Energies (2000)

from "A Breviary
of Guitars"

((the narrative
here picks up
from my history
in autumn 1983 and
weaves into the
present of its writing
in 2000))

Ah squandered!
What oily
squeaky leaky
squawky rotgut
floozy flights of
frenzy I lost
on a bottle(s)
and a night(s):
What a raging
river of booze
I drank: What
sea did I ever
approach: Christ
when I read back
over the journals
of that time the
motions are like
Homeric pithies:
"After practice
we headed out"
a shorthand for
"ever more furious
excess" and the
prayerful "when will
it ever stop?": O
the energies
provided out the
gates of excess:
Wish I had
a nipple for every
night I suckled
too much booze:
Fundamentally
I drank my
guitar into
its grave: The
partying was
always more primary
a motion than
the playing: The
lesser but more
immediate angel,
the easier flight:
O the energies
within "the fiery
drink of the black
mother" as the
Greeks called booze.
boon of slaves,
bane of empires:
But that's just
one trope on
those energies which
dissolve all names:
My father told
me round that
time of an
encounter he'd had
at Iona - in a
half mad or half
dreaming or half
otherworldly state
in which he met a
huge ugly man
at some outer
& neglected corner
of the island: Terrible
& churlish, loathsome
though my father
only felt a great
love for the
monster: The
being's name was
Thor & he was
a guardian energy
of the ancient island,
one of a council
of energies my
father invited
to come live
with him at his
Columcille: He
believes they
rooted in the
stone chapel &
stone belltower
& in the standing
stones: Surely
they inhabit the
titanic work that
went into building
Columcille: I've
never felt more
exhausted than
at the end of
a work day on
that property: Those
energies drink our
mortal blood &
enthusiasm like a
booze for angels:
The energies
demand it all:
Sleep is a sieve
which washes
blue physic
through mind
and body &
we wake ready
to harness the
plow again: Like
a Celtic
warrior killed in
battle & dropped
in Manannan's
cauldron at
the bottom of
the sea to
rise again fever-
bright & ready
for the next
fray the next
day: Today it's
Friday & I'm
beat from another
fierce week of
short sleep &
early rising &
long rows down
these pages &
then working
out furiously
in the gym
(the energies
demanding
gales & hammers
& hoofs outta
each workout)
& then fighting
the good war
for on the job
& battling the
competition & bad
billings & staff
fucking off: &
Then coming
home to maintain
the marital dance
with sans sex:
All duty
no booty: Have
I ever worked
a day harder?
The energies of
such a life
lived thusly
rage at 95
to 105 percent
of max, a static
anaerobic
ballstothewalls
pace which
sees no horizon,
no port: Energies
anneal their own
fire, their own
mode of life:
Through them I've
burnt up many
lives: Hard
years of long
days devoted to
fundamentalist
Jesus sales
& years of
monastic study
alone in a room
far west & years
of chasing a
dream of music
& years of AA
& therapy
& professional
work & finishing
college & writing
through to here
Such devotions
have the teeth
of compulsion,
discipline an
iron collar I
ratchet as
far down as I
can: Horsed
and goaded
by those burn
angels Force
(Bia) and
Necessity
(Anangke):
My father looks
old for his years,
his poor body has
taken a major
shellacking from
years in the
service of stone:
Nerve damage
in his neck
where a huge
stone hit him
falling off the
belltower & feet
numb & several
toes amputated
from years
of walking on
stone rows:
I've got ear
damage from
years of loud
music & liver
damage from
booze & speed
& a bum shoulder
from too much
swimming &
lifting & aerobics
all at the same
time & dim
eyes from all
the reading &
carpal damage
from all the
keyboarding
& a damaged
heart from
all the fires
of love: Lack
of sleep I'm
sure ebbs some
other vital fuse:
Not by providence
but victory
the energies
scream in
my deep inner
ear & the
dolphin swims
on & down:
Like Thor's
hammer thrown
at an ever
distant mark
I have become
the work to
the utter detriment
of any other
life: Full time
husband, athlete,
worker, writer,
all in one: Yet
how much more
the energies
require: Not
more lines down
the page but
finer rages right
here: Not
more weight on
the press but
better form
& focus - nail
those muscles
in their clench:
Not more sex
but better loving:
Not more hours
on the job but
another level of
the work
simultaneously
hurling better
& loftier & more
competitive
hammers: Ah
but why bitch:
Think of what
the energies demanded
of my wife's
nephew on that
January day
he died, a day
which seems too
long ago: How
his blood must
have raced to
head out to
the beach on
a fine day, cop
some rays, listen
to some jams,
drink some beers,
eye the pretties,
drive hard and
fast and harder
and faster &
even harder
faster till he
was plucked like
a fruit ripened
by the energies
which demanded
that he never
stop, never buckle
up: Think on
that then wonder
if your lot is
all that bad, pal:
They let you
survive all
those failed
guitars & women
you wrongly
nailed: How
many times they
could have tore
you from the branch
you so willingly
hung from: