b o o k s | " t h e b o o k o f t h e d r o w n i n g "
the book of the drowning
stamped text and images
40 pages
8" x 5"
[2014]
for zasha colah & nida ghouse
stamped text and images
40 pages
8" x 5"
[2014]
for zasha colah & nida ghouse
I. there were giants, then. in those days, giants in the earth. men, it is written, began to multiply on the face of the earth. & clouds, it is written, poured over the mountain tops. & giants were on the earth. but the earth was corrupt before god. the lord, looking down, saw that the earth was filled with violence, & that the wickedness of man was great. he saw that every imagination of the thoughts of man's heart was only evil, continually. god looked down & saw disorder everywhere, for all flesh had corrupted his way upon the earth. & he said: i will destroy man, whom i have created.
II. this is a story about knowledge & ignorance, you know what that means. you have, no doubt, heard its like before. as for instance this: & so the city fell at last to the invaders from across the sea. or this: & then the river dried up, & the people had to move. or this: & so their civilization died, & all signs of their culture vanished. one event & the next sometimes appear to be only loosely connected, but the series will not stop or slow.
III. a voice just behind you says: in this procedure, the individual is bound securely to an inclined bench, approximately four feet by seven feet. the individual's feet are generally elevated. a cloth is then placed over the forehead & eyes, & water is applied to the cloth in a controlled manner.
II. this is a story about knowledge & ignorance, you know what that means. you have, no doubt, heard its like before. as for instance this: & so the city fell at last to the invaders from across the sea. or this: & then the river dried up, & the people had to move. or this: & so their civilization died, & all signs of their culture vanished. one event & the next sometimes appear to be only loosely connected, but the series will not stop or slow.
III. a voice just behind you says: in this procedure, the individual is bound securely to an inclined bench, approximately four feet by seven feet. the individual's feet are generally elevated. a cloth is then placed over the forehead & eyes, & water is applied to the cloth in a controlled manner.
IV. look: objects from the ancient world surround you on every side, stretching to the horizon in all directions. the earth swallows them down & brings them back up again, endlessly, without apology or explanation.
V. this set of oil jars. those eyeglasses made of bone. that bread tray shaped like a pig. this article unearthed at a dig, whose function has not yet been established. you observe, you examine, you conclude. you already know what it is to judge by appearances, you already know what it is to desire. a voice says: it took less than a minute. a voice says: as soon as i saw it i fell in love with it. a voice says: i fell smack in love with an old bread tray, shaped like a pig. you see time & again how an instant's trustworthy knowledge can begin to clarify the world.
VI. listen: that is the voice of reason, speaking as it usually does - forcefully, but without shouting - into a high-powered directional megaphone. these are times, it says, of great uncertainty. & then: we will not tire, we will not falter, & we will not fail. & then: of course nothing is inevitable, until it happens. there is a brief pause as the volume level is adjusted to compensate for distortion. the sun slips behind a cloud & back out again. rest assured, the voice says, you are not in any danger. & the cloth is slipped over your nose & mouth.
V. this set of oil jars. those eyeglasses made of bone. that bread tray shaped like a pig. this article unearthed at a dig, whose function has not yet been established. you observe, you examine, you conclude. you already know what it is to judge by appearances, you already know what it is to desire. a voice says: it took less than a minute. a voice says: as soon as i saw it i fell in love with it. a voice says: i fell smack in love with an old bread tray, shaped like a pig. you see time & again how an instant's trustworthy knowledge can begin to clarify the world.
VI. listen: that is the voice of reason, speaking as it usually does - forcefully, but without shouting - into a high-powered directional megaphone. these are times, it says, of great uncertainty. & then: we will not tire, we will not falter, & we will not fail. & then: of course nothing is inevitable, until it happens. there is a brief pause as the volume level is adjusted to compensate for distortion. the sun slips behind a cloud & back out again. rest assured, the voice says, you are not in any danger. & the cloth is slipped over your nose & mouth.
VII. a man is waking on board a ship, wondering who he is. his name is noah. he is noah the son of lamech the son of methuselah: a just man, it is written, & perfect in his generation. noah who found grace in the eyes of the lord. they were out walking in the fields together one afternoon when god turned to him, saying: behold, i will cause it to rain upon the earth forty days & forty nights. noah listened, he said nothing. stopping under the shade of a cedar tree, the lord said: i will destroy man, whom i have created, from the face of the earth.
