Hello, Tayyaba, how wonderful you look today!

Just a three-line summary on the last page. In fifty years time, we will put a summary in English - so the poor sods can understand. We must be kind to them.

(3 August 1997)

Whore

Luigi said:

Do not try to save money: go
to an expert. Stay away
from the cowgirls. He who loves
his life shall lose it.*

Get yourself a good
accountant.

Do not accept favours. Pay
for everything. Favours are
the most expensive services.
Equo ne credite, Teucri*:
pregnant gift horses need gold
fillings and breed
murderous colts:
Quidquid id est, timeo feminas.

Pray to St Onan. Spill the beans.* Do it yourself.
Bugger the pope -
but take your precautions. Don't
thrust him an inch. That is the best form
of contraception. Don't look
to the virgin for aids. She does not
have it. Do not
touch her, for she has a blessing
in disguise.
She will conceive if a pigeon
only so much as looks at her. Do not let her
give the world yet
another saviour. One
is more than enough. You do
not want to pay. Avert
your gaze.

Veni, creator spiritus.*
Veni divine coitus.
Behold, I come quickly.*
O do not hurry, my love.
La jouissance, jeu quotidien
surréaliste.*

And when the union took place,
choirs of angels chanted Anglican
Psalms and at their sound,
Al-Raqim* stood up, wagged
his tail, laid back his head, and howled
his divine joy to heaven:
Wollust ward dem Hund gegeben,
und die Jungfrau schläft mit Gott.*
Ecce ancilla domini.*

Ibi sunt gaudia.
Tristis anima mea*.

Even God sometimes
needs relief for his overflowing
love. It is lonely
to be top dog in reverse. Where
is his Shakti*?

The most expensive
professional
is the best and the cheapest.
Contract a muta
marriage.

You are permitted, as the Book says, in addition
to seek out wives with your wealth
in modest conduct but not
in fornication; give them
their pay for the enjoyment
you have had of them for
a specified period as a duty. God wishes
to lighten your burden: for man was created
weak in flesh*. What God has
enjoined, let no khalifa*
abrogate.

If you stand, know where you stand.
Pay in advance.

Be respectable: go to an
honest whore. Every good family
has one in the basement.

Take one who is registered,
for VAT*, and who insists on
cash on the nail, not one who gives
credit and demands
interest. For God has permitted
trade and forbidden
usury*. Thus spake the Lord
to Moses: If you lend
money to any of my people, you will
not play the usurer with him*.

Surely there are signs in this for thinking men.

As the Book says.

Thus spake Luigi.

(4 July 1997)

Paradox

She, who was
compassionate and kind enough to pray
also for Hitler
(Peace be Upon Him, for
it is not the Holy Prophet but the greatest
sinners or criminals
who need our prayers most),
would therefore ever help and never hurt
a Jew.

Therefore let us now pray
for Sadam Hussein and Idi Amin,
for Salman Rushdie, but not for the Queen
well, rather not in this context,
we'll pray for her on Friday next

and for all tax collectors
past and present and absent.

Media

What do you do? I am a writer.
What are you writing? My will.

(22 Aug 2003)

media vita in morte sumus:
quem quaerimus adiutorem
nisi te, Domine,
qui pro peccatis nostris

iuste irasceris ?
sancte Deus, sancte fortis,
sancte et misericors Salvator,
amarae morti ne tradas nos!

(Notker Balbulus)

Quakers

Sometimes I think Quakers
would make
good poets
I love your
I love their gentle smile

They sit in silence

for a whole hour
Sometimes one of them gets
up and speaks one
or two sentences

No more

That is poetry

I think
He
is
AM

(11 June 1998)

Truth

klaus bung: truth truth

(17 June 1998)

The English Tone

For twenty minutes I had been pacing
up and down
and down the flagstones
beside a London church
protected by its iron fence
from traffic noise and from
pedestrians who were
hurrying past on the pavement,
and I was speaking
into my machine,
visible to everyone,
thoughts for a poem which
demanded birth
here
and
now.

I was in labour. Pange lingua*.

There he stood on the threshold of his church,
where is thy staff? where is thy flaming sword?*
visibly threatened by my mysterious presence,
more mysterious than that of his God,
the verger, with a bunch of keys dangling
from his belt.

