Saturday, 8 April 2017
Man Person by Mark Young
& considered. Where to start.
Where to end. What to be. Call
me Queequeg? Start at the fore-
head? Fill it in or put a title there,
the chapter heading? The chin?
Remembered Ta moko, had seen
the death of it when young,
old ladies sitting on the kerb
waiting for the bus to Waitara's
Manukorihi Pā, green markings
moving with their mouths. Had left
the country before its resurrection,
part of the twin-tongue reformation.
Using the chin would give that aspect
strength, but continuity lost in the
hidden contours of the throat. The
neck? Too many prison tats, tearing
along the dotted line. The chest? But
only if a play, the curtains opening.
But only if the final scene, or curtain
call, everyone on stage. & how to lay
it out? As newspaper, columnar, or
else a book, straight-down, verso,
recto, the arms appendices or table of
contents & an index. Dead Egyptian,
ungrateful, right round & keep on
keeping down, or variant helix, single.
Or doubled, entwined, defining who
you are. Or who might like to be. Ideal
is Möbius Strip. Reading the message
within the eyes each other time you
pass. Alternate. Reading without them.
Mark Young lives in a small town in North Queensland in Australia, & has been publishing poetry for almost sixty years. His most recent books are Ley Lines, from gradient books of Finland, The Chorus of the Sphinxes, from Moria Books in Chicago, & some more strange meteorites, from Meritage & i.e. Press, California / New York.
He also has two chapbooks in the Moria Books Locofo Chaps political poetry series — "100 chaps in the first 100 days of the Trump presidency."