Queering the Confederacy:
Chimes Street Journal XIX-XXI
__________________
“the palm tree
out my window”
—John Wieners,
August 11, The Journal of
John Wieners Is to Be
Called 707 Scott Street
For Billie Holiday
she be butterfly mcqueen—
knowing nothin about babies
but lots about young men
she didn’t care about—
the day or the arms of the
spiral nebula galaxy
her tarot deck was enough—
to clue her into each day and
a young guy’s adam’s apple
slipping down his bell bottoms—
him standing nude at night by
the window, did it matter?
just the joy of him around—
hearing him move in the rooms
breathing hard in the apartment
like a delta verb unfolding—
her lips brushing his bellybutton
more like a cat than a woman
unraveling she thought—
all the hidden secrets of the
world bending down doing it
but the delta demanded—
more than just a dinge slacker
drugs & her attentions
these weren’t the kind of—
decadent powers that the
delta dimensions needed
there were special moments—
and motions going downward
inward toward decadence
getting lewd & unconscious—
more than just faggoty dreams
could possibly come up with
behind the dope the dawning—
realization that some hideous
knowledge was spewing her face
it came back to haunt her—
legacy of old lovers like a savage
going down on moses once again
old carothers mccaslin buying a—
mistress for his slave-lover thucydus
then making love to their daughter
then waiting for his young son—
committing even more incest and
miscegenation with his progeny
his own daughter, his own son—
this heritage of human ownership
this blaxploitation doing down low
Chimes Street Journal XX
“at times called evil
because of this world”
—John Wieners,
August 11, The Journal of
John Wieners Is to Be
Called 707 Scott Street
For Billie Holiday
from that moment on—
being born plantation-bred
like bon of interracial love
ike mccaslin reading it—
finally understanding what
the ledgers really meant
incestuous miscegenation—
between father, daughter
and sucking off his own son
“no, no, not even him”—
the pure and perfect incest
the ur-sanctuary primal rape
henry sutpen appalled—
by his own brother a mulatto
he’d fallen in love with him
they’d got it on there—
in the ole miss dormitory
eulalia getting her revenge
then dovetailing down into—
go down moses and doing
the absalom down-low thing
her apocryphal history—
like the falkner family set forth
in unvanquished short stories
shadow families, shadow sons—
shadow daughters, ongoing
shadow performances
the old colonel’s legacy—
the incestuous coupling of
her lips with creole dinge
she became delta autumn—
tallahatchie river dreams
she didn’t hate the south
“i don’t hate it,” she said—
the worthless oral intercourse
creaming her cumly lips
she felt orphaned from—
herself, dirty yet shameless
knowing true adultery now
her poet identity—
written down in a ledger
a plantation commissary note
ledgers & delta fiction—
enigmatic manuscripts
full of hidden sin, sex
a disillusioned sense—
of bondage & deliverance
cryptic black slave cock
sex after knowing that—
a collaborative negro text
her inmost-me was dinge
yoknapatawpha cum—
elegiac wasted loves and
corrupted imagination
gone hippie innocence—
she had a secret of her own
she be a dinge queen now
Chimes Street Journal XXI
“the legacy given
us at our birth”
—John Wieners,
August 11, The Journal of
John Wieners Is to Be
Called 707 Scott Street
For Billie Holiday
it comes back to—
haunt her, betraying the
moment of her birth
it wasn’t a shameful—
legacy like bon’s mulatto
prick when he was born
miss faulkner is discrete—
colonel sutpen rats around
down in the big easy
finds out eulalia is back—
no longer back home down
there in haiti with her father
old man sutpen finding out—
his exiled negro son is married
with a kid in the vieux carré
a young handsome bon vivant—
a flamboyant beautiful young man
courting french quarter culture
but when did he really find out—
that eulalia was dinge not spanish
why did he throw them out?
eulalia tried to hid it—
the midwife didn’t want sutpen
to see his own newborn son
and when he forced his way—
into the plantation mansion dark
bedroom & opened the curtains
that’s when sutpen saw it—
what discrete genteel miss faulkner
doesn’t say about the kid
the same shock moviegoers—
felt back in the blaxploitation ‘60s
that french flick saying it all
“my baby’s black!!!” up there—
on the drive-in american screens
directed by claude bernard-aubert
a whole sanctuary-esque—
chapter could be written about
that absalom bedroom scene
the newborn youth naked—
pretty as a black jesus baby
born in a plantation manger
bon sutpen’s penis black—
jet-black as the ace of spades
her mother’s legacy revealed
he threw them out—
cursed her for ruining his
sutpen dynastic future plans
to become delta bourbon—
to be a southern gentleman
a mississippi cotton landowner
how could he be an aristocrat—
with a “nigger” son his legacy
and so he got remarried fast
but even so henry his son—
turned out to be a hick faggot
falling in love with his own brother
gawd knows what they did in bed—
one can just hear colonel sutpen
in his shiloh tent cursing henry
bon not only queered his son—
but was gonna marry his daughter
and set up his own dinge dynasty
Chimes Street Journal XIX-XXI
__________________
“the palm tree
out my window”
—John Wieners,
August 11, The Journal of
John Wieners Is to Be
Called 707 Scott Street
For Billie Holiday
she be butterfly mcqueen—
knowing nothin about babies
but lots about young men
she didn’t care about—
the day or the arms of the
spiral nebula galaxy
her tarot deck was enough—
to clue her into each day and
a young guy’s adam’s apple
slipping down his bell bottoms—
him standing nude at night by
the window, did it matter?
