without design or purpose Batman haunted the fibre and breath of my emergent childhood. He was the thrill of possible action and the immobility of grim tragedy, both rolled up in the same moment. I saw the shows on a neighbour’s tv, I read the b&w reprint books in trance, I placed the hues of blue in the jigsaw puzzles, I wore the costume to explore the possibility. Then I found the comics – imported, second hand, scattered numbers. A whole literature, a whole syntax, a whole lineage. A whole history deepened like a pocket – everything could be ‘read’ through history. I grew new emotion through Infantino’s skies and lines, I spoke discernment through Adam’s hands and brow, I smelt the docks of O’Neill’s scenes, I tipped the opportunities of Sprang’s angles.
^-~^o^~-^
1968
in the cities
the walls of shadows
receded from the page
inward
the bay was foggy
the bridge lights
hung – from overhead to
the other shore –
there were solitary
hills with a small tree that
reached over the
boroughs and districts
the ceiling was bottle green
the light was a triangle
and Batman paused
under his cowl
^-~^o^~-^
the Bat-parent
during the entire fourth flight
Robin was silent, ‘but then
what if …’ bracing his knees against
the wall under the sill Batman, ‘still
you haven’t …’ hung out locked
by Robin’s arms and, ‘if that were …’
caught the toddler falling, ‘even’ –
whump! – ‘then it …’ from the eighth
floor transfixed by the, ‘so it isn’t …’
red roof of the church looking,
‘yes …’ like a floor
^-~^o^~-^
the silent night
of the Batman
even while they carried
their gift-wrapped parcels
and looked to each other
with smiles of belief
the shop signs hummed
against the dark-marbled fronts
while above them the quiet floors
of stone-framed windows
looked east looked south
the same in an ink-black sky
enough to write a novel
in a single sitting
enough to hold a fleet of stars
above the skyline taxiing slowly
then the sky turns ink-green
the rooftop gathers ink-blue attention
and leaps without step
or swing through the glass
and cornice of city vistas and breeze
to shadow the guilt
to alley the share
to streetlight the fear
and river the rose
cast high and wide to the stars until
marzipan fingers reach
across the ink-purple sky
and marshmallow lights
go out
^-~^o^~-^
the Batman had kept
a roof-top vigil
for so long
staring into
the top-floor window
at the over-coated men
that the night sky had turned
red-vermillion red
and the Batman himself
was now eighty feet tall
face to face with the window
moonlight edged
his shoulder and forehead
and his cape flowed upwards
behind his unmoving cowl
^-~^o^~-^
Batworld
in 1966 Batman was costumed
in a pink and sky-blue world
by 1968 he stood on buildings
under bottle-green skies
by 1971 he was also hooded
in the black and yellow 40s
by 1973 his brow cape and hands
did the talking
in 1986 he retired
and the world filled with beige and traffic
^-~^o^~-^
Batman
stands on a
rooftop
his cape
standing out
surprised;
there are no people
in the buildings
or on the streets
just the moon
^-~^o^~-^
^-~^o^~-^
yes
I stood upon the rooftop
the great stage of dissent
the great stage of disclosure
but all my enemies
stood silent like buildings
but I stood upon the rooftops
^-~^o^~-^
as Batman
he could
climb
the
tower
on the OUTSIDE –
the tower is
a landscape
made vertical –
at the top –
on the pointed roof –
were thugs
who beat him
down with …
sleeping gas! –
he lifted
into space –
nothing to hold onto
but his identity –
as he caught hold
of the hour hand
at one o’clock
cape lifted
legs reaching he
hung above
the cars stretched
riddled and alive
^-~^o^~-^
Saturday
morning
TV
Batman
running stiffly
awkward angle
with the buildings as
the previous night’s
ash is swept out
^-~^o^~-^
Midnight Conference
the Batman leaned –
both hands –
on the desk
the paper was passed
to him
his cape billowed out
behind him
as he took it
he cast a red
Batshadow
on the yellow wall
^-~^o^~-^
in clear
oil air
the sky is always
mauve
the buildings
purple
the Boy Wonder
with glass eyes
points away
to the Batsignal
the Batman
holds the steering wheel
staring ahead
the light gleams
over his oily skin
and fleshface
anyway
^-~^o^~-^
on the crowded street
“excuse
me,” – and a guitar strummed
from a natural to a
seventh –
her brown shoes
stood on the angled street and
in jangled
clanging piano runs
Batman swooped down from the dark
rooftops and
stood with his cloak flapped ‘round him
^-~^o^~-^
a small group of people stepped out of the registry office. Clouds passed over the sun for a minute. The party split up. Some got into a car and said goodbye. Others walked over to the bus stop. The street was quiet. The bride glanced up and noticed the Batman perched on a ledge on the old office buildings. There was a cloud overhead. He had yellow eyes.
