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No Sounds III No. 5

Never
Mind. Get your
Shoes on and

Let’s
Get out
Of here. We’ve

Learned
Bits of
Each other’s languages;

We’ve
Shared our
Stories, have become

More
Aware of
The body’s fragility,

And
The work
Has become more

Humble
In a
Sense. In the

Nest.
What happens
When strangers meet?

Meetings.
We all
Know what happens.

Locate
Your question.
Did you draw

The
Map on
Soap because when

It
Dissolves we
Won’t have any

Of
These stupid
Borders? Right. Yes.

No
Way. Nothing.
Nothing. A small

Number
Of words
Are stretched over

A
Long duration.
Do you want

To
Say anything
Else? Every cage

Had
A light
Bulb lying at

The
Bottom. Do
You want to

Say
Anything else?
The glass infant.

Never
Mind. We
All know what

Happens.
Did you
Draw the map

On
Soap because
Of concentration camps?

Do
You want
To say anything

Else?
A computerized
Device dimmed the

Lights.
On off
On off off

On
In a
Quick random sequence.

[Note: Sources: Tyler Doherty, in The Wisdom Anthology of North American Buddhist Poetry (ed. Andrew Schelling); liner notes to Yo-Yo Ma & The Silk Road Ensemble, Silk Road Journeys; Mona Hatoum (ed. Michael Archer, Guy Brett, Catherine de Zegher)]

No Sounds III No. 4

The
Way the
Daddy-long-legs

Moved
On the
White walls of

The
Bath. The
Cadenza-like passages

Of
Water, wind.
Yes, it was

Exactly
That. A
Two-by-four

Banging
On the
Head. Grief and

A
Sense of
The nearness (far

Beyond
Chrysanthemums and
November fog) of

Death.
Look. No.
Body. Thud of

Footsteps
Over the
Wooden bridge. The

Three
Stars in
The belt in

The
Constellation Orion.
I made a

Hair
Ball every
Time I washed

My
Hair and
They ended up

In
Shoe boxes
Under my bed.

[Note: Sources: Diane di Prima, in The Wisdom Anthology of North American Buddhist Poetry (ed. Andrew Schelling); liner notes to Toru Takemitsu, Between Tides and Other Chamber Music; Mona Hatoum (ed. Michael Archer, Guy Brett, Catherine de Zegher)]

No Sounds III No. 3

After
All, we’re
Living through a

Conjecture.
We don’t
Stop to wonder

Whether
It will
Live beyond the

Day.
Still, what
Must we fight

For?
Our skin
Of ignorance and

Seemingly
Unrelated musical
Traditions from across

The
Globe. The
Sensuousness of the

Materials
And the
Emotional charge. The

Strange
Furry texture.
What of oranges

Hanging
Like bats,
Their discomfort

In
Being ripe?
The gossamer shimmer?

The
Sheep’s testicle?
Marigolds can be

Grown
In an
Empty kerosene barrel.

What
Must we
Fight for? Earth,

Water,
Sky, trees,
Air, mind, body,

And
Everything throughout
The universe, nonsense

Syllables
Covered in
Transparent glass beads,

Which
[Have] the
Additional quality of

Reflecting
Light beautifully,
Unstable surface on

Which
We could
Slip and fall.

[Note: Sources: Tsering Wangmo Dhompa, in The Wisdom Anthology of North American Buddhist Poetry (ed. Andrew Schelling); liner notes to Ravi Shankar, Bridges; Mona Hatoum (ed. Michael Archer, Guy Brett, Catherine de Zegher)]

No Sounds III No. 2

[Thirteenth
Counted interlude,
From something Beth

Sent
Me, by
Barbara Guest: “Lo,

From
The outside
A poem is

With
Us, of
Another composition. Travelled

From
An antique
Place … Writing, narrow

And
Sparse, pungent
As the lemon

Tree.” …
A poem
Is with us …]

We,
Spawned from
The ethers by

Coupled
Monkey and
Demon, we, in

This
Floating Boschian
Domain, let us

Recall
The given
As praxis, the

Life
Of leper’s
Drill … the solo

Flute
And double
Basses … the little

Doormat
Made of
Pins with “Welcome”

On
It … the
Astral warfare … the

Vast
Body … A
Thousand Bullets for

A
Stone … If
We speak as

Mystic
Cannibals or
Darkened scorpion dwellers

From
On high
It is because

We
Know existence
To be nameless …

Rosary
Bits of
Human bone … bloody

Snow …
Each stone
Was labeled and

Numbered …
Sunless ferocity …
Sudden chilling return

To
The quiet
Music of the

First
Movement …
The expression “the

Light
At the
End of the

Tunnel”
Came to
Mind … I used

It
In the
Title to set

Up
Something positive
Which is then

Disrupted
When you
Realize the light

Could
Burn you
To the bone.

