Djuna Barnes - Ladies Almanack

In Cave’s Mouth it was bruited as Love-by-a-hair, when the Thigh-bone of Mother brought Daughter to rights, and the Breastbone of wishings, made Weaksisters at home.

We have it clipped from a grass Breeze, and gleaned from a Bluff’s brow, Leaf upon Leaf, incredible Autumns deep, forgotten by all but the Blood-hounds of deduction, that Priscilla herself was prone to a Distaff, and garbled her John for her Jenny in Cupboard would get no Dog a Bone.

Winter feast on Summer starve bring all Brooks to churning, and pass the Whey as ever you may, your Hands will print the Butterspot on the Foolscap of confession. So eat your Winter Lettuce, and say your Spring Beads, seek your Mirror, or stand in the cold at the hour of Midnight, or put what you will under your Pillow to know what you can in the Dawn of it, or see the Moon over your Shoulder, roving and hunting the world for an Omen, you’ll get her, you’ll have her, you’ll take her and lose her, you’ll miss by an Item, and over-reach by a Yard, undervalue, overestimate, hotbed or cold! The Branch does not bend unless for a passing, and some must go first, and some must come after. And how is the Jungle so twig-thick and underfoot, if not because a Bison, and a Bison and a Bison went by?

So take the first Hair from your Head, and boil it with Mare’s milk and wrap in a Napkin and bring the Goat inside out, then till the old Mother of six pans of her Earth, and next to the fur-side, lay the Nap to the Horns’ end, and thereover cast a peep of No-Doubting Sappho, blinked from the Stews of Secret Greek Broth, and some Rennet of Lesbos to force a get-up in the near Resurrection, and put on a Horseshoe to ride Luck’s Mare at a Gallop a trot, and when the Mass bubbles and at the River’s lip quivers, call it dear Cyprian, and take her under your Wing on the warm side, and but her no buts!

Or would you less Trouble?

Away Girl!

EBB

CAN one say by what Path, under what Bush, beside what Ditch, beneath what Mountain, through what Manlabour and Slaveswork, Man came upon the Burrows of Wisdom, and sometimes upon the skin of her herself? No, it cannot be said, for some and most, spend their bright Youth seeking her, while Woman spends her bright Youth brightly avoiding her. And at fifty what has a Man but his wisdom, and what has a Woman, but more suddenly, and therefore more pleasantly, that Wisdom also, for to Man it comes with the stealth of a deep Sleep, and in a Sleep he is when he nods that he has it bagged, but to Woman it comes when she has no cause for Children and no effect for Babes!

Then is she wise!

“What a wind-fall of a moment!” said Dame Musset, when at fifty odd she saw a long stretch of Beach about her. “What a lift in a Cab when there is no Address, what a Staff in Hand when the Hills have come down. Now,” she added, “that this tortured old Wineskin can no longer suffer gutting, I shall whirl me about this World indeed, and trifle to the hilt. Yet,” mused she, “what is this Safety and Wisdom worth when it comes riding before the Horse? Women must know of it before they can! And damn my Eyes!” said the good dame, “I shall ring the Bells of all Basham for this discovery; and make such a Groaning and tintinabulation throughout my own City, that every Woman will unloosen her Stays and hang them at Window for joy of the thing!”

Therefore she set out through the Town, her Staff in hand, her Busby well over one Eye, and as she went she spoke with Women, indoors and out, and had Words with them on many things that they had not hoped to know for a great long while.

Some wept into Kerchiefs for Love’s sake, and yet others swam out into a Dram of Ditchwater, and got their deaths of drowning, or hung Belly up on Halters, and Well-ropes and Kite-strings and near Water-hawsers, and others died in black Gloves, or ate Kickshaw trifles whipped up with Hemlock, from a Pantry that would never creak to their welt again, or yet others drilled, ash by dust and gravel by Hod, earth dipping for a Grave to coverall, or knelt over Mirrors of a bevel asking the worldwise Lie, or all in their Pretties, wept rump up and heart down for the Sorrow and the Pain of Loveslabourlost, while dame Musset sat on a thorn of a Hedgerow (and never the wiser) that she might save a girl or so before she had wallowed in Love’s rich welter, or troughed a mouthful at the Tarn of temptation.

“Girl!” she said to the first she saw approaching, “the meat on your Bones cries aloud of Spring in the Fat, yet could I poison you with the Fang of Knowledge, trip you up in your twenties, so that you browse deep on the bog-matter, that is old-girls’ Wisdom, would I not do it with a high Heart and gladly, so,” said she, “riddle me this: as lame as a Goose, as halt as a Standstill, as fast as a Watch, as wet as a Rill, as soft as a Mouse end, as hard as a Heart, as salt as a flitch, as bitter as Gall, as sweet as the-way-in, as sour as old Cider, as dear as a Darling, as mean as a Boil; which is always present yet never in Sight, which is as light as a Kerchief, and as dark as a Crow? That”, she said, “is Love, but,” added she, “riddle me the other: That is as cool as a Cow’s Dug, as sane as a Bell hop, as calm as a Groat, as sure as you-think-it, and as right-as-you-are. Wisdom. And which will you have?”

But the Girl would not listen and said Gee to her Oxen. Then went Dame Musset into Petticoat Lane, just off Breach-String-Alley, where the wash of the World is a dozen of Drawers in the Victorian Style, a Leg for a Leg and a great Gap to span them. And seeing a Lass coming from Market with little in her Basket to save her from starving but the whole of an Ox with a Tongue out-lolling, a breechend to the Brisket with a rosette in pucker, and a whole survey of Heaven in the low Light of its Eyes, full fathoms wise in its Eyeballs of dear Eden, a ream and a half of tripe’s Meat, that harked back to three Bellies, a fair Pig’s Bladder for Baby to call the Cattle home, and a round of Hares’ Fur to make Daddy a coat, with a Nose-bag of Carrots and a jugfull of rye, and a Mill on her back to winnow the apples in her Winter Acre into kegs of Home-brewing for a Guest and a Secret the whole Winter through, — to this one said Musset, as the Geese flocked ungainly, “Hold Wench, there is much you must learn ere you cram that Fodder down the Gorge of your Gut, and it is of Love and its Sorrow, which, with my new findings, may be turned into a matter of no Tears nor Agues, so but listen and give yea, while I make you, for no-gold, as wise as your Mother, so riddle me this—”

But the Lass would not listen, and said cluck to her Geese, and Dame Musset went further into Highhip Road, and there on the steps of the Palace saw Girls of all sorts, in their lute strings and Velvets, their Rag-tags of Sodom and their flaps of Gomorrah and all of them hiding a Letter between them, and none of them twenty, and all had the Hound’s Eye and the Heart dumbfounded, and the stagger of those penned in the Pastures of Hope, far on the way to the Shambles of Know-alland-try-all, and Dame Musset hecame exceeding sorry, though no Vein bled, for Knowledge has cooled from Perron to Chimney.

“Girls, Girls,” said she, “pause now to listen, I bring no Trumpet but that of my Message. I ask you to settle on the Borders of yonder Palace, like Doves on a Fort, nor lift to fly until you have had word with me, for I have come to deliver you from Love and Love’s Folly, and great Regrets that furl up like Thunder, and in terrible Banners outrun to bedamn you. So riddle me this—”