hnaldus

Reefs

ALSO BY

ERIC BASSO

FROM

SIX GALLERY PRESS

POETRY

Earthworks

FROM

ASYLUM ARTS PRESS

FICTION

The Beak Doctor

Bartholomew Fair

POETRY

Accidental Monsters

Umbra

The Catwalk Watch

The Smoking Mirror

Catafalques

Ghost Light

DRAMA

Enigmas

The Golem Triptych

The Sabattier Effect

ESSAYS

Decompositions

DREAMS

Revagations

ERIC BASSO

Tr;~a(dus

~

Reefs

OBUSCURE PUBLICATIONS ~ 2010

Poems2009

Copyright © 2010 by Eric Basso

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmit-ted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including pho-tocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, withoutpermission in writing from the publisher, except for brief quotes in reviews.

Some of the poems first appeared in the following publications, to whose edi-tors grateful acknowledgement is made: The Bicycle Review, Blackbird, DanseMacabre, Leaf Garden, Luciole Press, Manorborn, Outsider Writers Collective,Poets ~ar Prada. The "Shoals," "Petroglyphs" and "Bestiary" poems first ap-peared as limited-edition chapbooks from Obscure Publications.

Basso, Eric, 1947-Ytimaldus / Reefi

Printed in The United States of America.

Cover montage by the author (2009).

H.C.

OBSCURE PUBLICATIONS

307 RIvER STREET, APT. IS

BLACK RIVER FALLS, WI 54615

Contents

TRlMALDUS

The Meeting 3

Night Purchase 4

Paintings 5

The Masks 6

A Condor's Sleep 8

The Spindle 9

Barrier II

Windows 13

Interregnum 15

Catacombs I 16

Catacombs II 18

Catacombs III 20

Catacombs IV 21

Catacombs V 23

Catacombs VI 25

Catacombs VII 27

Catacombs VIII 29

Catacombs IX 31

Catacombs X 33

Ghosts 34

The Inverted Pyramid

Fish Ivory

The Likewise Image

Secular Superstition

Sagittarius

Swine Wallow

Remember to Forget

REEFS

39

41

43

45

47

4 8

51

TRlMALDUS

January I, 2009

The Meeting

that first day I saw himjust another face in the crowd

never cared for poets he saidthey are slippery fish

told me he'd been in the warbut when I asked him about ithe could remember nothing

all memory was gone and hadtaken fear and blood with it

poet my conscience is clearbut you have yet tocome out of your dream

4 ERIC BASSO

Night Purchase

even on crowded streets he couldhear the whales' song judderingthrough the deeps of distant oceans

it echoed off his bedroom wallskept him awake for hours floatingdark above the ancient wreckswide eyed but sightless ofall the sunken argosies

I told him it was a delusionhe looked at me with stranger's eyespointed out the window at a manstaggering and about to fall

in a corner no light could reachsomething lurched and I knewthere were other thingsthings he could not say

January 7, 2009

Trimafdus

Paintings

he told me paintings bothered himnot just the bird traps of Brueghelthose wood boxes propped by a plank

even a pink silk cuff by Watteauthe sewing needle that wasnever painted in by Vermeera cloud above Constable's hay wainbecame emblems of his torment

he came to my rooms one nightclaimed there was an aberrationin every so-called masterpiecewith such conviction thatI had to believe him

I go to the galleries nowsearching out his ghostsbut the fleck of one stray strokethe oiled nuance remains invisibleeven to the illusion it creates

January 27, 2009

6 ERIC BASSO

The Masks

Oscar Wilde wrotegive a man a maskand he'll tell you the truthbut what if a man hasa multitude of masks

I followed Trimaldusto the cellarhe lifted a trap doorwe went farther down

masks were arrangedon a long table coveredwith blue baize

fourteen eyeless effigieseach waiting to coolthe agony ofsome searing truth

I picked one upand put it on

February 7,2009

Trimaldus

as my breath shallowedTrimaldus whisperednow you can tell meeverything

7

8 ERIC BASSO

A Condor's Sleep

when I finished my confessionTrimaldus said our eyes becomethe false part of each mask we wear

some of us dig our own gravesthe rest have theirs dug for themanother mask and you would havetold me a different story altogether

every explorer ant must rememberthe number of steps it's takento find its way back to the colony

but ours is the colony of masksto which there can be no returningwe stumble through a condor's sleepas it wings between two clouds

