__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________RICHARD LORANGER
A SIMPLE CURRENT
POEMS FOR A CENTRALIZED CHURCH
"3 STUDENTS, 1 TEACHER, 5-TRAIN"
GROUND SENSE
FILTER CIGARETTE SENTENCES
SONG OF LUNA
Between the foxglove and the pearl
A SIMPLE CURRENT
a slinky little tendon swirls what seems
a meaningless apparel, toting beams
of dark fluorescence into unkempt world,
wrapping cord in chattel, card in cane
until a scopic fracture wreaks
a darting eye, dissolving face,
and every name unsaid.
How can the
pitter-patter spit quite so wetly and
splat so spappily when the afternoon
doorway is empty? Where stands the one
little girl with a handful of licorice?
Recant,
tulips—bark, chains—the sated mare
is charging in the rain, mad-eyed
and rare, and if you stare her down you can
be her, foam-flecked, high-toothed,
whirling on the world, rearing
into this deep breath
You’re in charge.
A SIMPLE CURRENT
POEMS FOR A CENTRALIZED CHURCH
"3 STUDENTS, 1 TEACHER, 5-TRAIN"
GROUND SENSE
FILTER CIGARETTE SENTENCES
SONG OF LUNA
Poem A
This poem is performed by fourteen spider monkeys who have been leashed to fourteen bicycles suspended upside-down from the dome of a centralized church. The bicycles are evenly distributed around the circumference of the dome. You alone are the audience, standing in the exact center of the dome where the altar, for the purposes of this poem, has been removed. The poem begins with the first sound made by a monkey after all fourteen have been leashed to their respective bicycles, and ends exactly one hour into their first complete silence. The monkeys are not fed during this time.
Poem B
This poem uses the same setting as Poem A, with fourteen mature crows in place of the monkeys, each tied to a bicycle by one leg. This poem has no audience. Instead, in the exact center of the dome stands the tenor Plácido Domingo. The poem begins at the moment all fourteen crows have been leashed, and for the next fifty minutes includes all crow sounds as well as silence. At this point, Domingo will commence an improvisational aria based on the Confessions of Saint Augustine, providing counterpoint to any sounds the crows might make. He may use a watch to determine his starting time, but may not check it once he has begun to sing. Exactly sixty minutes from the start, and ten minutes into the aria, the poem abruptly ends.
Poem C
Fourteen single women under the age of twenty-five arrive and clean the church thoroughly. They take down the bicycles and clean those as well. The women then disrobe, and ride the bicycles naked through the church for as long as they please, though they must ride long enough for each to break a sweat, and should not stop until they feel they have enjoyed themselves. They may take breaks for food and drink if they wish. No one else may enter the church during this time. When they are through, the women dress and leave, each taking the bicycle that she has ridden. The poem then begins, and consists of any interactions that the bodily matter they have left behind—hair and skin cells, organelles, hormones, pheromones, cells and excretions of any sort—may have with the environment of the church, including the molecular structure, air, and any organisms living therein. The audience, of course, includes anything that can sense these interactions, bacteria mostly.
Poem D
For this poem, every object in the church—pews, tabernacles, statuary, baptisteries, everything which is not part of the actual structure—is removed. One hundred remote-controlled surveillance cameras with lamps and sensitive directional microphones are installed throughout the space. Exactly one million flies of at least one hundred representative species are then released into the church. For twenty-four hours, sounds and visuals from the cameras are transmitted through all broadcast media worldwide, including the internet, with data from the cameras evenly distributed across radio frequencies, television channels, and websites. Camera direction, zoom, and volume are controlled by internet users via specific websites, with each user allowed one minute of control time. This poem’s audience is not limited to those who actually see or hear the broadcast.
Poem E
At the completion of Poem D, one hundred priests are admitted into the church to disconnect the cameras. They must dress in secular garb, and may wear goggles, hats, and scarves at their discretion. Once the cameras are shut off, the priests arrange themselves throughout the space, each at a comfortable distance from the others. They have a brief meditation. Then, in his own time and pace, each priest speaks frankly of his anxieties, of anything which is confusing or troubling him. They may direct their thoughts to anyone or thing they see fit—their God, themselves, the flies, the air or universe—but they must speak them aloud. When each priest finishes speaking, he must listen, calmly and intently, to the sounds of the flies to glean a personal message. This poem has one hundred parts, consisting of the sounds that each priest individually and privately hears. When each feels he has heard his part, he strikes a wooden match, then lights and smokes a hand-rolled cigarette while contemplating the sounds or message he has received. The poem ends with the last crushed cigarette. The flies are removed, and treated for any trauma they may have accrued. The priests go home.
Poem F
For this poem the entire roof and dome of the church must be removed, and the floor and basement dug out to an appropriate depth. A representative section of the nearest untouched forest or woodland is then transplanted intact, including all animal and plant life and geology, to the interior of the structure. The church is then sealed for exactly one year, and guarded to assure that no human beings enter. The text of this poem consists of everything that occurs within the structure during this time, and will remain unknown to man.
