I sent poet Gabriel Gudding a poem written a few years ago. I thought he might like it because he has a Providence connection, & because it involves a mysterious someone named "Clio" - which is his daughter's name too.
Lo & behold - it turns out these two Clios were most likely one and the same !
I'm amazed... it's as if three writers were playing a game of secret messages...
(re-affirms my faith in a "special providence" of poets - a belief (superstition?) instilled years ago as I read Nadezhda Mandelstam's memoir, Hope Against Hope...)
Showing posts with label Gabriel Gudding. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Gabriel Gudding. Show all posts
5.10.2007
12.22.2006
... & so the mysterious Xmas guest Gabriel Gudding heads back (in his little blue car) into the flat deep skyland of the midwest. It was great to see him, compagnevolo of him to come calling. Usually we seem to agree to disagree. I too adore Simone Weil - but not for her rejections...
12.21.2006
Gabriel, who is in town for a few days, told me last night he was working on a poem in praise of the sun. I remembered a poem by Greek poet Odysseas Elytes; went upstairs to look for it on my shelves & couldn't find it. Today I searched the library stacks; when I get home I'll dig around some more for that yellow paperback (I think it was called "The Sovereign Sun"...).
Now I realize I'm doing this on the shortest day of the year.
Now I realize I'm doing this on the shortest day of the year.
12.19.2006
Back from Mpls comes Henry. Him daughter is all graduated (hip hoo-ray) & on her way to distant deserts with her Mom, to visit Peace Corps pal. Him blogland bud Gabe Gudd coming manana to crash on couch (while in Prov to visit him daughter). Him wife ask him to ask him Gabe not to talk about it on him blog. Him agree. Henry has no poesie to speak of, he im pow'rful down blooey & bored with all sundry & self him, he.
10.05.2006
Hard-hitting analysis by Gabriel Gudding today. But one might add a corollary : "All dogmatic generalizations tend toward the formation of interest groups."
3.11.2006
GG argues that it is rhetoric which propels the significant articulation of feeling & conscience, ie. that rhetoric is motivated by an ethical demand.
& if poetry is distinguished from rhetoric, then it shuts itself off from the ethical/moral challenges of the present time.
My sense, rather, is that there is an unspoken ethos and a natural law - which is expressed in different & distinguishable ways - through poetry on the one hand, and through rhetoric (or discourse) on the other.
& if poetry is distinguished from rhetoric, then it shuts itself off from the ethical/moral challenges of the present time.
My sense, rather, is that there is an unspoken ethos and a natural law - which is expressed in different & distinguishable ways - through poetry on the one hand, and through rhetoric (or discourse) on the other.
Gabriel Gudding is going around saying that I'm among those who still argue that poetry is not rhetoric.
Poetry is not rhetoric.
Poetry & rhetoric are 2 distinct forms of something called "eloquence".
Rhetoric employs words so as to fabricate the verbal equivalent of the hammer in the velvet glove.
Poetry, on the other hand, deploys language like a resonator.
What is a resonator, you ask? You ask? You ask? You ask...
Poetry is not rhetoric.
Poetry & rhetoric are 2 distinct forms of something called "eloquence".
Rhetoric employs words so as to fabricate the verbal equivalent of the hammer in the velvet glove.
Poetry, on the other hand, deploys language like a resonator.
What is a resonator, you ask? You ask? You ask? You ask...
3.15.2004
Sweetly Now
Walking home,
head full of gloom
(my own woes muddled
with those of the world) –
noticed (on the sidewalk)
cheerful letters in pink chalk
(rounded, girlish – cursive script,
broken off – author skipped?) –
PEACE
LOVE
(signed, in a heart-shape) CLIO
the Muse of History : as if to say
I’m starting over – here, today.
3.12.2004
On the other hand, one can admire & love the strange elegiac feeling of "Swamp Formalism", and imagine Lisa Jarnot actually responding with rueful self-disgust to the "poetic" improvisatory talent (like her own, the unacknowledged legislator) of Rumsfeld-in-action (at the news conferences). (I think the feeling is similar in "Land of Lincoln"; maybe I'm fooling myself.)
What bothers me is the dumbing-down of speech into a special idiom. All poetry is a special idiom, but if it's too obvious, you show your hand - ie. it becomes rhetoric. (Ron Silliman's pretentious syllable-counting only underlines - unintentionally - the artificiality, the mannerism, of the technique.) Incantantory, neo-romantic, poetical. . . & overly rhetorical. (Gabe Gudding - who believes that poetry is rhetoric - would disagree.)
