Mel BrakE Press, Nataniel S. Rounds. He work is breathless..
NATHANIEL S. ROUNDS BIO:
Nathaniel S. Rounds writes from the tallest eyesore east of Montreal, where even the bed bugs take the elevator.
He has been published in Down in the Dirt, Melusine, Centrifugal Eye, and many other fine publications. His chapbooks
are available from Fowlpox Press.
Gabriella
in The shade of The Wood is Fed To The Applause of The Evening
1.
I found
you looking at the tatty canvas
You
brought it to the counter
I
surmised without giving you the stare-down
That
you were in your fifties
Better
preserved than Lenin
Simple
black dress
Blond
hair not frizzed out from decades of dyeing
You
must have been born with the gold
And not
in any hurry to relinquish it in favour of silver
The
canvas was a mess
An
abstract oil called Babi Yar/Schrödinger's
Cat
Painted
on Russian linen stretched over a bone frame
I
showed you the odd little treasure tucked between frame slat and
linen
A
folded sheet of foolscap with typewritten story
With a
75 dpi halftone taken from a Pears Shilling
Cyclopaedia
Of
various types of vermin
It
tells a story of a brave woman
Named
Gabriella Eventide
She was
left a small pension by her husband
A
farmer who had the misfortune of being trapped beneath his tractor
Mr.
Orton Eventide was brave enough
To
write a cursory will on the underside of the tractor’s fender
Thereupon
Gabriella used her small income to assist women in distress
In this
particular story
Gabriella
comes to the aid of the five daughters of Zelophehad
Who
were desperately trying to escape gigantic bed bugs
Dressed
in regency pumps and powdered wigs
As they
descended a wooden ladder
Connecting
tenement buildings to sky
And as
I paraphrased the words you read it and nodded
And
murmur words like Ingrid Berman
And
send me into dream world with that air of Arpège
And
then you ask for the price of the picture
Which
is cheap since it needs repair
And you
reach for the coins in your leather purse
And
tell me your name: Gabriella
2.
Gabriella
Eventide
I’m
no longer feeling it
Fleet
footed ascent up Promise Hill
Tenement
houses crumbling like Old Testament names
We
broke a chaw of clemency and fed it to the crows
Who
turned a leafless tree into a forest of derisive laughter
Gabriella
I hear
your presence on the radio
Gabriella
I feel
your dress of coarse white linen
Against
the back of my hand
On the
lifeless stage at the grange hall
Where
shadows on the torn, green blinds
Substitute
for members in an audience
And
where coughing in the radiator
Serves
as applause
3.
Your
Honour
It’s
not all my fault
I mean
Gabriella
knocked me out with a feather
After
plucking it from a duck’s behind
Worrying
the words out of
“Engine,
engine, number nine
Sliding
down Chicago line
When she's polished she will shine
Engine, engine, number nine”
When she's polished she will shine
Engine, engine, number nine”
Until
it reached a fevered pitch
Like
pine sol over an open fire
Made by
climbing the tallest tree
And
don’t you know
For a
lumberjack’s daughter
She
could brew more
Than a
cup of joe
