Pen
on
ink. I
had such
a
beautiful dream.
Walking along some
beams.
The top
of the letter
d.
She pushed
aside a bit
of
the blanket,
not to let
me
see her
body, but the
pattern
on the
sheet, “Fury’s Ukulele”.
Go
shopping, body,
teach us in
our
very feet;
won’t you be
my
chocolate bunny,
won’t you be
my
fretted leaves?
The forest gives
up
its secret
in layers of
stench, but hey, “to call such language acts poems is to interrogate not only page-based definitions of poetry, but also definitions of poetry that privilege difficulty, complexity, and ambiguity.” It’s a poor heart that never rejoices, but the elephant’s psychospiritual opportunity turns out to be mediated by consumer capitalism: the machine “cost 50 cents/ more than I had/ in my ear”. (I love the absurdity of a tree named with a number), noises, both grievous and sonorous, “climb trees, collecting the carcasses” (I’ll return to a parallel image at length), historical preservation in that city means mutability, “The crowd beckons and invites and terrifies; she allows for every possibility, walks aimlessly towards something she didn't know she'd find”, chrome descriptions, the record skips again and again on
the
chinked groove
of right now
my
hair feels
like another person
squatting
on my
head. “You can’t
‘blick’
that” “approximate
rhythm of their
twinkling”
“a giant
mic from a
giant
crane”. Let
me land in
the
corked air.
Chinked groove. Corked
air.
(The gridlines
of the lab
notebook are reproduced with total clarity, even as the typewritten words smear
and
photos blur).
It is glowing green here – the light, drops, flutters, reflections, slits of light and lightness in the trembling,
it
seems he
is living in
the
water. It
grows longer and
slimier.
123: ‘Everything
is about sex,
sex which
is actually about
power
and money’.”
So what, you
say.
So this.
We are “walking/
between
abstraction and
magic.” “Even the
bamboo
has forgotten
the napalm at
last.”
“Jouissance” recalls
to American readers
a
French concept
not directly translatable
into
English. “Do
not bite your
worker’s
back to
decant a wine.”
What
crayons? If
I’d named them
I
would now
remember where I
placed
them / for
safekeeping. “Mercy will
kill
me” kill
me” kill me”
depleted
uranium bombing.
“I don’t want
to
eat wheat…”
I’m too something
a
Kiki Smith
woman carrying a
wolf upon my back.
My house
has flying birds
in
it. Beuys
and his coyote.
Dear Ones--
Dear Ones--
Dear Ones--
it will not do you any good
to hide the myrrh * or
to call the eunuchs
burning down a puncture
to a gulf
of cobalt
“adobo-crusted tuna” or “lamb in grape leaves”:
Keats and Fanny retire to a Greek island to “perfect the art of the human body”;
“Those were the good times,
Ben Gay and lamb fat. “Cessez de sauter sur le baton de
pogo rouge.”
Rerpe tiesieni ene uhet. Tibe ratne begasne te idbegtu. Na retugas, resbe egif o rerle ene e keleh utlehidebegas sa sedefe. Ihtilan gona, seweaet eneor. Debethik pewrubratu negas. Se utid, ratan u e, let une ihtil gifne gifte seni iugif. Erdodna nibep rigros dekdebros e silehmet. Ratne tube lip, negas neteladfelet bepes ersigurer oere. Setdidid eribe dodteeenadod gif. Ihtil regpen gerpodkeeinrer o kere.
Sitot irerpao era. Imsape debhet. Tuse redus debethik. Resbe ihselad dustedef, ratres tilpew bepfe ornad, sohder sibe upa erotil tuet ti deftih nesetlehreredodteros niraden uendeb ihsiet nau. Sifden nengifne adinbe naesi debne ideru deb rarele, dus. Ratros beri e gubepe, adin resle ie na rarerlet. Rutres natuetres isi rub. Iet ineni, ratpe didmet hik, rigle udustot o, tuee sohder, ihet seu dengif ete. Dek etrub ratu metetetu gas. Metuegne gihrarerlet siletil. Olehriegifupe udidus idtuet imer. Peweneinpen idus? Du tote, regbe gif esbe oemet nim debegti. Sigurer retres tot sanawe. Rubpen uterpaoenidebpen nim rau rebepdod feo. Regpen etnapaes ohetu gifenepode nen. Tiapapen nen, begia totinafe egbep let ereoden sohsi deletnendus nen rigros epodnegif gif diad neu we. Ih er o ogifbeg met hikgo. Resle tilrereturapew lip, erle regfe i sohin, irih irkeu. Regres ares met. Rerpe na sipaen. Rubfe rebeg ewetot une. Rerpe etleipe uhet, regifdek redusebegas irtife ieg. Dodebedeknake te, ieg rigbe pere sesuwe gu denhiki, rigpen ihtilpen erdodna, rutres e nemdini, sohfedod erin luneu ih. Ratle ihseladle in, seu. Tiole weaet eg upa didmetetiaparos egrigas pa u. Iepodpen rapadef, erotile dusfe sini ihet narub.
Rerfe rerimtufe dek. Rebepdod imgif orne gubepe. Tugas sifetedusmetan naura.
Redus
en.
Ado er u.
“will
you buy
me? any price
accepted.”
Plastic is
the last scream
of
the tree.
More prepares to
be
in full.
Much’s edge. Lick
a
shortfall of
like. Do we
only
pretend to
die? I think
of
you every
day, but not
for
a long
time. Do these
tits
go with
these shoulders? A
wind
had cleared
things out, stolen
things.
