Deborah Levy

An Amorous Discourse in the Suburbs of Hell

‌Part One‌

He

There you are

All wonderful and winged and leaking

That smile

Let me in

Want to

Walk through snow storms

Burning for you

Peeling oranges for you

Shimmering and

Shivering my

Assured

Modern

Woman

Who are you

Anyway?

‌

she

i have come

to save you

from the suburbs of hell

to rub my skin

against

the regularity of your habits

to bend your thoughts

like a spoon

to find your memories

lost in software

dived like a thought

out of paradise

into

your acrylic arms

‌

He

Uninvited

You flew into

My semi

And ate all my daffodils

I woke up

To your

Starry tattoos

Fingers

Tangled

In your hair

I asked

You

To stay

Now you make

Incense

From my heart

And liver

Spit

Mean small

Feathers

At my good intentions

‌

she

good intentions

are there

to be ruined

look at the tear stains on your tie

newlyweds

wear a band of gold

full of good intentions

look how they jitter and panic

when the bus stops to change drivers

at the junction between lidl and chicken cottage

‌

He

No wonder you

Fell

From Grace

Into

My poor lap

Fearful pigeons

Scurry about the roof

Ever since you arrived

‌

she

ever since i arrived

on your blue planet

most of it ocean

i hear the breath of an octopus

bigger than a car

eggs in her arms

calling for you

ever since i arrived

i hear the historic echo of yesterday’s lambs

under the tarmac of the ring road

baaing and frolicking for you

ever since i arrived

you walk from the table to the window ledge

cursing the pigeons on your roof

their ragged wings

opening and closing for you

‌

He

How your ragged wings

Open and close

And tell me what to dream

I am my own dreamer

And I’m dreaming of a white Christmas

A little garden

Someone to love

Enough to get by

I can speak French

You can’t

I can make shelves

And a wardrobe

With mirrored doors

You can’t

If I were more ambitious

I could build a sturdy bridge

But I don’t need the acclaim

‌

she

yes you can speak french

you read recipe books

as if they were sonnets

yes your wardrobe door

slides on its aluminium runner

yes your shoes have blind eyelets

fastened with coated laces

yet you got hauntings in your eyes

i saw your schoolboy bible

tucked in a corner

you have an uneasy relationship with god

could be interesting

be interesting

be interesting then

spread your hands towards the sky

ask Him in his mercy

to hear your uneasy love

there is no other kind of love

there is no easy kind of love

i don’t want provençal dinners from your freezer

i want delirium from under the lake

bang! bang!

watch out stanley

i’m not just unhappy

i’m trigger unhappy

watch the curve of my arm

the sun melt

into the tips

of my fingers

the trees

bending and bowing

‌

He

Look

I can’t afford rhapsody

I was born in Hurstpierpoint

My dad sucks lemon jellies

‌

she

then you shouldn’t mess about

with an angel

especially one that has been

washed up

on the oil sluck beaches

of yr shores belly

heaving with the smaller

bellies of fish and birds

find someone sweeter

(unaccustomed to terror)

to laugh at your jokes

‌

He

Let’s get a takeaway. Listen

To the rain

Fill holes.

‌

she

suburb man you are cold and unbothered

unlock your front door

the yale and chubb and the chain

take off your shoes

let my wings lift you

to skyscrapers and cornfields

to outraged sons and daughters

to the ferry boat on the 黄浦江

to the currywurst wagon in Friedrichstraße

to the North East SuperFast Express (Delhi-Mughal Sarai-Guwahati)

take off your shoes

take off your shoes

dance on a nervous scorpion

dance on the eyelash of a bull

dance on the edge of an oar

unlock your front door

the yale and chubb and the chain

‌

He

These shoes (size 10, 44 in Europe)

Are for walking in parks, tea

And toast

Afterwards.

Forgive me.

Courage not there.

Sucked by wear and tear

Of 9 to 5 & blocked drains

Eyes are closing.

‌

she

die die die of safety

your failing pension plan

a shroud of blind snails

searching for the last green leaf in eden

‌

He

You are beginning to bore me

Bile and gloom tucked

Tight into your incandescent

Cleavage. I would

Rather watch

T.V.

‌

she

it’s true i have these moods.

i might just

fall

into

despair

and singe the carpet

with the heat of my wings

and then

how

will you

console

me?

i wander around your suburbs in a haze

you fit so well into the seats

of england’s expensive trains

i find that when those passengers

who work in financial services

gaze at the back of my head

my garments cease to glisten with light

all my languages desert me

the vibrations of the universe

freeze in the knuckle of my sixth finger

today i will dive under the high-res screen of your smart phone

float in the galaxy of samsung

swim through blue tooth and back to ask you

what in essence is an angel?

she is a messenger, mediator, watcher and warner

only trouble is

desolation

numbs

the memory

who was my mother

who was my father

how long have i been falling

is god dead?

am i sick

or have i health?

