Saturday, March 27, 2010

Sepahan Buxton of Derbyshire

Some things have no beginning or ending, they just are. There is no arrival or departure, they simply are as they ‘is’. There is no movement as movement requires action and action choice and choice demands that we start from a proposition, a premise, then move onto a middle and an ending, finis. Lela saw only a middle; and sometimes the middle disappeared leaving nothing, no centre, core or midpoint. Midway she found herself standing in front of the Seder grocer’s, the window reflecting back nothing, no centre, midpoint or core. ‘smack her with the end of your cudgel!’ shouted Sepahan Buxton of Derbyshire, ‘and quick before she gets away!’ shouted Pest, the clamor and commotion of the crowd muffling his voice. At that moment the biggest dogman appeared from behind a hedgerow of honeysuckle and felled fichus, his hands raised flailing over his enormous head. ‘so, do you like fruitcake?’ Lela asked Sepahan Buxton of Derbyshire. In the turmoil and hubbub that prevailed Lela couldn’t make heads nor tails of what Sepahan Buxton of Derbyshire said in reply, hearing only the whirring buzz that people gathered with nothing of importance to do fell into. Stepping over hedgerow and hedge the biggest dogmen stood head and shoulders above the uproar, his eyes flashing like broken headlights. ‘so, do you like fruitcake?’ she asked a second time, Sepahan Buxton of Derbyshire doing his best to ignore her. At that moment the littlest dogman appeared as if out of nowhere, his eyes flashing like static radio dials. ‘I like fruitcake’ he said, dust flaking off the bib of his jacket. ‘Not you, I tell you you are a millisecond away from a good thrashing!’ Not knowing who had spoken or why Lela felt a shimmying in her legs.

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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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