Tombeau: At the grave of Maria Callas
—an empty niche in the Columbarium Père-Lachaise, Paris
She whom you seek is not here!
Don’t put your ear to the earth;
she is not in the earth.
Begotten by Apollo
upon Litsa Dimitriadou,
famous for a downward chromatic plunge
and terrible mistakes in love, finally her myth
was scattered over the Aegean.
So if anything
put your ear to the sea. Its menses
hoisted up by the moon,
then let fall
when that fucking rock turned
its jealous, songless face
away.
Callas and the First Noble Truth
You critics threw her ashes into the sea
Complaining “She had three discrete voices.”
But how good did you think you deserved things to be?
All life is unsatisfactory,
Buddhism teaches.
You critics threw her ashes into the sea
Just as other critics shot good Jack Kennedy
And left him in pieces.
But how good did you think you deserved things to be?
Saying “Let God deliver her, if He
Delight in her noises,”
You critics threw her ashes into the sea,
Sinatra too, Garland, Elvis, Coltrane, Stravinsky,
Now nothing but traces.
But how good did you think you deserved things to be?
Dead in Paris at fifty-three,
No Greek to retrieve her from Hades,
You critics threw her stolen ashes into the sea.
But just how good did you think you deserved things to be?
