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Aquarium

Chapter 37: Coiffeur Choréographique
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About This Book

A sequence of vivid lyric poems juxtaposes urban modernity and sensual escapism, shifting between images of aquaria, industrial streets, cathedrals, cabarets and cultivated gardens. Rich sensory detail and decadent diction evoke crowded factories, neon-lit cafés, and intimate interiors while poems alternate social satire, melancholic reverie and pastoral relief. Several pieces use theatrical vignettes and musical rhythms to render characters and scenes indirectly, while others address sacred space, memory and longing through ornate imagery. The book’s structure groups shorter, imagistic poems into two parts that balance urban manners with curving, often erotic or elegiac, meditations.

Coiffeur Choréographique

To Edith Sitwell

“NEXT gentleman,” the nervous scissors wait
To spoil the hair off some reflecting pate.
“The unemployed, Sir?—half of them are thieves,
Who soil propriety like autumn leaves.”
I wait until my turn. The crack of doom
Summons me from a plush-protected tomb.
“Short round the edge, but not too short will do,
And then I think I’ll have a dry shampoo.”
The scissors ballet-dance about one ear,
Some hairs have fallen down my neck, I fear.
Another pas-de-deux about my eyes—
I do not care for such close harmonies.
But soon the cutting’s done, the barber says:
“The unemployed are dreadful, better days
“May come and make us more content, I hope.”
My head is buried in a cloud of soap,
Till down upon my head Niagara Falls
Descend with all the heat of music halls.
He dries my hair, and as I go he says:
“The unemployed are dreadful, better days——”
I slam the door and wonder, “Will he say
‘The unemployed, Sir,’ on the Judgment Day?”