Time Out of Joint by Deerbrook Editions

Time Out of Joint

Book II1 in The Argument of Time

al so by teresa carson

Elegy for the Floater (2008) The Congress of Human Oddities (chapbook, 2012) My Crooked House (2014) The Congress of Human Oddities: A Narrative of 19th Century America (2015) Visit to an Extinct City (2021) Metamorphoses, Book XVI (2022)

Time Out of Joint Book III in The Argument of Time

Teresa Carson Italian translation by Alessandro Di Mauro

d e e r b r o o k e d itio n s

published by Deerbrook Editions P.O. Box 542 Cumberland, ME 04021 www.deerbrookeditions.com Preview catalog: issuu.com/deerbrookeditions

In memory of my sister Joan

author’s note

When I first discovered how much the landscapes of Rome and Ostia Antica had been rebuilt by the fascist regime for propagandist purposes, I was grumpily embarrassed that my eyes had been deceived by these “scripted spaces.” Didn’t I, who scoffed at the belief that we can “feel as if we’re back in the past” when we visit ancient sites, know better than to get fooled by a row of umbrella pines on an ancient street? Obviously not. But once my curiosity kicked back in, I began exploring the concept of scripted spaces, aided by the writings of Norman M. Klein, and realized that places of the past are often scripted to elicit specific responses from visitors— emotional, psychological, physical. Moreover, the stories we tell about the past are often scripted to fit a particular point of view about a past event. I didn’t need to go to Italy to learn how obstinately we cling to such scripts in the face of firsthand accounts that disagree with it. I had my own personal experience of this when, to my surprise, parts of my own past were challenged by a young friend who chose to privilege another’s version of a historic event over mine. And even as I was writing these poems, symbols of old orders—statues, monuments, words—were falling across the USA, toppled by those who know it matters whose version of the past is set in stone—who know that, in time, oneof-many-stories will morph into official memory, into the script. What’s left out will be exiled to oblivion, or misremembered to fit in, or dismissed as less than true. Once the script, or the scripted space, has been set, we can smoothly accept it as the “real thing” and therefore overlook the complexity of reality in favor of easily understood illusions.

translator’s note

This translation contributes to the debate, which Teresa’s lines so beautifully set out, over fascist urban design and self-imagery in post-fascist Italy. I hope that Italian readers will question our relationship to the twentieth and earlier centuries in light of this poet’s feelings about her relationship to both the past in general and to places in and around Rome, which still exert a hold on passersby, including myself, whether or not we are aware of the ways in which their remaking has always been linked to those in power.

tempo scardinato

E quelle tue parole siffatte a servire il tempo, le quali l’orecchio esteriore rimise all’anima intellettiva, il cui orecchio interiore rimane in ascolto della tua eterna Parola. —Sant’Agostino, Confessioni, XI–VI

time out of joint

And those words of thine thus made to serve for the time, did the outward ear give notice to unto the intelligent soul, whose inward ear lay listening to thy eternal Word. —Saint Augustine, Confessions, XI–VI

la nostr a ter za volta a ostia antica

Nella necropoli, John fotografa un muro di opus reticulatum mentre io sto in piedi all’ombra e cerco sulla mappa una scorciatoia per la sinagoga—una delle più antiche al mondo. Le altre volte ci siamo stancati prima. D’improvviso, sento il guizzo di una guida che squalifica a gesti, “I Romani non li avrebbero piantati; le radici sollevano il selciato”. Il suo sguardo accusatorio verso i pini. Di avviso contrario, mi allontano alla svelta. Perché dubitare che il filare ombreggiasse a mezzogiorno anche per il non ancora Sant’Agostino quando calpestò queste selci? Aderisce all’immagine che ho di un tempo e un luogo a me ignoti. Perché addurre questioni pratiche? Per quanto io vada oltre il loro suono, l’ombra delle sue parole avanza il dubbio che io possa reperire il Tempo scardinato— come l’esperto d’arte reperisce un braccio avulso.

E giungo a questi campi e vasti quartieri della mia memoria,

our third visit to ostia antica

In the necropoli, John photographs an opus reticulatum wall while I stand in a block of shade to check the map for shortcut to the synagogue—one of the oldest in the world. On prior visits we’ve tired before reaching it. Suddenly, I overhear a guide carp, as her fingers flick dismissal, “The Romans wouldn’t have planted them; their roots lift paving stones.” Her gaze incriminates the pines. Averse to seeing things her way, I hurry on. Why doubt that line also provided shade at noon for not-yet Saint Augustine when he trod these cobblestones? They fit my picture of a time and place unknown to me. Why bring up practicalities? Though I move beyond their sound, the shadow of her words casts doubt on my belief that I can spot time out of joint— same way art experts spot an arm that doesn’t belong.

