Gabriel's Second Lesson

Author(s): JAMES MERRILL

Source: The American Poetry Review, Vol. 8, No. 5 (SEPTEMBER/OCTOBER 1979), pp. 6-8
Published by: American Poetry Review
Stable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/27776262
Accessed: 25-04-2016 17:26 UTC
Your use of the JSTOR archive indicates your acceptance of the Terms & Conditions of Use, available at
http://about.jstor.org/terms

JSTOR is a not-for-profit service that helps scholars, researchers, and students discover, use, and build upon a wide range of content in a trusted
digital archive. We use information technology and tools to increase productivity and facilitate new forms of scholarship. For more information about
JSTOR, please contact support@jstor.org.

American Poetry Review is collaborating with JSTOR to digitize, preserve and extend access to The
American Poetry Review

This content downloaded from 140.192.113.143 on Mon, 25 Apr 2016 17:26:29 UTC
All use subject to http://about.jstor.org/terms

Haw as the furrow wavered. The beasts walked with their heads low, the ! signal. Appraising her wide hips the doctor assured her that childbirth
worn patches on their pelts gleaming. In the deep trough of the furrow,
would give her little trouble. How could he have known that she found

!
j

;
j

j
j

the plow blade in the earth, they appeared to be straining to pull jthat prediction disappointing ? Had she endured so much for a birth of
Lorenzo. Until he arrived, looping the reins about one handle, she might
little moment ? From day to day, however, being with child gave her the
be filled with pleasurable anticipation.
satisfaction of work soon to be completed, a harvest to which she could
Lorenzo's great deliberation, his concern for the flynets, his shuffling look forward. One day differed so little from another only Sundays held
about to pull up grass for the team, held Cora's attention as if she were her attention. She liked the prayer and the worship less than she did the
spellbound but at a remove from what she was seeing. His muttered
singing of the hymns. Although Lorenzo had observed the Baptist sab
bath in Ohio, he had been reared as Methodist, in Zanesville, but no
remarks were for the horses, the slap and stroke of his hand caresses.
From the pail she had brought him he would take the buttermilk and church of that denomination was nearer than Nehigh, an hour's ride in
drink it half down, then give a rumbling belch. Silently he would eat the buggy. Cora had been raised a Unitarian but she was not a stickler
while she stood watching. The dark furrows he had just plowed seemed
for denominations. She would go to the service closest by, if hymns were
to please both him and the birds. Orion might encourage Cora to stand sung. She was amazed and troubled to learn, however, that Catholics had
close for a moment, and talk, while he showed her something turned up established themselves in the county, although owing their allegiance
by the plow, but neither arrowheads or bones held interest for Lorenzo.
neither to God nor country, but the Pope. She would have thought about
His pleasure was to cup a handful of the moist loam, letting it sift be
it more if urgent matters had not been on her mind.
tween his fingers, or smooth it out on his rough palm as if looking for
Just before Christmas, during their first intense cold spell, Cora suf
something. It did not please him that Cora took the time to carry food to
fered from deep drowsiness, with bad headaches which she assumed to
Orion, on his own section. In reference to Orion he first called to her at be part of her wages, but Dr. Geltmayer threw open the kitchen door to
tention that a woman in her condition shouldn't overture herself. His
flood the house with icy blasts of air. If she was ill, he said, it was because
manner was that it was something she might have overlooked, if he
she lacked air to breathe. The house with its closed windows, its burning
hadn't brought it up.
range, lacked oxygen. To explain Dr. Geltmayer lit a stub of candle and
Had Cora ever doubted that the nightmare she had survived would
covered it with one of Cora's jelly glasses. They were silent as they
result in a child ? The logic of it was clear and not to be questioned. The watched the flame shrink, then sputter out. Lorenzo's astonishment was
gift of life was holy, and one paid for it dearly. The drama of creation, as