^-~^o^~-^
at midday the Batman walked across the square
his blue cloak billowed once
some of the people ate fruit
some of them stopped their children from falling in the fountain
some said he had white eyes
^-~^o^~-^
even though it was late
Saturday afternoon
and the sky was
dirty yellow and
even though there were only
telegraph poles to swing from still
Batman swooped down
to scoop Linda Paige –
who had fallen into a dream
like a mannequin –
from the path of the
tall tall truck
^-~^o^~-^
the batarang hit
the knuckle split
the fingers flew
the gun of the
thug who
in the orange air
brown suit and tie
was rather thinking
of the futility of life’s
activities
^-~^o^~-^
we play a game
while covered in oil costumes
I the solver
you the foiler
squeaking and clinging
as we move the pieces
the Batman
and the Riddler
^-~^o^~-^
fir trees
Batman jumped WHOOSH
from the car falling
from the cliff and falling apart
but really
there was a raspberry
ice lolly sky and vanilla
on the horizon
^-~^o^~-^
1965
yellow
whoosh marks from Batman’s cape
in the red red sky
^-~^o^~-^
through
the bright
yellow world
ran Batman
rising out of
BATMAN his head
locked in the great
cape held out
behind him
^-~^o^~-^
Let’s Go
left arms swung outwards
as they ran
under the orange moon
capes unfurled
their heads reached
through the oily night
with white eyes
^-~^o^~-^
strands as thick as rope
tangle the limbs and
cape of the Batman
which pull and crease as
the eight legs
no escape can’t move
and six eyes
chin in neck grimace
of the monster advances
but one hand is still free
a batarang still thrown
^-~^o^~-^
Statue of Liberty
not that the assailant stood
on the rim of her crown
and shot at the Batman secured
‘round her upstretched arm
not that the bullet grazed the arm and –
was that flesh
under the shards of stone? –
but that her right brow was
ever so slightly
creased
^-~^o^~-^
lost cape
on the yellow boards of the jetty
under the pink sky
Batman had snagged
his assailant reaching
far ahead with a fishing rod
aghh but the prey
in a green suit and question marks
who had effortlessly reached back
and guided the rod’s cast
was actually the Batman
himself
^-~^o^~-^
even though the light
behind the smashed glass
as the Batman crashed in
was lemon
fear was painted white
and blue across their
elbows and shoulders their
hair and hats and creases
it was all over
the Joker’s face
^-~^o^~-^
The Batline
Life-line
even while the Batman
pulled – his whole weight
folded back from the edge
of the water –
and Robin wholly relied on
the foot of rope between them
as though he were deep
out in the lake
the autumn trees and grass
on the far shore remained
orange
^-~^o^~-^
Christmas
short eyes: orange
street lamps
iron puddles
soon eyes:
winking
car lights 5:30
smart eyes:
papers
brush the ankles
crown eyes:
golden paper and
green eyes
arching eyes:
reindeer’s eyes
Batman’s eyes
coat of snow
crate of sharp eyes
cradle
^-~^o^~-^
it was
only
because the Batman
stood high on the cornice
by the blackened chimney
looking over the city
deep grey shrouded in
fathomless dark blue
… only
that the sky was deep pink
behind the apricot moon
^-~^o^~-^
^-~^o^~-^
gotcha
right in the middle of the wide open space
between late-Victorian apartment buildings
where the avenues and streets acutely dissect
on the one side
and the right-angled 1960s canyon of higher business
on the other
two hundred and seventy feet up will you
never learn Riddler there is nowhere you can
show yourself that is safe from my happenstance
^-~^o^~-^
I am the Riddler
whatever I say do or think
people just don’t quite get
they think it’s a test
sure that the emperor
has the finest clothes
I remain in green and
covered in question marks
^-~^o^~-^
Batman 168
on a late Saturday afternoon
the Batman was already tired
and high up in the redbrick building
the will to see the way through the fight
was lost and
he succumbed
to hang in the air awhile with the broken shards of glass
above Infantino’s languid city
^-~^o^~-^
the Penguin’s trap
“at last
you have stepped into my trap”
