Beyond the Crash KARL JOHNSON Surviving What kid, slender cologne-moistened one, plies you with Multidozens of fresh roses and optimum Grotto ambience, Pyrrha? Fire-blond girl of the ponytailed, Streamlined elegance, what boy is your bowknot for? Poor kid! Multiple tearstorms in the boy-forecast. Dark winds, you less than loyal, Gods’ new moods . . . he will stare seaward. Must enjoy you now unskeptically: “gold is gold,” You’re “long-term” and will “be there” for him, “lovable!” Offshore winds are a factor, Freakish squalls—he will learn, not yet. Untried surface, you so glisten for aching boys! My prayer, flotsam on one wall at a shrine, my plank: “Thou art mighty! Here I have Hung wet garments, thou God of Seas.” —Horace, Odes 1.5 arion 20.1 spring/summer 2012 The Shoreline Equations You that once measured the sea and the land and could calculate sand-grains’ Inexpressible number, Archytas— Scanty the tribute paid you, a measure of soil to compress you Now on the Matine Coast. Little profit, Much as your mind may have roamed ethereal habitats, heaven’s Circumpolar rotunda—must perish! Man who’d dined at the gods’ own banquets, Tantalus, he died . . . Dawn’s up-wafted lover, Tithonus . . . Minos, though he had access to Jove’s own secrets. . . . Euphorbus, Hades received him a second time, round trip? Spotting his shield on a wall, Pythagoras claimed to have been him, Witnessed Troy and the War in that Era, Died, consigned to the darkness merely the outward and flesh-self. Physicist cum philosopher, he was Not untrustworthy, you thought. Well. The same nightfall awaits us, All of us, one-way road for all heel-prints. Whether it be war-games put on by the Furies to please Mars’ Sadism . . . outbound sailors for Ocean’s Appetite . . . old folks’, young folks’ funerals crowded together— Feral Persephone never refuses Heads, human heads! I sank as Orion was setting, his partner South Wind whipped the Illyrian whitecaps. Over my bones and this skull not buried yet—mariner, merchant, You! don’t meanly neglect to at least pour Transient sand-grains. Then, if the East Wind chases the waves west, Thrashes Venusia’s woods—may you thrive, safe! Then may the sea lanes flow your direction with bountiful commerce, By their will who can grant it—Jove willing, Neptune willing, the lord protective of sacred Tarentum. beyond the crash 62 You wouldn’t count an offence to be “minor,” Would you, that might recoil on your own offspring or descendants, None of their fault? Retribution: imagine You being looked down at, me not left cursing and futile, You with no rites, votive acts to absolve you. . . . You’re in a hurry, but pause here, pay your respects for a moment. Cast three handfuls of dust—you may sail, then. —Horace, Odes 1.28 Karl Johnson 63 Mistake Have I Not Told You This? Wine goblets come forth into this world for joy, Not this abuse, this rampage. It’s Balkan, it’s Barbaric, please stop! Tender Bacchus— Don’t expose Him to your damn bloodletting! Lamplight and wine . . . How grossly discordant to Fight, “daggers drawn,” as if in the Middle East. Ungodly roar, frat boys! Do lean back, Decompress all but your lounging elbows. This tannic jolt, Falerno del Massico— Want me to drink my share? Let our kid-in-love Tell us the cause. Megylla’s brother, Why is he blissful, what wound, whose arrow? Nerve failure? What’s her name? I will not drink up Till you divulge that name—it’s my price. I’m sure: Young goddess who tames you deserves you. Blushworthy choices in love don’t scorch you, You’ll fall the right way, always. What wound this time? Entrust to my own trustworthy ears the name. . . . Her?! Ay caramba! She’s Charybdis! Boy, you deserve a clear flame, not drowning. Who might unwitch you? Wisewoman, magus with North-country antivenin, some deity? You’re clutched by triplex beast Chimaera, Pegasus’ hooves mightn’t kick the coils loose. —Horace, Odes 1.27 beyond the crash 64 Mishap What Can I Say to Her? Look, what occurred last night—I can understand. You counterpunched, then left...