February 20, 2009

Trimaldus

The Spindle

he aimed his penlight ata crevice in the sidewalk

do you see that antwhat's it doing up so late

I followed Trimaldus into the Spindlecandled chandeliers flickered the tablesdistant balconies through a cigarette hazestained wood and a sawdust floorreeking of crushed peanut shellswhores' perfume and soured beer

I'd really love this place he saidif it were not for the music

that ant outside could be the ancestorto the next race of dinosaursor sink into oblivion like allthe conquerors and geniuseswhose luck ran foul

it was more than enoughfor us to make a meal ofto drink ourselves into stupor

9

10 ERIC BASSO

for me this was the first of nightswhere sleep brought with ita Darwinian acceptance thatTrimaldus and I would never beamong the fittest for survival

February 21, 2009

Trimaldus

Barrier

that scent of oiled rubberthe inside of a cab I knew iteven before my eyes opened

the last thing I rememberedTrimaldus' face a blurfloating toward the chandelierhis headless trunk slammedthe table and slid to the floordragging a mug of beer with it

I lay on the musty floorboardsquinting up at him after a bumpin the road punched me awake

I'm not taking you home he saidthere's a house outside the citythat needs to be seen nowby both of us if you're everto know me well at all

we came to a screeching haltbefore a picket barrieron a scrubland hill just asthe sun was rising at our back

II

12

March 9, 2009

ERIC BASSO

I tumbled out of the cab dazedhe hoisted me up then pointedto the only house for miles

fire shot into our eyesfrom a windowpane

he told me that sheet of glassthe only one left unshatteredwas too much like his dead wife

the reflection in a windowwhich blinds you from seeingthere's no one within

Trimaldus

Windows

tripping through the thicketsI had no idea where Trimalduswas taking me

it's not much farther he saidI wanted to show you a windowbathed in the Ganges butyou'll have to settlefor something less

how could I have knownit was far from less

jewels were flaringcolors in the darkwe'd been walking all daythe sun had set beforewe reached our destination

I forgot my hunger and thirstnothing for us now butthose floating jewels

are you brave enough to peerthrough these lenses he asked

13

14

March 18, 2009

ERIC BASSO

I put my eye to the sapphirea window that opened onan image I could not recognize

we looked into the bowelsof an abandoned shackmisted by ghosts oflivesthat were not our own

Trimaldus caught his breathI heard him falling intothe high weeds

through my window's jewelI saw a weasel crouchedat the foot of a birch

Trimaldus was gaspinghe had seen somethingfar more terrible

he stammeredwhat sort of mando you think I am whowould bring a friendto a place like this

April 13. 2009

Trimaldus

Interregnum

the interregnum was a sleepTrimaldus told me laterhe carried a serrated knife inhis dreams and killed any manwho tried to rip the mask fromthat world of illusions

this second life came to meanmore to him than any wakingback to an existence he neverclaimed to have understood

dreams became a pastmore real than his ownthe struts of a bridgetremoring under him ashe held the one womanwho would have givenlife a meaning and felther melt away

16 ERIC BASSO

Catacombs I

three days and nights in bedbut even after the crisis passedhe said strange things to me

asked who first claimed a horseseen from above resembled a violininsisted something in the beer wehad at Gertrude's stilted his memorythough I could not rememberour last drink there

I didn't believe it when hetold me the house we were instrutted a maze of catacombs

Trimaldus smiled as he led medown to that room wherethe masks had been laid outnot a single mask remainedI didn't bother to askwhat became of them

a low door in a corner lacedwith a curtain of cobwebsno stairs but a narrow chute

April 20, 2009

Trimaldus

he slid down firsthis lantern dwindledseemed to flicker out

18 ERIC BASSO

Catacombs II

I shouted after himmy voice echoed backfrom the empty darkbut a few seconds latera faint slam reached mefrom far below soundingthe base of a blind abyss

I knew Trimaldus was waitingswung myself into the chuteand the swift descending

a left curve slowed me downthe chute banked and leveled tilla sudden dip took my breath away

I shut my eyes againstthe rising wind untila maze of banked curvesand a second levelingrocked me to the bottom

it felt as if a monthhad come and gone

May 13, 2009

Trimaldus

Trimaldus'voice trickled upfrom the cavernous floor

lie still for a few minutes morewe are farther down thanyou could possibly believe

