Monday, December 11, 2017
Love And Landscape
Don’t ask us how we crossed the saltwater marsh
Grasses were high and easy under foot
The last stream was spanned by a driftwood plank
Thrown carefully into the muck
I didn’t sink and you didn’t sink
And when we came to ocean
Skittering of sandpipers
You held your dress and walked into the spray
Between Ives and Messiaen you move and I move with you. In one more stupid mall with cheap price CDs and three hundred Sunday shoppers all with the same behavioral instincts, what’s to look at? The ceiling is more curious, all suspended with some panels complete, some open straight up to the no man’s land of steel trusses and cheapness. I know when it rains it rains in the book section, and wouldn’t you know? A leak in the roof still to be found. Before we leave with our fix of CDs Carson wants to take me back into the book section to show me where he sits each time we come right in front of a rack of comic books and he often brings real books to this chair. Now I know where to find him. I remind him this is the best way to use this place — read for hours on a rainy day respectful of the merchandise but don’t buy a thing. How I move with you is standing still, not even thinking of much; will it be a CD Ives or Messiaen juggling prices, and in green cotton dress between racks you hesitate in its alphabetical organization, tight waist and hips curve, a freshly and very fuckable look between us.
During the big snowstorm
that lasted almost a full week
three feet of snow and plenty of
kerosene lamps used
two horses broke loose from
somewhere, though we have a
good idea where, but first Sweet-
heart had to be surprised by the
two at the door as she turned
and how she couldn’t help but
see how one was bleeding at the
eye and the other seemingly wasted
so she took them back through the
deep snow to the road where all
things, even those you can’t afford
to love, come and go
One must understand
I hug my love every day
as the world gets worse
and worse and worse
I hug her many times
in a day
I smell her hair, feel
her waist, and even
look out a window
but I hug her
I'm In Love With You
Who Is In Love With Me
Sunday, December 10, 2017
Set against the night country of New Mexico is a mystery that has never been solved. The novel follows the footsteps of a young reporter who has been assigned to witness a series of bizarre cattle mutilations. In his search for truth, he interviews tribal elders, scientists, FBI agents, state police, mediums, mystics, cattle and horse ranchers, and many other observers living in the high desert of northern New Mexico. One of his interviewees is a scientist who claims to have been taken aboard a “star car”. A Navajo medicine man confirms that
18 Sleeping Dog Road
Santa Fe, New Mexico
Saturday, December 9, 2017
Friday, December 8, 2017
What River Mumma Knows
River Mumma Knows things —
the underground trod of Hector's Spring,
of One Eye River. The tributaries feed
the red mangroves of Black River.
Over 100 square miles of Great Morass
are stomping ground of River Mumma.
She knows rocks under which
live large colonies of 'shrimp', or 'swims',
depending on how you learnt to say things.
She knows even more than Goby Fish
where in river bottom alligator lives.
Wag Water is her own most sacred home,
secret place where is kept the famous
golden comb. In Drivers River, Manchioneel,
swim three last manatees who are
to mermaids as chimpanzees are
to man. Some days River Mumma
just sits cool on a bank, waiting
for signs that prove the prehistoric cows
still evolve towards the magic of herself.
Somewhere in Martha Brae lies the body
of Nora — selfish child who refused Dry River
token portion of ackee — small toll
for privilege of crossing; the girl insisted
she would rather dead.
Dry River call her bluff and come dung
heavy upon her head.
But River Mumma knows
not all things caught to be known.
Not all places ought to be found.
She cries 'Abu ye! Abu ye!'
and swims towards her ground.
The Cartographer Tries to Map a Way to Zion
Thursday, December 7, 2017
WILLIAM H. GASS, 1986
1924 ~ 2017
William Howard Gass was born in Fargo, N.D., on July 30, 1924, the son of William Gass and the former Claire Sorenson. When he was six weeks old his father moved the family to Warren, Ohio. William grew up during the Depression, spending summers in North Dakota. “These were the dust bowl years, too; grasshoppers ate even the daylight,” he wrote.
