{"id":219,"date":"2011-05-19T10:19:16","date_gmt":"2011-05-19T10:19:16","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/mtls.ca\/issue9\/?page_id=219"},"modified":"2012-02-06T03:59:44","modified_gmt":"2012-02-06T03:59:44","slug":"salim-gold","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"https:\/\/mtls.ca\/issue9\/writings\/poetry\/salim-gold\/","title":{"rendered":"Salim Gold"},"content":{"rendered":"

\u00c0 Istanbul (IV)<\/strong><\/h1>\n

The muezzin, awake to God, awakes us,<\/p>\n

Crying; his words splinter inside our ears,<\/p>\n

While daylight sparks upon the splintered sea.<\/p>\n

Look!\u00a0 The Bosphorus shines like bone.\u00a0 Next, blue dusk<\/p>\n

Boils among black palms and gold minarets.<\/p>\n

Then, night\u2014fat with stars\u2014shelters an Eden<\/p>\n

Of exchange:\u00a0 Flood our mouths with wine and kisses;<\/p>\n

That welling fanaticism is Want<\/em>.<\/p>\n

Rococo, turquoise, baroque, is the sea.<\/p>\n

Surface gloss peals in scales of light, but you,<\/p>\n

Albino houri<\/em>, kindle flesh gold-black.<\/p>\n

If pious, fluorescent mosques lock us out.<\/p>\n

So be it:\u00a0 We kneel to a higher Love<\/em>.<\/p>\n

Yes, doff your watch:\u00a0 It\u2019s time to make Time<\/em> stop.<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n

Shivering<\/strong><\/h1>\n

With pen and ink, convulsive, I scratch out<\/p>\n

Maxims, picture darkness and light\u2014night\u2019s snow,<\/p>\n

While black cold drapes your tubercular city,<\/p>\n

That Beowulf<\/em> annex.\u00a0 I freeze sans toi<\/em>.<\/p>\n

Plato could not imagine our plateau,<\/p>\n

Where light staples copper to snow and we’re<\/p>\n

One\u2014a box-kite, rendering practical<\/p>\n

Ideals<\/em>:\u00a0 Philosophy<\/em> seems flesh a-wing.<\/p>\n

I love having you shivering and hot<\/p>\n

As if a volcano mid a glacier<\/p>\n

Or rainforest edging the Sahara.<\/p>\n

Our movement is travel; our fixity<\/p>\n

Is tremors, quakes, shudders, so colours mix,<\/p>\n

Flouting stasis\u2014like cries of crisscrossed winds.<\/p>\n



\n<\/strong><\/p>\n

Alchemy<\/strong><\/h1>\n

No epic\u2019s as outspoken as your kiss,<\/p>\n

That luxury of Love<\/em>, pitched to such fierce,<\/p>\n

Imperious Happiness<\/em>, that is ours:<\/p>\n

You are one part and I am the other.<\/p>\n

Wear 10% lingerie, but go nude,<\/p>\n

Bright as the sun (that confident diamond),<\/p>\n

Dear, dearie, dearest:\u00a0 I\u2019ll mine your shining,<\/p>\n

Tactile Excellence<\/em>, and shout, as we shine.<\/p>\n

Laughter piles up in heaps at your sweet lips,<\/p>\n

So mine must mine yours again and again,<\/p>\n

And when\u2014opium, sandalwood\u2014we fuse,<\/p>\n

Our stink and fragrance show Love<\/em>\u2019s true nature:<\/p>\n

Mutual unities of contradictions\u2014<\/p>\n

Taste of aphrodisiac frost and charcoal.<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n

5h, Venezia<\/strong><\/h1>\n

The black bird lilts a honey-syrup chirp<\/p>\n

Lifting over black waves.\u00a0 Gold light pulls near:<\/p>\n

The launch for the airport finds its mooring,<\/p>\n

While two bronze Moors hammer the hour\u2019s five chimes:<\/p>\n

Brass blues stammer San Marco.\u00a0 Now, seagulls<\/p>\n

Launch silver across the dark, half-moon dawn;<\/p>\n

Sheer mist and spectral gold hover over<\/p>\n

The black lagoon:\u00a0 An Istanbul instance.<\/p>\n

You leave Venice as you arrived, crossing\u2014<\/p>\n

Trim, slim\u2014the hours, the waves, bereft of one<\/p>\n

Who was waiting, who has waited, who waits,<\/p>\n

Always your arrival.\u00a0 How many ways<\/p>\n

Do we say, “Au revoir<\/em>“?\u00a0 How many times<\/p>\n

Do we say, “Te amo<\/em>“?\u00a0 Tides alone count.<\/p>\n



\n<\/strong><\/p>\n

After Opera<\/strong><\/h1>\n

pera is the speech of children, their screech<\/p>\n

Of spit-soaked truths:\u00a0 Hear Love<\/em> squeal, hear Hate <\/em>squawk,<\/p>\n

