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Saturday 14 April 2012

Dom Gabrielli-

Pasolini Rex

there is no wine left
there are no laughs
as the storm descends
with cold under its torrential arm

there is no idiom left
to dispel this hell
there are no films to eject
the instant into rhetoric
there is no being no meaning
no oscillation of heart and pen

there is no desert
dead the sand
there is no sea
blank the tides
there are no hearts
blood clotted the image

the genocide porn of the mind
the mutilation of desire
youth abandoned to the bare bone
from the Roman hill where you were murdered
gathered one last time to the halt of living
to the knife edge
what cuts is no longer
the hesitant kiss
does not attract its believer
the incomplete poem
has lost its ink
it dries in a vain desert for recycled criminals
who laugh as they decapitate intellectuals
where the mafia do what they can to complete the opera
with all their complacent apologists
all their faussaire filmmakers
they found an empty road
they turned off the cameras
drove their money into elegant malls and banks
whoever they saw soon blind
listeners losing ears to fictional gunshot
drowned in millions of joyful pills

dawn has not
since you died
love has rarely
since your assassination
retreat again
into the simple hole of scream
i did not cry i could not
because your words were by my side
i put them into fists
i saw the menagerie they called politics
i wrote from nowhere
for no reason

i wrote a poem
into your poem

i wrote a poem to hear you
sing a poem
to my poem

poems once you sang
i never heard twice
but i should have
the desert had grown
the mafia slang creeping across ivy coloured borders
dialects many dying in the candlelight eve
no one to stoop down and write their resurrection

there will be no tomorrow
no more light
just the willing to raise a body
from a premature grave
to hold a penis as day becomes night
to write what is left of words
across a scroll of broken dreams

you can laugh at anything
you can destroy everything sacred
you can ignore every book written or sung
to the point of losing even the prick
of your heartbeat
down a stray strolling drunk alley
into a fight to the death
with black gloves and white teeth

which emissary likened you to a god
which million of drunken dollars killed a prophet

sing to me now
i have listened
longer than most
long enough
to play this dead Italian music

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. A black umbrella hard raining octaves of missa pro defunctis falling over the profound absence, leaving a hole in the reader