“It was not gay, that life.” You can’t “make me small,”
you “can’t put me down” or take away my job
I am immune,
although it is not gay. Why did we come at all,
consonant to whose bidding? Perhaps God is a slob,
playful, vast, rough-hewn.
Perhaps God resembles one of the last etchings of Goya & not Valesquez, never Rembrandt no. Something disturbed, ill-pleased, & with a touch of paranoia who calls for this thud of love from his creatures-O. Perhaps God ought to be curbed.
Not only on this planet, I admit; somewhere. Our only resource is bleak denial or anti-potent rage, both have been tried by our wisest. Who was it back there who died unshriven, daring to see what more could happen to a painter with such courage.
Source: Berryman, John, and Michael Hofmann. The Dream Songs , 2014, p. 257.
the gunpowder if it ever exists dries ready full-mouthed and mush his
mission soon ends with no criteria sì, quella spiga— what athletic
power passed the hum of squirrely / selfish putsch down— if darkly uplift
the self gets righteous right to the bottom— quick, much is transparent
and not raised against the real polemic fear yr inbox as good as yr last
intesa inteso— i feel hiss intestines / push out against— the night
sufficient still bent between hiss pinching stamen & inject the sniff pop of
I decided to use the Pine Barrens site as a piece of paper and draw a crystalline structure over the landmass rather than on a … sheet of paper. In this way I was applying my conceptual thinking directly to the disruption of the site over an area of several miles. So you might say that my non-site was a three dimensional map of the site.
Buca il geranio la maceria, rissa
Maria Luisa Spaziani
but only you love sheds on you love sheds on you love shed on you
abuse faith this dog you love sheds on you love shed on you
hearth nebulous parallax hearth
&yet diagnostic dark drinking dark drinking dranking drunnc
always night always night always night &yet
death queer hearth nebulous health nebulous hearth &yet
again night of the long commercial night always drinking night & shhh upon rigid compass shhh abstract shhh
break into air
breathe into air
don't break man
break it or lose it
break the air
like a man
breaks in his
the hairy air
then sentenceless i don't exist rip
lick leather men sniffing
one might hang
one night about
break the air
one just might smoke leather man
No one attacks it with a long lance,
No one plies a strong cross-bow.
Suckling its grandsons, rearing its cubs,
It trains them into savagery.
Its reared head becomes a wall
Its waving tail becomes a banner.
Even Huang from the Eastern Sea,¹
Dreaded to see it after dark,
A righteous tiger, met on the road,²
Was quite enough to upset Niu Ai.
What good is it for that short sword
To hang on the wall, growling like thunder?
When from the foot of Tai mountain
Comes the sound of a woman weeping,
Government regulations forbid
Any official to dare to listen.³
A satire on oppressive government, of which the tiger was the symbol. Caught between the Central Government and the warlords, the people are harassed as though by tigers.
Huang, of Dong-hai, had magical powers which enabled him to control snakes and tigers. Unfortunately for him, he lost these powers through drinking to excess and was eventually killed by a tiger.
The zhou-yu was a white tiger with black markings which appeared only when a state was perfectly governed. It would not tread on grain nor eat living things. Niu Ai was a duke turned were-tiger, who ate his own elder brother. He is pointing out that some tigers are worse than others.
Confucius found a woman weeping at the foot of Mount Tai. Though her whole family had been killed by tigers she refused to leave the district, because there was no oppressive government there. This caused Confucius to remark that an oppressive government was more savage than any tiger.
Li He is the bad-boy poet of the late Tang dynasty. He began writing at the age of seven and died at twenty-six from alcoholism or, according to a later commentator, “sexual dissipation,” or both. An obscure and unsuccessful relative of the imperial family, he would set out at dawn on horseback, pause, write a poem, and toss the paper away. A servant boy followed him to collect these scraps in a tapestry bag.
Long considered far too extravagant and weird for Chinese taste, Li He was virtually excluded from the poetic canon until the mid-twentieth century. Today, as the translator and scholar Anne M. Birrell, writes, “Of all the Tang poets, even of all Chinese poets, he best speaks for our disconcerting times.” Modern critics have compared him to Rimbaud, Baudelaire, Keats, and Trakl.
were delicious so sweet and so sweet
and so sweet and so sweet
and so sweet
and so sweet and
so sweet and
so sweet and
for breakfast for breakfast
forgive me they
for breakfast for breakfast for my alcoholism which burns something
a wise fellow saving for
in the plums things like
the plums the plums that i'm
saving for my
alcoholism which you were probably saving you
a wise fellow were delicious and sweet
me less than half as
less than half as
sweet but still so sweet and
breakfast fermented plums
breakfast for breakfast for my alcoholism
which you were probably
sweet and weepy
i couldn't find the
drink is to
to drink is
for my alcoholism
you were probably
delicious way so sweet and
rich you were
probably saving me for
which you were
the atmosphere plums
this place of being for breakfast
for my alcoholism
which you were in the business of probably saving
for my alcoholism so sweet and i couldn't find the
delicious so sweet and so sweet
and weep i couldn't find they were probably
flowers for breakfast
for breakfast for my alcoholism which
a wise fellow
my alcoholism which
probably saving for breakfast
that validated my alcoholism which you
were probably saving for breakfast for breakfast for
for breakfast for
breakfast for breakfast
which you which you were
they were delicious and sweet probably