boundless. To believe it he had to see it done over, examining the glass
she now understood it, a coming together of unearthly forces, was not and lighting the candle with his own match. After that occasion he would
unlike the brute and blind disorder of her unthinkable experience. So it
say to Cora, * 'The air cold enough for you to breathe it ? " Nothing else he
was meant to be, and so she had found it. Toward Lorenzo she felt no per had heard, read or seen brought him so close to a smile.
The fact was, however, that Cora felt so much better she knew she had
sonal anger, admitting to the necessity of an accomplice. Only in this
wise could the mortal body bring forth new life.
been short of air for sometime. Too much of it, perhaps, hastened to
The pastor in Battle Creek, learning of her condition, referred to her bring on her labor pains. Orion walked the horse and buggy three miles
discomfort as wages. She pondered this, but did not fully understand it.
to Otto Kahler, whose wife was a midwife, and by the time they had re
turned Cora was stretched on the rack, as if meant to be broken.
Stretched on her back she watched the mound of her body swell to con
ceal the iron frame at the foot of the bed. In the hollow at her side
Although urged to cry out by Mrs. Kahler, Cora made no sound. Unable
to bear the silence Orion left the house and found Lorenzo in the storm
Lorenzo slept soundly, and she was grateful for his indifference. Orion
was always up before her to fetch the basket of cobs, build a fire, and fill
cave, sorting the sprouting potatoes. The air in the cave was moist and
the air with the astringent smell of coal oil. The whoosh and crackle of almost warm, fragrant with the smell of the lantern. When he returned to
the flames, the sound of water dipped from the pail to splash in the wash
the house the child was howling, but the woman on the bed appeared to
pan, began a day that Lorenzo would end by winding the alarm clock on be dead. It clarified Orion's first impressions that she was a woman of
the range hood, the alarm set for 5. That it seldom rang did not arouse his
remarkable appearance. She was not dead, but in a place so like it no one
comment. It was part of the clock, and required winding, to insure that but herself might have drawn the distinction. She had lost so much blood
the sun would rise in the morning. The first cackling of her pullets, before
that Mrs. Kahler marvelled how a body so thin had managed to contain
the first light of dawn, always found Cora awake.
it. From where had it all come ? How could it be replaced ? Just a few
It seemed ordained to her, rather than by chance, as did the sensible days before Orion had remarked the fever-like pricks of color in her
progress of the seasons, that as she grew larger and slower, so did the
English complexion, but now her face in the lamplight was like wet
days grow shorter and the work lessen, accomodating itself to her situa plaster. He wondered if any person should come back from where she had
tion. At prescribed periods, on the doctor's recommendation, she got off
been. He was sent out to fetch Lorenzo, so that the father might see the
her feet. Her long tapering hands, one with the blue-scarred knuckle,
mother and child together, both of them alive. Shown the wrinkled, howl
rested on her swollen body as if to calm it, or respond to an expected
ing infant he commented that she squawked pretty good for a girl. H

ii
'. i

i}

i\

JAMES MERRILL:

Gabriel s second Lesson

James Merrill received the National Book Award twice (1967 and 1978) and was
awarded the Bollingen Prize in 1973.

[From Scripts for the Pageant, the sequel to Mirabell. This seance takes
place in August 1977, in Athens: DJ and JM at the Ouija Board.
Speakers: the archangel Gabriel; Siddartha, the Buddha; Jesus Christ;
Robert Morse (a late friend now studying music in Heaven); Richard
Wagner; and the god Mercury. Also present are Gabriel's brother

angels, and "our poet"?the late W. H. Auden.]

PAGE 6

THE AMERICAN POETRY REVIEW

This content downloaded from 140.192.113.143 on Mon, 25 Apr 2016 17:26:29 UTC
All use subject to http://about.jstor.org/terms

Lights in the schoolroom. A confusing blaze:

Torches, votive candles, level rays
Of dawn or dusk, spokes winnowing the air

?In vain. Today the Great Twins are elsewhere.

Gabr. HAIL, PRINCE!

