gabriel's second lesson.pdf

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Gabriel's Second LessonAuthor(s): JAMES MERRILLSource: The American Poetry Review , Vol. 8, No. 5 (SEPTEMBER/OCTOBER 1979), pp. 6-8Published by: American Poetry ReviewStable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/27776262Accessed: 25-04-2016 17:26 UTC

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Haw as the furrow wavered. The beasts walked with their heads low, the

worn patches on their pelts gleaming. In the deep trough of the furrow,

the plow blade in the earth, they appeared to be straining to pull j

Lorenzo. Until he arrived, looping the reins about one handle, she might

be filled with pleasurable anticipation.

Lorenzo's great deliberation, his concern for the flynets, his shuffling

about to pull up grass for the team, held Cora's attention as if she were

spellbound but at a remove from what she was seeing. His muttered

remarks were for the horses, the slap and stroke of his hand caresses.

From the pail she had brought him he would take the buttermilk and

drink it half down, then give a rumbling belch. Silently he would eat

while she stood watching. The dark furrows he had just plowed seemed

to please both him and the birds. Orion might encourage Cora to stand

close for a moment, and talk, while he showed her something turned up

by the plow, but neither arrowheads or bones held interest for Lorenzo.

His pleasure was to cup a handful of the moist loam, letting it sift be

tween his fingers, or smooth it out on his rough palm as if looking for

something. It did not please him that Cora took the time to carry food to

Orion, on his own section. In reference to Orion he first called to her at

tention that a woman in her condition shouldn't overture herself. His

manner was that it was something she might have overlooked, if he

hadn't brought it up.

Had Cora ever doubted that the nightmare she had survived would

result in a child ? The logic of it was clear and not to be questioned. The

gift of life was holy, and one paid for it dearly. The drama of creation, as

she now understood it, a coming together of unearthly forces, was not

unlike the brute and blind disorder of her unthinkable experience. So it

j was meant to be, and so she had found it. Toward Lorenzo she felt no per

sonal anger, admitting to the necessity of an accomplice. Only in this

wise could the mortal body bring forth new life.

The pastor in Battle Creek, learning of her condition, referred to her

discomfort as wages. She pondered this, but did not fully understand it.

; Stretched on her back she watched the mound of her body swell to con

j ceal the iron frame at the foot of the bed. In the hollow at her side

j Lorenzo slept soundly and she was grateful for his indifference. Orion

was always up before her to fetch the basket of cobs, build a fire, and fill

j the air w ith the astringent smell of coal oil. The whoosh and crackle of

the flames, the sound of water dipped from the pail to splash in the wash

j pan began a day that Lorenzo would end by winding the alarm clock on

the range hood, the alarm set for 5. That it seldom rang did not arouse his

comment. It was part of the clock, and required winding, to insure that

the sun would rise in the morning. The first cackling of her pullets, before

the first light of dawn, always found Cora awake.

It seemed ordained to her, rather than by chance, as did the sensible

progress of the seasons, that as she grew larger and slower, so did the

days grow shorter and the work lessen, accomodating itself to her situa

tion. At prescribed periods, on the doctor's recommendation, she got off

her feet. Her long tapering hands, one with the blue-scarred knuckle,

rested on her swollen body as if to calm it, or respond to an expected

signal. Appraising her wide hips the doctor assured her that childbirth

would give her little trouble. How could he have known that she found

that prediction disappointing ? Had she endured so much for a birth of

little moment ? From day to day, however, being with child gave her the

satisfaction of work soon to be completed, a harvest to which she could

look forward. One day differed so little from another only Sundays held

her attention. She liked the prayer and the worship less than she did the

singing of the hymns. Although Lorenzo had observed the Baptist sab

bath in Ohio, he had been reared as Methodist, in Zanesville, but no

church of that denomination was nearer than Nehigh, an hour's ride in

the buggy. Cora had been raised a Unitarian but she was not a stickler

for denominations. She would go to the service closest by, if hymns were

sung. She was amazed and troubled to learn, however, that Catholics had

established themselves in the county, although owing their allegiance

neither to God nor country, but the Pope. She would have thought about

it more if urgent matters had not been on her mind.

Just before Christmas, during their first intense cold spell, Cora suf

fered from deep drowsiness, with bad headaches which she assumed to

be part of her wages, but Dr. Geltmayer threw open the kitchen door to

flood the house with icy blasts of air. If she was ill, he said, it was because

she lacked air to breathe. The house with its closed windows, its burning

range, lacked oxygen. To explain Dr. Geltmayer lit a stub of candle and

covered it with one of Cora's jelly glasses. They were silent as they

watched the flame shrink, then sputter out. Lorenzo's astonishment was

boundless. To believe it he had to see it done over, examining the glass

and lighting the candle with his own match. After that occasion he would

say to Cora, * 'The air cold enough for you to breathe it ? " Nothing else he

had heard, read or seen brought him so close to a smile.

