It snows, obscuring the lamp until, in a Great Plains blizzard, I find myself in a self-constructed Eskimo igloo waiting with the family lantern in the yard, for father to come up the path from work, lift me and take me inside the house to the warm flickering wicks before a harsh electric glare had replaced them. I remember sitting in the snowhouse waiting....
Father, mother take me back even though life was harsh in the small kitchen. Who would have dreamedthe universe so large?
...
Can there not be miniature time? Some place where one stays forever at the kitchen table, on the same page of one's book, with one's parents looking on, an old photograph perhaps but that would have faded. We would not truly be there....
I do not recognize this alien grown up body. I will not recognize it ever. I am there, there, in the yellow light in the kitchen, reading on the stained oilcloth We are all there. I did not grow up....
I have rushed like a moth through time toward the light in the kitchen.I am safe now. I never grew up.I am no longer lost in the mist on the mountain.
(Loren Eiseley, The Innocent Assassins)
No relation.
― pepektheassassin (pepektheassassin), Monday, 26 April 2004 23:04 (twenty years ago) link
A tree trunk is something "pressed together" and sois money, weighed. Both produce softly graded shadowsby repeated small touches (resembling freckles), oruse "for" to become appendages capable of passing implementsthrough substances with circular movements.
― Casuistry (Chris P), Wednesday, 28 April 2004 17:07 (nineteen years ago) link
― yesabibliophile (yesabibliophile), Wednesday, 28 April 2004 17:38 (nineteen years ago) link
― aimurchie, Wednesday, 28 April 2004 18:19 (nineteen years ago) link
― Casuistry (Chris P), Thursday, 29 April 2004 00:06 (nineteen years ago) link
― pepektheassassin (pepektheassassin), Friday, 30 April 2004 03:40 (nineteen years ago) link
Now as I was young and easy under the apple boughsAbout the lilting house and happy as the grass was green,...Time let me hail and climbGolden in the heydays of his eyes...
...In the sun that is young once only,Time let me play and beGolden in the mercy of his means...
And nothing cared I...that time allows...so few and such morning songsBefore the children green and goldenFollow him out of grace...
Oh as I was young and easy in the mercy of his means,Time held me green and dyingThough I sang in my chains like the sea.
(Fern Hill, of course. Which I think is the greatest poem in the English language.)
― pepektheassassin (pepektheassassin), Friday, 30 April 2004 03:53 (nineteen years ago) link
sun youngtime playgolden mercy means
cared time allowsmorning songschildren green goldenfollow grace
young easy mercy meanstime held green dyingsang chains sea
― Casuistry (Chris P), Friday, 30 April 2004 04:05 (nineteen years ago) link
― Casuistry (Chris P), Friday, 30 April 2004 04:13 (nineteen years ago) link
alien blizzard body book child come dreamed electric eskimo faded family father father father find five flickering glare great grew grow grown harsh harsh house igloo kitchen kitchen kitchen kitchen lamp lantern large letters life lift light light little looking lost miniature mist moth mother mother mountain mouthing myself myself obscuring oilcloth oilcloth old page parents path peering photograph place plains primer reading reading recognize recognize remember replaced rushed safe same self-constructed sitting small snowhouse snows stained stays table table take take time time time truly universe waiting waiting warm wicks window work yard yellow
― Casuistry (Chris P), Friday, 30 April 2004 04:19 (nineteen years ago) link
― Casuistry (Chris P), Friday, 30 April 2004 04:22 (nineteen years ago) link
time; little window; oilcloth table; mother; father; child; primer; letters;lamp; Great Plains blizzard; self-constructed Eskimo igloo; family lantern; yard; path; work; house; warm flickering wicks; harsh electric glare; snowhouse;father; mother; life (harsh) ; small kitchen; universe (large);miniature time; place; kitchen table; same page; book; old photograph (faded);alien grown up body; yellow light; kitchen; stained oilcloth;moth; time; light; kitchen; [I (safe, no longer lost)]; mist; mountain
― Casuistry (Chris P), Friday, 30 April 2004 08:01 (nineteen years ago) link
― aimurchie, Friday, 30 April 2004 10:10 (nineteen years ago) link
(''For a Diva' by Geoffrey O'Brien, whose brilliant book about pop I am relishing at the moment.
― Jerry the Nipper (Jerrynipper), Friday, 30 April 2004 10:33 (nineteen years ago) link
The Flea, John Donne
― Cathryn (Cathryn), Friday, 30 April 2004 11:38 (nineteen years ago) link
― Archel (Archel), Friday, 30 April 2004 12:54 (nineteen years ago) link
- William Wordsworth, 'There was a boy...'
― Archel (Archel), Friday, 30 April 2004 12:58 (nineteen years ago) link
― yesabibliophile (yesabibliophile), Friday, 30 April 2004 13:05 (nineteen years ago) link
To cross the borderBetween the sunflowerAnd the moonflowerBetween the alphabetOf handwrittenAnd printed events.
