The Daring of Paradise
By Brian Day
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Brian Day
Brian Day is the author of Azure and Love Is Not Native to My Blood. He lives in Toronto, Ontario.
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The Daring of Paradise - Brian Day
THE DARING OF PARADISE
BRIAN DAY
GUERNICA
TORONTO – BUFFALO – LANCASTER (U.K.) 2013
Contents
THE DARING OF PARADISE
Contents
Eyes Turn Blue
Conversion
Paul, Apostate
A New Husband
I Know a Man
Megha
Veil of Flesh
Prince of the Universe
Blue Memory
Luke
You Had Just Stepped Out
Religious Puberty
Jacob, Wrestling
Law of the Flesh
Tonguing the Mouths
Pursuing our Pleasure in the Body of Christ
Frog
The Little Mermaid
The Bears’ House
The Eldest Dancing Princess
The Conception of Gautama
Annunciation, Swimming
A Wish to be Mary
And Then When We Enter
Erl-King
Krishna in the Desert
Lament
Saul at Ramah
Death’s Invitation
Captives
Two Boys on a Riverbank
Muhammad and the Moon
Hunters
Jesus and Buddha Commiserate
Mating Our Faiths
Radha and the Beloved Disciple
Imageless Image
The Fisherman’s Wife
Sea of Ink
Continuing the Story
Below Me in Blue
Guru Nanak and Jesus
Krishna and Jesus in Algonquin Park
Place
That the Stars
Kayaking the Vézère
Driven to the Wilderness
Raven and Jesus
All in Alli
Magnificat
Anointing
Continuing the Party
Mass
Notes
Acknowledgements
Eyes Turn Blue
With his eager articulate finger, God touches
the first pendant drop of semen and fondles
it calmly in the rainclouds of his mind, turning it
tenderly as he gives face and skin to the formless,
creating the world from the sap of his longing.
The heavenly lover of smoothness and liquids
dangles jewels of water on the bodies of boys,
on their sleek enticing skin of pearl,
and our eyes turn blue with the terror of his beauty.
God lures us with globes of a succulent future,
promising his little ones what he can’t grant us
yet, as he toys with the pleasures of grapes
and boys. He invites us to a riverbank
lush with oyster, pearl, and wine,
where our mouths are immaculate organs of knowledge.
We recline on soft couches and are served
luscious fruits, our vision tickled by exquisite boys
rich with sculpture’s dark lustre and grin,
boys as comely as virgin pearls.
And our eyes turn blue with the daring of paradise.
Conversion
The universe holds a secret. You could
call it God, but that may mislead you. You could try
Beloved, Adored, or simply Friend. You might
use Krishna, Shiva, Buddha. You might call it the light
of the Torah, the breath of the Earth, the lamp
of all the awakening world. You might,
as the nearest you can reach with the words
you know, call it Messiah, Anointed One, Christ,
the bright cup drawn up from where there was no well.
On the day this grateful secret finds you, your
every desire is met by religion’s body. You’re
unseated, unmanned, knocked flat to the ground
by its lumens of beauty. Your life is the same –
it’s just that gravity’s intentions have changed.
The secret one shines in a circle of beauty
here at the templed core of your life,
and this beauty now owns your allegiance
far more than any statable truth.
Arguments, diluted, run through your hands.
You are in your every tissue a lover, a novice
of folly. You live in that enduring wonder
when your fiercest desire is revealed
in every crevice of the world. You are whirling, ecstatic,
wounded by beauty, bereft in a harsh theological
blindness, and aware of the blasphemy to all you had called,
in your ignorance, God. A brilliance is dictated
line by line here on the thirsting inside
of your ransomed skin, and you
are a phrase of beauty that can sing of such
unbounded beauty. You are
in your ancestry plainly human, but now
you’re a severing of air where this secret breathes;
you are this widely flung-open window
to a beckoning, dear, and dearer world.
Paul, Apostate
He dwells in a secret that can barely
pass his lips, the adoration of a man
that no Jew could entertain. He’s the witness
to the secret he’s heard whispered
across the gauze of his skin.
The love marks of Jesus
are impressed on his body, and a
gentile devotion is unleashed
in his eyes. What he’s tried
to strike down he now knows
to his core: that an image
of man holds the essence of God.
It’s love that scours the ancient
teachings from his skin, incites him
to discard those worn patches
of history, to dance as he torches
the scrolls of the Torah. God
has whispered a secret, a sublime
dirty joke, a precious lubricious
new passage of scripture. What Paul sees
in the masculine statue of Jesus,
this one image saved from Sodomic
destruction, is the sudden, unexpected
consummation of his life, his chance to heal
in one image the rift in his world. And the pagan
that was hiding in the heart of God
is revealed at