The New York Times
7 December 2017
- Omensetter's Luck (1966)
- In the Heart of the Heart of the Country (five stories) (1968)
- Willie Masters' Lonesome Wife (illustrated novella) (1968)
- The Tunnel (1995)
- Cartesian Sonata and Other Novellas (four novellas) (1998)
- Middle C (2013)
- Eyes (two novellas, four short stories) (2015)
- Fiction and the Figures of Life (1970)
- On Being Blue: A Philosophical Inquiry (1976)
- The World within the Word (1978)
- Habitations of the Word (1984)
- Finding a Form: Essays (1997)
- Reading Rilke: Reflections on the Problems of Translation (1999)
- Tests of Time (2002)
- Conversations with William H. Gass (2003)
- A Temple of Texts (2006)
- Life Sentences (2012)
Oh, forgive me For Whom the Bells Tolls,
oh, forgive me Man who walked on water,
oh, forgive me little old woman who lived in a show,
oh, forgive me the mountain that roared at midnight,
oh, forgive me the dumb sounds of night and day and death,
oh, forgive me all the sunken ships and defeated armies,
this is my first FAX POEM.
It's too late:
I have been
Storm for the Living and the Dead
edited by Abel Debritoo
Debritoo claims, "February 18, 1994 manuscript; previously uncollected. In all likelihood,
this is the last poem Bukowski ever wrote."
Wednesday, December 6, 2017
Michel Houellebecq & Iggy Pop
By the death of the purest
All joy is invalidated
The chest as if hollowed,
And the eye knows darkness in all.
It takes a few seconds
To wipe out a world.
My former obsession and my new fervor,
You quiver in me for a new desire
That's paradoxical, light like a distant smile
And yet profound like the essential shadow.
(The space between skins
When it can shrink
Opens a world as lovely
As a loud burst of laughter.)
When I have to leave this world
Make it be in your presence
Make it that in my last seconds
I look at you with trust
Tender animal with arousing breasts
That I cup in my hands;
I close my eyes: your white body
Marks the limit of the kingdom.
When it is cold,
Or rather when you feel cold
When a centre of coldness settles with a gentle movement
Deep in the chest
And jumps heavily between the lungs
Like a stupid fat animal;
When your limbs beat weakly
More and more weakly
Before stopping on the sofa
Definitively, it seems;
When the years turn flashing
In a smoky atmosphere
You can no longer remember the scented river,
The river of early childhood
I call it, in accordance with an ancient tradition: the river of innocence.
Now that we live in the light,
Now that we live right next to the light,
In endless afternoons
Now that the light around our bodies has become palpable
Traces of the night.
A star shines, alone,
Ready for distant Eucharists.
Some destinies gather, perplexed,
We are marching I know towards strange mornings.
The fine and delicate texture of the clouds
Disappear behind the trees
And suddenly it's the vagueness that comes before a storm;
The sky is beautiful, hermetic as marble.
When the meaning of things disappears
In the middle of the afternoon
In the gentleness of a Saturday
When paralyzed by arthritis.
The disappearance of railway sleepers
On the iron tracks
Happens just before the rain,
Memories are exhumed.
I think of my call signal
Left at the pond's edge
I remember the real world
Where I lived, long ago.
I am as free as a lorry
The territories of terror,
I am as free as passion.
In the mindlessness that takes the place of grace
I see immobile lawns unfold,
Blueish buildings and sterile pleasures
I am the wounded dog, the cleaner
And I am the lifebelt supporting the dead child,
The unlaced shoes cracked by the sun
I am the dark star, the moment of awakening
I am the present moment, I am the north wind.
All happens, all is there, and all is phenomenon,
No event seems justified;
We would need to attain a pure heart;
A white curtain falls and covers the stage.
Translated Gavin Bowd