Poem G
Before the church can be rebuilt, the forest must be retransplanted. This is to be done with utmost care, onto the site of the nearest large bank, which must of course first be razed. A twelve-foot high stone wall is to be raised around the site, and public access limited to no more than four people at a time. Poem G consists of all public comment, both in opposition and support, regarding this action. The specific audience for this poem is limited to those who have made such comment, as well as anyone who made public comment regarding the initial transplanting of the forest into the church.
Poem H
This poem occurs during the rebuilding of the church, which is to be reconstructed identically, using as many of the original materials as possible. Only the structure itself is replaced at this time, without furniture or statuary. The poem consists of every word and sound uttered by the construction crew at the site. Since an apparent audience would likely inhibit the crew members, the audience will be limited to members of the crew itself. Thus I urge anyone interested in witnessing this poem to get your shit together and sign on.
Poem I
Once the new structure is intact, pristine, and empty, it’s time to let in the kids. Two hundred children of mixed gender between the ages of eight and ten are to be admitted to the church with ten superballs each, and let loose for two hours without supervision. They should be instructed to fling the balls as fiercely and wildly as they can, preferably not at each other, and make up whatever games they might. In any case, they will be required to wear protective clothing. This poem consists of all vocal and percussive sounds which occur in the church during this time. The children themselves, like the construction crew before them, are the audience, but must not be told so—those who realize this now or later will do so.
Poem J
For this poem, all wooden seating (pews and chairs) are reinstalled in the church. Freestanding iconography is not to be replaced. In place of the altar, a luxurious apartment, with furniture and accoutrement, is set up. This poem has approximately ten parts, and takes place over so many days. On each of the days, two people who are hopelessly, passionately in love will spend from noon until 11 a.m. in the church interacting in whatever manner they desire—lounging, sleeping, eating, talking, playing, making love. Each part consists of these interactions in any form. The couples may request any additional materials they may require. An even mix of genders and preferences should be represented. The first couple should be between the ages of ten and twenty, the second couple between twenty and thirty, and so on, with each successive pair advancing in age by decades until the oldest possible couple has conjoined. Although the couples will have absolute privacy, this poem’s audience consists of every sensate being anywhere—and I leave these terms wide open. Each day at 11 a.m. the resident couple must depart, and a cleaning crew comes in for one hour to remove any undue mess and materials and set up the space for the next couple. After the final couple has left, the apartment is removed, all doors flung wide, and the church is aired out until Tuesday.
Poem K
You may make your own poem now. The church is open. The breeze is streaming through. The church is alive and waiting for you. Come on in. Feel free to construct any kind of poem you want, for any audience you wish. Here’s some space for you to make notes or document your poem. Just be sure to clean up after yourself.
Poem L
In preparation for Poems M through Q, I will enter the church alone with two hundred short wave radios, which I will play with until I am very happy. I will be the audience, and the poem will be whatever I want it to be.
Poem M
The final five poems can be repeated indefinitely. For Poem M, every living person must send a monetary contribution of any sort to Richard Loranger, 302 Bedford Avenue #257, Brooklyn, NY 11211, U.S.A. (This is a post office box.) This money will be used for the sole purpose of funding the final four poems, so please indicate this with your contribution. You can trust me. Contributions need only be sent periodically, whenever the funding runs low. This poem consists of the reactions each person has to sending his or her contribution, each of whom is, hopefully, audience to their own heart and mind.
Poem N
For the final four poems, the church is filled with people representing as many countries, nations, ethnic groups, and cultures as possible. Participation is limited to one time per individual, who will be selected by a computer lottery of all interested participants, taking cultural and ethnographic qualities into account. All travel, housing, and food will be provided through the funding from Poem M. The audience for these four poems will be the participants themselves and a conductor (preferably myself) who will witness each successive version of the poems. Participants must arrive at the church by a designated time. The conductor greets each person individually upon entering, and allows them to seat themselves. Poem N consists of all interactions the participants have from the moment they enter the church until instructions for the final three poems begin.
To commence the final poems, the conductor moves to the center of the church and quiets the participants. He then explains that the three ensuing poems consist of sounds made by the entire audience which will fill, reverberate, and interact with the space of the church. He instructs the participants to listen to and interact as fully as possible with the whole sound made, ignoring the voices of those immediately around them as well as, best they can, their own voice. They are additionally instructed to respond to his gestures which will bring each poem to a close. Translations of the instructions will be provided via listening devices by translators who are not present, as well as by written instructions provided beforehand.
Poem O
For Poem O the participants are instructed to speak or yell for several minutes regarding matters about which they are very angry. They are reminded not to interact with others during the poem. The conductor begins the poem by yelling himself, and joins the participants throughout. He quiets the participants when he feels a poem of multitudinous anger has been achieved. The audience then sits in silence for five minutes.
Poem P
For Poem P the participants are asked to sing any song that comes to mind, as much as possible with all their heart, trying not to sing the same song as anyone around them. They are asked to savor the new music that is created. The instructor starts them off by singing himself (I recommend “Sing a Song” by The Carpenters). He may either allow the poem to end naturally with the last person singing or indicate a vocal fadeout. Again the audience has several minutes of silence.