St Peter only has
one, but it is strong and it suffices
to keep me out of heaven.

This verger angel
must have been watching me
for some time and been
perturbed by my persistent
peri and pathetic presence.

"Can I help you?", he asked,
which is lingua divina for
"Get out", "Fuck off".
But God or Englishman is not
so brutal. You must
understand what he really means. You need
a commentary.

I explained that I
needed no help, that I
like it here, that I
am simply walking up and down because
the place is quiet, that I
will enter and will pay a visit to
his church and to his God
later.

He suggested kindly that
I could go to the larger public garden
adjacent to the church. I would have
more space there, be more comfortable
and it seems, I thought, it is
intended by the church
for tourists,
and for people who sit down,
with rucksacks, or with prams
and fish and chips and babies
and a giro in their pocket, and for tramps
who will perambulate with prams,
and people who pace up and down,
like me,
it is intended.

And if I went there I would not wear down
the flagstones adjacent to his church.
This is intended.

This simple,
much more narrow,
stretch of paving adjacent to the church was not for pacing, it was for the two
cars which were parked there, for the vicar's car and perhaps the verger's.
It was intended.
But not for strange outlandish characters who pace,
no peace,
with dictaphone, and rucksack, and
a handbag - is he man or woman!
Ordnung muss sein*, even in the King's Own Country.
Even in England.
Specially in church, but even outside church,
and strangers threaten
to bring back tohu wa bohu*.
For in the beginning God created
order
and separated
earth from heaven, light from darkness,
sea from dry land, friend from foe,
one from zero, good from evil,
us from them.
We are his folk, he does us feed,
And for his sheep he doth us take.*

Of course, we will
always be polite. No-one can thus
accuse us,
ever,
of having been anything other
than generous and kind,
like Mrs Marples and John Betjeman, and the divine,
the English Rose -

whose name escapes me, but who does remind me
of that extinct Mauritian bird, with naked cheeks,
denuded by the practice of offering the other,
in mortal enmity with pigs*, -

and helpful and compassionate and Christian
not native, but European, civilised and English,

so academic Oxfordian Anglican
and so truly superior,
we wouldn't insist but we are
so speak the law,
the wrens and the ponce.*

Yes, in this country
mankind is kind. Why should
these people
come and disturb our calm.

I am not evicting
anybody. Only trying
to help.

And yet this fellow makes
me nervous,
incessantly walking up
and down, outside my church,
with his dictaphone.
What is he brooding, what is he saying, what is he planning, what is he scheming, what is he doing,
outside my church.

This is not done, and we can do without them.
Churches are not intended
for walking up and down outside them
and talking into dictaphones,
this will not do at all.

English people, civilised people, normal people, educated people,
do not behave like this.
They enter
quietly, sit down, say
their prayers, perhaps look at
the stained glass windows and
the monuments and artefacts,
say their prayer and leave.
They do not pace up
and down outside my church as if
haunted by the evil spirit,
may God protect us from
his machinations and from all his works. This is
my church. A quiet English church,
in noisy London. We can do without
these foreigners, thank you very much.
I have watched him,
tolerantly, for twenty minutes.
I have said nothing. Nothing. Now I can
bear it no longer.
I must ask him what he is
doing there. Of course,
I could not bear to tell him to get out.
I would not dare,
I could not bear,
that would not do at all, oh dear
no.
Oh, I will wait here on my
threshold until he reaches it
for the old one hundredth time.

I will ask:
"Can I help you?". The stranger thought:
"God help you!"

(177 lines)

When Yasin Scorned
Naresh Asked Silly Questions

Idolater, you pray to lifeless
statues, to elephants and monkeys, have you
no better sense? Why do you
follow this primitive religion?
Is not God greater
than your animals and artefacts,
is not God greater
than all human beings,
is He not spirit
as our Holy Scripture says,
and that of Jesus and of Abraham?

Forgive
my simple-minded loving ignorance,
which I have inherited from
my mother. I've always felt very close
to God. I like
to see her, touch him, pamper him
and love her that way.
But you say,
all this is sinful aberration and idolatry,
and I'll be punished
on the day of doom? You make me
much afraid.