20

May 23, 2009

ERIC BASSO

Catacombs III

if flesh is the fabric of bonethis was a place stripped nakedcorridors ofyellowed nuditypeeled of their stench of rottoo many centuries ago

we stumbled through channelswalled by skulls that writhed tothe flicker ofTrimaldus' lantern

as he led me on I grabbed himby the scruff of his collarand walked with eyes shutto the silenced multitudethat seemed to close us in

stay here too long Trimaldus saidyou'll begin to think you hearour cold companions whisperingconspiring with one anotheras if they knew some secretwe can never hope to knowthe discovery no explorer everwants to make so keep moving

Trimaldus

Catacombs IV

that meandering drone in the earoscillation of the whispers' echowithout the whispers

the skulls' fretal murmurwould soon reach articulationjust as Trimaldus had predicted

I hoped for no more turningsthat we were coming to the lastof those hideous bone walls

now his lantern burned blueI feared it would be snuffedby the thickening airthat we were left towander blind below earthtill hunger and death took us

a black space openedsuddenly the air warmedthe lamp burned brighterbut made no dent in the dark

21

22

May 29,2009

ERIC BASSO

we had passed the labyrinth ofcharnel corridors to arrivein a depthless limbo

I wanted to turn backregretting everything

there was no way backTrimaldus regretted nothing

Trimafdus

Catacombs V

ever seen a dead birdor even the bones of onewhere do they go to diea woman came down herelooking for her imaginary lovershe vanished without a trace

I couldn't understand whatTrimaldus was trying to tell methought the sudden change of airmust have made him giddythen he pointed at his feet

faint scorings in the floorresembled the ghosts of leopardsthis glyphic caravan appearedto point the way for us

it should be all right nowthese markings are NeolithicTrimaldus whispered askingwhat animal they suggestedbut I did not answer

23

24

June I5, 2009

ERIC BASSO

to him the leopards I sawlooked like lions spotted onlybecause much of the paint thatshaped them had been worn awayby centuries ofdark arrested time

don't stare for long he saidthe lions might go blindeven in this dim lightand begin to dance

Trimaldus

Catacombs VI

the last gray leopard gave way toa blood colored dot in the distance

we ran toward what looked likea low window before sensingthe slight slope of the groundhad created an illusion

no window but a square hatchwaywe stooped and entered a shrine

Trimaldus passed his lamp to mehe whispered set it down outsideno need for our light here

the ruddy glow seeped fromthe corners of stippled wallswhose pinlike shadowsconverged in engulfing gloom

we stumbled over pebbleshe held one in his handa smoothness tattooedwith indecipherable markings

26

June 26,2009

ERIC BASSO

then suddenly dropped itpointing to something wecould find no word for

Trimaldus

Catacombs VII

the rib cage of a long dead giantfloated a few feet from the floorand the murk fell further away

it was all we could see for time itselfseemed as suspended as that rackof curved blood tinted bones

Trimaldus broke the silencethis is a shrine he stammeredwe're standing in an ancient shrine

still a little less of the darkour eyes were peelingshadows layer by layer

what we had taken for ribs wereseven sets of S-shaped hornsprojecting from the sides of a bench

a gutter snaked from its footto a rectangular pit inthe heart of the shrine

27

lilly 9, 2009

ERIC BAsSO

Trimaldus struck a matchnear one of the walls lightinga skull in a niche from below

that bench and the rest of itcan only mean one thinghuman sacrifice

he blew out the matchsniffing its ribbon of smokeI looked at the bench again

it's not long enough I answeredhe shut his eyes and gaspedchildren

Trimaldus

Catacombs VIn

blue blisters sparkled in the floorand made a night sky at our feet

we'd lost track of how long it hadtaken us to run from the red shrineto these flaring stars becausethe vision of that horn caged altarstreamed with blood in our memory

Trimaldus and I pushed forwardmore slowly now we watchedthe blue stars spread and meltinto one another turning wetas the floor sunk beneath them

dank water covered our shoeshiding the long step down thattoppled us into a racing current

just enough light from the lampTrimaldus was still clutchingas we were swept towardthe roaring precipice whichwould be our certain doom

29

3°

July 2 I, 2009

ERIC BASSO

we fell in a rush of noise and foamthe last thing I saw before my deathwas how the lamp arced slowlytoward its own intimate darkness

