Jacqueline Hughes Simon

FACSIMILE OF A BOLD HAND

                          How to Steal a Map

Centuries before Gutenberg
taught Shöffer, the Moors learned
papermaking
from Chinese slaves.
And so it began. Information
pursued trade routes
on the slope of technology.

There are many ways to steal
                        a leaf from a book. I prefer.
                        this way. It is the most elegant.

Nuremberg, free Imperial City,
the seat of the Holy Roman Empire.
Anton Koberger endeavored
to print the history of the world.

It can’t be vellum (though that is
                                                                                                              lovely) as it is too strong
                                                                                      for this technique. You would need
                                                                                      a razor blade, another story.

In this chronicle you will
see experience clustered
in lead & wood,
paper & ink.

            These pages are paper. Fabricated
                                                                                  from pieces of petticoat.
                                                                                    At times a ruffle was found.

The margins are broad,
mimicking those needed
for the scribe’s hand to rest.
Homage to the past.
The shock of the old.
A facsimile of a bold hand.

You’ve arrived to your task
                                                                                    with a length of strong thread
                                                                                    in your mouth. It has soaked
                                                                                    overnight, rested in water, until you
                                                                                    enter the library. With your tongue
                                                                                         move the thread between your cheek
                                                                                    and your back teeth.

Woodcuts of towns and people
employed over and over,
were meant to suggest,
not depict, cities & men.
The order of the cosmos,
the world was composed,
in black letters.

Take a drink of water. Ask kindly
                                                                                   for the books. Call numbers:
                                                                                    ff IG4 . N8K6 . 1493sq   in German
                                                                                                                                 or
                                                    ff IG4 . N8K6 . 1493s    in Latin.

This informational madness
devised for commerce:
indulgences demanded
—many & quickly—
a task for machines.
Leaving behind
the scribal hand.

When the books are put
                                                                                         in front of you, find the page.
                                                                                    It’s near the middle. Move
                                                                                    the thread to the top
                                                                                    of your tongue, cover your mouth
                                                                                         and cough. There, in your hand,
                                                                                         is the wet thread.

Men were paid
and men were poisoned.
Nimble-fingered boys snapped
tailings of lead
from the type of a language
they couldn’t read.

Your hand rests in your lap,
manipulate the thread
                                                                                    toward your thumb
                                                                                    & index finger. Work fast
                                                                                    it shouldn’t dry. Lay it
                                                                                         in the book’s gutter, firmly
                                                                                         pull down. Close. Wait.

The curve of the world
folds in on itself leaving
flatness and errors in books.
So that the reader,
upon finding them,
might feel superior.

The water in the thread dissolves
                                                                                    the paper, making a cut.
                                                                                    As you open the book, sweep
                                                                                    your hand down the page depositing
                                                                                    the loose leaf in your lap. You’ve had
                                                                                    the foresight to wear
                                                                                                             voluminous clothes.
                                                                                         It’s almost yours.


Jacqueline Hughes Simon received her Master of Fine Arts in poetry from Saint Mary’s College of California. She is a volunteer and board member of an environmental education non-profit, where she works with and trains the donkeys. Which, in her opinion, constitutes the most interesting thing about her.