The fact was, however, that Cora felt so much better she knew she had

been short of air for sometime. Too much of it, perhaps, hastened to

bring on her labor pains. Orion walked the horse and buggy three miles

to Otto Kahler, whose wife was a midwife, and by the time they had re

turned Cora was stretched on the rack, as if meant to be broken.

Although urged to cry out by Mrs. Kahler, Cora made no sound. Unable

to bear the silence Orion left the house and found Lorenzo in the storm

cave, sorting the sprouting potatoes. The air in the cave was moist and

almost warm, fragrant with the smell of the lantern. When he returned to

the house the child was howling, but the woman on the bed appeared to

be dead. It clarified Orion's first impressions that she was a woman of

remarkable appearance. She was not dead, but in a place so like it no one

but herself might have drawn the distinction. She had lost so much blood

that Mrs. Kahler marvelled how a body so thin had managed to contain

it. From where had it all come ? How could it be replaced ? Just a few

days before Orion had remarked the fever-like pricks of color in her

English complexion, but now her face in the lamplight was like wet

plaster. He wondered if any person should come back from where she had

been. He was sent out to fetch Lorenzo, so that the father might see the

mother and child together, both of them alive. Shown the wrinkled, howl

ing infant he commented that she squawked pretty good for a girl. H

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JAMES MERRILL:

Gabriel s second Lesson

James Merrill received the National Book Award twice (1967 and 1978) and was

awarded the Bollingen Prize in 1973.

[From Scripts for the Pageant, the sequel to Mirabell. This seance takes

place in August 1977, in Athens: DJ and JM at the Ouija Board.

Speakers: the archangel Gabriel; Siddartha, the Buddha; Jesus Christ;

Robert Morse (a late friend now studying music in Heaven); Richard

Wagner; and the god Mercury. Also present are Gabriel's brother

angels, and "our poet"?the late W. H. Auden.]

PAGE 6

THE AMERICAN POETRY REVIEW



3/4

Lights in the schoolroom. A confusing blaze:

Torches, votive candles, level rays

Of dawn or dusk, spokes winnowing the air

?In vain. Today the Great Twins are elsewhere.

Gabr. HAIL, PRINCE

Siddartha?saffron robes and sandalled feet,

Palms together, plump as a nut-meat

Goldenly fitted to its cosmic shell?

Advances at the sound of a prayer bell.

Sidd. HAIL, BROTHER DEATH.

Gabr. PRINCE, OUR POET SAYS MAN SET IDEA TO INNOCENCE TO ALLAY HIS FEARS & SAVE

HIS FEEBLE FAITH.

TWO HERE BEING MORTAL-FORGIVE THEIR SCANT ATTIRE, IT IS WARM IN YOUR TEMPLE

(Church We'd forgotten?horrors and have sat

Down in shorts and tank-tops. Well, that's that.)

CANNOT SEE YOUR OWN SPLENDOR RIVALLING EVEN MY DEAR WIN'S SUN.

YET ENOUGH. WE MEET IN THE VAST, FAST-ABANDONED COMPLEX OF RELIGION.

HAS ANY HUMAN ENERGY PRODUCED SUCH A MULTITUDE OF ARCHITECTURES?

PRINCE, AS OUR COMPANY STROLLS THROUGH THIS SUNSET-LIT COMPOUND,

Gothic spires, pagodas, minarets,

Greek columns blazing from each picture-glass?

But it's all tinted like an oleograph

And somehow radiates irreverence.

SPEAK TO US.

Sidd BROTHER LORDS, I WAS GIVEN BY GOD'S MESSENGER

MUCH THE SAME ORDER AS MY BROTHER JESU: TELL

MAN HOW IN HIS LIFE HE MAY ASCEND THE MOUNTAIN

OF EXPERIENCE BY CASTING EVER UPWARD

HIS MENTAL ROPES UNTIL SERENELY STANDING ON

PEAKS HIMALAYAN. I WENT DOWN, MY LORDS, AND SPOKE,

BETRAYING NEVER TO THE MULTITUDES THOSE TRUTHS

OF THE REPEATING SOUL. MY WRETCHED WHORE SHIVA

STOLE THESE FROM ME IN MY SLEEP AND BREATHED THEM EVEN

INTO THE EAR OF THE BRAHMIN COW. IT WAS OUT:

INSTEAD OF A GREAT EARTHBOUND CEREBRALITY

THEY SET GOING A PINWHEEL OF SPUTTERING LIVES

EACH MORE USELESS THAN THE LAST. I TRIED, LORD BROTHERS

I BEG YOU SPEAK TO OUR FATHER ON MY BEHALF.

Gabr. PRINCE, IT IS SPENT, GOD'S POWER IN SUCH MATTERS.

YET HE & WE LOOK KINDLY ON YOU. GO IN PEACE, & BECKON IN THE JEW.