Trimaldus

Catacombs IX

now there was onlya distant pin of purpleglimpsed from behinda noiseless water curtain

so this is it I thoughtlying there on my sidethose falls are a shroudfor a dying star

why can't we hear itit was Trimaldus' voice

are you thereyes I'm herewhereI don't knowand youI don't know

bruised fingers burstthrough the waterfallI recognized his ring

31

July 29, 2009

ERIC BASSO

I can't feel the waterhe cried as the watersheeted his hand

I took it and waspulled into a wallof drenching silence

August 4, 2009

Trimaldus

Catacombs X

the purple beam threw backa blind space for gropinga patch of uneven groundwhere we staggered towardan unforgiving eternity thatcould crack the blackest heaven

a few steps more and we sawit was a lamp lighting the faceof a man in a tattered shroud

who are youask me who I waswho were you then

they tell me my namewas Orpheus

33

34 ERIC BASSO

Ghosts

the one who called himself Orpheusstared right through us as he spoke

you are figments of my imaginationmere players in the long paradeof dreams into which I fellwith no hope of a waking unlessit be to other deeper dreamsfor we are standing inthe place that occults nightcore of the darkest star imaginableand this is what it truly meansto have given up the ghost

neither Trimaldus nor I believeda word of this or that the strangerwith the purple lamp wasthe man he claimed to be

the stranger asked how we wouldaccount for the things we'd seen orthe impossible string of adventuresthat had dragged us intowhat he called his black orbit

Trimaldus

for the first time he lookeddirectly into Trimaldus' eyes

do you really think there wasa descending maze ofcatacombsunder your house or that you'veever lived anywhere but in imaginedrooms or roamed streets whichwhose corners once turneddid not instantly perish to oblivion

August 12,20°9

35

~ REEFS

The Inverted Pyramid

time was running backwardat first it went unnoticed that wewere all slowly growing younger

liver spots paled as veins recededbeneath smoother firmer fleshthe dulled passions sharpenedto cloud our judgment once again

the home computer disappearedand with so many other thingswe had long taken for grantedit became a thing of the past

but as newer things vanishedolder things reappeared

one by one the dead returnedwe repossessed a happinesstheir loss had taken from us

fewer and fewer empty chairsaround the table as the hauntingsthat had blighted our livesslipped back behind the wallsand were gratefully forgotten

4° ERIC BASSO

the standard of living becamegreater in some respectsand worse in others

food and drink tastedbetter than they had in agestheir aromas mingled withother smells and savors thatrecalled us to a time pastwhich was now our present

you'd have thought people wouldbe walking and talking backwardbut that isn't how it goesand no one knows or cares why

we'll soon come home to childhoodweighted by decades of experiencebut no better wisdom than before

September 16,2009

Reefs

Fish Ivory

the day the Colonel's statuestepped down from its plinthand walked off in the fogmy friend crouched at the curband touched something theresomething I could not see

later we learned about howthe stone gods of Easter Islandsuddenly shed the mossthat furred them for centuriesand became convinced therewas some connection betweenthis and the thing our friendhad snatched from the curband carried to his house

at first the object had no namehe kept the thing in his atticand would bring it downonce a year to show ushow much it changed

a change so drastic we'd havebelieved our friend was

42 ERIC BASSO

palming off something differenton us each year if it weren'tfor the fact that the objectvaguely retained a vestige ofthe last form it had taken

this all happened so long agoI am now among a very fewsurvivors of the yearly ritualin which we viewed what cameto be called the Fish Ivory fora reason no one remembers

September 29, 2009

Reefs

The Likewise Image

a face powdered with white chalkfollows me in mirrors wherever I go

a body that isn't mine is wearingmy clothes beneath the neckof the face in the mirrorshirts vests jackets trouserswhich are a perfect fitbut far too large for me

the image pursues me from belowshivering in ponds and puddlesshrouded by the tinted murkof polished cabinets and tablesstretched or squinched beyondall endurance behind stainedconcavities and convexities

my plan now is to avoid itto focus only on the dullestor roughest surfaceshoping the likewise image willeventually give up the ghostand set my real reflection freefrom the trap or cell or trunk

43

44

November II, 2009

ERIC BASSO

which has been its prisonfor so many years withinthat vaster prison we callthe Other Side

