After Seeing

Countess Franziska zu  Reventlow,
Queen of Schwabing, with her love-child
at the river-island party
Miss Mina Lowy, age 18,
hears Marya Delvard sing the song of
Wedekind’s Ilse at
Die Elf Scharfrichter, Munich

another risqué song
of the fallen woman fallen

that grade




li Mina  l, ter Mina l, la  Mina   r, se Mina  l
cri Mina  l,  subli Mina l
they call me, these Müncheners
 Du and Sie
Diurnally variegate

I listen
 her after I see she

countess Franny
her red-river robe
Lowy, cut  the w
a      l        L      o      y

risk is life is risk

mina’s ear is mari’s backwards
to loy loyd
i marry myself
To be everything in woman
Everything everyway at once


Irruptions of subliminal reveries:  Madame Hélène Smith, (Muller)

recites a medley of poems in  Martian dialect
                                                                                for CK

March 25, 1892 – Eleven persons around a large and heavy dining table of oak with two leaves

April 1 – Violent movements of the table, due to a spirit who calls himself David

Mlle Smith in her normal state

Phenomena of hypermnesia, true presentiments, visions, superficial

There are times, when in spite of herself, she feels inclined to speak in distinct rhymes

Hélène told me one Sunday that she had been possessed several times during the day by the
hallucinatory image of a straw hat

After sighs and hiccoughs, she enters into Martian somnambulism: Késin outidjé

February 16, 1896 --The idea of a special handwriting belonging to the planet Mars occurs
for the first time:

cé     êvé   plêva      to   di      bénèz       éssat    riz    tès    midée       durée

Arguments. Heated exchange. Gruff expressions. In reaction to Flournoy saying Martian 
resembled French too greatly, Hélène writes in Uranian:

lalato lito namito bo té zozoti zolota matito yoto

An American lady, a Mme Smead constructs a Martian novel, then another set on Jupiter,
backed by visions of extra-terrestrial spirits

There is rivalry,  an upping of the spiritualist ante

Hélène  writes in  the language of planet Nazar:

spik antik flok skak mak tabu milahatt

Saussure assures us he isn’t so sure

It is evening: in the drawing room with its subdued light and atmosphere, Hélène Smith, back
from her day’s work as a model employee in a commercial establishment is putting on a seance
for a small circle of the initiated. Today Hélène is speaking Martian, tomorrow she may speak

It is evening. The table is empty – the oak grain gleams

It is night. Geneva. Hélène Smith is sleeping. Her breath is warm on the cold bolster. In her
dreams, someone is knocking loudly at the door in the street. There has been a discovery!
Awake! Awake! Artificial fruit glitters oddly under its sconce. The impression of a Martian’s
fingertip, every tiny whorl visible, appears in the meniscus in Hélène Smith’s ewer of
trembling water. It starts to shape letters in a unknown language.
Phantasmal, the drapes. Phantasmal, the blinds.



   wakefield accelerator  
                                                                                                                    for K MacC

( an accelerator increases a laser’s speed as it passes through plasma, giving rise to a zone of
ripples called a wakefield).

nouns and after-effects, well-versed but what in rippling the traffic I combust in convertible
valors and let the adjectives object where they will to the fringes of day’s obeisance on what
grounds citizens pay heed to decorous logics and HumVee-like roadmasters to turn the corners
past green glass men walking into your rights where who knows where or what or when one
finds oneself part of staring upwards analysing moods and extraneous folds of oceanic
particulars in a sky-bergs burnishings making sure the cuff and uncomfortable label are soft to
the neck and the growl of early enquiry somehow grants us a walking, a codifiable routine for
stenographers of minute population-changes and the statistical recurrence of certain shadow-
formats in devout fringes lingers on well past past, devotion conjured by liquid screens,
combust in velours of hydrogen now knowable weapon of sun in a rhetoric not used since the
Kyoto impasse and fine I say, settle down now it’s time for the waves to approach us and we
not them for the answering rays’ intersections, gem-like, held in facetted confrontation, face-


Saint Hieronymous

Saint Nihil
-just wasn’t made for
    these times
but you were – you’d
fit right in with your
shiar jihad
the meat of the strawberry
is carnal
slice it, it’s vulvaesque

a fair fielde of folke
as beasts --
that hatred of animals
men as animals
verlaat alleen me!

Hieronymus   Routemaster
Hieronymous    Crane Fruehof
White Swan-Eater Hieronymus
Gazumping estate-agent
’sif quangos a rare springbok-
Hieronymous    sedating a white

Sin-ominous Bosh
Hiero-phantus rarus
buy your white elephant
raze your plains
mood-swing quick as a
midden-door banging
smouldering straw

burn your roisterers
totally irrelephant
when o when were your
hollow logs-men
green ?

Mojo Jan Mostaert
yr. younger but contempore
Haarlem neighbour
painted a new World -
the Spanish irrupting
on innocent pastoral
no oral of the past

but you o no,
didn’t see the hell
made in the name
of a hell you shunned
in far-flamed AmerIraqa

if thy right eye offend ye…
let not thy right hand know…

Anonymous Hie-rony-ous
Anime Ronny
Ludus, remember: Manga’s
a game but

loathly neckings and sixty-nining
wasp-waisted couples supple as milk
in an hourglass

every fountain of pleasure
its grubbing owl
every cleft fruit-tip a meatus superior
for heroning lapwing

gate of horn, left/right hemis-
sphere triptych
dextra/sinistra, dusky sister

I pap you – shivery waves,
irrepressible revulsion
in each azured gossamer
raspberry’s scorpion-sting
your horroring mare-ride:
strawberry’s skin
blistering and wenning to
gaping sog-pit cavity

but rot is part of process
tell that to the gangrened
fallen at…

delusive fleetest sweetness
o no but Bosch won’t sup Borscht
no please, plea-se, bring me
November strawberries
so we need our Fruehof burning fumes, rubber tyred
our überMarkt
our distribution centred
Bosch washers

Later Breaker Alligator Breaker
Come Back on KFC CB,
Roger goodHieronomusbuddy
down by the sign
of the Flatulent Bagpipe

davidannwn  is a poet and critic who lives in Wakefield, Yorkshire, UK. He lectures for the Open University in Manchester. He is a recipient of the Cardiff International Poetry Award and a Ferguson Centre award for African and Asian Studies.Most recent amongst his books are the collaborations: It Means Nothing To Me, (with Geraldine Monk), and The Last Hunting of the Lizopard, (with Alan Halsey.) One of his poems has been made into a book of calligraphy by Thomas Ingmire for the San Francisco Libraries Collection. These poems are taken from his forthcoming book: Bela Fawr's Cabaret, (Westhouse/Ahadada.)

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