VIII. what do you call a man whose wife dies? what do you call a man who has lost his wife? a widower is a man whose wife has - what? his first wife. his second wife. his wife of more than four decades. in english, a widow is a woman whose husband has died. a man whose wife has died is a widower. as for instance: he became very quiet, after his wife died. as for instance: she grew very lonely, by herself. as: his sixty-year-old wife, a mother of four. as: her young husband, not yet thirty. a voice says: i am so sorry for your loss.
IX. but enough of this. tell me: if i said that bachelors who collect objects are really trying to find substitutes for sexual conquests, that spinsters who keep dogs are really looking for replacements for companions in marriage, & that, in the middle of general fungibility, real happiness clings to what is not fungible - would you agree or disagree with these assertions?
X. a man lies awake on an ark of gopher wood, watching the sky through a single window - cut to god’s specifications - in the roof above him. he lies awake, thinking: this is the set of all vertebrates & this is the set of all invertebrates. here is the set of all sets. already, in a vision, he has glimpsed the overthrow & confusion of the earth, a sight so terrifying that he fell to the ground, wondering: what has happened to the earth that it is so shaken? may i not go down with it? now he closes his eyes, picturing the ark sailing over the waves with no destination, & recalling a voice from a dream, a voice that said: & every thing that is in the earth shall die. a wedge of cranes passes overhead, too high to see. he listens as their ratcheting calls swell & fade. he doesn't open his eyes.
VIII. what do you call a man whose wife dies? what do you call a man who has lost his wife? a widower is a man whose wife has - what? his first wife. his second wife. his wife of more than four decades. in english, a widow is a woman whose husband has died. a man whose wife has died is a widower. as for instance: he became very quiet, after his wife died. as for instance: she grew very lonely, by herself. as: his sixty-year-old wife, a mother of four. as: her young husband, not yet thirty. a voice says: i am so sorry for your loss.
IX. but enough of this. tell me: if i said that bachelors who collect objects are really trying to find substitutes for sexual conquests, that spinsters who keep dogs are really looking for replacements for companions in marriage, & that, in the middle of general fungibility, real happiness clings to what is not fungible - would you agree or disagree with these assertions?
X. a man lies awake on an ark of gopher wood, watching the sky through a single window - cut to god’s specifications - in the roof above him. he lies awake, thinking: this is the set of all vertebrates & this is the set of all invertebrates. here is the set of all sets. already, in a vision, he has glimpsed the overthrow & confusion of the earth, a sight so terrifying that he fell to the ground, wondering: what has happened to the earth that it is so shaken? may i not go down with it? now he closes his eyes, picturing the ark sailing over the waves with no destination, & recalling a voice from a dream, a voice that said: & every thing that is in the earth shall die. a wedge of cranes passes overhead, too high to see. he listens as their ratcheting calls swell & fade. he doesn't open his eyes.
XI. look up. you are always trying to uncover what is hidden - why not understand, instead, what is already in plain view? the universe came from almost nowhere, in next to no time. how much longer before it dies out? not long. the galaxies are flying apart from one another, faster & faster every hour. one day they will all have vanished. in the end, the sun will shrink to a white dwarf. in the end, only the burnt-out stars & the dead husks of planets will remain. look up, look up. now everything has been explained. in the end, all matter will collapse into black holes, & then the black holes themselves will decay, leaving only a featureless & infinite void. now everything has been explained, now everything has been understood.
XII. of every living thing of all flesh, two of every sort shalt thou bring into the ark, to keep them alive with thee, male & female, the lord says to noah. & there are six million species of insects alone. so tell me: how did the man die? & how did his wife die? & did he find grace in her eyes? & did she find grace, in his?
XIII. noah never speaks. he never says to god: oh let the lord not be angry, & i will speak, never asks, as abraham does: wilt thou also destroy the righteous with the wicked? noah simply receives instructions, & carries them out. noah heeds. saving himself & his household. gathering up his fur coat, his recordings of schubert, his wife, his sons. according to all that god commanded him, it is written, so did he. a just man, & perfect in his generation. noah, whose name means the one who brings rest. & the proportions of his ark are the proportions of a coffin: thirty by three by five.