Poem Q
For the final poem the conductor briefly explains the physics of harmonics, suggesting that there is one tone or chord which will reverberate most freely within the acoustic space of the church. He asks everyone to vocalize a tone, breathing when necessary and shifting the tone until they find the harmonic of the church. He starts a tone himself, joins the common sound, and once the harmonic is reached he allows it to reverberate, saturating the space, vibrating air, church, and bodies until a melding has taken place. He may wish to let it fade out on its own. Once the sound is done, he stands silently for a few moments, leaving the audience to applaud if they wish, or perhaps applauding himself. He thanks everyone cordially for participating. The audience then retires to a hall where a great meal is served.
A SIMPLE CURRENT
POEMS FOR A CENTRALIZED CHURCH
"3 STUDENTS, 1 TEACHER, 5-TRAIN"
GROUND SENSE
FILTER CIGARETTE SENTENCES
SONG OF LUNA
A SIMPLE CURRENT
POEMS FOR A CENTRALIZED CHURCH
"3 STUDENTS, 1 TEACHER, 5-TRAIN"
GROUND SENSE
FILTER CIGARETTE SENTENCES
SONG OF LUNA
Let’s go to the earth
to taste a bit of root we’ve long paved over
by this carnival of a city.
Get away from the mechanical mess—
if you have a (noting the irony) car,
about three hours out should be safe distance
from the cat-dirt and monoxide-dust
that pass for topsoil here.
Drive until you like the terrain,
then leave the vehicle and walk.
Follow your instinct
until you find a comfortable quiet place.
Hang out a bit – take in the space,
the air, the seclusion.
Choose a spot where you can stretch out,
and brush the top-dust and detritus
from the ground where your head will lie.
Dig a little face-hole,
making sure that you’ll have breathing room.
Then lay yourself down lovingly,
nestle face to the earth,
give a kiss,
and stick your tongue in deep.
Breathe with it a minute–
bitter, rich, musty,
nothing you don’t know–
acrid root, dark soil,
sweet chlorophyll, stone–
feel it in your mouth,
it becomes familiar,
full of memory.
Relax and sink.
Let the mind wander.
Breathe slow and deeply.
Soak it all in.
A SIMPLE CURRENT
POEMS FOR A CENTRALIZED CHURCH
"3 STUDENTS, 1 TEACHER, 5-TRAIN"
GROUND SENSE
FILTER CIGARETTE SENTENCES
SONG OF LUNA
CRAFT PROJECT:FILTER CIGARETTES SENTENCESPrint out these sentences in 5 point Arial or New Century Schoolbook, with the title boldfaced in 8 point Arial or Geneva.
Buy a box of Marlboro cigarettes.
Glue each sentence to a cigarette. Let them dry before re-stuffing the box.
Glue the word SENTENCES on the front of the box beneath the words “Filter Cigarettes”.
Now you have a version of the Filter Cigarette Sentences the way they were meant to be read!
The cigarette breaks my heart, steals my peace of mind, and reaches for more.
Seaweed lungs wreak a breathless dream: endless meadows, daisies, breeze, sweet sleep.
R. J. Reynolds asked me for my soul as well, but I had to decline.
One lung hung on a stick, jutting cold fingers, brain stem perched atop, sighs.
Ahhh, this drag is so luscious I could suck my whole body inside-out.
The corporation moves in corpus flagranter, feasting on my cells.
If cigarettes were water, I would drink water and smoke cigarettes.
Oxygen deprived, I stand in my underwear and laugh myself sick.
Despite all, I still love my heart, bronchi, larynx, colon, and prostate.
Ciggy, ciggy on the street, shall I smoke your insecticide-soaked butt?
One cigarette left, three a.m., too drunk to walk, and I’m out of cash.
You can have the car, my cash, my life’s work, just please leave the Winston Lights.
Ever wonder why each Marlboro pack says: veni, vidi, vici?
P.M. INCORPORATED: is that post-mortem or meridiem?
A cup of coffee and a cigarette make my entire fucking day.
Of course I smoke in bed—how else am I s’posed to get my ass up?
The doctor patiently explains my shortness of breath is only stress.
The cancer settles in like an old friend—you’ll never be alone again.
Oh, how I love you, sweet weed, insofar as love is absolute need.
SURGEON GENERAL’S WARNING: Open wide, earth scum, the new beast hungers.
A SIMPLE CURRENT
POEMS FOR A CENTRALIZED CHURCH
"3 STUDENTS, 1 TEACHER, 5-TRAIN"
GROUND SENSE
FILTER CIGARETTE SENTENCES
SONG OF LUNA
SONG OF LUNA
O Luna kitty, Luna-cat,
your hair surrounds me like a sprite
and follows me from home to home
and clings to sheet and towel and shirt;
but for all that, and for the small
annoyance of its omni-squall,
I am reminded ever of
your purr and grin and silver hat.