4. Loba Part I

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            <title>Loba Part I</title>
         </titleStmt>
         <publicationStmt>
            <p>Copyright 1973 by Diane di Prima</p>
               <p>Drawings by Josie Grant</p>
               <p>Photo of Diane di Prima by Robert Durand</p>
               <p>LOBA, PART I is from a work-in-progress</p>
               <p>ISBN 0-912264-69-1 (pa.)</p>
               <p>ISBN 0-912264-70-5 (cl.)</p>
            <p>This online edition was created by Alyssa C Dearborn in 2018</p>
            <p>All rights reserved</p>
         </publicationStmt>
         <sourceDesc>
            <p>This is one half of the original source</p>
         </sourceDesc>
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        <epigraph><p><hi rend="italic">"It would be very pleasant to die with a wolf woman
        It would be very pleasant"</hi></p>
        <p>-Tlingit Song</p></epigraph>
         <epigraph><p><hi rend="italic">"A clever man builds a city
         A clever woman lays one low"</hi></p>
         <p>-Shi Ching</p></epigraph>
         
         <p><figure><graphic url="https://flic.kr/p/25r3sfR"></graphic></figure></p>
      
      
      <lg type="stanza"><l>if he did not come apart in her hands, he fell</l>
      <l>like flint on her ribs, there was no</l>
      <l>middle way, the rocks screamed</l>
      <l>in the flowing water; stars dizzy</l>
      <l>w/pain, if he was not</l>
      <l>daisies in her hair, she stumbled</l>
      <l>crazy over the stoney path between</l>
      <l>slanderous trees; even feild mice knew</l>
      <l>she called the shots, dimensions</l>
      <l>of the obsidian cross he</l>
      <l>hung on, singing in the sun, her eyes</l>
      <l>cloudy w/nightmare, she grinned</l>
      <l>baring her wolf's teeth. . . .</l></lg>
         
         <lg type="stanza"><l>Who will describe the triumph streaming</l>
         <l>out of her pelt, the symphonies</l>
         <l>wind carried to her fine nose?</l>
         <l>Her walk, graceful but never feline</l>
         <l>shoulders moving as she strode</l>
         <l>through undergrowth, dew from the ferns</l>
         <l>wet her tits, her short, clear barks?</l></lg>
         
         <lg type="stanza"><l>And if she bends, eternally, at tables</l>
         <l>at wood tables in factories, fashioning</l>
         <l>crosses of silver, this time, inlaid</l>
         <l>with jet &amp; abalone, will you meet</l>
         <l>her eyes, she</l>
         <l>raises her head. . . .</l></lg>
         
         <lg type="stanza"><l>Is she city? Gate she is we know</l>
         <l>&amp; has been, but the road</l>
         <l>paved w/white stones? her paws</l>
         <l>are cut by it, the lights</l>
         <l>blind her, yet she knows, she comes</l>
         <l>to it, white porceline lining</l>
         <l>dome of her brain, she flies</l>
         <l>to it on broomstick, on gold mandala</l>
         <l>platter or calendar, she sits, her tail</l>
         <l>curled round her neat white paws. . . .</l></lg>
         
         <lg type="stanza"><l>Signals. Does she stream, in</l>
         <l> wind, her nose riding channels</l>
         <l>of the seven rays, the planets</l>
         <l>vibrating in her brain, the curling</l>
         <l>canals of her guts? Strait as</l>
         <l>her eyes, her spine</l>
         <l><abbr>cd</abbr> be, but it curves, she curves it</l>
         <l>around weeds, she lies down</l>
         <l>in the sun.</l></lg>
         
         <lg type="stanza"><l>See how her tit drags on the ground.</l>
         <l>She steps on it. She <hi rend="italic">baaa</hi>'s</l>
         <l>She keens, as an old black goat, waiting</l>
         <l>blow of the ax. Feel head roll on</l>
         <l>wet earth, blood spout (foutain)</l>
         <l>from neck, strong as a column.</l>
         <l>See her dance.</l></lg>
         
         <lg type="stanza"><l>See the young, black, naked woman riding</l>
         <l>a dead white man. Her hair</l>
         <l>greasy, she whips him &amp; he flies</l>
         <l>thru the smoky air. Her hand</l>
         <l>is in her mouth, she is eating</l>
         <l>flesh, it sticks, snake wind</l>
         <l>around her ancles. Her hand</l>
         <l>touches the (wet) earth. Her hand</l>
         <l>shakes a gourd rattle, she laughs, her fangs</l>
         <l>flash white &amp; red, they are set</l>
         <l>with rubies.</l></lg>
         