as the Batman fell and fell
into the yellow light let open by the trap
door arms wide open
his cowl resting on his cape a pillow
tired and exhausted
he gave up to the fall and relaxed
^-~^o^~-^
umbrella duel
but why do we do this
the Batman thinks to himself
but no – too late – he has
forgotten the parry
his cape crumpled
across his shoulders
like a fallen orchid
does not flow and express
fine truths anymore
the Penguin however
has held his cigar poised
between two gloved fingers ready
for its proper time and
jabbed without thought or dress
as fine as the carnation
he insisted on wearing
in his lapel this morning
^-~^o^~-^
tired
from sleep
dream about to fight someone
poke my fingers in his eyes
couldn’t control a class
even when angry
tired
from looking for meaning
when writing
drove 150 miles
nothing magical
no gorges of grey cloud
to brace my fresh and steely view
sunny day
people stupid
all acting lost to their wondrous nature
I, tired
and lost to my wondrous nature through judgement
stupid stupid stupid
~ ^o^ ~
the Batman
is on a mission and a vow
absorbed and meticulous
in every activity
the vow to strike fear
the mission to make justice
even if he has to do it himself
all without knowing his wondrous nature
at all
which cause his shadows and nemeses
to arise
manifest and garish
askance and twilight-mirrored across town
the Joker – his freedom and adjustment
denied and let wild
the Riddler – his doubt and guilt
refused and shot with worm
the Penguin – his child and hurt
abused and reviled by hope
the Catwoman – his love and beauty
un-held and awkward to speak
he climbs the outside of buildings
stupid stupid stupid
^-~^o^~-^
LET’S GO!
shouted Robin with
a little too much enthusiasm
but the Batman said nothing
and waited just two seconds then
deep breath
^-~^o^~-^
jagged panel
swung out from the
metal girders –
legs gasping for air –
the last days
of the Batman
good grief the
heat lightning
struck the
high voltage wire
from the lime
green room
^-~^o^~-^
red
red
air
at the height of both their swings
suspended in mutual apexes
it wasn’t so much that the Catwoman
slammed the Batman into disarray
but that her legs were long
outstretched and bare and that her boots her toes pointed
just touched
his arm
that made him fall into a dream
^-~^o^~-^
consternation
frowned the face and cowl
of the Dynamic Duo as people
made for home around them
and the grim realisations of buildings
rose behind them under the
dirt-office evening sky
later
in the dark of the Bat Cave
the determination whitened
the walls in the shape of a
Bat Shadow but it wasn’t until
four the following evening
that the shadows on the walls
magnified
their point of realisation
^-~^o^~-^
I don’t know what to do …
… I will be the strong one
I won’t let it affect me I will always be
quiet and secret
creating wonders never to behold in the night of day
all to dampen the echo
the abandonment
the pointlessness
absorb it and
give form to it
through my constancy
I – will – be – constant
and hope that will be enough –
the cowl amid
the swirling cape
^-~^o^~-^
wha’
Batman stepped right past
cape billowing one wing furled over the other
between apartment block
cornice and rooftop on empty space across the wide street
a mission in mind
on the other side of town under the orange moon
^-~^o^~-^
the ghosts of Gotham past
haunt the streets busy at night
in topcoats and swirling beards
they buy the papers and read all about it
going about their business under the moonlight it is
only the Batman realises that he is dead
^-~^o^~-^
capes flying
when a
giant radioactive rat
rose from the river
Batman and Robin
swung
their soulless boots – legs braced ready –
towards the creature’s flank
but the size
of the rat
made it freeze of movement
like a painting
and its black-eyed realisation also
froze the
Dynamic
Duo such that their feet never connected
no matter
how hard they pushed
^-~^o^~-^
Batman#175
21-2
down at
the waterside the ropes
stretch and ease around the posts
the uptown
skyline rises white against