And I come into these fields and spacious palaces of my memory,

La memoria tira i pensieri per la giacca: Non avevo io, in un’altra poesia, individuato proprio questi alberi come discendenti di quegli altri quando Ostia era al suo apogeo? Non avevo esclamato: lignaggio intatto che cancella “l’ora” e “l’allora”? Dunque, toccarne la corteccia scrostata portava a un altro secolo. Alla fine, non è per questo che ho viaggiato qui?

dove sono i tesori delle innumerevoli forme che vi si riversano

Memory tugs on the sleeve of thought:

Hadn’t I, in an earlier poem, singled out these very trees as descendants of ones here when Ostia was at its peak? Didn’t I gush: unbroken lineage eliminates “now” and “then”? Thus, to touch their peeling bark was to reach another century. In the end, isn’t that what I traveled here for?

where the treasures of innumerable forms brought into it

C’erano o no pini a ombrella in Roma antica? Sì. Orazio, Virgilio e Properzio ne fanno menzione. Quindi, dovevano essercene a Ostia. Un fatto è un fatto. Certo, certo. Ma che dire del fatto che avevi sorvolato? Quale? Che molti di quei pini furono piantati per la mai avvenuta Esposizione Universale di Roma del ’42, la quale Mussolini voleva mostrasse al mondo che l’Italia fascista era legittima erede del “saggio e forte, disciplinato e imperiale” Impero Romano. Non lo sapevo . . . Ma ora lo sai.

come percepite dai sensi, protetti.

Were umbrella pines even around in ancient Rome? Yes. Horace, Virgil, and Propertius mention them. Therefore, they must have grown in Ostia. A fact’s a fact. True, true. But what about the fact you overlooked? Which one? That many of the pines there now were planted for the never-happened 1942 Esposizione Universale di Roma, which Mussolini believed would show the world that fascist Italy was the rightful heir of the “wise and strong, disciplined and imperial” Roman Empire. I didn’t know . . . But now you do.

from these things that have been perceived by the senses be hoarded up.

La verità riguardo agli alberi compromette la mia narrazione. Di quale epoca è qui? Che cosa/e succedette(ro) qui? Quale io sono in questo luogo? Quante cose mal intese/lette/viste per far combaciare tutto? Occhi parati da un’avidità del prima poiché il dopo atterrisce. Quanti respiri hanno riempito questo spazio? Credere troppo/non abbastanza. Quante morti l’hanno svuotato?

Dove pure è adagiato tutto quel che pensiamo,

The truth about the trees compromises my narrative. Which Time is this place? What past(s) happened here? Which me am I when here? How many things miss-seen/read/heard/understood to make things fit? Eyes blinkered by a craving for before since after terrifies. How many breaths have filled this space? Believing too much/not enough. How many deaths emptied it?

There is laid up whatsoever besides we think,

la rom a di mussolini

All’aprirsi della porta, non potevo non guardare. Solo per scoprire: Mussolini tradusse Roma. Cedette la parola al piccone. Mise ordine. Allineò. Raddrizzò. Moralizzò, igienizzò il paesaggio. Estirpò quei tempi che non fossero abbastanza grandiosi. Ne forzò frammenti del passato per aderire a un copione sostituendo destino a caso (Ho fatto lo stesso talvolta . . . e voi?) Sgombrò prospettive. Eliminò il pittoresco e il cosiddetto colore locale. Facile ingannare l’occhio quando tutto sembra chiaro. Esibì ai romani una Roma immutabile.

amplificando o riducendo,

mussolini’s rom a

Once that door opened, couldn’t help but look. Only to find: Mussolini translated Rome. Yielded the word to the pickax. Put in order. Lined up. Set straight. Made the landscape moral, hygienic. Weeded out times that weren’t grand enough. Forced fragments of its past to fit a script by substituting fate for chance (I’ve done the same sometimes . . . and you?) Un-obstructed lines-of-sight. Eliminated the picturesque and so-called local color. Easy to fool the eye when everything seems clear. Showed immutable Rome to the Romans.

either by way of enlarging or diminishing,

Oh di sussulto disperso nel labirinto di strade tortuose, erbacce al ginocchio, in una lingua altrui, Medioevo o Rinascimento quando qualcosa d’inatteso rovina di tempio a un dio— ma quale dio— resti di giardino, angolo di mosaico in situ, cenno di aver capito appare d’improvviso.