just the joy of him around—
hearing him move in the rooms
breathing hard in the apartment
like a delta verb unfolding—
her lips brushing his bellybutton
more like a cat than a woman
unraveling she thought—
all the hidden secrets of the
world bending down doing it
but the delta demanded—
more than just a dinge slacker
drugs & her attentions
these weren’t the kind of—
decadent powers that the
delta dimensions needed
there were special moments—
and motions going downward
inward toward decadence
getting lewd & unconscious—
more than just faggoty dreams
could possibly come up with
behind the dope the dawning—
realization that some hideous
knowledge was spewing her face
it came back to haunt her—
legacy of old lovers like a savage
going down on moses once again
old carothers mccaslin buying a—
mistress for his slave-lover thucydus
then making love to their daughter
then waiting for his young son—
committing even more incest and
miscegenation with his progeny
his own daughter, his own son—
this heritage of human ownership
this blaxploitation doing down low
Chimes Street Journal XX
“at times called evil
because of this world”
—John Wieners,
August 11, The Journal of
John Wieners Is to Be
Called 707 Scott Street
For Billie Holiday
from that moment on—
being born plantation-bred
like bon of interracial love
ike mccaslin reading it—
finally understanding what
the ledgers really meant
incestuous miscegenation—
between father, daughter
and sucking off his own son
“no, no, not even him”—
the pure and perfect incest
the ur-sanctuary primal rape
henry sutpen appalled—
by his own brother a mulatto
he’d fallen in love with him
they’d got it on there—
in the ole miss dormitory
eulalia getting her revenge
then dovetailing down into—
go down moses and doing
the absalom down-low thing
her apocryphal history—
like the falkner family set forth
in unvanquished short stories
shadow families, shadow sons—
shadow daughters, ongoing
shadow performances
the old colonel’s legacy—
the incestuous coupling of
her lips with creole dinge
she became delta autumn—
tallahatchie river dreams
she didn’t hate the south
“i don’t hate it,” she said—
the worthless oral intercourse
creaming her cumly lips
she felt orphaned from—
herself, dirty yet shameless
knowing true adultery now
her poet identity—
written down in a ledger
a plantation commissary note
ledgers & delta fiction—
enigmatic manuscripts
full of hidden sin, sex
a disillusioned sense—
of bondage & deliverance
cryptic black slave cock
sex after knowing that—
a collaborative negro text
her inmost-me was dinge
yoknapatawpha cum—
elegiac wasted loves and
corrupted imagination
gone hippie innocence—
she had a secret of her own
she be a dinge queen now
Chimes Street Journal XXI
“the legacy given
us at our birth”
—John Wieners,
August 11, The Journal of
John Wieners Is to Be
Called 707 Scott Street
For Billie Holiday
it comes back to—
haunt her, betraying the
moment of her birth
it wasn’t a shameful—
legacy like bon’s mulatto
prick when he was born
miss faulkner is discrete—
colonel sutpen rats around
down in the big easy
finds out eulalia is back—
no longer back home down
there in haiti with her father
old man sutpen finding out—
his exiled negro son is married
with a kid in the vieux carré
a young handsome bon vivant—
a flamboyant beautiful young man
courting french quarter culture
but when did he really find out—
that eulalia was dinge not spanish
why did he throw them out?
eulalia tried to hid it—
the midwife didn’t want sutpen
to see his own newborn son
and when he forced his way—
into the plantation mansion dark
bedroom & opened the curtains
that’s when sutpen saw it—
what discrete genteel miss faulkner
doesn’t say about the kid
the same shock moviegoers—
felt back in the blaxploitation ‘60s
that french flick saying it all
“my baby’s black!!!” up there—
on the drive-in american screens
directed by claude bernard-aubert
a whole sanctuary-esque—
chapter could be written about
that absalom bedroom scene
the newborn youth naked—
pretty as a black jesus baby
born in a plantation manger
bon sutpen’s penis black—
jet-black as the ace of spades
her mother’s legacy revealed
he threw them out—
cursed her for ruining his
sutpen dynastic future plans
to become delta bourbon—
to be a southern gentleman
a mississippi cotton landowner
how could he be an aristocrat—
with a “nigger” son his legacy
and so he got remarried fast
but even so henry his son—
turned out to be a hick faggot
falling in love with his own brother
gawd knows what they did in bed—
one can just hear colonel sutpen
in his shiloh tent cursing henry
bon not only queered his son—
but was gonna marry his daughter
and set up his own dinge dynasty
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