A Beastly Comedy Canto 1.15

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Cracks are beginning to form. I remember clearly the day I recorded this canto, how upset I was afterwards, how frightening everything felt when going out and just seeing ordinary things, kids on their bikes, cars. It’s the moment when the book gets really dark, not that it was fluffy romance to begin with (but there will be time for that too). The next 19 cantos will see the pilgrim descending further into his own psyche, as we’re seeing the toll that comes with witnessing horrible things. The focus is not so much on the descriptions of atrocities but how the pilgrim reacts.

I’ve come to think of characters as holes that the reader fills in, and the writer provides an outline. The character is defined by how others react to it, not so much what kind of physical descriptions I write. And vice versa: the description of events may not even be that important if you see the psychological damage. The rest is imagined by the reader, and it’s up to their imagination how horrible the scene becomes. In this case we do hear the speeches of a demon, and descriptions of the meat market, but the focus is starting to shift elsewhere. Otherwise the horror would be just too much to bear. At least this way it’s up to the reader.

And of course the horrors witnessed are making the pilgrim question his quest, his motivations, even what is the thing he calls himself. Trauma commonly has that effect. You have to wonder what these emotions are, how to handle them, how you relate to the world, what is the self that feels, acts, tries to move forward even when the emotions forbid you to go any further but your brain knows that there’s only one way to progress: to keep on walking.

And what is Dante’s motivation in all this? It will be touched upon later, but oh! how cruel it is to subject the poor little pilgrim to all this. To force somebody to become a witness. It is not as bad as inflicting torture, but as it piles up, it’s not far from it. Yet what do we do voluntarily when consuming the media, the news and entertainment every day, becoming numb to similar scenes? And if what is happening in this canto is happening to other mammals, we might not blink an eye. Maybe the true horror is the willful ignorance. Does the scene describe a greater evil than what is happening in the world just because there’s a demon who despises his victims?

I still feel uneasy thinking about all this, but it’s an important topic. The verses shake my ideas about what punishment means, and how people consider it their right to kill other animals for food, what kind of logic is behind that. And of course there is the question of the sin committed, the parents selling their children to prostitution, slavery or even something worse. It is upsetting not only because the deeds are ghastly but because we don’t really know what to do about it, how to deal with such evil, how to even comprehend it.

There’s evil in the deed and evil in the punishment, and two wrongs don’t make a right. But one of the things I wanted to explore was people’s desire for vengeance, and how cruelty may start to seem like justice. An early reader wondered about the point of everything described here, and that is indeed the issue. Where do we draw the line? When does it start to feel like vengeance loses its point? Here, earlier, later? I have no one answer, and it’s more important that I tried to provide a way for readers to discover their own values and limits within these verses.

Vielä pimeää

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Muistaa itsensä soihtuna,
oli myös ympäröivä pimeys.
*
Usva kasvaa odotuksesta,
virtaa sormista silmieni eteen,
ruohonkorret taipuvat,
rakkaus lähellä sille,
joka osaa kumartua,
nuolaista kastetta.
*
Aamuyöllä, kun pakkanen tuntuu
hitaalta räjähdykseltä,
makaamme keskellä sekuntia väristen.
Lämpö on aina yhteistä,
päivä syntyy painautumisesta.
*
Sanoo ettei ymmärrä mitään
kuin se tarkoittaisi,
että ymmärtää kaiken.
*
Luotan sinuun kuin huohottavaan mereen,
kuulen kohinan unen läpi,
enkä oikein usko, että on yö.
Aallot, vaahto, suolan tuoksu,
evälliset, lehdelliset,
toistuva hulahdus keskelle rintaani,
seison sitten kivillä tai hiekassa.
Valoa tai ei, muutos on pieni,
vaikka silti: aurinko, elämä.
Uida ulapalle, lentää, aallota,
sulautua.
*
Kirjoitan (vielä pimeää)
nähdäkseni sinut ja itseni,
kun lasken kynäni, istun
käsi rintaa vasten, silmät kiinni.

Nettles

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I do not know how he became such a fragile plant. At school he was called Nettles. I was not called anything, but I wished I could have been something similar. Did he sting? Was he delicious? The other boys were loud, he was swaying in the wind beautifully.

By the time he was eighteen he had found a job at a warehouse. A welcome respite away from the house where his father opened the first beer before breakfast.

I never liked his coworkers. One of them had beady eyes, not like a rat but like a doll, lifeless and strange. Another one liked to show off his muscles. He used to walk with no shirt on even when it was too cold, and in Wales it is almost always too cold.

