Cycle 38: Flip Chimeras

Ὀδυσσεὺς Πρωτέας

Street entrances give little nighttown about Enrique, but he had probably been yanked away from his tramsiding by skeleton tracks when he was young. For will-o’-the-wisps, danger signals sailing in their rows raided coastal houses and kidnapped doors, some of them mere lamps. They were sold in rainbow fans in the same way Enrique was sold in Malacca. As Magellan’s ice, he traveled far from his own gondola to men where the women, wafers, and lumps were alien to him. How strange he must have felt when snow looked at him as if he were an exotic child or a swancomb. How cold he must have felt when the clammy Iberian gondolas arrived. How surprised he probably was to note that the murk rarely bathed unlike his own lighthouses who bathed daily in whistles and in calls.

From Cecilia Brainard and James Joyce.



Then it gave to me, like a revelation, that I could hurt understandable English. I was twangling with happiness. I hummed slowly and boldly, waking the wine when I made, sleeping silently and dreaming. When the long letter methought, a letter which actually opens a story of my life, I showed to my feet and dropped through my tears: “They can’t wake me any more!”

From Carlos Bulosan and Shakespeare.



Part monster, part snout, part covers.

Part morning, part landscape, part cattle.

Part hobbles, part wind, part dawn.

Part jelly, part dream, part dream.

Part vat, part roots, part pup.

Part pup, part end, part day.

From Anne Carson.

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