the ink-wash sky
and as the
Batmobile stands parked stage right
all of the action seems merely incidental
22-3
the profile
of the administrator rises
encephalitic in scheme from dark collar
eyebrows poised
to take over the world forefinger
hesitant on tiny hand
24-2
but no scheme
takes account of the impossible architecture
of the moon locked in horizon
between
all the build of endeavour
and all the space of no movement
^-~^o^~-^
running through the park
the low moon cast a giant
white Bat-Shadow all over
the side of the hill up ahead –
he could run up it
he could run through it
^-~^o^~-^
whirlpool
agh
I’ve fallen into a whirlpool
created by an oil-dark tornado
whiplashed through the haemoglobin sky
quick
I will spread my cape
and throw my arms wide
reaching allwhere with still fingers
my utility belt is useless
I need to think deeply in my cowl
that the ears stick up to no avail
of course
that’s the answer, it’s easy when you know how
my eyes look downwards
and I travel down through the whirl
and remember to hold my breath
^-~^o^~-^
it is the cowl
evinces the realisation in the
mould of brow
it already looks
in the direction of the green glove
pointing beyond
to the waves
of cloud above the skyline
make his eyes
blank when
he contemplates deeply and throws his
shadow ogre-ly
against a wall
the action then is succinct and
sufficient
to queer
the obstacle before it even reaches:
a maturity
^-~^o^~-^
casing out an area
in NYC a small square
a widened sidewalk before
a Civic Building
where I have my strange fights
of foil and counter(feit?):
a street-height flagpole
diagonal over a bakery (historic building
set at slight angle to the rest of the street)
good to get over the traffic, let’s see,
a higher flagpole opposite
above the clock
where I shall arrive
on time – HA!
the perspectives are right and recede
through purple plane
and blue flank
I look to find the name of the streets
but there are too many signs
I don’t know how to
pronounce them and ‘anyway
‘is it all just
a dream?’
^-~^o^~-^
al ways
on a
c u rve
blocks of building arise from the Batman
decoding to Robin
the lives of modern civilisation
despite all dialogue
but using all appearance
the duo point
like retrievers
ever on a cornice ever by chimney where
reach is capped and hidden
from its own point
and ever ready to step full
into the implicit abyss
which is never there
^-~^o^~-^
in the event of evasion
from certain karma
Dick and Bruce will slip
away to an upper room –
they are useless in crowd –
to don costume alone and
deep under their masks,
where plain windows
show a city behind their
deeper selves where they
ease out over edge and
cornice with only shadow
to accompany then stepped
descent through air defined
by façade twenty storeys deep
via flagpole to where the real action
always is
^-~^o^~-^
silhouette:
from the
brick-laced chimney stacks and piped rooftops
the streetlight cast a perfect yellow circle
below around the trash can and rubbish
but the sure-finned Batmobile shifted in suspension
cast her headlights up to the right as she
reversed back around on second
thoughts
^-~^o^~-^
Detective Comics #345
there –
a hole in the darkness
there is movement
there is a world
there is an outside
here – is an inside
I
must make sense of it all
the world is looking
yes –
to cowl my true nature
the only way to operate
in the world
HE HAS CUT HIMSELF
OFF FROM THE WORLD –
DOOMED … TO LIVE APART
FROM … FELLOW HUMAN
BEINGS … SOLITARY*
* ‘found’ epilogue to ‘The Blockbuster Invasion of Gotham City’ story in Detective Comics #345, p.14, panel 3, November 1965; spoken by ‘Bruce Wayne’ disguised as ‘Roland Desmond’; writer: Gardner Fox, artist: Carmine Infantino
^-~^o^~-^
oh, he fell alright
just as craze had founded woman all
pointy-toed and hands on hips
and I-don’t-know-what-you-think-you’re-looking-at
blinded by the depth
he plunged hands-downward protecting his sight
swung into the lobby
and through revolving door to the evening street with
all manner of clatter and shoe-scrape
to all manner of zok! and pow!