Siddartha?saffron robes and sandalled feet,
Palms together, plump as a nut-meat

Goldenly fitted to its cosmic shell?

Advances at the sound of a prayer bell.

Sidd. HAIL, BROTHER DEATH.

Gabr. PRINCE, OUR POET SAYS MAN SET IDEA TO INNOCENCE TO ALLAY HIS FEARS & SAVE

HIS FEEBLE FAITH.

TWO HERE BEING MORTAL-FORGIVE THEIR SCANT ATTIRE, IT IS WARM IN YOUR TEMPLE
(Church! We'd forgotten?horrors! and have sat

Down in shorts and tank-tops. Well, that's that.)

CANNOT SEE YOUR OWN SPLENDOR RIVALLING EVEN MY DEAR WIN'S SUN.
YET ENOUGH. WE MEET IN THE VAST, FAST-ABANDONED COMPLEX OF RELIGION.
HAS ANY HUMAN ENERGY PRODUCED SUCH A MULTITUDE OF ARCHITECTURES?
PRINCE, AS OUR COMPANY STROLLS THROUGH THIS SUNSET-LIT COMPOUND,

Gothic spires, pagodas, minarets,

Greek columns blazing from each picture-glass?
But it's all tinted like an oleograph
And somehow radiates irreverence.

SPEAK TO US.

Sidd BROTHER LORDS, I WAS GIVEN BY GOD'S MESSENGER

MUCH THE SAME ORDER AS MY BROTHER JESU: TELL

MAN HOW IN HIS LIFE HE MAY ASCEND THE MOUNTAIN
OF EXPERIENCE BY CASTING EVER UPWARD
HIS MENTAL ROPES UNTIL SERENELY STANDING ON
PEAKS HIMALAYAN. I WENT DOWN, MY LORDS, AND SPOKE,
BETRAYING NEVER TO THE MULTITUDES THOSE TRUTHS
OF THE REPEATING SOUL. MY WRETCHED WHORE SHIVA
STOLE THESE FROM ME IN MY SLEEP AND BREATHED THEM EVEN
INTO THE EAR OF THE BRAHMIN COW. IT WAS OUT:
INSTEAD OF A GREAT EARTHBOUND CEREBRALITY
THEY SET GOING A PINWHEEL OF SPUTTERING LIVES
EACH MORE USELESS THAN THE LAST. I TRIED, LORD BROTHERS!
I BEG YOU SPEAK TO OUR FATHER ON MY BEHALF.
Gabr. PRINCE, IT IS SPENT, GOD'S POWER IN SUCH MATTERS.
YET HE & WE LOOK KINDLY ON YOU. GO IN PEACE, & BECKON IN THE JEW.
A lean, rabbinical young man in white
Bent under an imaginary weight
Stumbles forward, taking Michaers light
For God's at first; recovering, stands straight.

Jesus. FATHER GOD! YAHWEH? AH LORDS, MY BROTHERS, SHALOM!

His voice is hollow. Like the Buddha, he
Acts out his own exhausted energy.

WHAT A DEAD SOUND, MY NAME, IN HALF THE WORLD'S PULPITS.

WE, AS MY PRINCELY BROTHER SAYS, SPIN DOWN, OUR WORDS
LIKE GOD'S OWN PLANETS IN ONE LAST NOVA BURST AND
GRAVITY STILLS & OUR POWER LOSES ITS PULL.
HE & I CAME TO DELIVER LAWS, MINE FOR MAN
TO SHAPE HIMSELF IN GOD S IMAGE, BUDDHA'S FOR MAN
TO BECOME GOD. WORDS, WORDS. BUT OUR MESSAGE, BROTHERS!
I BEG OF YOU, INTERCEDE. BEFORE THE WINE RETURNS
WHOLLY TO WATER LET OUR FATHER MAKE ME FLESH
THAT I MAY A SECOND TIME WALK EARTH AND IMPLORE
WRETCHED MAN TO MEN, REPAIR WHILE HE CAN. AMEN.