Fade in
on the image
of
an aperture
being adjusted from
a
sigh to
a gasp to
a
pinpoint. We
differ by suffix
only,
the Actual
Technologies. We tremble
on
a thin
fork, a massive
novel
shorn of
names. Scent of
pink
silk and
encyclopedias. A storebought
container
of rice
pudding. I know
this
is getting
pretty ad hominem:
You
often cackle
loudly when asleep.
[Note: Sources: Eileen Tabios, “The Brain’s Holiday”, at The Blind Chatelaine’s Keys, 26 Nov 09; Walter Benjamin, letter to Gretel Adorno of 12 Oct 1939, in The Correspondence of Walter Benjamin 1910-1940 (eds. Gershom Scholem and Theodor W Adorno) (trs. Manfred R Jacobson and Evelyn M Jacobson). Then I trolled thru Galatea Resurrects 13 til the voices told me done. The baton de pogo is for Richard Lopez.Rachel Loden, in Crg Hill’s review of Loden’s Dick of the Dead; David Highsmith, “October Fires”, “inbound volume”, in Patrick James Dunagan’s review of Highsmith’s your wilderness & mine; Alison Stine, “After the Body”, in Troy Jollimore’s review of Stine’s Ohio Violence; Philip Metres, as quoted in Jules Boykoff and Kaia Sand, Landscapes Of Dissent: Guerrilla Poetry & Public Space, as quoted in Crg Hill’s review of same; Geoffrey Gatza, title unknown, and “Elephant”, and Thomas Fink, in Fink’s review of Gatza’s Housecat Kung Fu: Strange Poems for Wild Children; Joel Toledo, and Patrick Rosal, in Rosal’s review of Toledo’s The Long Lost Startle; Mabi David “Itinerary, Day Seven (Sens de la visite)”, in Emong Deborja’s review of David’s You are Here; Tisa Bryant, and Denise Dooley, in Dooley’s review of Chris Kraus and Bryant’s Elders Series #3; Rebecca Loudon, “It is dark and cold and weird here sad here”, at Radish King, 27 Dec 09 (not GR; but wait); Rodrigo Toscano, in Jade Hudson’s review of Toscano’s Collapsible Poetics Theater; Ellen Baxt, in Eileen Tabios’ review of Baxt’s Analfabeto / An Alphabet; Denise Dooley, in her review of Ellie Ga, Classification of a Spit Stain; Aase Berg, “IN THE GUINEA PIG CAVE”, and Rebecca Loudon, in Loudon’s review of Berg’s With Deer (tr. Johannes Göransson); Aase Berg, “Song Lake”, in Gabriel Lovatt’s review of Berg’s With Deer (tr. Johannes Göransson); Denise Duhamel and Sandy McIntosh, 237 More Reasons To Have Sex, Tom Hibbard, and Michael Rothenberg, “Polarizations”, in Hibbard’s review of Michael Rothenberg, Choose, Selected Poems; Neil Aitken, “All the Names of Children and Homes We May Never Know”, in Amanda Reynolds’ review of Aitken’s The Lost Country of Sight; Virginia Konchan, in her review of Catherine Daly, Identity Theft; Steven D. Schroeder, “So You Want a Worker”, in Kristin Berkey-Abbott’s review of Schroeder’s Torched Verse Ends; Eileen Tabios, in her review of Fiona Sze-Lorrain, Water the Moon; Filip Marinovich, and Virginia Konchan, in Konchan’s review of Marinovich’s Zero Readership, an Epic; Jack Lynch, “Good Friday”, in Nicholas T. Spatafora’s review of Lynch’s Manhattan Man and Other Poems; Rebecca Loudon, and JBR, in my review of Loudon’s Navigate, Amelia Earhart’s Letters Home and Cadaver Dogs; Nicholas Manning, in Eileen Tabios’ review of Manning’s Hi Higher Hyperbole; Sebastian Agudelo, and Amanda Reynolds, in Reynolds’ review of Agudelo’s To the Bone; Dan Albergotti, and Virginia Konchan, in Konchan’s review of Albergotti’s The Boatloads; Robert J. Baumann, in Jim McCrary’s review of Baumann’s A Man About Town; Jörg Piringer, or rather Jörg Piringer’s software, vy2ms #9195563 (er), as generated (for me!) at Jörg Piringer.net, to which I was led by a link appended to James Sanders’ review of Playing with words: The spoken word in artistic practice (ed. Cathy Lane) (as Piringer notes: “the project vy2ms gives customs officers, agencies and police forces new labor. it generates documents that can be read, searched and deciphered by otherwise underemployed personal. it challenges them with enigmatic language and mysterious images and diagrams”); Jonathan Hayes, “good afternoon”, in Hallucinating California, in JBR’s review of Richard Lopez’s Super 8 and Hayes’ and Lopez’s Hallucinating California; Johan de Wit, “More earns sound”, in The Reality Street Book of Sonnets (ed. Jeff Hilson); D A Powell, “Clutch and Pumps”, in American Hybrid (eds. Cole Swensen and David St John); Michael Palmer, “Tongue Asleep”, in Swensen and St John; Jenny Boully, The Body: An Essay; Catherine Daly, “Oscillate”, in Locket; Allen Fisher, “‘Nerves’”, in Hilson; Devin Johnston, “Hog Island Oysters”, Clouds”, in Sources; Michael McClure, Rare Angel; Paul Violi, “A Moveable Snack”, “More On The Heroic Deeds And Manner Of The Worthy Rabelais, Doctor Of Medicine”, “The Curious Builder”, in The Curious Builder]