Now you tell me, I should
no longer worship
Ganésh and Hánuman, beloved friends,
no longer keep close company
of Ráma and of Krishna,
of Shíva and of Dévi, our mother,
of Ámba Máta, of Síta and of Sáti,
of Úma, Lákshmi and Saráswati,
who accompany me everywhere,
in spirit,
and give me strength
in all my enterprises.
I should forsake them all?
You tell me, righteousness requires
that I miss all these comforts?

Will I not be lonely if
I must pray only to Allah,
who is spirit, who is infinitely great and who is
so far away.
I'll find it hard to bear.

I find it hard to give up MY god
if you do not help me
to find YOURS.
Therefore, Friend, tell me
where is Allah?
Is he above me
in the sky, below me
in the earth, does he stand
on my right hand?
Or on my left hand (which God forbid)?
Does he float behind me (which God forbid),
or do I search for Him in front of me?

Allah is everywhere, my Friend.

But where is Allah, outside me or inside me?

Allah is everywhere, my Friend.

Look at the dustbin there across the road.
I know now Allah is outside it.
Surely he is not inside
that thing, that vessel
of wrath and filth.

Oh no, my Friend, Allah is everywhere,
even in
that filthy bin,
and He will sanctify it, as He sanctifies
all things.

Friend, now you perplex me. Your omnipresent
Allah causes me unease. I have another
question. Forgive me if it seems
offensive. But I have
to ask it, to be sure
and really get your meaning.
The matter is important.
As you say
eternal bliss
or infinite damnation
of my soul depends on it. I must
get it right. So please forgive
and answer.
Surely there are three places
where Allah is not found,
firstly not in this bowl of excrement and second not
in all that is contained
within the covers of
The Satanic Verses
and thirdly not in Salman Rushdie's heart.
Admit that Allah is not there.

You press me hard, my Friend.
We do not really like to think and talk about
extreme examples, constructed
and displeasing as they are. But
since you press me thus,
I must admit, Allah is everywhere, even
in all those places, which you named.
They are
disgusting only for our simple
human minds, but Allah far
transcends such petty feelings
of disgust and does not truly
like a petty tyrant care
if his subjects indulge in pretty
poetic mockery, provided they
mock well and with esprit.
He likes a good laugh, and he
more than we
is capable of laughing at himself.
If He is angry, He's not really angry, He
only pretends to be
and plays with us.

Thank you, my Friend, for being honest.
I think you are close to converting me.
I like this Illat or Allah of yours.
Take off your shoes,
Allah is in the room
we are about to enter,
and in the carpet we will step upon.
Here is my Ganesh,
my dearest loving friend.
We are agreed, Allah is in this room.
But surely He is not
within this statue, to which
I pray and which
I worship and which
you have so often
mocked.

Surely not.

You're a tease, my Friend, but I'm at ease
with you - and Allah
is everywhere.

I rest my case.
Let's go and worship Him together.

(18 July 1998)

In principio

In the beginning was the curse,
and the curse was with God,
and blasphemy was God.
In blasphemy was life;
and blasphemy was the light of men.
And blasphemy shineth in the darkness;
and the priest comprehended it not.
That was the true Light,
which lighteth every man
that cometh into the world.
Blasphemy was in the world,
and the world was made by her,
and the world knew her not.
She came unto her own,
and her own received her not.
But as many as received blasphemy,
to them gave she power
to become the daughters of God,
even to them that believe on her name
and on its truth.
She was The Mother.
And her name was Illat
and her name was al'Uzza
and Manat, the third, the other.
Mother, Daughter, and Holy Ghost:
these are the swans exalted
whose blessing is to be hoped for.
And the earth did not split asunder,
the clouds did not break,
and the mountains not shake.
The verse was divine,
and she was divine.
And we loved Lilith.
And blasphemy was made flesh,
and she dwelt among us,
and we beheld her glory,
graciosa,
full of grace and truth.

(1997)

Three Bumblebee poems

Abstract 576

blue geranium
bumble bee dead on flagstone
so do I want to die

Fear no more

On the garden path below
a cluster of deep blue
Meadow Cranebills
lies a dead bumble bee.

In the midst of life
we are in death.

You died in active service,
now do inactive service.
May you rest in peace.
May my death be like yours.

