OF THOSE WHO HAVE ATTAINED A PRINCIPALITY THROUGH CRIMES

The Prince, Chapter VIII

He wanted to become language and separate
his body into syllables. Some events

grow massive yet still hold their form
on spindles, spinning like coins, balanced

like governments. Still, they are only words
and he has the translator's gift: adaptation

to present needs. A broken arm is divided into two
unrelated words. This is how to shed guilt,

and also how to distract memory. Practice and become
dangerous; the world changes when he speaks

crimes aloud. The crossing
of the moat-like street can tame fate

so that with priestly intercession
of a bus his pursuers can be swallowed like stones.

Above the edge of his dictionary snaps
death's figure like a shutter, between two poses.

First it is sitting, head lifted clear above its book,
face blank but for a smile, one clipped stroke.

Then it almost rises from the windowsill
with hand raised, mouth open, eyes like bells.

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IN WHAT MODE FLATTERERS ARE TO BE AVOIDED

The Prince, Chapter XXIII

Every day in every way I am getting better and better.

I am not a waffler. Syrup and butter slide off me.
Unedged, whole, my face is what it is. Do not
be deceived: neither am I a pancake.

Every day in every way I am getting better and better.

You can hold my voice in your hands: a stick of coal.
Some compounds sink deep into the skin, into the organs;
they claim not only your life, but inhabit your death.

Every day in every way I am getting better and better.

Spoke only when spoken to. Only with those eyes
upon me did I move. Here's a trick I use:
You can stand in for you when you are not there.

Every day in every way I am getting better and better.

Alone I am an encyclopedia filling with definitions
for air that will never be breathed. Father
Luca, I keep counsel among myself.

Every day in every way I am getting better and better.

Emile Coué gives the answer: despite your body,
to spite your mind, you repeat key phrases, lips
caressing your new life, the narrowing sound.

Every day in every way I am getting better and better.

Even when wrong I doggedly hold on—so saying
we can fly, I throw us from the window
for that moment in the air, that moment in the air

Every day in every way I am getting better and better.

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These two Prince poems originate from a translation I was reading for a class: each chapter and section of the book (Introduction, Contents, Index of Proper Names) was in the same font and style, which made me think that each would be a great title for a poem.

The poems themselves come out an attempt at transliteration of Machiavelli's text, by which I mean I tried to create works that, when read with knowledge of The Prince, would create a third space, different from either individual work. Specifically, these two poems have origins in how "crime" is defined by the state, or redefined by a successful perpetrator, and the legacy of self-help techniques.