I know full well an ordinary oval oak dining table whose close-grained plane swathed  the Chateau Bigault in  swirls of morning mist its twenty-five chairs (high-backed and wretchedly weathered) beside a vacant sideboard whose impeccable shelves cupboards and drawers had narrowly avoided four forks, five knives, ten soup spoons, and a silver synecdoche, a likely ladle, a pallet of original saucepans (hand-packed), a large sallow-yellow salad bowl, nine and fifty dinner plates, three hundred and fifty nine butter dishes, nine hundred and fifty latte bowls, thirty coffee plungers, mugs and jugs, bags and grooves, more mugs and jugs, two Fisher & Paykel dishwasher drawers for ill- assorted crockery a sizeable horn section plus upstart crosscut or circular bungy stump grinders, that many predictably out of sorts tea towels and Y-fronts are at sixes and sevens, cross them or petition them as you will  together with  horseshoe falls and pantry gantries here and there a bended knee an occasional squall below stairs the cases of  Moet et Chandon, they will have quickly turned tail or tabled cloth, ankle-length, from the coat bespoke to the  dresser impressed or total squab snaggle-tooth the pick of an estimated five hundred and ninety thousand all but identical … if only there really were no end of folded and spotless napkins not yet totted and spread sheets little finger bowls ready to ignore the large empty armoires, cupboards and drawers, the pairs of impeccable scanties, sundry smalls (all the top ten thongs) trammelling the gunwhales  of  synonymy over the headboards and splashbacks of squeezebox harmony …. let’s go back to Epernay over the long haul list tick off  the following a bucket full of black olives if there’s time to LeClerc meanwhile add to my cart the largesse  of green olives, oil two litres, packets of Pate brisee three, Yaourt brasse pottles ten, Ananes one hundred, Steak tranc X1, as well as sacks of farine tabl.blc, Paleron pot feu, chocolat x 2, fromage coupe, Parisien 400, Poissonnerie, Ciseau menager, Charcuterie ….it is always in the one and the same  movement  that repetition includes difference (not as an accidental or extrinsic variant, Moule Manque 26,  as well as Eau 1er Prix 2X 1.00; Potiron Tr; Escalope Poulet: Bloc Travers, Champignons, Raisins Secs 25, Pomlisse Puree, Oats 500G, Grandlait 1.5L, Cristal Sachet, Vins, Noix Cajou 125G, Schoks, and while we’re at it:  Macedoine 200G, marmelade  amandes  decorti, one large sack of riz Taureau ail, Astra Boursin P, conf. cerise m (20 jars), clementines cor, pot agata 2.5Kh, golden apples 40 KG, crème fraiche, Laita beurre MO, pot au feu three KG,  whatever is needed for  Sunday, sixteen of November, in the year nineteen ninety seven, when  Jerry and Diane Rothenberg and friend Nikko, arrive from Paris for an early supper of leek and potato soup, bread, cheese, pate from the market, salad, pain d’epices,  and biscuits de Rheims… every intensity is differential, by itself a difference, one vaccum cleaner one Visa card holder, one battered valise, two faced mats, three jovial doves, four stoved obertrols and an occasional oaken table  (oval) and bored chairmen of Frankfurt (flat-packed) a cat  out on a limb (grin) , the genuinely odd nun out for for a duck, so that the differences of intensity cancel themselves out,  a Drizabone with more buttons, zips, pockets and pouches, sleeves and drawstrings than anyone could ever recall cupboards and drawers hitherto and down a dale drawn once more into the vast phonological maw, differences of intensity cancelling themselves out . …  or  these  highly polished mahogany agendas which have always flagged away the manifold addenda of downtime as  wraiths of  the polygamous hard wood  imagination, haven’t they always sought all ways to stuff their draft memoranda, their  ‘private’ papers carbon copies watching briefs into the nearest credenza, or brown study, trash their wonkfests, wipe their tapes, shred their documentation tossing  dated punch cards of fairground organs and data storage into corporate vanity dumpster, bent and spindled with the rest of the remaindered accumulations  …  so I ask you, caught as we are in the reflections of kissing lips,  wreathed in scented mists of emotion : give us, give us an inbox, a touch screen, and a  glistening ingot on a old night stand, and let us go  …   take the measure our  exorbitancy of our weight in arrobas and index the velocity of  its transit (ferocity) our  shoot-through to plethora , a path blasted clean through the walls of the city   …     this very day the seventeenth of august in the year of nineteen hundred forty

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

O.

 

 

 

 

 

 

I KNOW FULL WELL

After The Burial of the Count of Orgaz

Wystan Curnow