Once we went to see a film together, the four of us. The one with strange eyes had a nervous handshake, it felt like the whole man was shaking. The muscle boy kept eating sticky toffee, but every now and then he would spit it out, moaning about how sweet it was. Why eat it then? Perhaps he needed the energy. Then there was Nettles, as delicate as human beings are, looking like he wanted to say something but never finding the words. I cannot remember what the film was, pictures are not important, only people.

Now Nettles is in prison. The two others got off lightly because they did not accidentally kill anyone. If the guard had stayed quiet it would have been all right.

In prison Nettles has taken up weightlifting, but he does not walk around without a shirt. Maybe it is not allowed. Maybe he does not want to show himself to me. I would like to know nevertheless because I have promised to wait for him here. He pretended he did not know what I was talking about. As long as it takes, honey, we are two of a kind. Delicious, fragile, beautiful. My friend.

Trilobiittien filosofia

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Luulet sitä uneksi tai mustaksi siiveksi,
varjosi katsoo ikkunasta sisään,
suuri perhonen, ikuinen hiljaisuus.
Sinä olet mettä.
Et näe sen silmiä,
mutta tiedät tuijotuksen jatkuvan,
kunnes suljet omasi.
Sitten et enää tiedä.


Ilma on mutainen,
ruskeat valumat pitkin taivasta,
ihmisten irvistykset torilla,
mutta ei petoa paljon tarvitse tökätä
orvokilla,
kun se jo hymyilee,
kysyy mennäänkö tuonne kahville,
siellä on parhaat leivokset,
suklaa jättää ruskean neliön lautaselle,
kahvikuppi ympyrän,
ja mikään ei ole tahra,
ainoastaan seuraus.


Etsin tummaa merta,
kohinaa, puhetta,
josta en mitään ymmärrä.
Se kuulostaisi syvälliseltä
kuin jotkut ihmiset,
vuosimiljoonien tarina,
trilobiittien filosofia
tai maanalainen kiihdytys,
suloisessa magneettikentässä
esiin pullahtava bosoni,
pinnan alla väreilevä sipinä,
josta yritämme saada selvää,
kun tiedämme mitä haluamme
muttemme miksi
ja tarkkaan ajatellen
emme edes mitä.

Jimi Tenor – Never Say It Aloud

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There’s a saying, originally in Arabic, that there are three things you cannot hide: love, smoke and a man riding a camel. Or in another version it’s pregnancy in place of smoke. Yet in reality people hide their love all the time quite successfully.

What is the “It” that is not said aloud? It could be anything you imagine, but clearly with the “uh-huh,” “baby baby baby” and “oh yeah” shenanigans going on in this song it’s got something to do with love or sexuality. Jimi Tenor has many songs balancing on this vaguely 70s aesthetic, taking the risk of sounding tacky. And it’s not just the lyrics, but the slow groove and breathy saxophone. Some may call it dreamy and others just cheesy. I’m going with the flow and enjoying it regardless. There are situations when one just has to stop being critical, forget what expressions of desire sound like when scrutinized closely.

There was a time when this style was a clear attempt at sexiness, but in the 90s, when this song was released, there would have been a more self-conscious attitude like this: “You know and I know that this may be ridiculous, but I’m doing it anyway”. Seduction becomes a performance in which the artificiality of the gestures, the cooing and crooning, becomes a sign of sincerity. In a world where emotions have to be presented raw, it’s refreshing to remember this kind of performance. Each “baby” becomes a quotation, but that may be the nature of seduction. The gestures have to be recognizable. Willingness to be silly. It may be true confidence, or recoursing to these tropes may be a crutch. Doesn’t matter, as long as the message gets across.

What is not said aloud may be expressed otherwise. It’s in the tone of voice, in the meaningless phrases, in the meandering sax, the bursts of flute notes descending to rest. This is exactly where I want to be, running my fingers through your hair, on your body, my lips on your neck, breathing in your scent. Nothing is truly hidden even when nothing is said. There’s time for directness, but when a certain direction has been established, when both know where they’re going, being indirect can increase the excitement. Frustration, yes, but not all tension is bad, especially when there’s anticipation of release, of the moment when there’s a chance to show everything, this longing for connection, the desire to be close to each other, holding on, swaying, whispering.

The song swirls around those hopes and promises, clinging to the moment when things are not yet happening, but it’s obvious that something is in the air. The moment when words are unnecessary, or almost so. I have time to wait, we know this is happening, and I’m going to enjoy this to its fullest extent, the slow ascent into affection. All the things that are special and unique, and in the end we will be together, even if we aren’t saying it now. Love and desire become sources of confidence, trusting oneself, trusting the future, trusting the possibility of dreams becoming reality, fully committing to this desire, forgetting self-consciousness, just riding on the waves of oohs and aahs, regardless of what it sounds like.