^-~^o^~-^
bookmark
while reading
of Sylvia’s stay in Heptonstall
after graduating from Cambridge
the dome
of Adam West’s cowl – eyebrows
raised as if scratched on as an after-thought –
caught my attention
the innocent mouth and eye acting adult
by the logical rules
in front of the cardboard boxes
sprayed bronze-gold to look like the
stone cladding of the Municipal Hall
entrance
^-~^o^~-^
early evening
the whole borough of neighbourhood
was blind, save occasional kitchen
window, between the footings of an
elevated rail line emerged a mouth
with tongue slightly too big as it talked,
fingered the lady’s necklace, closed its
mouth to shoot, beads bouncing about
the street, moon through metal lattice
^-~^o^~-^
was there a moon
on the alleyway wall
confused in front of
the city skyline?
the rising moon over the city
makes action detached,
the figure lost in silhouette
but for highlighted cloth-crease
and pad of shoulder
whereas indoors
the silhouette is lightened on body and wall
and shadows appear
across the face of thinking men
while potted plants look on
in foreground and detail
the journey from city to house
is between two trees as the moon descends
you need simply lean in lunge and cape and arm
and you’re there
under the sole arc of light
clashing outlines of silhouette
interconnected and enlightened
^-~^o^~-^
it is only in Autumn
that leaves will fall to pensive infrastructure,
that is the time when the
Bat-figure crouches, up
there somewhere and glanced-askance, in the
dark sky-contemplative
between brick stacks and
background avenues of downtown uprise while
below the city spreads
about the busy bays rain-
and gold-spattered by blue waters and ink
under the too big moon
^-~^o^~-^
when issue mounts to despair
people stand in theatre-pose
on wide open patio with
receding perspective
high above the city
amid rooftop and skylight
but then there is always
uptown on the horizon
in the Infantino
district of Gotham
^-~^o^~-^
above the edges of rooftop
are ever silhouettes
of taller building and watery tower
by the light of the silvery moon
sometimes hanging upside down
will be the Batman
cape hanging uselessly, otherwise
he may stand on cornice
and look down on a street lit by lamp
and throw shadow
over the whole façade – impasse between
moon and lamp –
the eternal dichotomy;
outside the city the detail is in the sky
between branch and leaf
and as dawn approaches the cowl
and the cape
will come off
^-~^o^~-^
cape and cowl
only in the midst
of billow and flurry
from lifetimes passed and
current wafts breathing
hardly sometimes at the edges
between lifetimes to happen
can you rest
your battered identity enough
to think with true nature enough
to be still
^-~^o^~-^
Batgirl –
peering over her glasses
through the fourth wall
all of a sudden there was
long grass in silhouette
over which to run
and there were foregrounds
of leaf behind which
to proceed and she thought,
I could keep my looks
under cowl and let
the quiet and angry hair
take siting and co-ordinates,
let the cape field the
flow of air while
Batmobiles rev loudly
and float adrift the green
and current stalks –
aimless to behold
^-~^o^~-^
of an early evening sky
that roof top cables lay
lank by flank of avenue
of rise high building one
might throw the weight
of import in circles to
follow where it lead but
hold the eye open from
throat to silhouette and
do not flatter the process
between
^-~^o^~-^
clothed by leaves
under the thoughts of the moon
her hand pulled
his head to her; he had to hold
tight to mere cord
high over avenues to get
sufficiently away
^-~^o^~-^
thought
the mask over the eyes
is made from the darkness
into which it blends
^-~^o^~-^
sometimes even the
broadest flow of thought –
fan-pivoted about cowled
head, turning tightly – cannot
breech the tightening gap
where casts the shadow,
sometimes the mind
must suspend in space
and enfold
its natural shape
he vaults
the fence straight down the center
of the city
and the outline of the moon
becomes
the outline of the downtown skyline
between
the streetlamp on the pavement
and the moon above the sky
stood
the building like a giant armhair –
immanent perpsective
