Five Visions From The Big Duck

Five Visions From The Big Duck Andrea Inglese (bio) Translated by Johanna Bishop (bio) Keywords poetry, Andrea Inglese, translation, Johanna Bishop, philosophy, nature, mythology, cultures, artwork Translated from Italian by Johanna Bishop Profile of a solitary man, in shirt sleeves, whose pose of sharpening a blade suggests he is a knife grinder. Often called The Spy, since he seems to be listening to something attentively, it is thought to depict the man who discovered the Catiline conspiracy; at other times of day he appears to be Cincinnatus, at still others Manlius Capitolinus. Initially confused with the Scythian, preparing to flay Marsyas. Nearby, peasants are lighting bonfires in the dark countryside at night. And Gypsies, in search of shelter, are slipping into a house. Background of ancient ruins with several tentative figures, as if painted in tempera. Pattern of many small circles, of many small skulls, ring-a-rosy, with marionettes gazing in the cardinal directions. Steady, calm manner at the center, with several figures. The Marquess of Villacerf, bare-legged, his calves almost entirely submerged, laughing. Heresy, a young maid, holds betwixt forefinger and thumb her pendant earrings of white gold. Europa, towering on bladed heels, a majestic, mature woman, looks with pleasure on an object that promises repose. An obese man, half-covered by a filthy tunic and sprawling on a seat of rubber tires, stares at the scene with his mouth open and foaming. A lively rivulet of saliva bathes him from neck to groin. The deep fryers suddenly spring to life when a flying insect, or scrap of debris carried by the wind, lands in the vat of boiling oil. The meat of a sheep or donkey, still raw, is gathering dust on the ground. End Page 92 Sign for the National Industrial Conference Board. Sixteen prefabricated blocks. Temporary fencing, unpaved footpaths, heaps of garbage. Backdrop of spruces. Group of human figures in peat bog, with nomadic laborers: Turkmens, Karakalpaks, Uzbeks, Kazahks, Persians, Kurds, Baluchs, and others without provenance or destination. A shaman, in the sole country chapel, fights off the shadows of spoliation and epidemic with his crutches. Each laborer carries a crutch and a flask of spirits around his neck. In the corner with the grills, amid a cloud of ash, four young lads prepare food for everyone: a pig stomach. After rinsing it with vinegar and salt, they stuff it with minced and pounded pork, three brains, raw eggs, peppercorns, aniseed, a pinch of rue, fish sauce, dates. The pot sits at the ready with its lid off. They are singing in their heads. Their mouths are dry, lips calcified. The flying insects are the only—utterly unfeeling—strategists in the place. Phoebus Apollo accompanied by the nine Muses bearing their usual emblems, with music from divers instruments, the same can be said of glorious Economic Development, which nothing can hinder from sprouting and which blossoms amidst every kind of difficulty. The second is a cross-section of the thorax of a cicada, with seven or eight chambers, or cavities, under the median dorsal line, which lengthwise are almost pyramidal in shape. The third and fourth are figures of textile workers and Asian prostitutes that stand like caryatids, blending into the details of the architecture. The central cartouche is a global manager, on horseback, plunging into the abyss...