         <lg type="stanza"><l>see how old woman's tits hang down</l>
         <l>on that young, lithe body,know the skull</l>
         <l>in her hand your own, she eats</l>
         <l>your eyes &amp; then your brain. . . .</l></lg>
         
         <lg type="stanza"><l>Hush, the old-young woman</l>
         <l>touches you, she is gold, she wears</l>
         <l>a peaked cap, vines</l>
         <l>grow out of it. Her tongue flicks</l>
         <l>at the corners of her mouth. She says</l>
         <l>"The wite gold</l>
         <l>almost invisible is made</l>
         <l>from the red-yellow metal, it is</l>
         <l>the Link." Bodies</l>
         <l>pass out of hers, doubles</l>
         <l>in silver, copper, iron. Glistening. They lick</l>
         <l>their lips. They float on out. Her eyes</l>
         <l>show waters parting a jungle, her arms</l>
         <l>are vines around you, her tongue</l>
         <l>is growing in your mouth. She</l>
         <l>thrusts a finger deep into your cunt.</l></lg>
         
         <lg type="stanza"><l>If you do not come apart like bread</l>
         <l>in her hands, she falls</l>
         <l>like steel on your heart. The flesh</l>
         <l>knows better than the spirit what the soul</l>
         <l>has eyes for. Has she sunk</l>
         <l>root in <abbr>yr</abbr> watering place, does she look</l>
         <l>w/her wolf's eyes out of your head?</l></lg>
         
         <lg><l><hi rend="bold">SKETHCHES OF THE LOBA</hi></l></lg>
         
         <lg type="stanza"><l>She stood in the dark bar trying</l>
         <l>to turn him into a cobra.</l>
         <l>To grow those three horns into</l>
         <l>the old, familiar hood.</l></lg>
         
         <lg type="stanza"><l>O the soft</l>
         <l>red walls she clung to, they held</l>
         <l>her only for a second, she came down</l>
         <l>in a torrent of blood</l></lg>
         
         <lg type="stanza"><l>It is snowing in the jungle of her pelt,</l>
         <l>the crystals</l>
         <l>Dance in her cavernous nostrils.</l></lg>
         
         <lg type="stanza"><l>How he drew her down to pleasure! She left</l>
         <l>the flickering ice for the candlelight to watch</l>
         <l>him bending his head w/the weight</l>
         <l>of invisible antlers. It was a role</l>
         <l>she was tired of playing. In her</l>
         <l>mind's eye she saw herself loping around Europe</l>
         <l>naked &amp; lean on the beaches, presiding</l>
         <l>at gypsy festivals. She glimmered</l>
         <l>black &amp; white like some elusive</l>
         <l>opal. Who <abbr>wd</abbr></l>
         <l>brush donkey shit off her skirt, lick</l>
         <l>the beach tar off her feet bythe flickering</l>
         <l>grey seas of the north? In the candlelight she moved</l>
         <l>her hands, her rings</l>
         <l>played, she moved, her face, her mouth, her voice</l>
         <l>fell like water on him.</l></lg>
         
         <lg type="stanza"><l><hi rend="bold">THE LOBA DANCES</hi></l></lg>
         
         <lg type="stanza"><l>She rises</l>
         <l>in flames</l>
         <l>the</l>
         <l>city</l>
         <l>it glows about her</l>
         <l>The Loba</l>
         <l>mother wolf &amp;</l>
         <l>mistress</l>
         <l>of many</l>
         <l>dances she</l>
         <l>treads</l>
         <l>in the severed heads</l>
         <l>that grow</l>
         <l>like mosses</l>
         <l>on the flood</l>
         <l>the city</l>
         <l>melts it</l>
         <l>flows past her</l>
         <l>treading</l>
         <l>white feet they</l>
         <l>curl around</l>
         <l>ashes &amp; the ashes</l>
         <l>sing, they chant</l>
         <l>a new</l>
         <l>creation myth</l>
         <l>ghoul lips of</l>
         <l>lovers she</l>
         <l>left</l>
         <l>like pearls</l>
         <l>in the road</l>
         <l>she</l>
         <l>dances, see</l>
         <l>her eyes</l>
         <l>glow the</l>
         <l>city</l>
         <l>glows dancing</l>
         <l>in them</l>
         <l>wolf cry you hear</l>
         <l>falls</l>
         <l>from the stars</l>
         <l>the Loba</l>
         <l>dances, she</l>
         <l>treads the</l>
         <l>salty earth, she</l>
         <l>does not</l>
         <l>raise</l>
         <l>breath cloud heavenward</l>
         <l>her breath</l>
         <l>itself</l>
         <l>is carnage.</l></lg>
      
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Loba Part I

Copyright 1973 by Diane di Prima

Drawings by Josie Grant

Photo of Diane di Prima by Robert Durand

LOBA, PART I is from a work-in-progress

ISBN 0-912264-69-1 (pa.)