To be friend of all atomsWhich form the lightThat sings with the atomsFor the atoms that dieTo enter into all the days of one's lifeNo matter whether they fall on one side or the otherOf the word'Earth'.
This passportIs written in my bonesOn my skull, femur, phalanges and spineAll arranged in a wayTo make clearMy right to be human.
Marin Sorescu
― bnw (bnw), Friday, 30 April 2004 13:15 (nineteen years ago) link
(from Errata 5uite by Joan Retallack)
― Casuistry (Chris P), Friday, 30 April 2004 17:38 (nineteen years ago) link
― pepektheassassin (pepektheassassin), Friday, 30 April 2004 19:13 (nineteen years ago) link
― pepektheassassin (pepektheassassin), Friday, 30 April 2004 19:15 (nineteen years ago) link
Then I understood--if it had beenhalf a generation later you would have been lovers, you would have marriedand it seems to me I might be dead by now, dead long since, not married, or marriedbadly, never had children or written anywords. I'd have died on West 12th Street, that time, making a bomb--badly--they would haveidentified me by my little finger, mymother sitting at the precinct, holdingmy cocked pinky.
To My Husband
― pepektheassassin (pepektheassassin), Friday, 30 April 2004 19:28 (nineteen years ago) link
― pepektheassassin (pepektheassassin), Friday, 30 April 2004 19:32 (nineteen years ago) link
I think I love you, all.
― cozen (Cozen), Friday, 30 April 2004 20:23 (nineteen years ago) link
― A Nairn (moretap), Saturday, 1 May 2004 00:20 (nineteen years ago) link
― aimurchie, Saturday, 1 May 2004 03:01 (nineteen years ago) link
Sticks-in-a-drowse drop over sugary loam,Their intricate stem-fur dries;But still the delicate slip keeps coaxing up water;The small cells bulge.
One nub of growthNudges a sand-crumb loose,Pokes through a musty sheathIts pale tendrilous horn.
Theodore Roethke
― aimurchie, Saturday, 1 May 2004 03:13 (nineteen years ago) link
I love Roethke even more than Sharon Olds. Yes.
― pepektheassassin (pepektheassassin), Saturday, 1 May 2004 04:47 (nineteen years ago) link
As for the hibiscusby the roadside,my horse ate it.-Basho
Napped half the day -no onepunished me.-Issa
― aimurchie, Saturday, 1 May 2004 11:31 (nineteen years ago) link
― yesabibliophile (yesabibliophile), Saturday, 1 May 2004 12:11 (nineteen years ago) link
The memories of long love gather like drifting snow, poignant as the mandarin ducks who float side by side in sleep.
MURASAKI SHIKIBU
― yesabibliophile (yesabibliophile), Saturday, 1 May 2004 12:17 (nineteen years ago) link
― yesabibliophile (yesabibliophile), Saturday, 1 May 2004 12:20 (nineteen years ago) link
― pepektheassassin (pepektheassassin), Saturday, 1 May 2004 16:01 (nineteen years ago) link
The three graces and the greenwood nymphs,naked, dare to dance.You won't live always, warn the year and the hour,seizing the honeyed day. ...
Who knows how many tomorrows the gods will addto day's small sum?Whatever you spend in pleasures now, you won'tleave in your heir's moist grip.
--excerpt from IV. 7 Ode by Horace. tran. Rosanna Warren
― donald, Saturday, 1 May 2004 16:13 (nineteen years ago) link
A kinswoman covered me in the clothes she wore,no kind but kind indeed. I was coddled & swaddledas close as I had been a baby of her own,until, as had been shaped, so shielded, though no kin,the unguessed guest grew great with life.
She fended for me, fostered me, she fed me up,till I was of a size to set my boundsfurther afield. She had fewer dearsons and daughters because she did so.
[Riddle No. 9 from the Exeter Book, translated from the Anglo-Saxon by Michael Alexander.]
― Casuistry (Chris P), Saturday, 1 May 2004 16:33 (nineteen years ago) link
― Nelly Mc Causland (Geborwyn), Saturday, 1 May 2004 18:43 (nineteen years ago) link
A serious love touches the universe,the two and one of it contributing to the sum of what's real.Not that planets or even hydrogen atomsbegin falling toward you,yet something intensifieswhere you are. The different lightshed by double stars. No consensus why they form,or how they'll dim or dazzle, perishing.
Laura Fargas ( do I love this poem? I think so. She's an attorney. I forgive her.)
― aimurchie, Saturday, 1 May 2004 20:00 (nineteen years ago) link
If of thy mortal goods thou art bereft,and of thy slender storetwo loaves alone to thee are left--sell one, and with the dolebuy hyacinths to feed thy soul
...one of the best memories I have of her. For some reason, Among Our Great Ceremonies reminded me of this.
