The Triumph of the Left Hemisphere Parts (i-iii.) Poetry by Robin Ouzman Hislop

The Triumph of the Left Hemisphere


cobwebbed her face spun the spell of lechery a garden of forked paths  
day and night tremble on the morning and evening star
morning brings the gull’s squall surreal beyond the curtained windows
the trees are ivy clad in a laurel bay like ship mast  & rigging sunk 
to the bottom of the sea

a filament of silver stabs the heart a slumbering breast cloud 
blooded in night’s music on no breath of breeze 
& flesh on flame trembles beneath naked branches 
churlish fetching as though milk maids were wenching 
like little red riding hoods 
nor no kiss can seal our wound to heal not her him, him her not I nor mine  

Godlike creation must be seen  as producing monsters  
in the gilt mirror of crooked butterflies where paper boats float with gondeliers 
beneath its arches and children drown in innocence of the first reflected face
new ice age  melts into soft ultra violet great maws devouring fleece 
ascend the statues of the sky  towards melting blue     
a sky in chains Atlantic winds mast banners 
wave musk of weed overgrown graves

paper castles on glass tables doll house tombs golden curls & dimples
from ghost houses screams the jackal down the long white hall
down the long white mall city of bleach close to the wind's white corners
ballerina in a champagne glass cherry lips sparkling eyes golden hair
delicate toes in bubbling foam until the last sips disappear in ripples
a pink & white cloud mattress washed to pillows of bleached stone
crepe clouds plume a three cornered hat pistols bloom back roses

The Triumph of the Left Hemisphere


the first line on the page thought to escape its life sentence 
like an errant angel falling into the breach 
a heavenly ape descended & disappeared into the waters
transfixed the statue  wears the same mask as the crowd transfixed 
heaven & hell are on the spin of a coin 
blue whales' melodies turned to shrieks are the ocean's voice 
& the iceman cometh to explain the glory of a name by which he would be forgotten

write thin rice words to the roll of rice drums give alms to blindness 
papyrus on a brain stem in a ventilation shaft 
rivers of red ink we scratch fears of the trembling vertebrate 
the long field shrew fleeing the hill to frozen waste
rice burning the paper sky small bones in the stubble frail nib at the edge 
forlorn the streets we drift we drift on waste on waste no fiesta for the poet
no poem for the feast walk down walk down the western lane take heed
the locusts come take heed the rice fields are burning on west on west

as string tautens bow stretches arrow pivots arcs the long day crane 
drops its breaking neck everyone imprisons in the telescope
a bleached pine branch floats its sodden joint wrenched 
first came fresh in sweet pods & green mush splitting on
black lips black omnipotent tongue heart’s red blood trickling to feed  
gorilla sky rains cockroaches singing in the rain all the milk white spilt heaven
coquette ruffles & coiffed wigette wrought in cream meringue ostrich plumes

& the newsman comes on measure of all things who rose from the glaciers
first dialectician of interlocution to a third person in hypothetical 
argumentation of an imaginary plot fallen man in a museum in narrow straights
in the gallery on the knoll moulds without holds different helmets in the battle 
black out at the shoot out banquets in display of poison bouquets
thaws to time's articulated perception a line with no other representation 
but its manifold variation the mirror is all fur through trees convoluted 
branches whose littered scales spangle down wind their voices 

The Triumph of the Left Hemisphere


mother of god in the death pen she's dancing on a string
a marionette at the gallows she sings as she swings one big world 
yes on everbody’s lips her mouth stains the mirror with a kiss
after the eightfold city of light the morning hymn on high
where the dragon fly pays homage to the lotus to fame with Mozart 
in another room from another room with another name on the radio made in china
drift like a broken antler in the soft silt quick on the swivel still unslacking 
raging silent till torn aloft close your eyes 

                                                                on your borders for now it’s safe to dream
& awake from a parallel dream of unknown separation where you reach out before
bandaged banisters spiral as a monstrous thorax throttled on each gargantuan 
gargoyle floor a white electric cell stormed in the head  of a whale that flounders
crashes onto the street of harlot shouts to become a reed at dawn 
kept by the river of day & night kept by the sea in a window
where the raven shrieks dressed like a black flamenco
& every one spills in the shapeless sky 

                                                             shedding rags in pirouettes
dark shards piercing the sunset in proportion to gravitation
yet they whispered she knew not she only her beloved called on lonely raven ridges
still her icy wails flail on bitter winds not freedom from your rags 
raised to riches by the coolies amongst those dark satanic mills
a shadow slithers crankily down funicular stairs onto trap door landings 
& narrow long doors through high thin halls like a crooked shank pin
out in black satin gold  buckles on 

                                                      Nantacas seven seas Rip Van Winkle’s 
away to hoods on the wharves manacled bicycles in interminable rows 
implore the shore’s deserted canals a town’s tier walls stained in moss fungi 
lichen grime belies their fragrance drain pipes in rainwild weed corners
dandelion leaf red bramble in black warts rain runs as blood  into shadows 
its speechless phantoms amazed after so long still misunderstood
in shadowy strands thin bands like the oneness of ant waves or piranhas 
long gone dance in the womb of incubation a well of gravity that spawns the ocean’s 
unleashed shoal still trembling from the deeps where you hover in suspense 


Robin Ouzman Hislop is Editor of Poetry Life and Times ; at his publications include
All the Babble of the Souk , Cartoon Molecules and Next Arrivals, collected poems, & Moon selected Audio Textual Poems available at as well as translation of Guadalupe Grande´s La llave de niebla, as Key of Mist and the recently published Tesserae , a translation of Carmen Crespo´s Teselas.
You may visit Robin Ouzman Hislop about author. See Robin performing his work Performance (University of Leeds)