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View Full Version : A Flypast, In The Sky, On The Rope Bight, Santo Domingo



Stanislaw
19th March 2011, 08:24 PM
A FLYPAST Atlantic, July 1982

From Lagos to Dominican Republic-or in search of India.



A flypast means detachment from Earth.
A vessel like a tobacco rumb on a map,
stuck to Africa.
And where is Hispaniola? Bahamas? Caribbean Sea?
Hundreds of routes-
from Monrovi to Tobago, from Curacao to Conacry.
A multilane route from Cape of Good Hope to New York.
New Founland, Tierra del Fuego, Paramaribo, Buenos-
At the other side of the table.

A flypast is lifeless.
Vessel doesn’t move cross water.

It is the World,
which has become unleashed and is drifting
within a multileveled movement
of Earth’s tectonic plates
of the globe
currents, winds
and imagination.


There are no terrain signs.
Only a sunny, multi-storey range-
Ocean’s face
and North Atlantic Ridge,
mountain range in the abyss
which slopes are covered with waving anemones,
chimeras, colorful polyps,
and brittle stars.

Under the surface - shadow of shark or killer whale,
stinging jellyfish, specimens of ocean sunfish,
octopus, squid or voracious coelacanth.

It can be heard,
when the ocean pants,
puffs up the jelly back of water bellows,
as if it were a dinosaur itself,
covered with calloused plates.

A flypast is an illusion,
hallucination,
wandering in the salty light,
and creamy air.

Everywhere whiteness, oxygen masks
and hallucinations after anesthesia.



IN THE SKY Atlantic, July 1982


The sky covered with a soundproof drapery
from Pullman first class cars-
with soft, red plush,
quieting all sounds.

Inside the interstellar space,
one travels only by Pullmans.


ON THE ROPE BIGHT Atlantic, July 1982




In a tulle haze,
under the stars moving with turtle speed,
within thrust of warm wind-
like in a tunnel drier.

Under the clouds removed from stove,
in a movement designed with Marathonian momentum,
up to ears in swoosh and monotony,
in aeronautical stagnation,
dragging sleepily behind.

In the marine array as in birds’ flight formation-
one needs to be gifted with astrotaxis,
to avoid losing spatial imagination




SANTO DOMINGO Dominican Republic, July 1982


chimerical hum
of Ozama’s green bank
smell of ambergris stuffed into a square
and a keyflower aroma
a terracotta mosaic of houses
and Baroque churches with figurines
of saints
solidified in ecstasy
united with hysterical
aphonia of the delta
a pompous resonance of the city
stentorian ring of bells
seducing sound of a harp
guitars and maracas.

in the center of zona colonial
city cracks its fingers
whispering with sound of coins and horns
Latin vibration
and stillness
a flirtatious scuffle
in an abrasive mix of smells
colors and sounds
Ornaments with motives of lotos and rosettes
a row of convex buffallo eyes
in the advert of airline company
a brass airplane over
a golden beach:
”Viaje a Florida –a precoius de auntentica ganga”
a colonial shop –tienda de ultra marinos
behind aluminum blinds - shrimps
hypnotical activity of shadow scrapes,
entangled clouds of dust
a smell of Ginger race
Colombian aniseed
and Kumquat fruits

In the suburbs
huts with tortillas
and barranguilla
pig tails, penises,
bundles of calibrated intestines,
blood, feathers, heads
and duck feet
with white tendons-
in a dim, yellow
light of burning candles
a grandwe naturale shop
with minerals and animals
figurines from obsidian and jadeite
feathers of rare birds
dried piranhas, tarantulas,
colorful butterflies in frames
and stuffed toucans with yellow beaks


marching on the street are
Mestizos and lighter castizo,
Mulattos, emigrant
descendants from metropolis
and acquiescent zambos-
half blood Negroes half Indians
swarthy strangers from Jamaica
and ubiquitous Hindu
experienced in trade
bars with chianti
beer, Martini
and pulque from Agava
waxy
fan-like palm tree leafs
copper skinned hostesses
in black bikini
and violet Cattleyas
slender sounds of a harp
and slender Agavas
deep within dead calles
single lights
shadows, screams?
wailing of a woman attacked in the dark?
or a resonance of a distant battle?
or maybe Bolivar’s soldiers’ battle shouts-
of strangers from Heavens-
called the name of Viracocha?
Or an Aztec God
Xiotola with a dog’s head
or a witch with Snake skirt
named Coatlicue
feeding upon human carcasses?

An Indian poem on a stone:

”We only chase dream fantasies.
Our hearts rise towards them faithfully.
Nobody ,nobody, nobody
Really lives on Earth

We have only come to sleep
We have only come to dream
Untrue, untrue
That we have come to live on Earth”

How to determine the sources of evening sounds
coming from Santo Domingo?

Where is the sunny wind heading to?



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