[Jan Iwaszkiewicz]

REVISION ONE

Desdichado

Nestled in the leaf-fall, he would sleep in the shade.
he dreamed of trees beyond the dreams of night,
waking, he would consider the canopy,
the sway and creak of bough, branch and twig,
the susurration of needle and leaf,
he’d breathe redolent air
filled with scents of tree and earth,
he’d feel it flood into his every pore,
he’d breathe magic into his brain,
and claw hungry hands into the tilth,
he’d imagine moisture and nutrient
seeping up through his nails, and finger joints,
he fed on decay and on rotting self
inexorably slow-drawn up to the sun,
he thinned, his hair, beard and nails went wild,
his hair and beard fed on sunlight,
bark-fall, his clothing cleared his skin,
his muscles lengthened and grew,
he stood tall, firmly rooted to the ground,
he strained to feel faint tremors of tree-speech,
that deep wave of sound that spoke in centuries,
his toes clawed and twisted into the soil,
he could feel his toes dig deep and crack rock
at last he was as one with the earth.

The people came and circled him.
They laughed and laughed and poked and prodded.
Then one grabbed a fallen branch, aped a tree feller
(jealous of the man’s serenity)
and swung the branch like an axe
chopping down on his calf
The people laughed he chopped again and again.
Capillaries squeezed down,
shrank down,
choking into die-back.
The man felt his grip on ground begin to break.
He fell into laughter and clear-fall
where nothing lived.





Desdichado,

He dreamed of trees beyond the dreams of night.
He clawed hungry hands deep into the tilth.
He imagined moisture and nutrient
slug-sucking up through his nails, and finger joints.
He fed on decay and on rotting self.
Inexorably slow-drawn up to the sun
he stood tall, firmly rooted to the ground.
He strained to feel the tremors of tree-speech,
that deep wave of sound that spoke in centuries.
His toes clawed and twisted into the soil.
He felt glorious.
The people gathered and circled him
they poked and prodded,
then jealous of the man’s serenity
they struck him
and struck again and again.
Capillaries squeezed down,
shrank down,
choking into die-back.
He felt his grip on ground begin to break.
He fell into clear-fall
where nothing lived.


(“Desdichado” from Scott’s ‘Ivanhoe’ a device, meaning uprooted)