ISBN 0-912264-70-5 (cl.)

This online edition was created by Alyssa C Dearborn in 2018

All rights reserved

This is one half of the original source

"It would be very pleasant to die with a wolf woman It would be very pleasant"

-Tlingit Song

"A clever man builds a city A clever woman lays one low"

-Shi Ching

if he did not come apart in her hands, he fell like flint on her ribs, there was no middle way, the rocks screamed in the flowing water; stars dizzy w/pain, if he was not 5 daisies in her hair, she stumbled crazy over the stoney path between slanderous trees; even feild mice knew she called the shots, dimensions of the obsidian cross he 10 hung on, singing in the sun, her eyes cloudy w/nightmare, she grinned baring her wolf's teeth. . . . Who will describe the triumph streaming out of her pelt, the symphonies wind carried to her fine nose? Her walk, graceful but never feline shoulders moving as she strode 5 through undergrowth, dew from the ferns wet her tits, her short, clear barks? And if she bends, eternally, at tables at wood tables in factories, fashioning crosses of silver, this time, inlaid with jet & abalone, will you meet her eyes, she 5 raises her head. . . . Is she city? Gate she is we know & has been, but the road paved w/white stones? her paws are cut by it, the lights blind her, yet she knows, she comes 5 to it, white porceline lining dome of her brain, she flies to it on broomstick, on gold mandala platter or calendar, she sits, her tail curled round her neat white paws. . . . 10 Signals. Does she stream, in wind, her nose riding channels of the seven rays, the planets vibrating in her brain, the curling canals of her guts? Strait as 5 her eyes, her spine cd be, but it curves, she curves it around weeds, she lies down in the sun. See how her tit drags on the ground. She steps on it. She baaa's She keens, as an old black goat, waiting blow of the ax. Feel head roll on wet earth, blood spout (foutain) 5 from neck, strong as a column. See her dance. See the young, black, naked woman riding a dead white man. Her hair greasy, she whips him & he flies thru the smoky air. Her hand is in her mouth, she is eating 5 flesh, it sticks, snake wind around her ancles. Her hand touches the (wet) earth. Her hand shakes a gourd rattle, she laughs, her fangs flash white & red, they are set 10 with rubies. see how old woman's tits hang down on that young, lithe body,know the skull in her hand your own, she eats your eyes & then your brain. . . . Hush, the old-young woman touches you, she is gold, she wears a peaked cap, vines grow out of it. Her tongue flicks at the corners of her mouth. She says 5 "The wite gold almost invisible is made from the red-yellow metal, it is the Link." Bodies pass out of hers, doubles 10 in silver, copper, iron. Glistening. They lick their lips. They float on out. Her eyes show waters parting a jungle, her arms are vines around you, her tongue is growing in your mouth. She 15 thrusts a finger deep into your cunt. If you do not come apart like bread in her hands, she falls like steel on your heart. The flesh knows better than the spirit what the soul has eyes for. Has she sunk 5 root in yr watering place, does she look w/her wolf's eyes out of your head? SKETHCHES OF THE LOBA She stood in the dark bar trying to turn him into a cobra. To grow those three horns into the old, familiar hood. O the soft red walls she clung to, they held her only for a second, she came down in a torrent of blood It is snowing in the jungle of her pelt, the crystals Dance in her cavernous nostrils. How he drew her down to pleasure! She left the flickering ice for the candlelight to watch him bending his head w/the weight of invisible antlers. It was a role she was tired of playing. In her 5 mind's eye she saw herself loping around Europe naked & lean on the beaches, presiding at gypsy festivals. She glimmered black & white like some elusive opal. Who wd 10 brush donkey shit off her skirt, lick the beach tar off her feet bythe flickering grey seas of the north? In the candlelight she moved her hands, her rings played, she moved, her face, her mouth, her voice 15 fell like water on him. THE LOBA DANCES She rises in flames the city it glows about her 5 The Loba mother wolf & mistress of many dances she 10 treads in the severed heads that grow like mosses on the flood 15 the city melts it flows past her treading white feet they 20 curl around ashes & the ashes sing, they chant a new creation myth 25 ghoul lips of lovers she left like pearls in the road 30 she dances, see her eyes glow the city 35 glows dancing in them wolf cry you hear falls from the stars 40 the Loba dances, she treads the salty earth, she does not 45 raise breath cloud heavenward her breath itself is carnage. 50

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Themes:

Loba Part I

Copyright 1973 by Diane di Prima

Drawings by Josie Grant

Photo of Diane di Prima by Robert Durand

LOBA, PART I is from a work-in-progress

ISBN 0-912264-69-1 (pa.)