A lean, rabbinical young man in white

Bent under an imaginary weight

Stumbles forward, taking Michaers light

For God's at first; recovering, stands straight.

Jesus. FATHER GOD YAHWEH? AH LORDS, MY BROTHERS, SHALOM

His voice is hollow. Like the Buddha, he

Acts out his own exhausted energy.

WHAT A DEAD SOUND, MY NAME, IN HALF THE WORLD'S PULPITS.

WE, AS MY PRINCELY BROTHER SAYS, SPIN DOWN, OUR WORDS

LIKE GOD'S OWN PLANETS IN ONE LAST NOVA BURST AND

GRAVITY STILLS & OUR POWER LOSES ITS PULL.

HE & I CAME TO DELIVER LAWS, MINE FOR MAN

TO SHAPE HIMSELF IN GOD S IMAGE, BUDDHA'S FOR MAN

TO BECOME GOD. WORDS, WORDS. BUT OUR MESSAGE, BROTHERS

I BEG OF YOU, INTERCEDE. BEFORE THE WINE RETURNS

WHOLLY TO WATER LET OUR FATHER MAKE ME FLESH

THAT I MAY A SECOND TIME WALK EARTH AND IMPLORE

WRETCHED MAN TO MEN, REPAIR WHILE HE CAN. AMEN.

SEPTEMBER/OCTOBER 1879

PAGE 7



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Gabr. DEAR SIMPLE PRIEST, STAY WITH US HERE IN HEAVEN, GREET YOUR FAITHFUL,

GIVING THEM BY YOUR SWEET WAYS COURAGE TO RETURN IN YOUR STEAD.

Shouldering his burden, Christ withdraws.

NOW MUSICIAN, STEP FORTH

From temple to "temple of music" is but one

Half-tone. Components of an Odeon:

Golds, whites, red plush, kid gloves, unheard applause.

Robert, lyre in hand, shyly ascends

The podium.

RM. LORDS, DEAR ONES, OUR POET LENDS

ME WORDS TO WELCOME THIS MOST HONORED GUEST.

Music. He wasn't joking?an offstage choir

Sustains his first original melody:

MASTER, THE CHARMED CIRCLE LISTENING

ABOUT YOU HERE IS YOUR NEW RING

?Plainsong phrase repeated a third higher

Before its resolution into three

Chords from the Overture to Parsifal

Not lost on Wagner who, in flowing tie

And velvets, stands before the company.

RW. LORDS OF LIFE AND YOU, ENVIABLE

ABOUT-TO-BE COMPOSER. I MAKE BOLD

TO SAY THAT MUSICS RIVER GOLD STILL VEINS

A PEDESTAL THE GOD HAS TOPPLED FROM.

NONE NOW BUT THOR, MY LONE PERCUSSIONIST, REMAINS

TO BEAT UPON EMMANUEL'S DRUM

A FAINT DIRGE FOR THAT FURRED & SAVAGE PANTHEON.

LORDS, MORTALS, COME SALUTE AT SET OF SUN

GREAT WOTAN, AS THE ICECAPS MELT

Gabr. COME SPRITE, QUICKSILVER MESSENGER,

TUBE HELD IN EARTH'S DRY MOUTH, COME MERCURY MY OWN

WHAT, ALONE? YOUR SNOW HEIGHT

DOWNTRODDEN BY THE PICNICKER?

QUICK TELL US, YOU WHOSE FACE

GLEAMS WITH THE MAGIC STILL, OF THAT OLYMPIAN RACE

Steps down

To strains of his own death march. Wastes of white

Are scored too briefly by a raven's flight.

Out from the mirror (Robert blinks astonished)

Slips a figure only slightly tarnished?

Wings quivering on silver helmet, wings

At silver heel?and silver-throated sings:

AH LORD GABRIEL

THOUGH MAN WAS ABLE

TO CONJURE US

FROM HIS LOOKING GLASS

OUR SHINING FIELD:

TIME RAN THAT RACE,

THE HORROR WELLD

UP & ACROSS

DO WE OUTGAZE

FOR A BRIEF SPELL EYES

BLIND TO THE PILFER

OF OUR FLAT SILVER

DEEPSEATED DAMAGE,

A BLACKLY TICKING

OVERTAKING

OF EYE & IMAGE

DJ.

JM .

Gabr.

Flown. Silence. Then a grave, deliberate

Glissando of the cup to rainbow's end:

ABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZ

What's all this?

WHENCE WE ARE NOWHERE

LIKED OR DISLIKED,

ONLY SHOULD FAIR

OR STRONG REFLECT

Looks like the alphabet.

THE NEW MATERIALS, YOUNG POET, FOR A NEW FAITH:

ITS ARCHITECTURE, THE FLAT WHITE PRINTED PAGE

TO WHICH WILL COME WISER WORSHIPPERS IN T I M E

Exeunt.

PAGE 8

THE AMERICAN POETRY REVIEW

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