Plica

1

Beyond the pale the hair refuses the comb,

the Elflocks grow like tanglewood,

under the light of the moon.

Along the length of fiercely matted growth,

the plague spores flow invisible

inside drawn to the outside.

Spilling its scurf like bosky breadcrumbs

the witch-plait marks its owner

as superstitious fool.

Das Mädchen will nicht sich die Haare kammen,

witch-borne golden coins are hidden

between the greasy skeins.

And did the hero pull hard upon Rapunzel's hair,

the Hexenzopf would not break, nor

help with any rescue.

The gold was no more Rumpelstiltskin's woven flax

than secret plicas threaded through and by

busy solitary fingers.

The rose under the skirt is a shorter Polish plait

hid between the plumpest limbs

and hiding heaven's straitest gate.

 

The cat winks at the silver moon,

the witch straddles the stick of the broom,

her howl will end as lovers spoon

and spend themselves in the sylvan gloom.

 

Watch and ware,

und sorgfältig wacht!

The cauldron boils

auf Walpurgisnacht.

 

2

Beside the wood, the children run in random figures

no circles described, nor mystick shapes,

nor any running widdershins.

Are any there with locks a-growing devil-wise, a-tangle,

any mite with a secret-lupine-gaze

whose looks are for her Grandmother?

Beneath the dark and mournful sky are others,

watched with suspicion, the different pay with blood

for not being we, remaining they.

On the air the ripple of distant, mournful flute

plays any tune you might believe 'til

Owlglass is the Hameln Piper,

leading rats and kinder against the clock and tower town

into the mystic under the wintergreen hill

to the hall of the mountain king.

Sly Peter looks on in bitter envy from the east

trapped in do-gooder childish tales

wishing for an evil deed.

Herschel his cousin, from Ostropol, wishes those

in boots and coats a fate as dire as coaches

to death by invisibility.

 

The fool capers in St Vitus' Dance

the seer blathers with his face in his hands,

the king ponders and looks askance

as plague's inanition devours his lands.

 

Es gibt so was, sie sind echt

Foes, fey and faery folk:

wenn Man plänt, der Gott lächt

and the Devil gets the joke.