What bothers me is the dumbing-down of speech into a special idiom. All poetry is a special idiom, but if it's too obvious, you show your hand - ie. it becomes rhetoric. (Ron Silliman's pretentious syllable-counting only underlines - unintentionally - the artificiality, the mannerism, of the technique.) Incantantory, neo-romantic, poetical. . . & overly rhetorical. (Gabe Gudding - who believes that poetry is rhetoric - would disagree.)
11.06.2003
Gabriel!!!! (you're not reading my BLOG!!!!) The Conchologist's Text-Book, 1833, by Cap'n Thomas Brown, which I ordered for the Library a few weeks ago, has arrived!!! This is the Volume that someone calling himself "Edgar Allan Poe" (re)published in Philadelphia, giving Himself as Author!!!!
I quote from page 48:
EAP clearly ripped off the sexiest book in the English language.
I quote from page 48:
Helix arbustorum - The Grove Helix. Plate IX.
fig.22. Sub-glubose, sub-pellucid, with five volutions; mottled
with ash-colour, and streaked with deep chestnut zigzag lines;
a single deep brown band commences at the edge of the outer
lip, and continues round the middle of the body and the
volutions to the apex; 3/4ths of an inch in diameter.
Inhabits groves in Britain.
EAP clearly ripped off the sexiest book in the English language.
10.23.2003
Gabriel Gudding might be interested in the following, if he doesn't already know about it. I just ordered a rare book from Scotland for the library, titled A Conchologist's Text-book, by Captain Thomas Brown, published in Glasgow in 1833.
In doing so I noticed that the library already owned the following, "published for the author by Haswell, Barrington & Haswell" in Philadelphia, in 1839 : The conchologist's first book; or, A system of testaceous melacology, arranged expressly for the use of schools, in which the animals, according to Cuvier, are given with the shells, a great number of new species added, and the whole brought up, as accurately as possible, to the present condition of the science. The said author is listed as EDGAR ALLAN POE. A note to the library record : "Stated by R.W. Griswold, in the International Monthly Magazine, Oct. 1850, to be a copy nearly verbatim, of the text-book of conchology by Captain Thomas Brown, printed in Glasgow in 1833."
Was one of Eddy's heteronyms a certain Captain Brown?
In doing so I noticed that the library already owned the following, "published for the author by Haswell, Barrington & Haswell" in Philadelphia, in 1839 : The conchologist's first book; or, A system of testaceous melacology, arranged expressly for the use of schools, in which the animals, according to Cuvier, are given with the shells, a great number of new species added, and the whole brought up, as accurately as possible, to the present condition of the science. The said author is listed as EDGAR ALLAN POE. A note to the library record : "Stated by R.W. Griswold, in the International Monthly Magazine, Oct. 1850, to be a copy nearly verbatim, of the text-book of conchology by Captain Thomas Brown, printed in Glasgow in 1833."
Was one of Eddy's heteronyms a certain Captain Brown?
9.25.2003
As for perception of wholes. . . sometimes I think I get clearest ideas around 4 a.m., when I can't sleep.
Pondering this morning about the contention over styles of poetry, & the proposal for a debate, I thought Gabriel Gudding got it right (on his blog recently) to emphasize the importance of wonder & surprise. A debate format would probably result in fiats & pronunciamentos that the pronouncers have no right to make, a needless taking of sides. More subtle distinctions might be elicited through exploratory conversations. (ps Chris Lott says this better.)
Wonder & surprise, wholeness. From the vantage of 2003 it's possible to look at a numbered span of literary time, say 1950-2000, without a spirit of judgemental contention so much as attention to & appreciation for a vast poetry tundra, a unique efflorescence (maybe not really unique, but certainly unrepeatable); making possible a certain critical response - a distancing of our own - without reductive polemics. Ironically, Ron Silliman's blog is exemplary in presenting a sense of that vastness, side-by-side with the polemical maneuvering which doesn't do justice to the era.