XIV. once the cloth completely covers the nose & mouth, water is applied to it from a canteen cup or small watering can at a height of twelve to twenty-four inches for a period of twenty to forty seconds. after this the cloth is lifted, & the individual is allowed to breathe unimpeded for three or four full breaths. the procedure may then be repeated. this is a world in which one thing can sometimes look like another. you stand here, & the waves look like mountains, destruction like mercy, vengeance like morality. you move, & descriptions & events go sliding past one another on the surface of the waters.
XV. it repented the lord that he had made man on the earth, it grieved him at his heart. but how imperfect is man, that he needs wiping off the face of the earth? & with him all the lions? all the dogs & pigs? the antelope? the wild sheep? the fallow deer? the black kites? the hedgehog. the hoopoe bird. the horned viper. the little gnats & locusts. life on earth, that goes back three thousand four hundred & fifty million years. the ox, our brother.
XII. of every living thing of all flesh, two of every sort shalt thou bring into the ark, to keep them alive with thee, male & female, the lord says to noah. & there are six million species of insects alone. so tell me: how did the man die? & how did his wife die? & did he find grace in her eyes? & did she find grace, in his?
XIII. noah never speaks. he never says to god: oh let the lord not be angry, & i will speak, never asks, as abraham does: wilt thou also destroy the righteous with the wicked? noah simply receives instructions, & carries them out. noah heeds. saving himself & his household. gathering up his fur coat, his recordings of schubert, his wife, his sons. according to all that god commanded him, it is written, so did he. a just man, & perfect in his generation. noah, whose name means the one who brings rest. & the proportions of his ark are the proportions of a coffin: thirty by three by five.
XIV. once the cloth completely covers the nose & mouth, water is applied to it from a canteen cup or small watering can at a height of twelve to twenty-four inches for a period of twenty to forty seconds. after this the cloth is lifted, & the individual is allowed to breathe unimpeded for three or four full breaths. the procedure may then be repeated. this is a world in which one thing can sometimes look like another. you stand here, & the waves look like mountains, destruction like mercy, vengeance like morality. you move, & descriptions & events go sliding past one another on the surface of the waters.
XV. it repented the lord that he had made man on the earth, it grieved him at his heart. but how imperfect is man, that he needs wiping off the face of the earth? & with him all the lions? all the dogs & pigs? the antelope? the wild sheep? the fallow deer? the black kites? the hedgehog. the hoopoe bird. the horned viper. the little gnats & locusts. life on earth, that goes back three thousand four hundred & fifty million years. the ox, our brother.
XVI. wait. what is that sound in the distance, can you hear it? o tell me, what is that sound? it is all the fountains of the deep breaking up, it is all the windows of heaven opening. for forty days & forty nights it rains. one. two. three. four. five. six. seven. eight. nine. ten. & the waters increase, the waters prevail exceedingly upon the earth. eleven. twelve. thirteen. fourteen. fifteen. confusion & emptiness & darkness in all directions. & all the high hills under heaven are buried, & all the forests. all the fig trees, & all the olive trees. all the beasts & creeping things. & every man.
XVII. & still the water above beats down on the endless horizontal of the water below. sixteen. seventeen. eighteen. nineteen. twenty. close your eyes & you can see it: a sign without meaning pouring into a sea the colour of lead. twenty-one. twenty-two. twenty-three. twenty-four. twenty-five. after my husband’s death, i thought. after my wife’s death, i found. hush, love, hush. this is the history of the world. six cities were built on this spot alone, & six destroyed. twenty-six. twenty-seven. twenty-eight. twenty-nine. thirty. my darling, my loved one. my sweet darling, my dove. hush now, hush.
XVIII. will remembering hold out against forgetting? will life hold out against oblivion? as you are pulled under the surface of the water, a series of autonomic responses sets in, preventing you from waving or calling for help: to elevate your mouth high enough to breathe, your head starts tilting back involuntarily, & your arms begin pushing down into the water. thirty-one. thirty-two. thirty-three. thirty-four. thirty-five. thirty-six. drowning is quick & silent. twenty seconds more, & you will slip beneath the waves. thirty-seven. thirty-eight. thirty-nine. so tell me quickly, so speak now: once the earth has worn out like a garment, once the heavens have vanished like smoke, will desire, then, cease to exist?
