Luminescence Sentenced

December 4, 2010

talking, in Eternity
—Elizabeth Bishop

The more she thought about that nice old couple, how
they had seemed to be suspended inside
a bioluminescence of their own back there,
at the back of the bus
—limned in the moonlight, as it were—
the more Terry Tory had seemed to be inside a  kind
of moon herself—inside its luminescence—though
she’s not a ’bio’ anything and  it’s not like our moon at all,
but rather like a moon with craters so alive
with mineral nutrients—and hydrogen and oxygen—
that an extremely complex form of plant life had
evolved, one so complex that it could ‘talk’,
so intricate that the earth scientists were forced
to conclude that most of this plant communication
as it was formed among the ‘meta-roots’
—which is what they O so misleadingly called the neuronal cells—
should qualify as poetry, and, moreover,
a poetry that had created its
own mimetic production of reality (sine qua none
of poetry), not a poem, that is,  that is just a reality,
but a reality that is both capable of duplication  here,
and rich enough for duplication there,
to be written down here (as we do it),
or swarmed over (the meta-roots seem to sway) there,
and rich enough to generate mimetic doubles on
its/their own, you know, like consciousness does , or like
Terry and her sister Tranci, the  twins, in fact,
of all things, hence the moon and its twin, hence
the bio-moon with its great verdurous reality,
where, it is to be hoped, another bioluminescent pair
at the back of  some other bus and in some other sentence,
in some other ‘swarm’, if you will, but still in one
another’s moonlight—bathed in the stuff—will talk for
some time together there, and interrupted only by
that other bus, the bus that only will take you one at a time,
which will come soon, we all know it,
but will not  come tonight,  not for Terry,  not for
our nameless couple, and not even for that moose
the bus driver picks out in his headlights and stops—
for this all happened many years ago—
a moose that is Luminescence Transcendent,
or at least seems to be so there in the moonlight,
there in the  headlights,
there in the light of Terry Tory and
Tranci Tory, about to join both moons as they pass overhead,
both shinning their eerie lights,
both reflected from the sun and from their own strange source,
both luminescence sentenced and luminescence swayed.



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