― pepektheassassin (pepektheassassin), Saturday, 1 May 2004 20:19 (nineteen years ago) link
― aimurchie, Saturday, 1 May 2004 22:56 (nineteen years ago) link
― aimurchie, Sunday, 2 May 2004 01:39 (nineteen years ago) link
PRAYER
Angel of lost spectaclesand hen's teeth
angel of snow's breathand the insomnia
of cats, angelof snapshots fading
to infinity,don't drop me--
shoeless,wingless.
Defender of Burrows,carry me--
carry mein your pocket of light.
― pepektheassassin (pepektheassassin), Sunday, 2 May 2004 02:36 (nineteen years ago) link
― yesabibliophile (yesabibliophile), Sunday, 2 May 2004 12:53 (nineteen years ago) link
From the Journals of the Frog Prince-Susan Mitchell ©1983
In March I dreamed of mud,sheets of mud over the ballroom chairs and table,rainbow slicks of mud under the throne.In April I saw mud of clouds and mud of sun.Now in May I find excuses to linger in the kitchenfor wafts of silt and ale,cinnamon and river bottom,tender scallion and sour underlog.
At night I cannot sleep.I am listening for the dribble of mudclimbing the stairs to our bedroomas if a child in a wet bathing suit ranup them in the dark.
Last night I said, "Face it, you’re bored.How many times can you live overwith the same excitmentthat moment when the princess leansinto the well, her face a petalfalling to the surface of the wateras you rise like a bubble to her lips,the golden ball bursting from your mouth?"Remember how she hurled you against the wall,your body cracking open,skin shriveling to the bone,the green pod of your heart splitting in two,and her face imprinted with every momentof your transformation?
I no longer tremble.
Night after night I lie beside her."Why is your forehead so cool and damp?" she asks.Her breasts are soft and dry as flour.The hand that brushes my head is feverish.At her touch I long for wet leaves,the slap of water against rocks.
"What are you thinking of?" she asks.How can I tell herI am thinking of the green skinshoved like wet pants behind the Directoire desk?Or tell her I am mortgaged to the hiltof my sword, to the leek-green tip of my soul?Someday I will drag her by her hairto the river--and what? Drown her?Show her the green flame of my self rising at her feet?But there’s no more violence in herthan in a fence or a gate.
"What are you thinking of?" she whispers.I am staring into the garden.I am watching the moonwind its trail of golden slime around the oak,over the stone basin of the fountain.How can I tell herI am thinking that transformations are not forever?
― yesabibliophile (yesabibliophile), Sunday, 2 May 2004 17:09 (nineteen years ago) link
By the way, I really love this last poem.
― pepektheassassin (pepektheassassin), Sunday, 2 May 2004 19:23 (nineteen years ago) link
― Casuistry (Chris P), Sunday, 2 May 2004 19:25 (nineteen years ago) link
That tie, knitted, with a thick knotthat matched perfectly a dark-colored shirtand a tweed jacket, ravished me.
This was a really elegant fellow,with his short-sropped black mustache.
We were introduced on Mazowiecka Street, a few stepsfrom Ziemianska restaurant and Mortkowicz's bookstore(the only place in Warsaw that carried my Three Winters,Published in an edition of 300 copies).
Whoever believes in Providence must see an Eye:A rider from the Pamir Mountains gallops, all in rose and purple.Then Benvenue Street in Berkeley and Wat on the couch.His astonishment as he tries to grasp his fate.And I, a young provincial with a tape recorderwho, it seems, was destined to bear witness.
It is true we lived togetherthrough that horrible New Year's Supper of 1950.
Poor Wat,he suffered enough in Kazakhstan and Tajikstan.
A beautiful tie was of no avail,nor the street of phantoms, Mazowiecka, in Warsaw.
-Czeslaw Milosz
― Jocelyn (Jocelyn), Monday, 3 May 2004 16:56 (nineteen years ago) link
― yesabibliophile (yesabibliophile), Monday, 3 May 2004 17:06 (nineteen years ago) link
Tattoo
The mark on my arm makes it perfectly clearthat I was once a prince among frogs.My father made it perfectly clearthat someday, I would rule the swamp.
If you ask me, you can't make cheap enough whiskey.If you ask me, you can't make it cheap enough.If you ask me, you can't make cheap enough whiskey.If you ask me, you can't make it cheap enough.
This tattoo no longer reminds me of methough my shoes are still covered in muck.And there are flies, more of them every daythough none of them will be eaten up.
Cause without them, who else would be listening?And without them who else would be near me?Without them who else would be listening?And without them who else would kiss me?
― Casuistry (Chris P), Monday, 3 May 2004 17:43 (nineteen years ago) link
Ah, this thread has nearly warmed through my cold little wage slave heart this morning.
And YES I would like an anthology please :)
― Archel (Archel), Tuesday, 4 May 2004 08:33 (nineteen years ago) link