XIX. & all flesh died that once moved upon the earth, & every living substance was destroyed, & noah only remained alive, & they that were with him in the ark. & now the rain stops, & a wind passes over the earth to assuage the waters. as if a voice out of heaven had finally spoken, saying: it is done. the earth opens its mouth to receive the foaming waters. the bodies of the dead, swarms without number, creatures innumerable as the stars of heaven, animals both great & small, press back into the soil. the sound of the wind recedes, & there is a silence. & here you are. your name is noah, & you alone are safe.
XX. reason is an excellent thing, we hear, the king of the universe. perhaps it is. yet after reason has dazzled us & then has set, something else remains behind, does it not? the grieving husband, look, here he is, surrounded by the chaos of memory: kingdom, phylum, class, order, family, genus, species, so much sand in an hourglass. that smaller figure beside him may be his wife. their names are chiseled into this stone. their likenesses are imperfect, but recognizable. & above them you faintly see seven figures lifting trumpets to their lips. lullaby, my sweet darling, lullaby.
XVII. & still the water above beats down on the endless horizontal of the water below. sixteen. seventeen. eighteen. nineteen. twenty. close your eyes & you can see it: a sign without meaning pouring into a sea the colour of lead. twenty-one. twenty-two. twenty-three. twenty-four. twenty-five. after my husband’s death, i thought. after my wife’s death, i found. hush, love, hush. this is the history of the world. six cities were built on this spot alone, & six destroyed. twenty-six. twenty-seven. twenty-eight. twenty-nine. thirty. my darling, my loved one. my sweet darling, my dove. hush now, hush.
XVIII. will remembering hold out against forgetting? will life hold out against oblivion? as you are pulled under the surface of the water, a series of autonomic responses sets in, preventing you from waving or calling for help: to elevate your mouth high enough to breathe, your head starts tilting back involuntarily, & your arms begin pushing down into the water. thirty-one. thirty-two. thirty-three. thirty-four. thirty-five. thirty-six. drowning is quick & silent. twenty seconds more, & you will slip beneath the waves. thirty-seven. thirty-eight. thirty-nine. so tell me quickly, so speak now: once the earth has worn out like a garment, once the heavens have vanished like smoke, will desire, then, cease to exist?
XIX. & all flesh died that once moved upon the earth, & every living substance was destroyed, & noah only remained alive, & they that were with him in the ark. & now the rain stops, & a wind passes over the earth to assuage the waters. as if a voice out of heaven had finally spoken, saying: it is done. the earth opens its mouth to receive the foaming waters. the bodies of the dead, swarms without number, creatures innumerable as the stars of heaven, animals both great & small, press back into the soil. the sound of the wind recedes, & there is a silence. & here you are. your name is noah, & you alone are safe.
XX. reason is an excellent thing, we hear, the king of the universe. perhaps it is. yet after reason has dazzled us & then has set, something else remains behind, does it not? the grieving husband, look, here he is, surrounded by the chaos of memory: kingdom, phylum, class, order, family, genus, species, so much sand in an hourglass. that smaller figure beside him may be his wife. their names are chiseled into this stone. their likenesses are imperfect, but recognizable. & above them you faintly see seven figures lifting trumpets to their lips. lullaby, my sweet darling, lullaby.
XXI. how the years have changed us. take me to the place where you grew up. is this it? did this fork in the road here, this fork by the woodland, exist then? are all the trees taller now? at evening, after a long bus ride, crossing a canal as the faint sunlight gleams on the walls in the distance, the man beside you speaks at last, saying: it’s just the same, it’s as if no time has passed at all. but inside the city the streets confuse him, so that, trying to find his way, he has to stop & look around him continually, uncertain of where he is now, & which way to turn next.
