night ghast [remix]
I wrote this poem back on December 19, 2006 under the title "a pretty piece of flesh, i." The title really had nothing to do with the poem except that it came from a line in Romeo and Juliet I liked and probably had hopes of using it somehow in the poem. Oh well. I had been thinking about Saharan camel trains, desert caravans, at the time, camping "out under the terrible full moon by myself on a wind-swept sand dune, calling the lonely spirits of the wilderness to me." For those who do not know the references, a "night ghast" is taken from the Anglo-Saxon word for ghost, "gāst." Ben Hur is the lead character from a 1959 movie. I use the word "consort" in the poem. At one point in Romeo and Juliet Tybalt slanders Mercutio by telling him, "Mercutio, thou consortest with Romeo" (3.I.39), which causes Mercutio to explode into rage. As it turns out, the word "consort" means both to "keep company with" but was an ancient slang term to also imply "having carnal relations with."
This video is a bit different than others I have tried in that it has background music to it. I understand that sampling a sound to create a beat (versus being able to play an instrument to create the same sound) is still frowned on these days by the establishment, so, in an act of full disclosure, here is where I got the music. The bass line is actually a nano-second of J.S. Bach's Suite No. 1, BWV 1007, G major (Prelude) (as performed by Yo Yo Ma) repeated over and over for a full minute. The cymbals are taken from the end of a Beastie Boys tune I found on a free, open source website, Triple Trouble (the Leo Nevilo remix). Finally, the trumpet is a riff I lifted off a Charles Mingus jam, Better Get It Hit In Your Soul, played backwards and distorted through a Wahwah special effect.
I have been consorting with the desert's
demons, things of air, lately. I know their
tastes, their humors and woes. Let the experts
scoff at these pale dreams, figments borne on air,
laughter at the eye's corner. Asleep I
am more grand than any phantasy. They
come; a few at a time, across sand, sky,
dune and under moon. They please me, they lay
down by my body. Passion is in birds'
breath, bat's wing; not in another lover's
words. Words! I am sick of all these words! True
delight is not a single word but herds
of night ghasts. Go. I'm the last of Ben Hur's
blood kin and I have no more use for you.