Bumbled Funeral Service

No longer lords it over the flies,*
no longer beels the bubbs,*
no longer scares the fuzz away
no longer calls the buzz,
a bumble humble bee,
lies
plumb
dead
lead*
on the garden path below
a cluster of deep blue
Meadow Cranebills.

Carved in flagstone:
Media in wia* in mumorte sumus
Here bumbled Bumble Bee
Here rambled Bamble Bee
Here sttammered Balbuli*,
Here stumbled Bumble Bee
Hic iacet* Humble Bee.

Aman* is mortal, Amen
are mortal,
Ah, we are mortal,
motorways are mortal
ways. Mortal ways are
mortar ways.
Loving ways are pestle ways?
O bumble, -
bee, -
be humble.
No, no, assert thyself,
O, humble B, -
be C!

She died in active service,
now does inactive service.

May she rest in peace.
Wear the beestars*, suck the I!
May my death be like yours.

Notes (partly for publication)

1 over the flies: For entomological details, see William Golding: "Lord of the Flies. A study of the role of the bumblebee in the ecosystem." Penguin Books, Harmondsworth

2 beels the bubbs: 2 Kings 1:2. Matth. 12:24 about the virtues of natural pest control (Jesus used bumble bees [in active service] to drive away the bluebottles, a method since taken up by anarchists all over the world.) His magic words were: "Shoe fly, shoe fly, don't bother me / you and me no company."

3 dead lead: Pronounce "lead" to rhyme with "dead".

4 Media in vita in morte sumus (Notker Balbulus; St Gallen, died 912 A.D.) = In the midst of life we are in death. Media in via = In the middle of the road. To be sung. A double-u is a stammered u.

5 Latin: Balbuli = The little stammerers. Notker Balbulus = Notker, the Little Stammerer

6 Hic iacet: Here rests

7 Aman: Hindu girls' name

8 Wear the beestars: Shakespeare, Tempest, 5.1: Sing to Arne's tune. Suck the eye! = German: Sauge das Auge!

Bridge

it is the I which holds
the thing together

erect an I
contract an i -
the other pillar jitters

an I for an I
a U for a U
introinvert it
bridge the gap between my friends
an IOU extracts your tooth
even from the bloody alphabet
and no anaesthetic forsooth

fail to dot
the i and you
can no longer cross
Tee, Tay and Tiber [1]
the pontifice [2]
begins to crumble
Pontifex Maxime shrieks
into a would-be
Gregorian miniom [3]
soon you will have pillars
catering for nothing

Hei, das gibt einen Ringelreihn,
und die Brücke muß in den Grund hinein.
Und der Zug, der in die Brücke tritt
um die siebente Stund? Ei, der muß mit.
Muß mit.
Tand, Tand
ist das Gebilde von Menschenhand. [4]

break pride brake speed you fall the abyss
of I

heavenly bride
pull down his breaches
búild the brídge between bríde and gróom
stríp out the g gíve us the áir [5] on the stríng
o wholly holy danse macabre [6]

gíve more róom
tó the gróom
pestle mostar
to its doom
let the bride
ride the bridge
use the bloody
bridebroom's switch
sweep the Pont
Mirabeau [7]
throw the muck
into the flow
of the heartless happy Seine
until it becomes humane

make the bridge sigh [8]
make Nepomuck jump [9]
let Ganga flee from the water
térror, in cúrse, there ésrever rívers the téll
             dans le cont d'Avignon [10]
             l'on y passe l'on y danse
             sous le pont d'Avignon le
             diable baise tous en rond [11]
thús drúmmed the dévil hér diabólical dánce
and there he pounded his pitiless piston of pain

foebridge joining enarmy to foe
Buda, do not be a pest
Mostar [12]
blow up the old bridge
stop contact
stop conflict
give distact
and disflict
break
down
the
rich

let peace break out
péace cannot cóme
únless in píecis the brídge

                                  peace now
this bridge leads to the other
shore the bank of truth
strip out the I leave us the e
               i.e.
               EST
               st
               SAT [13]
when you
have reached it
you can drop
the i
and e
will no longer
be needed [14]

(3 July 1998)

Notes (not all for publication)

1 Tiber: Pontifex Maximus (Chief Bridge Builder) in Rome originally in charge of maintaining the bridges across the river Tiber; later in charge of interpreting the divince laws. Term even later applied to the popes.

