WHATEVER SELF
New DirectionsMay 2021Selected by Barbara Epler
For 35 years, poet Nathaniel Mackey has been writing, “Song of the Andoumboulou” and “Mu”, two long serial poems, elegiac and entwined, that follow a mysterious migrant “we” through the currents of the world and of history with passionate lyric virtuosity. Those poems are continued in Double Trio, a box set of three 300-page volumes – Tej Bet, So’s Notice, and Nerve Church – structured after the three last movements of John Coltrane’s album Meditations: “Love”, “Consequence”, and “Serenity”. Mackey’s project embodies a monumental lifetime’s work of intense musical beauty: several books and thousands of pages proceed these new volumes, but here at a blow, in a box, is the project’s next giant step forward. “It’s so unusual to be putting out a thousand pages of poetry in one fell swoop,” the poet told the New Yorker. “There are all kinds of negative ways to interpret that. Now I’m asking people to read these three suckers!” — Barbara Epler
ANUNCIO’S LAST LOVE SONG
—“mu” ninetieth part—
All alone he staggered, newlyback from Málaga. Deep strum,bowed Maghrebi strings chorusedin back of him, the Full Moon DoubleOctet blared as well… Stringsthe mask misery wore, blind abode,would’s acquiescent wont. Wouldwhat rescue there was, weak rescue, “WouldI were there,” he thought… Thenight before he’d lain with Anuncia,crux of hair his thought went backto lapped repeatedly, wet kiss whereher legs met heady with smell…“Yes, I reminisce too soon,” Soul said,its dialogue with Self taken upagain. “Too soon,” it had a way ofinsisting. “I couldn’t wait to belooking back.” Soul wanted to say,“Sweet Anuncia.” Self said, “It allmoved on”
•
Something he tasted brought hischildhood back, hard guava he’dbitten into a tooth had come out in,a trance it seemed he walked in-side… Sweet Anuncia’s perfumebore him along, burnt flower,fruit smell and sweat compounded, kum-quat the hair whose rhyme it was…Solito he called himself now, allalone along the street but with herwith him, Anuncia whose perfumestayed with him still… Alonewith Soul’s hum, Soul’s hesitancy, alonewith the sound it made. WhateverSelf said the Double Octet echoed,hard to make out, so dispersed it was…Alone less itself. Alone left itself.Alone less what it was than that hewalked with strung lament, alone butunalone, not having left… Soul’s “too soon,”he saw, true. Self ’s ensemble sound,he knew, yet to be spun, Solito y Sus Rum-
beros he’dbe
•
So another sound suggested itself,batá skins where strings had been,Lone Coast guaguancó. The Full MoonDouble Octet fell by the wayside,Soul and Self ’s dj dismissed…Lone Coast guaguancó sotto voce.So it seemed, a certain sound it made…Lone Coast guaguancó’s lowboast, sung with teeth clenched,thru the nose… “Sweet Anuncia”the song he’d have sung had he sung,a sound waft aspired to, whiff’scut or equivalent, perfume strings’promise wore thru. Virgilio Martí wason the box, Carlos Embale, make-believe radio show he lost hisvoice to, Anuncia’s “Huggy Boy” he’dbe… He was hers beneath whosewindow he stood voiceless, hers on whosebalcony he’d havestood