Five Poems by Lindsay Turner
Five poems by Lindsay Turner in COMPANY
LINDSAY TURNER
SYSTEM SONG
All systems go and some places broken Mars
the red planet in the sky behind the houses Mars
the red planet whose sign is ♂ The
system says it comes closer to the earth in November All systems say go and take your things
with you Leaves
make noises behind the houses In
the system there are parts of it that don’t feel They
carried her up the stairs like a doll The system painted itself on the grass
in the field The
system was painted on the grass in the field They
carried her up the stairs like a doll They
painted the system on the grass in the field Do the parts feel strange when you wake
up inside the system Are there parts that don’t feel the
system and which The
dead leaves looked like testicles but I didn’t want to say it The
system doesn’t make too much noise in the grass The parts in the system still don’t feel
anything I saw my leg in the armchair but it
didn’t look like me The
system was broken and there were bodies in it The
systems were working to take care of it The systems were working to take care of
it swiftly The
systems said get out so I went out quickly The
systems broke so I went out to look at the sky The
planet isn’t really red, more like butterscotch All systems go and what did you think
was happening All
systems go and it really happened like that All
systems broken and the systems taking care of it The
red planet visible over the dumpster but far |
SONG OF THE TOWNS
what
they have in common appears only after you’ve been to some of them: at the
end of the day we were all very thirsty, except for the baby, who’d had some
water earlier what
they have in common appears as fatigue you shouldn’t have on rising,
must something be wrong, it appears * dust
in the air over the triangle of the boulevard and two diagonal streets
running into it just after a rainstorm: the only piece that fits in here is
shaped like a catastrophe, nevertheless small ornaments hanging straight in
the air, in spite of sawdust,
what dust from the paint, what dust on the lettered walls, red lights flashed
in dust at night and a kitchen window dug into a wall so old it shone,
nevertheless the dust is new in this house, utilities sliding into dust, the water takes in the rust: these forces don’t abandon space after it’s been abandoned— * Water water
everywhere But thinking does not make it so The grave officials say, shore up the bottom line. * pests
in the town, bêtes d’orage
in the wheat, storm of them, a propensity for small spaces leads to global
explosion even after quarantine, the town’s been huddled in the wheatfields all this time and the plane knows what and
where we know, the problem of the bills that came with it, civic expenses
like plans and fireworks, the problem you see is that someone has to pay
them, difficult to detect * Since forces don’t abandon space although it seems abandoned too
smooth a tradition, too easy to realize and put them in, something to soothe
the city failing while we were talking about it, talk about a waste of energy
but still there are these shapes to be filled in with something the
town celebrated as empty as the other towns, the pace of slowing-down appears
with increasing speed, shutters close faster again, singing forces through
abandoned space, * The aging system means a race to profit from abandoned space while leaving it abandoned space since forces don’t abandon space although it looks abandoned. Thinking does not make it so: the lot abandoned to the race, the curse is that it’s here to stay and all the grave officials say, we
thought you had abandoned— * The shutters open on the shutters: the industries of fields and bugs are silent forces in the space. The series starts to overwhelm as it takes shape— |
SONG OF ACCUMULATION
I
was in another state when it happened long
since left out under the sky I
felt the glass grow lighter in my hand I
thought, I should pay more attention to what’s strange so
long since out under the sky, at night some
white streaks then just nothing there’s
an office for change and there’s one for savagery you
think “pristine” but it just means not yet accumulated you
think “pristine” but it just means uncluttered like
a new office where there isn’t much junk yet or
how about we reverse that, afterwards there’ll be less there
was stubble in the field and a throat that rattled out
under the night sky shouting, “I hate men” then
there was less than stubble in the field when
the leaves blew away it was mostly mud there
was a yard but there was less than grass in it when
you say “less,” please explain what you mean in
another state, an office for savagery an
office for change another for savagery I
was in another state, trying to get things done there
was less than stubble in the field and still something rattled you
think “possibility,” please explain exactly what you mean |
INSURANCE SONG
You’re
covered against forms of untimeliness, covered
against excess guilt or expense. Theft
of some things is covered if they’re yours, you’re
covered if you fuck up your hip. You’re
covered against mold, nothing
to do about the smell of it. you’re
covered against mildew, nothing
to do about the smell of it. Your coverage extends into coastal areas
where
you won’t go just to see the scenery. Your
coverage extends even after your death, covering
business surrounding your death, covering
things you wouldn’t do anyway, covering
when you weren’t there when you said you’d be, covering
when you wake up thinking it’s morning it
isn’t and it won’t be for some time. |
ACCOMPLICE
this is now the
anxiety you never chose in
the mountains, mountain ash find
the verb for what you lost in
the mountains, mountain ash red
berries flashed out in dry brush find
the verb and suffer it with someone else— find
the verb & suffer it drove
through where the paper mill suffer
the anxiety & the election of the fools— in
the air the paper mill released
it all into the air sunlight
tangled in the air & down the mountain— has
anyone checked up on the air did
you think you got to choose does
anyone ever get to choose &
still end up together drove
through mountains in the drought suffer
through the verb together this
is what you didn’t choose & what might outlast |
Lindsay Turner is the author of Songs & Ballads, forthcoming from Prelude Books in 2018. Her translations include adagio ma non troppo, by Ryoko Sekiguchi (forthcoming, Les Figues Press) and The Next Loves, by Stéphane Bouquet (forthcoming, Nightboat Books), as well as a book of philosophy by Frederic Neyrat, Atopias (co-translated with Walt Hunter and forthcoming, Fordham University Press). She is a Ph.D. candidate in English at the University of Virginia, where she is writing a dissertation about labor and contemporary American poetry. She lives in Greenville, South Carolina.