Vantaggi del lungo e largo, del bianco e nero.

o comunque alterando la percezione sensoriale;

The jolting oh after lost in maze of crooked streets, in knee-high weeds, in another’s language, in medieval or Renaissance when something unexpected ruined temple to a god— but which god— remains of garden, corner of mosaic in situ, nod of understanding suddenly appears.

Convenience of straight and wide, of black and white.

or any other ways varying of those things which the sense hath come at:

Cosa fu risparmiato dalla dis-creazione? Pezzi—colonne, gradini, archi, parole fuori contesto— da ricomporre simulatamente. Perché fu ossessionato da rovine di rovine? Beh, aveva scelto Augusto (che costruì quella “città di marmo” che rovinò) come suo capostipite. Come se si potesse scegliere la propria origine. Augusto trovò il modo: ricondurre il lignaggio agli dèi per il tramite del padre adottivo, Cesare. (Allo stesso modo: hai chiamato Ovidio la tua famiglia. Qualcosa del genere.) Come se il potere potesse trasmettersi nel Tempo. Come si fa reggere un’idea così? Dite: Roma è il nostro simbolo, il nostro mito. Dite: Il fine è questo: l’impero. Dite: Le glorie passate saranno superate da quelle future.

già, tutto quel che vi sia affidato con cautela,

What was safe from dis-creation? Parts—columns, steps, arches, words out of context— that could be patched into a simulated whole. Why his fuss about ruins of ruins? Well, he’d chosen Augustus (who built the “city of marble” that fell into them) as his forebear. As if any of us can choose our origins. Augustus found a way: his lineage linked to the gods through his adopted father, Caesar. (Think of it this way: you’ve called Ovid your family. A version of the same.) As if power can be handed through Time. How do you make that notion stick? Say: Rome is our symbol, our myth. Say: The goal is this: empire. Say: Past glories will be surpassed by those of the future.

yea, and if there be anything recommended to it and there laid up,

In pratica ciò richiede che seguiamo regole: credere la sua narrazione su come passato e presente siano predestinati; obbedire consenso a vedere la verità nel mito; non combattere quando il fittizio rimpiazza il reale.

che l’oblio non abbia già inghiottito e sepolto.

In practice this requires that we follow rules: credere his narrative about how past and present lead to destiny; obbedire

agree to see what’s myth as truth;

don’t combattere when scripted space replaces real.

which forgetfulness hath not swallowed up and buried.

sul tempo

Agostino, nelle Confessioni, osservò: quel ch’è ormai passato non è più. Dunque, le ricostruzioni di un tempo che fu, promettenti la durata perciò ch’è stato rimosso a ogni successivo tic o tac, sono, in effetti, teatri della memoria, spazzato il Tempo. Non com’erano le cose. Non affatto tale.

Ogni volta che attingo al tesoro,

about time

Augustine, in Confessions, pointed out: once now has passed it is not. Thus, reconstructions of a long ago, which promise lastingness for what has been erased by each successive tick or tock, are, in effect, theaters of memory, scrubbed of Time. Not as things were. Not even close.

To this treasury whenever I have recourse,

La vita confonde meno nei passati preconfezionati dove qualcun altro ha fatto il lavoro di soppesare memorie per noi. E gli anni che qualcun altro ha ritenuto di nessun valore? Beh, certamente, sono stati rimossi . . . ma, in realtà, dopo aver soddisfatto il bisogno nostro di continuità— [dopo aver creduto che il lasso di tempo fra Augusto e oggi scorre rettilineo come la strada costruita dal regime fascista, per le sfilate, attraverso le rovine di Roma antica] —quanti tengono a sapere del disperso?

evoco tutto quanto io voglia:

Life’s less confusing in prepackaged pasts where someone else has done the work of appraising memories for us. And years that someone else deemed valueless? Well, sure, they’ve been erased . . . but, really, once our need for continuity is met— [once we believe the span of time between Augustus and today runs in a straight line like the road the fascist regime built, for its parades, through the ruins of ancient Rome] —how many care to ask about the lost?

I demand to have anything brought forth whatsoever I will:

Passeggiamo in una “versione di” I treni sono puntuali là. Il calendario cambia per indicare l’Era Fascista. credendo di essere fuori dal t/Tempo; Ingannevole questo ideale di permanenza. Alla fine il Tempo fa quel che vuole di noi. credendo di avere potere sul destino; Augusto deificato; Mussolini dal corpo mutilato e appeso in area di servizio a Milano. credendo di avere il controllo.

alcune cose si presentano all’istante, altre si fanno desiderare più a lungo,

We walk through a “version of ” The trains run on time there. The calendar changes to track Era Fascista. believing we’re outside of time; Tricky this ideal of permanence. In the end Time does what it wants with us. believing we have power over fate; Augustus deified; Mussolini’s mutilated body hanging in a gas station in Milan. believing we’re in control.