2 pontifice: Latin: pontem = bridge

3 Gregorian miniom: Minim: a musical note value, which does not occur in Gregorian chant.

4 Menschenhand: Theodor Fontane (1819-1898): "Die Brücke am Tay". On 28 December 1879, the bridge over the River Tay, just completed, the longest of its time and considered a miracle of engineering, collapsed in a storm as the train from Edinburgh crossed it. The three weather witches in Fontane's text say: "Ah, we will lead a cheerful dance, and the bridge must fall into the gorge. And the train which will enter the bridge at seven, pwa, that must go too. Toys, toys are all things created by human hand."

5 gíve us the áir: Take off the g-string, play Bach's so-called "Air on a g-string".

6 danse macabre: Piece by Saint-Saens (1835-1921)

7 Pont Mirabeau: Apollinaire: "Le Pont Mirabeau" (in: Alcools). "Sous le pont Mirabeau coule la Seine"

8 bridge sigh: Venice

9 Nepomuck: Prague

10 dans le cont d'Avignon: To be chanted to the well-known tune.

11 diable baise tous en rond: To be chanted to the well-known tune of the popular French nursery rhyme showing that every womb has a silver lining (except that of the Virgin Mary, which was gold) and every bridge an underbelly. Translation: In the cunt of Avignon, everyone strolls, everone dances; under the bridge of Avignon, the devil fucks all around.

12 Mostar (Old Bridge): Embattled town (1997-1998)in former Yugoslavia. most = bridge; stary = old

13 Latin: est = is. Sanskrit: sat = existence

14 will no longer be needed: The letters i and e in "i.e." (id est) are the only vowels in the word "bridge". If they are removed only two pillars remain. But these letters have their own deeper significance in a state in which a bridge is no longer needed because only SAT remains and there is nobody else to contemplate "id".

Pentheum and Nixon, drunk, react to Bacchus' abuse Two versions of this poem, with two different titles

Background: Euripides' bacchae copulated with Bill Gates in 1997 to produce a homunculus called Pentheum who in turn was raped by Nixon. The fruit of this unholy alliance was Pentax. Pentheus had a brush with Bacchus...

This poem is to be recited with strong emphasis on the underlined bold syllables, with the ferocious sledge-hammer blows of so-called dance music.

Pentheum and Nixon, drunk, react to Bacchus' abuse

Method:
Though this be motto,
yet there is madness in't.
(Hamlet, 2.2:204)

Warning: This poem contains
computer language
that some listeners may find
obfuscating.

In this healthier this / are Teresa's Dave and Amanda

and beta edge talking through / this bloody machine of course.

It gives every fucking finger / long and it is our real

laughable of the sort / of a stupid natural nonsense

that this fucking programme / produces. One new only word

that it gets right consistently / Jewish pork that is "fucking".

And is a sister fucking / programme effect is a master.

Mother fucking is more / difficult. Is on more

complex adrift and had Oedi/puss in order to learn

how it is done is it is / pretty and bad nor expectant.

The issue consider the number / flew corrections to make you

them as afternoon / awful if I in full thought.

For the major a current / Ides of Mars and of course

he providing each line / never about it corrections

and is no since kind sense / won't recognisable there.

Pure semiotics and more / deeper bereft mere after

notice it is a correct / immediately in as a rebel.

Forger gets less than for some / stab in here they are pure.

Summit the more to the beverages / afterwards no feel a fall

its immediately wooded / dodo then die as a rebel.

For it gets less than in I / am now making lists of put forward

brutify substitution, / Kadmos his pimp screw the inmates

coming making you once / whenever he was against them

at coming making you once / when it's toyboy making renew once

you once new once you once / so traffic tests vicious that fucking

stupid programme the only / way to be handed of course are

no mere dictators bigger / than speaking creeking and now in

did not bring bigger beating / now but I am black hygiene

bigger dictate dictators / for bigger wants fans and much decent

must conceivably or / detected with published want lust.

It is investors 0603 among Brutus reeks pretty

stupid we fucking this fate / this bustle of a machine

history obvious terms / clarke with the microphone off now!