Sammalsormet, varisevia

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Kohotat oksasi,
tuomenkukat tuuleen, tunnemuistot
v
    a                e
        r                v
             i                i
                 s               a
mustat siipeni sileät,
tartun nokallani joka terälehteen,
niiden pehmeisiin huuliin,
katson pilviä, taivasta oksallasi viipyen
vielä kun ei ole yhtään lehteä,
ei kukkaa nuuhkia
varhaisina talviaamuina,
kun voimme odottaa vain lumen laulua,
auroja, jätehuoltoyhtiön autoa
sekä - kaikki on kimallusta -
toisiamme.

Olen huutanut sinua merenpohjasta,
langennut vuoren juurelle,
ihmisyyden yksinäisyyden,
joka lumisena hohkaa, kimmeltää auringossa:
olen kuiskannut sinua sateessa,
odottanut lämpimät pisarat huulillani
ja käsissäni kosteus, josta elämä alkaa,
sammal levinnyt sormiini, ranteet vihreinä
olen kurottanut kohti kaikkea, mitä ei näe,
koska vaikka koskettaisi vain ilmaa,
syntyy rakkaus, sen ruskeat, siniset,
vihreät ja harmaat silmät,
maa, taivas, sammal, meri;
olen syöksynyt sinuun pysyessäni kaukana,
hengittänyt ihosi höyryn,
suunnatta juossut, silti sinua kohti;
olen kiivennyt vuorelle muuttuakseni palloksi,
joka vyöryy rannikolle, pompahtaa ilmaan
kaikki kivet ilonani; olen matkannut
halki ilman ja vesien
läsähtääkseni suolaisen meren pintaan,
olen vajonnut hitaasti;
olen etsinyt
ja löydettyäni jatkanut sinun etsimistäsi,
tämän illan, joka painuu rintaani vasten
kuin kiihkeät,
yhtä sammaleiset sormet.

Haikuja kuviin 2

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Tahmelan rannasta haikuja ja muutama kuva eiliseltä metsäkävelyltä. Onpa pari tankarunoakin.

Villit lupiinit.
Mistä löytyisi suurin
epilaattori?
*
Pistelee poskeen
nokkoskeiton, pistelee
pikkusormea.
*
Lumen valkeutta
keskellä herukoita.
Puutarhatuoli.
*
Ihastuksesta
kuiskin järvelle yksin
nimen ja kaikki.
Vene rannalle kiinni
päiväkirjalukolla.
*
Tuttu kasvimaa,
kivikin kohtelias:
tervetuloa.
*
Liplattaa laine,
leppä liplattaa laine
liplattaa mieli.
*
Puu valmistautuu
yöpuulle, hihkuu tuuleen
ihan nakkena.
*
Rannalla tangat
jalassa sekä päässä
tankat. Tai haiku.
*
Lapsikin oppii
runouden salat. Miksi
legot levällään?
Tuuli oli navakka,
ikkuna villiintynyt.

Resuiset vaatteet,
kaunis nappi. Lehdellä
ötökkä kiiltää.

Pöydän tukipuu
terä giljotiinissa.
Tää on mun baari.

Voititte tänään
mustikkaniskatyynyn.
Onnea taloon!

Millaisen polun
varrella Todellinen
Yliopisto on?

Kirjaimet kumoon!
Sensuuri kellastuttaa
sananjalkoja.

Muurahaiselle
puita kuurassa. Eiku??!?
Täähän on lämmin!

Kaikki tiet vievät
pehmeän polun kautta
johonkin pesään.

Vuokraliftejä.
Naakoilla toinen tieto.
It’s a nosturi.

Sävel, kehokin

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Luokseni tullut
hiljainen sävel
läpi väkijoukon
pujotellut, liukunut
kenenkään kuulematta,
silti kirkas, niin terävä,
että jokin minussa murtuu,
unohdettu lämpö hulahtaa esiin,
ja se soi ja soi
kauan sen jälkeen,
kun heilautit hyvästit.


Joskus olen tämä kehokin,
muuten: ääni, nokka koputtaa keloa,
palokärkeä ei näy. Olen siinäkin,
vaikka aavistuksena, kuvitelmana,
ja tuoksusi muistona, kun kävelen
metsäpolulla ja se aukeaa, vajoaa
puutarhaksi – olen aina puutarha
jota ei ole ja joka sinä olet minussa –
ja kun tunnen mitä tunnen, mitä tunnenkin,
tunnen itseni.