‌

He

My health was perfect

Until you fell

On my head and pressed

Your lips of mist and ice

To mine

You burnt my tongue

You make me nervous

I have a little worldliness

At university

I hennaed my hair

My mother said, only

Whores do that

I wore beads

And had an existential

Girlfriend in a kilt

But now I’ve grown up

My shirts do not

Scream and

Beckon and

I own

A water filter

‌

she

worms

worms

worms

in the water

filter or not

there are serpents in paradise

this eden you murdered your discontent to own

oh kiss me quick

i’m fading away

it’s all this malice

eating at my angelic contours

save me …

‌

He

Let me massage you with flower essence

Let me fry you sardines

Let me kiss your cuts and scratches better

Let me plait your saffron hair

Wings stretched East

To West and West to

East, I welcome the

Gift of your arrival

I think I have been

Waiting all my life

To try out the best

Parts of myself

Touch me.

‌

she

my wings are tinged

with blush

beware

when i weep

there’s no stopping

this stuff

pouring

from the circles

of my soul

and i observe

that my cheeks

now itch with bumps

and welts

i think

it’s

pollution

‌Part Two‌

He

I need a woman

To live for

Play the piano to

Cook and have babies with

Share a bed

An address

To measure the sum of my self against

I’m getting on you know

I wake up in the morning

There’s a little pile of hair

On the pillow

A deciduous

I’ll drop my leaves

For you any day

I am here

In all my shedding glory

For you to

Love.

‌

she

you want a woman

to complete

your plan but

it’s not my plan

it’s not my plan to be completed by you

i keep falling

in and out

of myself

just as i fell out of paradise

i like it that way

sometimes i don’t like it that way

for better

or worse

it’s the only way

‌

He

You would destroy my fragile peace

(if you could)

With all the fury of the dispossessed

Look at you hovering above my porcelain egg-cup

You are too big for my possessions

And my possessions are too big for you

Linked as they are to an earthly family tree

I cannot find you on Google, no road no house

No town no country, all you bring to me

Is pain

‌

she

discontent is not unattractive

the stage magician who knows nothing of alchemy

and plucks bright balls

from his sleeves grinning

is far more hideous than you

‌

He

Discontent is not an achievement

It is not something to win

Like poker or golf or an Oscar

You are suffering

From the absence of

God.

Look how you flap

Your torn wings petulantly

At my modest wallpaper

‌

she

i am suffering

from absence point

blank, there’s

a hole in my heart

tween you and me

a long-maned horse

could jump through it

with room to spare

‌

He

Hey, Hey!

Let’s let the good times roll

Into the horse-shaped hole in your heart

Listen I’m under the

Influence of your sleazy

Vowels … I’m going all funny

And my eyes are shining!

‌

she

aw …

i love you

like this!

‌

He

C’mon sweetie

Squeeze into the motor

Let’s do 30 when we should do 20

Lets roll over the speed bumps

Let’s do that now

While my tank is full

And the price of petrol

Is stable

‌

she

just one moment

while i take

this fishbone outta

my teeth.

‌

He

No. You’ve lost

The moment. It’s

Gone. Stanley is

Himself again.

‌

she

be someone else

pleeeeeeeeze. just for

the helluvit.

‌

He

You hurt me

With your desire

For other. I am

Who I am and I

Am fond of myself.

‌

she

now you

made me cry with pity

for my poor undone self. all ruffled

and done in

by aristotle’s concept of unity.

(384–322 BC)

‌

He

What do you want

From a human lover?

An

Abstract and

Totally useless

Way of seeing to

Plunge

Toes

Waving

I know you swim at sunrise

With the newts and water voles

In the mud and silt of our Thames

Buffeted by currents and the wash from boats

(I have to blow-dry your wings for hours after)

No one would have you

Wet and melancholy

(You’re sort of inconsolable)

Weeping tears of gas

Over the spires of north Ilford

Talk to me straight

Like a motorway

Stay in the left lane

Do not use the hard shoulder

Do not drive against the traffic flow

It’s a straight conversation.

‌

she

sit here.

Yes here.

that’s nice.

straddle my angelic

hips

with yr small town

thighs.

‌

He

Like this

My sweet feathery

Tormentor?

‌

she

it will do.

you ask what i want from a human lover?

i’ll tell you straight

like a motorway

a clang! a clamour! a new expression!

‌

He

That sort of dumbwitted answer

Infuriates the logic

That makes me employable

‌

she

it is true

i am a little feverish

soon i will fly to frinton-on-sea

to raise a glass with jane lynne thorburn at the three crowns

and then move on to campohermoso

to catch up with francisco rodriguez garrido

trouble is

there are knots in my hair

trouble is

the world is murderously mad

climate maladies, pharmaceuticals

lack of privacy, arms trade possibilities

child marriage in yemen and other tragedies

i will have to look (again)

at aristotle

(384–322 BC)

who i have mentioned

before.

under his

toga is much to peruse.

if i was to try on his

theory of tragedy

and agree it imitates human acts

i would have to come to the angelic conclusion

that if i was to imitate the acts of human beings

i would have to imitate her not as she is

but as she could be

‌

He

Erm … I find your

Angelic hips alienating.

