17 03 20

Whichever time stan­dard we’re on, the ques­tion
of how fast and whe­ther it’s worth it, we are
under­laid by drift in the form of mantle, and
that should be at least a start. If the woman
gets up in the mor­ning you could say it
was to be anoin­ted, if that (in this time)
weren’t so puny and obse­quious. The wrong
stan­dard makes it so, and the bru­tal fact
is that there’s no simple dif­fe­rence of opi­nion
invol­ved : the wrong is an entailment, and
fol­lows into the glo­wing tail of “his­to­ry” as
for example the Marxist comet burns with
such love­ly, fla­ring des­truc­tion.

That we could come off the time stan­dard is
a first (and pre­li­mi­na­ry) pro­po­sal ; having
nothing to do with some zeal about tra­verse
or the syn­chro­nous double twist of a minor
pro­tein. We could come off all that, to-
gether, into the nea­rest city of num­bers
(of which there are four, & could be five). This
is just a pro­po­sal, set on the table to move
right out of range of those sicke­ning and
grea­sy sureties—like « back to our pro­per
homes » (or look after the Golden Rose).

The homing ins­tinct of a great deal
else might then be cra­cked up : the loving
magne­tism by which conse­quence springs
to atten­tive dis­play in the field of roses.
That, say, and the jus­tice of what we
are said to deserve when so hope­less­ly
we want so much more. We do not
get what we deserve, ever, since we have
pro­per claim by the limits of hope and
howe­ver far a given desire has within range.

So, we could come off that stan­dard, and
“pos­ses­sive indi­vi­dua­lism” would be who we
are—the first city. Break the char­ter, lift
the harlot’s curse, the revol­ted abs­trac­tion
of “popu­lism” by which the dark is so fea­red.
Holding hands is a dis­gus­ting trick, and is
aug­men­ted by the expec­ta­tion of plen­ty.

Which would set out our past as gai­ned
into the ter­ri­to­ry of for­tune, and dis­pose of
that lum­py yarn run­ning back into the trees.
Again, what we recall is the choice, of our
pre­va­lence, the rich gar­den of the cli­ma­tic
ter­rain. And choice is not then one from
“the rest”—the éli­tist dream of the crown
domed in the Castle of Gold—but an
inclu­sion within that mea­sure, of choice,
the second city of this middle earth.

And the ques­tion of “exchange” is the­re­by
also dis­mant­led. The dis­pute, over how
far the values are trim­med, is strict­ly a
consequent dis­tur­bance, since “fair price”
is only the extent of our fears in the
chest, of wha­te­ver sun­dry moth & rust
we see in our age. “Our age”—at it
again, the cre­dible is what we apt­ly wear
in our timid & ten­der years. The stan­dard
is a fear index, a mea­sure of what (for ex-
ample) “natu­ral gas” will do to a pre-
carious eco­no­my. Whoever in some shel­te­red
domain cal­led that vapour “natu­ral” deserves
to laugh right into the desert. These are the
arid dis­pla­ce­ments beyond which lies in its state
the third city, or the jewel of the air.

Further than this, up to our necks in our
pol­lu­ted his­to­ry, the fourth city is not yet known.
Going off the stan­dard is thus far only a
pro­po­sal : the mantle is warm and in
constant flow, but no man has yet cros­sed
the plains. No trum­pets in any case for such
banal fol­ly : the modest hatred of our con-
dition and the com­pe­ti­tion which we the­re­fore
call time. They will not sound, as we can­not
yet see the other side, but we deserve to, and
if we can see thus far, these are the few
outer lights of the city, bur­ning on the hori­zon.

,
« Numbers in Time of Trouble » Kitchen Poems [1968]
,
in Poems
, , ,
p. 17–18