(20 July 1998)

Submarine-like the spirit of essential essence of sense
sometimes rises above the incessant noise of the waters

Another version of the same:

Submarine-like the spirit of essential essence of sense
sometimes rises above the incessant noise of the waters

Method:
Though this be motto,
yet there is madness in't.
(Hamlet, 2.2:204)

Warning: This poem contains
computer language
that some listeners may find
obfuscating.

In their healthier days / Teiresias, Dave and Amanda

beta grades talking through / this bloody machine of course.

It gives every fucking / finger long and it is

our own real laughable / stupid natural nonsense

that this fucking programme / produces and there's only one word

that it gets right consistently / British Beef that is "fucking".

And is a sister fucking / programme effect is a master.

Mother fucking is more / difficult. Is on more

complex adrift and had Oedi/puss in order to learn

how it is done. But she is / pretty and bad nor expectant.

Now consider the issue / consider the number corrected

do it each afternoon / awful is merciful better.

We men are women for current / Idaho Mars and of course

must provide each line / never about it corrections

and is no since nor sense / won't recognisable there.

Pure semiotics and more / deeper bereft mere after

notice it is a correct / immediately in as a rebel.

Forger gets less than for some. / Stab in here: they are pure.

Summit the more to the beverages / afterwards Nuffield a fall

its immediately wooded / dodo then die as a rebel.

For it gets less than in I / now making lists of hoot forward

brutify substitution, / Kadmos his pimp screw the inmates

coming making you once / whenever he was against them.

Sneck up! When coming at once / when my toyboy sends the renewal

notice, you once new at once / so traffic vice blessed that fucking

stupid programme. The only / way to be handled of course are

no mere dictators at large / than speaking creeking, and now

roasting like succulent pigs / in a hell that is full of hyenas.

Faster dictates my dictator / for louder he cheers his fans,

must conceive me tomorrow / detected with unpublished lust.

It is investors 0603 we know Brutus reeks pretty

stupid, befucking his fate, / this bustle of a machine.

His story sacks his terms. / Bark with the microphone off now!

Notes on "The Sense of Non-Sense Poetry"

1. As in all difficult poems, it is the task of the reader to discover the sense largely covered by white noise. The poet is not obliged to provide explanatory footnotes or essays. In this respect the reader is put into the same position as the poet if the latter starts working from randomly created words in order to stimulate his creativity (de-familiarisation) and wean himself away from prejudice and habit.
2. Poems provide structures (patterns) of sound and text: a paraphraseable message is secondary or unnecessary (Analogies in other art forms: Abstract painting)
3. Poetic exploration of parahuman random generators and their effects (I.T. devices etc) (Analogies in other art forms: modern music (aleatory music), e.g. Pierre Boulez, Henri Pousseur, John Cage, Luciano Berio; indeterminism in music). Poetic confrontation with the modern technological world.
4. Sense on a senseless world (or poem) to be imposed or developed by the reader, rather than a given sense being forced upon the reader by the poet.
5. As in much modern music (cf Alban Berg), the emerging of obvious sense from surrounding non-sense has a particularly poignant effect, like the emergence of conventional harmonies in the midst of a sea of dissonance.
6. The poet must challenge again and again traditional cosy conventions and expectations (cf Dadaists and Surrealists), e.g. that of the existence a message with which he can readily agree.

The Point

Sometimes looking at a poem
of mine
after six months or a year,
even I no longer know
of some words
or lines
why I put them in.
Does that make sense?
Is the text still valid?

If I can no longer understand it,
how can anybody else?
What is the point
of the exercise?

Is it that I make myself
understood?

Or is it that I give
words to the reader
which are sufficiently
attractive or intriguing
to make him want
to read, and ponder
over, them,
but with which he can and
should
do absolutely
anything he likes?
Or is it, is it, is it, is it

(28 June 1998)

Note

Klaus Bung seems to have found himself in the company of Robert Browning who, when asked to explain the meaning of his poem "Sordello", replied (allegedly): "When it was written, God and Robert Browning knew what it meant; now only God knows." (Oxford Book of Literary Quotations)

Salman

Don't rush to die, don't rush to kill,
peaceful and wise like your name be your life.

(1998?)

La jouissance
Jeu quotidien surréaliste

Ingrédients: 1 banane, 2 oeufs, 1 Petite Madeleine Procédure: Quolibet

(20 March 1995)

dummy table