<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Tamar and Amnon<\/strong> Moon wheeling across the sky, *<\/p>\n In her dreams, Tamar was lost, *<\/p>\n It\u2019s half-past three and Amnon lies *<\/p>\n In the courtyard, the hundred horses *<\/p>\n O what commotion then was heard *<\/p>\n The frenzied violator, Amnon, Martyn Crucefix<\/strong>\u2019s most recent publications are The Lovely Disciplines (Seren, 2017) and two chapbooks: O. at the Edge of the Gorge (Guillemot Press, 2017) and A Convoy (If a Leaf Falls Press, 2017). He has also translated the poetry of Rilke and more recently the Daodejing \u2013 a new version in English (Enitharmon, 2016). Cargo of Limbs will be published by Hercules Editions in 2019. He blogs regularly on many aspects of poetry, translation and teaching: http:\/\/www.martyncrucefix.com<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Tamar and Amnon for Alfonso Garc\u00eda Valdecasas Moon wheeling across the sky, no water on the plain, hot summer now scattering seeds, talk is of tiger and flame. And miles above the roof beams, nerves of metal squeal, a twisted breeze comes blowing in with the bleat of wool. And spread-eagled, the […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":4,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_et_pb_use_builder":"","_et_pb_old_content":"","_et_gb_content_width":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[7],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-17239","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-prose-poetry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/17239","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/4"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=17239"}],"version-history":[{"count":5,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/17239\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":17573,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/17239\/revisions\/17573"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=17239"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=17239"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=17239"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
\nfor Alfonso Garc\u00eda Valdecasas<\/em><\/p>\n
\nno water on the plain,
\nhot summer now scattering seeds,
\ntalk is of tiger and flame.
\nAnd miles above the roof beams,
\nnerves of metal squeal,
\na twisted breeze comes blowing in
\nwith the bleat of wool.
\nAnd spread-eagled, the earth shows
\nits barely-healed hurt,
\nor it shivers in incandescent white
\nof cauterising heat.<\/p>\n
\nbirds in her throat,
\nwith the swish of cool tambourines,
\na moonlit lyre stroked.
\nUp in the eaves, her nakedness,
\nNorth the palm grove,
\nshe wishes for snow on her belly,
\non her back, hailstones.
\nHow Tamar loves to sing her songs,
\nstark-naked to the roofs,
\nwhile scattered around her feet
\nare five chilly doves.
\nAmnon is slim and definite
\nin his tower, gazing,
\nbrimming, full, his frothy groin,
\nhis beard swaying.
\nHer nakedness is all lit up
\non the terrace below.
\nThe whispering between his teeth,
\nan arrow striking home.
\nAnd now Amnon shifts his gaze
\ntowards the rising moon,
\nbut finds his sisters\u2019 firm breasts
\nonly obscure the moon.<\/p>\n
\nsprawled upon his bed.
\nThe whole room is an agony,
\nwings crowd his head.
\nIn its grave of dirt-brown sand,
\na dull light inters
\nvillages or unearths the brief
\npink of rose and dahlias.
\nFirst-pressed lymph of silence,
\ndripping into urns.
\nOn moss-covered trunks of trees,
\na hanging cobra croons.
\nAmnon groans deep in the cool
\nlinens of his bed.
\nThe crawling ivies of his chills
\nobscure his burning blood.
\nIn silence, Tamar tip-toes in
\nto the noiseless room,
\nthe colouring of vein and Danube
\ndistantly traced and dim.
\n\u2014Tamar, my eyes, erase them,
\nin your certain dawn.
\nThreads of my blood have hitched
\nruches in your gown.
\n\u2014Leave me, brother, leave alone.
\nYour kisses on my neck
\nare like a twinned swarm of flutes,
\na wasp and wind attack.
\n\u2014Tamar, in your swelling breasts,
\ntwo fishes bid me rouse
\nand your every single finger-tip
\nspeaks of locked-in rose.<\/p>\n
\nof King David neighed.
\nAgainst the wispy vines, in slabs,
\nstill the sun remained.
\nAlready he\u2019s ripped her dress,
\nher hair in his grip.
\nIn streams, a warm coral\u2019s daubed
\nover a pale map.<\/p>\n
\nfrom the upper floor!
\nWhat a thicket of blades they found
\nand her clothes torn.
\nSlaves, on the dismal staircase,
\nhurrying up and down
\nas if they played, thighs and pistons
\nunder stilled clouds.
\nBeside Tamar, the gypsy virgins
\nset up such a howl,
\nwhile others gathered up the drops
\nof her martyred flower.
\nThe pure white cloths turning red
\nin the shuttered room.
\nRumours of shifts in vine and fish
\nand then tepid dawn.<\/p>\n
\nflees on his horse
\nwith black bow-men loosing arrows
\nfrom watch-towers and walls.
\nAnd when four hoofs were echoes,
\nnothing more to hear,
\nKing David took a pair of shears
\nto the strings of his lyre.
\n <\/p>\n