^-~^o^~-^
cowl
to look with semi-circular whites
to breathe under the whitened prow
breaking waves, to think with
whitened arching eyebrows requires
the hanging jaw of duty and struggle
and unerring muscular control
^-~^o^~-^
presence
under the cowl the jaw
hung free but set while
pencil-white brows settle
back into unfathomable
recesses, like a mournful
gothic house observed
behind bare trees in
autumn, fit to raise the
pointy ears and swirl
the cape in ‘scape of
firm and only and
spoken dénouement
^-~^o^~-^
despite that
between the rear fins and
raised front screen shield
the case began to settle,
and the horizontal clouds
parted to allow the
Vertical City silhouettes;
‘gee, that’s swell,’ said a
bystander to a witness,
‘they have a reason to
drive somewhere’, vrrrmm;
that bowler hats were off
to work as the moon
climbed the downpipe
and, giantly sat over the
steering wheel the blow
of resolution struck, the
apartment lights hung
unstraight and some fell
off silently, but really,
and down the street –
fin to kerb, kerb to
bonnet – they were
getting nowhere fast
up the staircase
^-~^o^~-^
he ran
like an avenue of
closed shops at
midnight under
the moon, he was
stuck, he rose
in the air, pulled
his cape round
his cheek like a
wing and hung
like a shop sign;
‘fight the fear’
^-~^o^~-^
from ground level, then
when buildings rise the night
and evening windows
hold all tired endeavour
the only thing to do is run
keeping pace with the
chain-link fence in search of
the moon, the moon
^-~^o^~-^
there was seclusion
in the bubble of the Batmobile, that
while the hog-engine made the destination
along a sullen street
there was the
space for probing thought, that
running into the city sun along the
evening wall: did the
damson clouds cut the sun or the skyline
snag the orange sky?
^-~^o^~-^
a blacknight fitted perfectly
over the local skyline like spilt ink
as masks and blindfolds
drove through the light to where
silhouettes can talk
in strictest identity and all the books
can lean to the right where eyes beautiful look
over rectangular glasses
^-~^o^~-^
raised brow
he crossed his arms, watched
the hulking step of guile and suit
approach carefully over wet boulders,
[the set of plan secure
from the phone booth
quiet amid all the high-rise of possibility]
watched immobile until his face
disappeared
^-~^o^~-^
streetsigns
point north south east
in silhouette
buildings
rise in solitary storey,
the wings
of the Batman
unfurl under the
moon and flutter
suggesting
all manner of alleyway
between
^-~^o^~-^
the clench of cape
into wing opens heavy doors
into questioning
that will be pursued despite
occasion of legacy
billowing in after-tow o’er
hill and vale
and where leafless branches
reach, fixed
in growth, it is fingers will
pull beyond
the furl and flack to present
as white shadow
in response
^-~^o^~-^
lines recede long
down both flanks of avenue
selling hats, jeans
and deli; but leap deep into
the perspective cut
almost 90° to the rite of way
and flying traces
of the soles of your feet find
levels of stepped architecture
pediment to behold
^-~^o^~-^
past avenues of uprise
one can only prowl intent
but oblivious, there may be
clean white skylines under
the darkest nights but
contemplation under cowl
or tree foreshortens
the sweep of the deepest cape
^-~^o^~-^
Batman: Oddysey
there is so much latticed,
bolted-over and capped
intricacy – gantry and
infrastructure in all direction –
the clkk of progress
oblivious to bolts of passing
mist, that is why I stand
bathed in overhead light;
there will be plot and
I must always be braced
to see it, like all grown-ups
should
^-~^o^~-^
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mlewisredford 
I wanna go to the Gotham candy store.
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Thank you for the amazing poetry. A very fun read. Thank you.
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ah, you lift this superhero’s tired heart
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Thought you might enjoy:
http://hovercraftdoggy.com/2014/03/05/we-are-super-heroes/
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