War of the Beasts and the Animals

where the saplings and new roots are hidden

when it comes to it

somebody’s been put here to keep guard over it all

here, at the crossroads

of two legs, vast, fumble-footed

the un-russian god rose

the puddles reflected

to swell the goats and plump the hazel shell

the shadows under a birch like a cut out

my darling priapus, surely it’s time to sprout?

or is the geist not doing so well?

nothing here corresponds to the spotted skin

and the pink dusk

comes from the time of a nation’s devastation

no one calls for coolness,

all want con  flag  ration

and here the iambs trip-trap: tetrameters chirrup

but trip up on naked vowels

and fall so far from europe

bleeding pelts, they howl

*

children in the yard played at being olympian gods

and then at gestapo interrogation – tbh it’s much the same

I had a dream

night in its nuptial attire

the cornfield the melon’s swelling belly

under the stars the machine gunner sings

to the machine gun,

swaddled

cradled at his breast

sleep my sunflower

sleep my poppy

soon the warm sun will come back from the south

and there’ll be new life in the

pedestrian subway

playing on the half-dismembered harmony

and soldiers soldiers

gather the light ash in pots

*

how little earth was saved on the bosom of the earth

lift the corner of the blanket, replace the hot water bottle

measure perspiration, water allow reach for it

deep in-draught:

ditch after

dug-out

dogged     indrafted

*

say the word that don’t belong

put it on and march along

forget the old and step anew

and the word will march with you

that word, it curls up and dies

at your lips as it emerges

like the spread-eagled toad it lies

in the heat on the verges

it clots sticky in the mouth

froths issues

here let me wipe out

it’s in the tissue

ugh with it       e             u

and gagging                   om

they don’t half-mean anything

when they die they’re gone

blue wings thrown wide

under the weight of the sky

the eagle floats over the forest

undulating in the air like a plaice

divested of alphabet

*

on the twenty-second of june

at four o’clock on the dot

I won’t be listening to anything

I’ll have my eyes shut

I’ll bury the foreign broadcast

It’s the news but I won’t lift a hand

If anyone comes I’m out of the loop

I’m a sparrow    I’m no man’s land

*

the home fires are burning low

be still my heart beat slow

don’t spend the kerosene douse the fire

it won’t end as I desire

strongly it bears us along in swelling and limitless billows

a hundred young warriors scrambling to form the watch

the warrior’s raven-black horse returns without its rider

the dark cloud was without silver lining

the song snatched

from the river the bayonets glittered

glimpses of white sleeve

volunteer walking at volunteer

cigarette in the death-grip of teeth

human waves

drum bangs

machine gun strafes

camera pans

birds singing in the sycamore tree

major petrov fucks major deyev

in the coarse pockets of ploughed soil

*

that night

over the field of battle

the nachtigall tells the nachtigall

nightingasps in disbelief

and in neighbouring places

bird tells bird passing

from beak to beak like a dead frog

the exact science:

earth’s caesura

between the stains of the sighted

between one mottled zone of streetlights

warmed by proximate life

and its answering beam

the sightlessness of moss on boughs

anxious flight

armoured vehicles

lenses

aimed at movement

*

no difference between first and second

patriotic or patriotic

great or pacific

atlantic

world

all the same they fall

to the only the civil

where sunrise quivers in the cinders

draws out the spear-tips

mate eh mate

giss a light

says the dead to the dead

says the killed to the killer

*

the flower dies under a skin of glass

mouth blackens stumps trickly crust

earth takes the dead she keeps them

and brings them up when she must

the sensible animals hold court

the witness box is a transparent lung

dark and trickled the way is damp

the bitch suckles her young

the judge lifts its eyes from the bench

to daylight’s low-hung bulb

holds up wanted posters

and asks the jury if I am absolved

barely pausing their talk

yesterday’s brothers emerge from the copse

in charred pelts, mud-crusted

get up on the cart, whip on the horse

to where the meadow holds an awning,

pins a path of stinging plants and thorns

the way back is belted down

even hope is stillborn

how to justify this? on the greedy tongue

milk writes in curds,

and paper is marked by            tree rings

traces of axe     a fool’s words

magna imago

*

the acacia has long blossomed

the army is long gone

melodeclamation

has spread its wings and flown

ride a cock horse

to wherever the cross

and rip out the stuffing

and give it a toss

and freedom needs stripping

stay standing, lads, as long as you can

bust the joint, smash the game

one of our gang will crouch in a hole

wherever we are, and swig champagne

gypsies – dead

hussars – defunct

dusk now falls

colour shrunk

pitter patter

across the heart

sputter spatter

on the tablecloth

voices raised in lament

which once were full of joy

*

who is that riding on to red square

towards st basil’s cathedral

countries rejoice cities jubilant

across my territory