XXII. now the man is asleep. the air is still. he lies motionless, covered with a single sheet, dreaming. lightning strikes the plain in the distance. in one dream the grass is on fire, & the trees around him are burning. in another, storm waters drain from off the earth around a gigantic beached ship, brightwork gleaming. just before dawn, all the lights go out at sea, & something begins to drum softly on the roof. the man wakes, saying: the waves of death swirled about me. at the end of a hundred & fifty days the waters abated. on the first day of the tenth month i saw the tops of the mountains. on the twenty-seventh day of the second month the earth was dry. his voice ringing like daylight in the dark room.
XXIII. after the storm passes over, god walks alone by the shore, stepping carefully through the wreckage. a wooden crate. the cast iron plate from a grand piano. a child's stuffed animal without a head. a fraying length of blue nylon rope. a golf club. he says in his heart: i will not again curse the ground any more for man’s sake, neither again will i smite every thing living. while the earth remaineth, the lord says, seedtime & harvest & cold & heat & summer & winter & day & night shall not cease. it may be so. uprush & backwash pass endlessly over the sand, clear & clouded waters together. while the earth remains. & why should life go on forever? we learn, we are learning. an antler. a flare gun. some sea glass, blue & green. a glove.
XXIV. on the last morning of the world, everything shines. the roofs drip, the hedges are clipped, the leaves are gleaming. put down what you are holding, come to this window. press your face to the glass. the world is always ending, it won't be long now. a man & a woman - their bodies unmarked, their eyes clear - link hands & begin walking briskly away from you. all beings are resplendent, each body sheds its own light. you say to yourself: we have been, we are, as the figures shrink steadily in the distance until they can no longer be picked out. you say: i was, i am. your breath mists the glass. the man & woman vanish, a question asked & answered, leaving behind them only the sun & moon, fixed into place in a featureless sky.
XXV. you look out at the ragged earth, built & broken & built again in the overflowing stream of god's breath. here are five leafless trees beside a glimmering pool. here are three bare trees by standing water. it won’t be long now, not long now. there were giants on the earth in those days, & also after that. here are two trees in a level landscape, over which the stars flicker & go out. & here is the drenched earth, stretching bare to the horizon as the floodwaters recede.
XXII. now the man is asleep. the air is still. he lies motionless, covered with a single sheet, dreaming. lightning strikes the plain in the distance. in one dream the grass is on fire, & the trees around him are burning. in another, storm waters drain from off the earth around a gigantic beached ship, brightwork gleaming. just before dawn, all the lights go out at sea, & something begins to drum softly on the roof. the man wakes, saying: the waves of death swirled about me. at the end of a hundred & fifty days the waters abated. on the first day of the tenth month i saw the tops of the mountains. on the twenty-seventh day of the second month the earth was dry. his voice ringing like daylight in the dark room.
XXIII. after the storm passes over, god walks alone by the shore, stepping carefully through the wreckage. a wooden crate. the cast iron plate from a grand piano. a child's stuffed animal without a head. a fraying length of blue nylon rope. a golf club. he says in his heart: i will not again curse the ground any more for man’s sake, neither again will i smite every thing living. while the earth remaineth, the lord says, seedtime & harvest & cold & heat & summer & winter & day & night shall not cease. it may be so. uprush & backwash pass endlessly over the sand, clear & clouded waters together. while the earth remains. & why should life go on forever? we learn, we are learning. an antler. a flare gun. some sea glass, blue & green. a glove.
XXIV. on the last morning of the world, everything shines. the roofs drip, the hedges are clipped, the leaves are gleaming. put down what you are holding, come to this window. press your face to the glass. the world is always ending, it won't be long now. a man & a woman - their bodies unmarked, their eyes clear - link hands & begin walking briskly away from you. all beings are resplendent, each body sheds its own light. you say to yourself: we have been, we are, as the figures shrink steadily in the distance until they can no longer be picked out. you say: i was, i am. your breath mists the glass. the man & woman vanish, a question asked & answered, leaving behind them only the sun & moon, fixed into place in a featureless sky.
XXV. you look out at the ragged earth, built & broken & built again in the overflowing stream of god's breath. here are five leafless trees beside a glimmering pool. here are three bare trees by standing water. it won’t be long now, not long now. there were giants on the earth in those days, & also after that. here are two trees in a level landscape, over which the stars flicker & go out. & here is the drenched earth, stretching bare to the horizon as the floodwaters recede.