[Note: Sources: Barbara Guest; Will Alexander, in The Wisdom Anthology of North American Buddhist Poetry (ed. Andrew Schelling); liner notes to Dmitri Shostakovich, Symphony No. 11; Mona Hatoum (ed. Michael Archer, Guy Brett, Catherine de Zegher)]

No Sounds III No. 1

From
The tree-
Lined carp pond

Out
Back a
Sangha of frogs

Added
Their voices.
“Like church bells –

Spaciously.”
“Wild.” Etc.
Even before that

I
Was making
Small works on

Paper
Using bodily
Fluids as material.

The
Body – a
“Morning mushroom” (as

They
Used to
Say in ancient

China)
That fades
In bright daylight

And
Has vanished
By noon. Each

Stanza
Is rich
With powerful imagery,

Ranging
From the
Eerie to the

Intensely
Violent. That
Was when I

Used
A live
Video camera for

The
First time,
To scan and

Annoy
Members of
The audience while

They
Were trying
To watch the

Performance.
To conjure
(Or instill) non-

Ordinary
States of
Mind. What, at

First,
Appear like
Small gentle melodic

Strands,
Mere echoes
Or residues of

The
Main events,
Gradually assume an

Inner
Life of
Their own. I

Was
Considering the
Body in terms

Of
Its orifices.
Drinking. Pissing. “Micturation” –

To
Use the
Scientific term. My

Accent
Was much
More pronounced then.

Trying
To read
All those scientific

Words
Made the
Whole thing quite

Funny.
I was
Also interested in

Surveillance
And the
Gentle penetrating gaze.

[Note: Sources: Preface, The Wisdom Anthology of North American Buddhist Poetry (ed. Andrew Schelling); liner notes to Shulamit Ran, Shulamit Ran; Mona Hatoum (ed. Michael Archer, Guy Brett, Catherine de Zegher)]

No Sounds II No. 30

Here
Is our
Seal and the

Wheel
Is the
Sign of our

Fate,
In the
Middle of the

One
Possible music,
Word loom star,

The
Grass is
Growing again, tender

For
The antelopes
After the November

Fires,
Delicato, impetuoso,
Libero, dolce, misterioso,

“To
Grow,” “To
Set in motion,”

And
“Yes, it
May be so,”

What
Formidable calm
Beneath the sky,

Raining
Its bloody
Dust, sempre molto

Energico,
Ma espressivo,
Instan, el libro

De
La palabra
Estrella, it began

As
A night
Vision, it began

As
A night
Vision, it began

As
A night
Vision that landed

On
The page
As a wave.

[Note: Sources: L.S. Senghor (tr. John Reed/Clive Wake and Melvin Dixon); liner notes to Kaija Saariaho, château de l’âme; Cecilia Vicuña]

No Sounds II No. 29

In
The West
And East, distant

Peoples
Are lying
On the sand.

Asleep
On the
Sand. Cast down

On
The sand.
The stage is

Defined
By seventeen
Transparent bowls, lit

From
Below. Turning
With the stars.

Arrogant
Cities lie
And whimper under

A
Hopeless sky.
All the performers

Play
Pairs of
Smooth-contoured stones.

Ibn
Arabi dreamt
He made love

To
The stars.
Lord have pity

On
The ten
Just words. “There

Is
No beginning,
No ending, only

Continuing.”
Na, I
Don’t remember anymore,

Na,
I suddenly
Remember. Not a

Glass
Of weary
Wine. Not a

Glass
Of water.
A sound is

Heard
In water.
Hear the image?

See
The sound?
The crossing performed?