PAGE 7

SEPTEMBER/OCTOBER 1879

This content downloaded from 140.192.113.143 on Mon, 25 Apr 2016 17:26:29 UTC
All use subject to http://about.jstor.org/terms

Gabr. DEAR SIMPLE PRIEST, STAY WITH US HERE IN HEAVEN, GREET YOUR FAITHFUL,
GIVING THEM BY YOUR SWEET WAYS COURAGE TO RETURN IN YOUR STEAD.

Shouldering his burden, Christ withdraws.

NOW MUSICIAN, STEP FORTH!

From temple to "temple of music" is but one
Half-tone. Components of an Odeon:
Golds, whites, red plush, kid gloves, unheard applause.
Robert, lyre in hand, shyly ascends

The podium.

RM. LORDS, DEAR ONES, OUR POET LENDS

ME WORDS TO WELCOME THIS MOST HONORED GUEST.

Music. He wasn't joking?an offstage choir

Sustains his first original melody:

MASTER, THE CHARMED CIRCLE LISTENING

ABOUT YOU HERE IS YOUR NEW RING
?Plainsong phrase repeated a third higher
Before its resolution into three
Chords from the Overture to Parsifal

Not lost on Wagner who, in flowing tie

And velvets, stands before the company.

RW. LORDS OF LIFE! AND YOU, ENVIABLE

ABOUT-TO-BE COMPOSER. I MAKE BOLD

TO SAY THAT MUSICS RIVER GOLD STILL VEINS
A PEDESTAL THE GOD HAS TOPPLED FROM.
NONE NOW BUT THOR, MY LONE PERCUSSIONIST, REMAINS
TO BEAT UPON EMMANUEL'S DRUM
A FAINT DIRGE FOR THAT FURRED & SAVAGE PANTHEON.
LORDS, MORTALS, COME SALUTE AT SET OF SUN
GREAT WOTAN, AS THE ICECAPS MELT!
Steps down

To strains of his own death march. Wastes of white

Are scored too briefly by a raven's flight.

Gabr. COME SPRITE, QUICKSILVER MESSENGER,

TUBE HELD IN EARTH'S DRY MOUTH, COME MERCURY MY OWN!
WHAT, ALONE? YOUR SNOW HEIGHT

DOWNTRODDEN BY THE PICNICKER?

QUICK TELL US, YOU WHOSE FACE
GLEAMS WITH THE MAGIC STILL, OF THAT OLYMPIAN RACE!
Out from the mirror (Robert blinks astonished)

Slips a figure only slightly tarnished?

Wings quivering on silver helmet, wings
At silver heel?and silver-throated sings:

AH LORD GABRIEL
THOUGH MAN WAS ABLE
TO CONJURE US
FROM HIS LOOKING GLASS

DO WE OUTGAZE
FOR A BRIEF SPELL EYES
BLIND TO THE PILFER
OF OUR FLAT SILVER

TIME RAN THAT RACE,

THE HORROR WELLD

UP & ACROSS
OUR SHINING FIELD:

DEEPSEATED DAMAGE,
A BLACKLY TICKING
OVERTAKING
OF EYE & IMAGE
WHENCE WE ARE NOWHERE
LIKED OR DISLIKED,
ONLY SHOULD FAIR
OR STRONG REFLECT

Flown. Silence. Then a grave, deliberate

Glissando of the cup to rainbow's end:

DJ.
JM.
Gabr.

ABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZ

What's all this?

Looks like the alphabet.

THE NEW MATERIALS, YOUNG POET, FOR A NEW FAITH:

ITS ARCHITECTURE, THE FLAT WHITE PRINTED PAGE

TO WHICH WILL COME WISER WORSHIPPERS IN T I M E

Exeunt.

PAGE 8

THE AMERICAN POETRY REVIEW

This content downloaded from 140.192.113.143 on Mon, 25 Apr 2016 17:26:29 UTC
All use subject to http://about.jstor.org/terms