews, notably at Leaf Garden Press, The Poetry Bay, Vox Poetica and Real Stories Gallery. Gabrielli's books are here: His own whereabouts on an axis between language and nowhere.

1 comment:

  1. Far above the aesthetics of the modest refinement of contemporary literature. I've re read with immense admiration this battle of the one with the multitude of the bourgeois world. This unique piece is so universal that seems like the language of the future, exquisite multidisciplinary art. It's very rare, but this proves possible, that words can paint, and photograph and film with more genuine and incisive tools the wide spectrum of such individual cosmopolitan existence as this poetic voice represents.