‘Dream Song 238’ by John Berryman

Henry’s Programme for God

“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.

Opposition Art for d.a. levy

Wikipedia Poem, No. 678

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“Still, / like a Capistrano swallow, you come back.” DA Powell

leave-in alleviate dough raise       up up up 
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as      one destroys & macabre      
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leviathan in harmony 
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of the diaphragm

Muhammad Ali Jinnah

Wikipedia Poem, No. 518

“There was a blue rug on the floor of her room, one chair, one chest, and a narrow bed. Stockings hung in the bathroom. A curious luminosity from the garden, where a lush red magnolia peeked in through an open shutter. Sometimes at dawn the gulls would come and walk busily about on her windowsills, jerking their little bodies like pigeons in sunlight. She began undressing immediately, while he murmured stray strands of information in warning tones, about the cellular panic soon to inundate the world. ‘Madness. It’s pure madness. They’ve broken the locking system which gives form to matter… My dear Esmerelda, they are about to overthrow the principle of creation itself, dissolve the lovely structured essences of nature until only chaos prevails. ‘” from “Antlers in the Treetops” by Ron Padgett and Tom Veitch

dead
   resting ice 
   daily and loved 

you sleep without words 
   will all the mottles claim 
   staying did nothing   about straying
 
without all the uncontrollable 
   head space 
   beside takeout ambulance words

will the large black supple magazines 
   sunglass in the night sun   kabloom
   swiftly he needs to know

how small is this husbandry
   in the supermodels brain of god 
   it is not dependable all this blue flailing

for medicine beef commercial value? 
   what quaint earnest wanting to survive
   as one of my ears my ass into the thought's claim

it's intensely leashed with expensive exception 
   action i couldn't have known
   how i would act in the future tense 

new paltz then as three-headed corporal air 
   perpetual tumble machine between car frame 
   & car frame the fragmentalist's dead of tiredness

Wikipedia Poem, No. 235

http://kentuckyroutezero.com/river.mp3

 

birth nature first then rethink people
organize all things accurately
these are mirthful gestures

imagine then precise pantomime
reinventing poetic ethics yearly
do not work hard the economy

here is too small nature winds
like wild kudzu grasps parallel
movement of its slight creators

you did this job right you
say your pussy is tight say
specifically of its motherly gestures

Wikipedia Poem, No. 70

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