As babes dissertate and elders dissent\u2014<\/p>\n

Save those in tune with rain and leaves and their<\/p>\n

Own hearts and sweat and breath, let’s say, like us.<\/p>\n

Leaving Tosca<\/em>, we\u00a0face Venetian rain,<\/p>\n

A broth of disgust, but new leaves, blossoms,<\/p>\n

Perfume, helter skelter, the breeze, a vers<\/em><\/p>\n

Libre<\/em> draft.\u00a0 “Beauty and decay,” you say….<\/p>\n

The canals reek of dead fish and fresh cunt.<\/p>\n

But rain is how the sea summers in grass,<\/p>\n

And fish can taste as earthy as bread mold.<\/p>\n

Duet until chimes murmur their deathless<\/p>\n

Latin, chaque matin<\/em>, and leaves crisp and fall.<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

To a Venice Venus<\/strong><\/h1>\n

On Calle Specchieri<\/em>, this mirror<\/p>\n

Passage, two mart ‘smut’ in whispers, while trees<\/p>\n

Birth flowers that cleanse and perfume Venice.<\/p>\n

Dark-emerald jade charges the canals.<\/p>\n

We stroll among ominous, but sequin\u2019d,<\/p>\n

Orgy-goers\u2019 masks, to soon devour ros<\/em>\u00e9<\/em><\/p>\n

By the mile\u2014near San Marco, where bright jades<\/p>\n

Sparkle like jewels, to outshine shop windows.<\/p>\n

(Night beckons all crimes, all charities,<\/p>\n

Imagination<\/em> can distill and blend,<\/p>\n

So Vice<\/em> turns fragrant, savoury, like Faith<\/em>.)<\/p>\n

Easter\u2019s fiesta was Trieste.\u00a0 We took<\/p>\n

Limoncello<\/em> at Cimitero<\/em> (Pound\u2019s).<\/p>\n

Je suis veinard<\/em>:\u00a0 Your scent floods our bedroom.<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n

What Hath God Wrought?<\/strong><\/h1>\n

here is work, in each face, as muscles work,<\/p>\n

And our lungs complain luxuriantly,<\/p>\n

And we evolve a fused menagerie:<\/p>\n

Fish, at heart, but waving avian limbs.<\/p>\n

I show a horse\u2019s spirit, and roar\u2014roar<\/p>\n

Until I\u2019m hoarse, rearing, my nerves, limbs,<\/p>\n

Fidgeting, rearing, unto our Comfort<\/em>.<\/p>\n

But, frank rutting done, I snort like a bull.<\/p>\n

Next, disbanded, again solitary<\/p>\n

Creatures, breathing in separate nests\u2014aeries\u2014<\/p>\n

Our vocabulary, once grunts and moans,<\/p>\n

Is recast as feathery words, quill words.<\/p>\n

Yet, my cool quail in our hot den, cocksure<\/p>\n

Venus, every Helen rears a stallion\u2026.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

\u00c0 Istanbul (IV) The muezzin, awake to God, awakes us, Crying; his words splinter inside our ears, While daylight sparks upon the splintered sea. Look!\u00a0 The Bosphorus shines like bone.\u00a0 Next, blue dusk Boils among black palms and gold minarets. Then, night\u2014fat with stars\u2014shelters an Eden Of exchange:\u00a0 Flood our mouths with wine and kisses; […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":4,"featured_media":0,"parent":203,"menu_order":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","template":"authorpoetry.php","meta":{"ngg_post_thumbnail":0,"footnotes":""},"class_list":["post-219","page","type-page","status-publish","hentry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/mtls.ca\/issue9\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/219","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/mtls.ca\/issue9\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/mtls.ca\/issue9\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/page"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mtls.ca\/issue9\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/4"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mtls.ca\/issue9\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=219"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/mtls.ca\/issue9\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/219\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":944,"href":"https:\/\/mtls.ca\/issue9\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/219\/revisions\/944"}],"up":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mtls.ca\/issue9\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/203"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/mtls.ca\/issue9\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=219"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}