Monday, May 11, 2009

Féasta a Chaitheamh Gabhaireoil

(Quimper Bretagne Bergen Hordaland Fiscal the juggler was from Sint-Katelijne-Waver, a small potash mining town outside Antwerp, Hog school Visor, an accomplished tightrope walker, came from Waterscape en Kent where he worked as a dockhand before joining the Horsetail Liege pantomime troop, and Hyderabad and his brother Andhra grew up in a village on the outskirts of Pradesh, a region known for its red russet red apples and shapely women). He stands astride the grave sighing lowly ‘…why can’t I sleep…’ he sighs, ‘…I’ve had better days, boyhood days spent catching bees in a peanut butter jar, spearing frogs with a bow and quiver, peck and pluck days…’.

The man in the hat imagined big headed people and littler headed people, oftentimes confusing the one from the other. When he was a boy his mamma told he’d been blessed with a very special gift, an imagination. His mamma, not being of sound wits, figured her son could get whatever he wanted as long as he used his imagination: the more he imagined the bigger he grew, until he grew bigger then littler than littler, all the while growing no more than a few inches a year. He grew bigger than a Huancayo bandit, as he had a particular fondness for bandits, having read about them in comic books and in the circulars he found stuffed into his parent’s mailbox every Thursday without fail, then into a Junin carpet-layer, carpet-layers being littler than Huancayo bandits but bigger Aldershot Hampshire coopers, who were bigger than the circular bandits but littler than the ones he read about in comic books.

That summer
an Féasta a Chaitheamh Gabhaireoil was held in the church basement, the Hunters Table adorned with nosegays, Daffodils and Dahlias, Chrysanthemums and Slipperwort, Yellow Lady’s and Cypripedium Alveolus’, the women’s auxiliary preparing everything the day before, the rector’s assistant standing cross-armed between the closet and the Deacon’s step-up taking in the succulent display of churchly goodies.

Inanna pulls her hair back so tight her eyebrows recede into her forehead. Inanna studied pickling under Hubert Ibrăileanu, a much revered Narodnik from Narodnaya Volya who had a distain for bawlers and hoodwinkers. She was tutored in the gastronomic arts, learning how to butter wax paper and poach toadfish; the latter her specialty, the former a much regretted staple, nonetheless one she need to learn how to do without turning the egg white into rubbery pap. Bruttium O’Casey of Portadown Craigavon likes his toadfish over-easy, foregoing the unprincipled Principia Gastronomica of poached and coddled food.

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"Poetry is the short-circuiting of meaning between words, the impetuous regeneration of primordial myth". Bruno Schulz

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