whereupon some things come out presently, and others must be longer enquired after,

Note The quotation that runs along the page footers was extracted from passages in Saint Augustine’s Confessions (AD 397–400), translated by William Watts (New York: Macmillan, 1912), book 10, pp. 95-99: I will soar therefore beyond this faculty of my nature, still rising by degrees unto him who hath made both me and that nature. And I come into these fields and spacious palaces of my memory, where the treasures of innumerable forms brought into it from these things that have been perceived by the senses be hoarded up. There is laid up whatsoever besides we think, either by way of enlarging or diminishing, or any other ways varying of those things which the sense hath come at: yea, and if there be anything recommended to it and there laid up, which forgetfulness hath not swallowed up and buried. To this treasury whenever I have recourse, I demand to have anything brought forth whatsoever I will: whereupon some things come out presently, and others must be longer enquired after, which are fetched, as it were, out of some more secret receptacles: other things rush out in troops; and while a quite contrary thing is desired and required, they start forth, as who should say: Lest peradventure it should be we that are called for. These I drive away with the hand of my heart from the face of my remembrance; until that at last be discovered which I desire, appearing in sight out of its hidden cells. * Where are all things distinctly and under general heads preserved, according to the several gates that each notion hath been brought in at? as, (for example) light and all colours and forms of bodies brought in by the eyes: and by the ears all sorts of sounds: and all smells by the nostrils; all tastes by the gate of the mouth: and by the sense which belongs to the whole body, is brought in whatsoever is hard or soft: whatsoever is hot or cold; whatsoever is smooth or rugged, heavy or light, in respect of the body either outwardly or inwardly: all these doth that great receipt of the memory receive in her many secret and inexpressible windings, to be forthcoming, and to be called for again, whenas need so requireth, each entering in by his own port, and there laid up in it. * All this do I within, in that huge court of my memory. For there have I in a readiness the heaven, the earth, the sea, and whatever I could perceive in them, besides those which I have forgotten. There also meet I with myself; I recall myself, what, where, or when I have done a thing; and how I was affected when I did it. * There be all whatever I remember, either upon mine own experience, or on others’ credit. Out of the same store do I myself combine fresh and fresh likelihoods of things, which I have experienced, or believed upon experience: and by these do I infer actions to come, events and hopes: and upon all these again do I meditate, as if they were now present. * Great is this force of memory, excessive great, O my God; a large and an infinite roomthiness: who can plummet the bottom of it?

Acknowledgments

During the writing of these poems, two works—Saint Augustine’s Confessions and Norman M. Klein’s The Vatican to Vegas: A History of Special Effects—provided enlightenment, provocation, inspiration, and companionship at every step along the uncertain way.

Other invaluable resources: Svetlana Boym, The Future of Nostalgia (New York: Basic Books, 2001). Spiro Kostof, The Third Rome (Berkeley, CA: University Art Museum, 1973). Hans Lamers and Bettina Reitz-Joose, The Codex Fori Mussolini (New York: Bloomsbury, 2017). Claudia Lazzaro and Roger J. Crum, eds., Donatello among the Blackshirts: History and Modernity in the Visual Culture of Fascist Italy (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 2005). David Lowenthal, The Past Is a Foreign Country (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1985). Sergio Luzzatto, The Body of Il Duce (New York: Metropolitan, 2005). Kevin Lynch, What Time Is This Place? (Cambridge: MIT Press, 1972). Benito Mussolini, My Autobiography (New York: Scribner’s, 1928). Borden W. Painter, Jr., Mussolini’s Rome (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2005). Amy Russell, “Memory and Movement in the Roman Fora from Antiquity to Metro C,” Journal of the Society of Architectural Historians 73 (December 2014): 478–506. Paul Zanker, The Power of Images in the Age of Augustus (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1990).

I took the cover photos at the Foro Italico in Rome.

Thanks to: Jeanne Marie Beaumont, Dawn Potter, and Anne Fischer for helping me, in personal and artistic ways, through the writing of these difficult poems. Alessandro Di Mauro, not only for his beautiful Italian translations of my poems but

also for his aid and insights during our day of exploring fascist-era spots in Rome. Special thanks to the three people who can never be thanked enough for their consistent belief in my work and in me: Jeff Haste, who is not only a publisher extraordinaire but also a cherished friend. Dr. Rivka Greenberg, who has been exploring my life with me for nearly three decades. My husband, John, who is my always-ready-for-an-adventure traveling companion in both scripted and unscripted places.