Song of the Andoumboulou: 142 Song of the Andoumboulou: 142
—moment’s omen— We were on a train somewhere on our way to Cal- ifornia. Florida, Panama and the Bahamas lay behind. Abandoned boys and girls again, the band of us. We threw our votes toward the polling place, too far away to reach… Southern arrest had set in. We set our sights west. Sunset’s chemical sky some new recognizance, balm the omen’s notice might be… Lone Coast obliquity said come hither… Steeped insolvency, bittersweet obliquity, bend. Fit were it the end of it but not, Lone Coast arri- vancy. Lone Coast obliquity’s behest… We had just gotten started, we were barely off. A dream of outmost arrival obliged us, the asymptotic hustle it was notwithstanding, a blessing we were bent on, boon beyond any, Lone Coast rapprochement… Either we stood in a line wrapped around the world or we sat on a train headed west, IDs in see- thru ink… Either way we circumambulated, un- sure which, the ballot box our Ka’ba stone, black rock, no way to look thru or look into it, no matter it lay broken or because it lay broken, come from no sky we knew… We were scared and afraid fear meant we knew something, scared being scared was know- ing’s omen, moment’s gnosis. The Alone lay waiting, the we we were afraid we’d be • I knew there was no we. I knew I knew we less than we’s rumor. I knew it was a feeling from before… I knew there was the hum it made at least. I snuck a peek at where the Alone were, Lone Coast intaglio a grimace in the wind. The it of it might only be the hum of it I saw, heard what it made me imagine I saw, an aggrieved amen we were a moan away from… Why they take it away, why they try to we were asking. A lady dressed in black stood in the aisle and started dancing. Other- wise we sat with refugee blankets tossed over us, flags, we later learned, of the possessed… Why we the had we were asking, wanting more to think of an earlier life, some lifted sense, something said get- ting out of a car when we were nineteen… So it was and so it went… So we said and saw it come true… Dispossession got hold of us, possessed us, got us happy, Lone Coast abandon woven into the blankets we wore… Now it was a bus we were on, going backwards, no matter we sat in front. Where was the ballot box we were asking, where did they put it… We soon saw the way, the fey design of it, away from Lone Coast while on it, none of us know- ing where, none of us knowing when. We were in the aisle now, the lady in black our leader. Lone Coast islander, she intimated come hither, gave the air a bump with her hips and gave it a grind. Give it all a don’t- care damn we took her to mean ____________________ She was the moment’s woman, frustration’s main squeeze. Given to paradox, don’t-care damn we gave it up to, all of us only there not knowing why she made us admit… She took it from jook to flamenco before we could blink. Back stiff, head and chin high, heels hammers, face rationing pride and duress… Eyes elsewhere, her hands bore mu- dras, a sign from the east it seemed. Don’t-care damn a danced indifference, dance don’t-care’s ta- ’wil • Heels hit the floor, we’d had enough. The lady in black’s heels hit and ours followed. Heels hit the floor on the bus that had been a train, the bus that again was a train when our heels hit… A Websterian growl went up as they hit, cante jondo’s friend. A breathy reed squawk be- hind each of us, a kundalini blacksnake moan… A buttress it seemed it was in back of us. Gravel- ly strafe Camarón would’ve blown had he blown a horn… Thus it was we spoke of clowns and kings, each of us conducting our lone apocalypse. “Na- ture Boy,” before we knew it, was on the box that wasn’t there. Instead, we spoke with our feet… An early joy relived in a dream came next. Lone Coast reconnaissance. Dreamt-of entelechy. Hint- ed what arrival might be ____________________ (slogan) What it was was dance was a weapon for the weaponless, would-be some would’ve said. It wasn’t some “next level” stuff, we’d have none of it, a way of being away that brought out in was all it was, frown-line amenity a wrinkle in the wind, noses up as though we took offense… What it was was we did take offense, ballot-box ab- scondity afoot, no one would not have. Deep song dance’s hauteur was no shuffle. All heel was what it was, all stomp
Aug 12, 2014 / Books & the Arts / Nathaniel Mackey
Three Poems by Nathaniel Mackey Three Poems by Nathaniel Mackey
"Parlay Cheval Ou," excerpt from "Lone Coast Anacrusis," "Song of the Andoumboulou: 77"
Mar 28, 2011 / Audio / Nathaniel Mackey
from ‘Lone Coast Anacrusis’ from ‘Lone Coast Anacrusis’
—"mu" fifty-third part— Some new Atlantis known as Lower Ninth we took leave of next, half the turtle's back away. Whole bodies we saw floating, not only heads... Endless letting go, endless looking else- where, endless turning out to be otherwise... Woods all around where we came to next. We'd been eating wind, we'd been drinking wind, rumoring someone looked at God eye to eye... In what seemed a dream but we saw wasn't we saw dirt sliding. We were back and all the buildings were gone. What were cliffs to us we wondered, blown dust of Bandiagara, what the eroding precipice we saw... Ground acorns ground our teeth now. All but all gums, we were where the Alone lived, came to a clearing lit by light so bright we staggered, Nub it was we knew we were still in... The mountain of the night a mound of nothing, Toulali's burr what balm there was. Toulali's burr what balm, remote though it was, lifetimes behind us now... Voice laryngitic, lost and lost again, blown grit rubbed itaway... Someone had said something came to mind. Someone had sung something, what its words were no one could say. Sang it bittersweet, more brusque than bitter, song's cloth endowment stripped... Choric strain, repeatedly slipped entablature. Given... Given endlessly again... No telling when but intent on telling, no telling what. Wished we were home again • Refugees was a word we'd heard, raw talk of soul insistent, adamant, the nonsong we sang or the song we nonsang, a word we'd heard we heard was us... Wept in our sleep, again one with what would never again be there, raw talk rummaged our book,the backs of our hands written on with cornmeal, the awaited ones reluctant again... The city of sad children's outskirts we were in, woods notwithstanding, woods nonetheless, bright light the light we saw as we were jolted, raw talk spiraling away... We were there and somewhere else no matter where we were, everywhere more than where we were... Where the Alone lived we donned abalone-shell ornaments, light's clarity conceded, night yet to relent, Toulali smoldered on, semisang, semispoke, wrestled with his tongue it seemed... We trudged in place, barely lifted our feet, backbeat hallowing every step we took, moved us albeit we stayed put. We were where we were, somewhere else no matter where, evacuees a word we'd heard... Stutter step, stuck shuffle, dancelike, Toulali's croon enticed us, toyed with us, ground gone under where we stood
May 20, 2010 / Books & the Arts / Nathaniel Mackey
Song of the Andoumboulou: 77 Song of the Andoumboulou: 77
A new name remembering thirteen dead was on the box. One of seven sets of twins to
Nov 21, 2007 / Books & the Arts / Nathaniel Mackey