[Note: Sources: L.S. Senghor (tr. John Reed/Clive Wake and Melvin Dixon); liner notes to Tan Dun, Water Passion After Saint Matthew; Cecilia Vicuña]

Questions for Eileen (No Sounds II No. 28.5)

*

Awareness
Awakens (who
Weaves?) the thread?

*

... I was

Following.
But what
Was I following?

*

Am
I not
The son of

Thorns
And thickets? ...

*

Am
I not
The son of

Milk
Blood, new
Palm wine? ...

*

... Am I not

The
Son of
Giddy With Desire?

*

... The

Common
Ground shared
By these and

So
Many other
Texts – what does

It
Say? That
We are all

Thinking
Together, but
Expressing ourselves in

Thousands
Of ways,
Different and the

Same? ...

*

“Have
Something to
Say, hummingbird?

*

What
To me
Are when I

Am
Only? ...

*

... Where
Are the what

Does
It matter? ...

*

Who
Hopes to
See / to find

My
Face among
The fluttering / in

The
Blossoming scarves? ...

*

But
Will the
Lovers sing?

*

... [Who has not

Wished,
At some
Point, to create

An
Abecedarium,
Or even an

Entire
Vocabulary, from
Which the verbal

Would
Be entirely
Excluded? ...

*

... What
Is poetry to

You? ...

*

... What’s the

Point
Of distinguishing
Episodes and narrating

Them? ...

*

... Every once

In
A while
Didn’t he wonder

Whether
He had
Made a complex

Issue
Out of
Something very simple?

*

... Are you sure?

*

... How
To become a

Professional
Exile? ...

*

... Why
Does tragedy exist?

*

Why
Are you
Full of rage?

*

What
Could one
Paint except the

Spleen
That comes
From those floods?

*

No Sounds II No. 28

I
Listen up
From the depths

To
The shadowy.
Split the stick

And
There is
Jesus. Silence turns

The
Page. The
Happy Island. Sharks

Have
White wings.
No matter what

We
Do it
Ends by being

Melodic.
Alba de
Habla. Awakening, Buddha

Said:
Too loose
Won’t sing, too

Tight
Will snap.
[Unbidden illegal interpolation:

A
Black, E
White, I red

U
Green, O
Blue] Sing with

Your
Low voice /
Deep voice. Series

Of
Questions left
Unanswered. [Elizabeth Robinson’s

Son:
Once upon
A time. There

Was.
The end.]
The question feeds

The
Enigma. I
Have no taste

For
Magic. Love
Is my marvel.

You
May want
To cut that

Last
Sound. It’s
An ugly. Silence

Turns
The page,
Alba de habla.

Awareness
Awakens (who
Weaves?) the thread?

[Out
Of the
Corpse-warm foyer

Of
Heaven steps
The sun. End, unbidden

Illegal
Interpolation (“Message”
By Ingeborg Bachmann)]

[Note: Sources: L.S. Senghor (tr. John Reed/Clive Wake and Melvin Dixon); liner notes to John Cage, Indeterminacy; Cecilia Vicuña; Arthur Rimbaud (tr unknown); Elizabeth Robinson; Ingeborg Bachmann (tr. Peter Filkins)]

No Sounds II No. 27

Let
Us die,
Let us dance,

The
Drums plow
Up the silence,

The
Waves are
The colour of

Dawn.
Please don’t
Make your Oms

Too
Holy-holy.
The blood passes

From
The heart
And talks at

The
Joints. The
Drum furrows the

Silence,
Beats out
The rhythm of 

The
Sap. Om
In a landscape.

Water
And its
Thirst are one.

[The
Secret of
Daily life, of

The
Ordinary without
End, of the

Nonetheless
Extraordinary ordinary,
When a certain

Detachment
Allows it
To regain its

Uncanniness,
Its fatal
Uncanniness … I was

Following.
But what
Was I following?

With
A frail
Tilted structure in

The
Air, I
Joined into the

Grand
And noble
Exalting adventure of

Elucidating
The Universe
In its entirety.

Twelfth
Interpolation. I
Quote Michaux again]

[Note: Sources: L.S. Senghor (tr. John Reed/Clive Wake and Melvin Dixon); liner notes to Jackson Mac Low, Om in a Landscape; Cecilia Vicuña, (tr. Eliot Weinberger and Suzanne Jill Levine); Henri Michaux (tr. Richard Sieburth)]