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ESTILL POLLOCK My recent
journal publications include Poetry Review, Tears in the Fence, 10th
Muse, and Shearsman. My poetry collections include Constructing
the Human (Salzburg 2001), Blood Motet and Fields and Standing Waves
(Flarestack 2004), and the recent book cycle Blackwater Quartet
(Kittiwake Editions 2005). Recent awards include the Bentley Editors Choice
Award in the USA (Fine Madness), and the Poetry Book Society Award 2004 (Flarestack
pamphlet Blood Motet). A new book, Relic Environments, is in preparation
at Cinnamon Press for publication in 2006.
THE
IDLER’S MISCELLANY (after
Catullus 1) What
was she to me Gone
now, taking sunny days with her I
should have seen it coming, moping here And
miserable I
realise now that I did all the running She
only joined the chase Because
she wanted to be caught No
more kisses for you, lady I’ve
got my head screwed-on At
last She’s
pretty enough, but I see now A
hard bitch in other ways Thinking
back on the good times Everything
seemed possible I
can still taste her mouth Catullus You’re
an idiot … Here,
Postumia, sit on my lap And
make the room stop spinning This
wine’s not so weak after all And
Bacchus knows I
like my Falernian straight off the vine Where’s
that waiter gone Sit
on my lap, Postumia Sit
on this … Fabullus,
darling Long
time no see I’d
forgotten what a looker your wife is By
all means Dinner,
only I’m a little short on cash So
you bring the salt and wine Something
nice, a little entertainment And
I’ll recite the poems about True Love I’ve
been saving for a special occasion Here,
have a sniff of this It’s
new, the latest scent, Venus Herself I
think it’s called One
whiff and you’ll beg the gods To
transform you into One Big Nose Even
starting with a hooter The
size of yours … Speaking
of noses, that girl’s Is
not the daintiest And
how can she get through the door With
those feet Little
piggy fingers And
Her
makeup’s awful Can
you believe she’s praised for
her grace and beauty Ha I
hear Mamurra the bankrupt Kept
her in the provinces Imagine,
whoring for the likes of him No
standards anymore, that’s the trouble … Gellius,
wise up, this guy’s a creep Do
you think it’s normal to mount your own mother Or
your sister Your
hand always working beneath your clothes The
farthest Tethys and the Oceans The
Nymph King himself Imagine
nothing lower Nam
nihil est quicquam sceleris, quo prodeat, ultra His
head tucked in his own crotch, sucking and sucking … My
girl swears it’s me she’d marry Even
if Jupiter himself came courting It’s
me she’d choose Still,
she always talks that way About
everything Arms
waving, talking and talking Even
when we’re at it Love,
something written On
wind and water … Why
do you make me love you You
make me crazy, how can I respect you You
act like such a slut If
this is going to work We
both need to be better people You
particularly … I’m
torn up over you How
can you expect me to feel two things at once And
explain it all away Like
nothing happened Love
and hate Two
other words … I
take her abuse She
works herself up into such a rage Her
husband regards the whole thing As
highly amusing Shit
for brains, if he knew what the rages meant It
wouldn’t seem so funny She
can’t forget me, can’t find the cure Can’t
find the silence That
says she’s over me … Even
in public, such insults The
more she realises she still wants me The
more furious she gets I’m
the same I
never miss an opportunity Dishing
the dirt on her to anyone who’ll listen It
must be love … Don’t
believe everything I say, Tappo I’d
dig out my own eyes before I’d think Of
hurting her, really hurting her I
was true, she more than cherished We
more than lovers, no others above her It’s
just that sometimes Thinking
about her, I can’t seem to help myself … Brother,
I have come to your grave In
this far place At
the end of oceans Here,
to your ashes My
offering, a tribute our fathers would have known How
else to mark this grief The
last time I saw you Neither
of us thinking of tears Or
goodbyes … No
other island or peninsula Allowed
by Neptune a place untroubled on the sea Pleases
me as much as you Sirmione
Safe
back from Thynia And
Bithynia, at last the journey to our own house Ended,
among our own gods We
deserve a rest, a couch A
lake to look upon
A chance to laugh-off Asia Minor
1
Gaius Valerius Catullus, circa 84 BC – 54 BC; it is suggested that his great
love, the ‘Lesbia’ of his poems, was probably Clodia Metelli, sister of the
demagogue Publius Clodius Pulcher, and wife of Quintus Metellus Celer. He served
in Bithynia in 57 BC, in the entourage of provincial governor Gaius Memmius. It
is thought that while there he visited the grave of his elder brother, before
returning to Italy the following year. He died in Rome.
copyright © Estill Pollock |