Reefs

Secular Superstition

shortly before embarking onwhat was intended to be anexploration of the Dark ContinentI decided to move in with a familyof middle aged brothers and sisters

I boldly knocked on their doorthey had never seen me beforeor heard anything of my exploitsbut made no effort to prevent mefrom entering the gabled housesettling in to become the brotherwho'd returned after years abroadwith a trunk of exotic souvenirsand a string of tales to match

like my acquired siblings I soonmastered the art of forgettingabandoned all idea ofcontinentalexploration in order to explorethe infinite mysteries of this house

so many books here in languageswe can never hope to understandthough months have been spentattempting to decipher a single page

45

ERIC BASSO

in one of the bedrooms a closet dooropens on a flagstoned path to an alleythat vanished over a century ago

on autumn nights the wind rattlesthe shutters and the Mad King'slaughter drifts up from the cellar

October 26, 2009

Reefs

Sagittarius

no one can say exactly when or wherethe ground began to shrink beneath us

we have put down traps everywherebraces to rein back the inevitablethe wooden ones shattered in an hourthose of bronze or steel hold out fora day before their shape yields tothe seismic crush and this is howour town has come to be a vastabstract sculpture garden

at night when spit and dustfill the little houses a fog liesin the moorland hollows thatcarries the smell of a dyinginto the dull morning mist

November 28, 2009

47

ERIC BASSO

Swine Wallow

an early snow fell meltingin the mud and weeds as Ipassed by the swine wallow

beyond the hulk of a stubble hillsmoke from a hidden chimneythreaded the chill and fadedunder the low gray sky

the hogs huddled for warmthin a corner of the penthe trough was emptytheir oozing snouts rootedat the slime from hunger

as I walked away the squealsand the grunts subsided toan unearthly hum anda hoarse mumbling thatsounded like a human voice

I turned and looked backno one stood there to matchthe voice unless someone was

Reefs

lying in muck behind the pigscalling after me too wealdy forhis words to be understood

nearing that stench againI saw the swine break huddlearound their palest companionand stand transfixed bythe deep buzz of moaningthey sustained as he tolda tale too sad to bear alone

long ago these pigs were mensailing for home in a shipglutted with spoils fromthe Dardanian War

low on food and provisionsthey dropped anchor on an isleand there met everlasting doom

philosophers say it's hardfor love to last longas all love comes unwilledand with will restoredis easily set aside

imagine then the curse thatcooked the hopeless will to loveinto the food these men wereserved to appease hunger

49

5° ERIC BASSO

with starvation for theirformer lives and bodies

they call her Poison Qyeenshe fed them bitter acornsand all their strength of mindwas bred out as love grewcondemned to the wallow forever

long after Circe was erasedby the god that usurpedthe old gods' placethey loved herand love her still

Odysseus never found Ithaca againnever returned to chaste Penelope

Circe's spell still feedson this despairing lovepeering through its blind windowas the wet snow fallstill time sweeps history away

December 5, 2009

Reefs

Remember to Forget

remember to forgetforget to rememberit comes to the same thing

for the one who never wantsto see her face again evenin the cloudiest mirrorremember to forget

for the mouldings inthat old dark roomand the one who came backwithout knowing who or whathe came back forremember to forget

remember to forgetthe frozen handsthe failed dig to unearththe color no one has seen

remember to forgetyou can no longerbelieve in anything

51

October I2, 2009

forget to remember the deadwho have forgotten everything

the gibbous moon wanesthere will never be anotherremember to forget

ERIC BASSO was born in Baltimore in 1947. Barbarous&diates is his eighth collection of poems.His work has ap-peared in Bakunin, the Chicago Review, CentralPark, Collages& Bricolages, Fiction International, Exquisite Corpse, andmany other publications. His novel, Bartholomew Fair, isavailable from Asylum Arts. He is the author of twenty-oneplays. His critically-acclaimed drama trilogy, The GolemTriptych; the complete short plays, Enigmas; his play, TheSabattier Effict; a book of short fiction, The Beak Doctor,and six collections of poetry, Accidental Monsters, Umbra,The Catwalk Watch, The Smoking Mirror, Catafalques andGhost Light, are available from Asylum Arts, along withDecompositions: Essays on Art & Literature 1973-1989 andRevagaions: 1966-1974, the first volume ofhis book ofdreams.

Basso's seventh collection of poems, Earthworks, was pub-lished by Six Gallery Press in 2008.

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