ISBN 0-912264-70-5 (cl.)

This online edition was created by Alyssa C Dearborn in 2018

All rights reserved

This is one half of the original source

"It would be very pleasant to die with a wolf woman It would be very pleasant"

-Tlingit Song

"A clever man builds a city A clever woman lays one low"

-Shi Ching

if he did not come apart in her hands, he fell like flint on her ribs, there was no middle way, the rocks screamed in the flowing water; stars dizzy w/pain, if he was not daisies in her hair, she stumbled crazy over the stoney path between slanderous trees; even feild mice knew she called the shots, dimensions of the obsidian cross he hung on, singing in the sun, her eyes cloudy w/nightmare, she grinned baring her wolf's teeth. . . . Who will describe the triumph streaming out of her pelt, the symphonies wind carried to her fine nose? Her walk, graceful but never feline shoulders moving as she strode through undergrowth, dew from the ferns wet her tits, her short, clear barks? And if she bends, eternally, at tables at wood tables in factories, fashioning crosses of silver, this time, inlaid with jet & abalone, will you meet her eyes, she raises her head. . . . Is she city? Gate she is we know & has been, but the road paved w/white stones? her paws are cut by it, the lights blind her, yet she knows, she comes to it, white porceline lining dome of her brain, she flies to it on broomstick, on gold mandala platter or calendar, she sits, her tail curled round her neat white paws. . . . Signals. Does she stream, in wind, her nose riding channels of the seven rays, the planets vibrating in her brain, the curling canals of her guts? Strait as her eyes, her spine cd be, but it curves, she curves it around weeds, she lies down in the sun. See how her tit drags on the ground. She steps on it. She baaa's She keens, as an old black goat, waiting blow of the ax. Feel head roll on wet earth, blood spout (foutain) from neck, strong as a column. See her dance. See the young, black, naked woman riding a dead white man. Her hair greasy, she whips him & he flies thru the smoky air. Her hand is in her mouth, she is eating flesh, it sticks, snake wind around her ancles. Her hand touches the (wet) earth. Her hand shakes a gourd rattle, she laughs, her fangs flash white & red, they are set with rubies. see how old woman's tits hang down on that young, lithe body,know the skull in her hand your own, she eats your eyes & then your brain. . . . Hush, the old-young woman touches you, she is gold, she wears a peaked cap, vines grow out of it. Her tongue flicks at the corners of her mouth. She says "The wite gold almost invisible is made from the red-yellow metal, it is the Link." Bodies pass out of hers, doubles in silver, copper, iron. Glistening. They lick their lips. They float on out. Her eyes show waters parting a jungle, her arms are vines around you, her tongue is growing in your mouth. She thrusts a finger deep into your cunt. If you do not come apart like bread in her hands, she falls like steel on your heart. The flesh knows better than the spirit what the soul has eyes for. Has she sunk root in yr watering place, does she look w/her wolf's eyes out of your head? SKETHCHES OF THE LOBA She stood in the dark bar trying to turn him into a cobra. To grow those three horns into the old, familiar hood. O the soft red walls she clung to, they held her only for a second, she came down in a torrent of blood It is snowing in the jungle of her pelt, the crystals Dance in her cavernous nostrils. How he drew her down to pleasure! She left the flickering ice for the candlelight to watch him bending his head w/the weight of invisible antlers. It was a role she was tired of playing. In her mind's eye she saw herself loping around Europe naked & lean on the beaches, presiding at gypsy festivals. She glimmered black & white like some elusive opal. Who wd brush donkey shit off her skirt, lick the beach tar off her feet bythe flickering grey seas of the north? In the candlelight she moved her hands, her rings played, she moved, her face, her mouth, her voice fell like water on him. THE LOBA DANCES She rises in flames the city it glows about her The Loba mother wolf & mistress of many dances she treads in the severed heads that grow like mosses on the flood the city melts it flows past her treading white feet they curl around ashes & the ashes sing, they chant a new creation myth ghoul lips of lovers she left like pearls in the road she dances, see her eyes glow the city glows dancing in them wolf cry you hear falls from the stars the Loba dances, she treads the salty earth, she does not raise breath cloud heavenward her breath itself is carnage.