You thrash about in some bedlam

For the winged and divine

Forgetting you have a mortal

On your knee. My moustache is

Full of froth. I don’t understand

Say again what you said?

‌

she

i said nothing

i said nothing

i said looking

down into the suburbs

and beyond

i saw

sad stars fall

like halos

on men and women

howling into the damp crease of their past

i saw first worlds

blister the skin

of other worlds

zebras

gallop through

burning suns to

the shade of long

grasses, and

somewhere else, love

affairs in old hotels

with balconies

i saw beggars beg

in every language children fear

death in every language

and i saw you

weeping on your doormat

decided to become

a commuter

between heaven

and

the suburbs of hell

you seemed like a good

sort of man

an accountant

with culinary tendencies

tho’ lacking in charisma

(look at your tie)

the task

to

bring you

into

the light

and dark

of uncertainty

the two great themes

of classical science

chaos

and

order

undressing and

dressing and

cross dressing and

overdressing and

addressing envelopes

‌

He

Sounds like hard work

To me

I like plain shampoos

Soaps

Ecologically sound

Detergents

One hundred per cent

Wool

Good strong tea

Olive oil (budget permitting)

I like the light

To be just light

And the dark

To just be dark

I do not wish to live in a grey area

Or to read between the lines

Love must start on the first line

Continue on every line

No line without love

And then she marries me

That is my wish

‌

she

get off my knee

stanley …

now!

i try to introduce you

to the way i see things

and all you want is a wife

a wife and a second-class stamp and a bath

a bath and a donut and a product to kill moths

‌

He

You’re just a totalitarian angel

Full of self-rapture

I thought you were a divine messenger

In fact you’re a glutton

With wings

‌

she

you are suburbia’s satisfied son

i came to you

naked

glittering

flew through a chernobyl storm

above the pripyat river and its seven left tributaries

pina, yaselda, tsna, lan, sluch, ptsich, braginka

to find your microwave dreaming of you

yes dreaming of you

kneeling in a nuclear forest

gathering mushrooms in lithuania

pinging

pinging

pinging

dreaming in stainless steel for you

‌

He

You came to me

At the moment

I did battle with my soul

And found myself

Weeping on the doormat

Journeyed through

The storm in my heart

To heal the wounded

And yet the healer

Is more wounded than myself.

Your discontent

Has shattered

My double glazing

Twice

Who taught you

To behave like that?

This is a gentle place

With ancient trees

And often blossom

Go away

And don’t come back

Fuck off

Out of my easily

Satisfied arms.

‌

she

so cruel you are

secretly. untangle

this bird caught

in my hair. it blew

in from somewhere

made me yearn

for hugs and

boat rides

i’ve got all plump

from lack of euphoria.

‌

He

Ha!

Despite your sizzling proclamations

I am happier than you

Though you despise me for it

I listen to the weather forecast

Enjoy peaceful walks

In appropriate clothing

Sleep well at night

Do I need you?

Though flattered to be visited by an angel

With a mission

I prefer talking to my postman

His name is Shivadhar

In winter he wears a black beanie

With a bobble and I want one

In blue.

Tonight

I will eat

Pad Thai and drink

Singha beer

With my brother

Grateful

For small pleasures

We can share

All the while

Glad to be sure

The sun will always set in the West

And dusk settle over this suburb of bankrupt councils

Retail click-and-collect centres

Mental health tribunals

And me

And Shivadhar

And my brother.

Did you say you can hear a frog

Splashing at the end of the world?

‌

she

i said nothing

i said something

i said never talk to the hand

when you have an angel

perched on your wrist

you are a human subject

living and furious

architect of your own paradise

on this grave earth

of splendid contraries

it’s been a pleasure

to know you

and then know

you a little bit more

fry me a sardine

the wind is blowing

i’ll be off.

‌

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DEBORAH LEVY writes fiction, plays and poetry. Her work has been staged by the Royal Shakespeare Company. Her most recent novel, Swimming Home (2011, And Other Stories), was shortlisted for the 2012 Man Booker Prize, 2012 Specsavers National Book Awards (UK Author of the Year) and 2013 Jewish Quarterly Wingate Prize, while her most recent collection of short stories, Black Vodka: ten stories, was shortlisted for the Frank O’Connor International Short Story Award and its title story ‘Black Vodka’ shortlisted for the 2012 BBC International Short Story Award.

An Amorous Discourse in the Suburbs of Hell was first published in 1990 by Jonathan Cape and appears now in a new and revised edition.

Content

Deborah Levy
An Amorous Discourse in the Suburbs of Hell

‌Part One‌

‌Part Two‌