Wonder & surprise. Besides all which above, when I think of poetry as a phenomenon at 4 a.m., its essence becomes only more strange, spectral & mysterious. I begin to sense it as a kind of mana, a word-flesh of a sort, passed from poet to poet, from ghost to ghost. The stylistic & technical discoveries & fireworks of individual poets I see as forms of deflection (or inflection?) - rocketing off the poetic black (w)holes of earlier poets. Thus the emphases of Olson or Niedecker or Ashbery or Lowell or Bishop or Berryman or you-name-um are a kind of verbal clothing, shrouding, hiding of something. . . and you begin to see the variations played by an Olson or an Ashbery or a Zukofsky as filigree overlaid on impulses recognizable in Eliot or Pound or Stevens, & themselves doing the same from previous eras. . .
the unique-intense intelligibility - the verbum ipse - expressed through the individual sensibility - a mana stretching back to the psalmist David, dancing & singing naked around the ark of the covenant, and before that to the shaman or woman muttering oracles beside a version of the pythian tripod.
The process of poetic making seems to involve the individual poet's attempt to find a form for that essential intelligibility; it must be intelligible to themselves & fit like the finest woven coccoon before it will be intelligible eventually to anyone else.
Pondering this morning about the contention over styles of poetry, & the proposal for a debate, I thought Gabriel Gudding got it right (on his blog recently) to emphasize the importance of wonder & surprise. A debate format would probably result in fiats & pronunciamentos that the pronouncers have no right to make, a needless taking of sides. More subtle distinctions might be elicited through exploratory conversations. (ps Chris Lott says this better.)
Wonder & surprise, wholeness. From the vantage of 2003 it's possible to look at a numbered span of literary time, say 1950-2000, without a spirit of judgemental contention so much as attention to & appreciation for a vast poetry tundra, a unique efflorescence (maybe not really unique, but certainly unrepeatable); making possible a certain critical response - a distancing of our own - without reductive polemics. Ironically, Ron Silliman's blog is exemplary in presenting a sense of that vastness, side-by-side with the polemical maneuvering which doesn't do justice to the era.
Wonder & surprise. Besides all which above, when I think of poetry as a phenomenon at 4 a.m., its essence becomes only more strange, spectral & mysterious. I begin to sense it as a kind of mana, a word-flesh of a sort, passed from poet to poet, from ghost to ghost. The stylistic & technical discoveries & fireworks of individual poets I see as forms of deflection (or inflection?) - rocketing off the poetic black (w)holes of earlier poets. Thus the emphases of Olson or Niedecker or Ashbery or Lowell or Bishop or Berryman or you-name-um are a kind of verbal clothing, shrouding, hiding of something. . . and you begin to see the variations played by an Olson or an Ashbery or a Zukofsky as filigree overlaid on impulses recognizable in Eliot or Pound or Stevens, & themselves doing the same from previous eras. . .
the unique-intense intelligibility - the verbum ipse - expressed through the individual sensibility - a mana stretching back to the psalmist David, dancing & singing naked around the ark of the covenant, and before that to the shaman or woman muttering oracles beside a version of the pythian tripod.
The process of poetic making seems to involve the individual poet's attempt to find a form for that essential intelligibility; it must be intelligible to themselves & fit like the finest woven coccoon before it will be intelligible eventually to anyone else.
9.12.2003
I've been enjoying G.Gudding's adventures in conchology. Here's an early poem by Mandelstam, trans. by Clarence Brown. Last line reminds me of the old song from Twelfth Night.
THE SEASHELL
Perhaps I am not necessary to you,
Night; out of the universal gulf
Like a shell without pearls
I am cast up on your shore.
You froth the waves indifferently
And obstinately sing.
But you will love and know the worth
Of the lie of the useless shell.
You will lie down on the sand beside it
Will cover it with your chasuble
You will bind to it inseparably
The enormous bell of the billows.
And the walls of the fragile shell,
Like the house of an empty heart,
You will fill with the whispers of foam,
With fog, wind and the rain. . .
THE SEASHELL
Perhaps I am not necessary to you,
Night; out of the universal gulf
Like a shell without pearls
I am cast up on your shore.
You froth the waves indifferently
And obstinately sing.
But you will love and know the worth
Of the lie of the useless shell.
You will lie down on the sand beside it
Will cover it with your chasuble
You will bind to it inseparably
The enormous bell of the billows.
And the walls of the fragile shell,
Like the house of an empty heart,
You will fill with the whispers of foam,
With fog, wind and the rain. . .
5.09.2003
5.03.2003
I wonder if G. Gudding has ever read The Dream Life of Balso Snell.
Nathanael West, a.k.a. Nathan Weinstein, went to Brown U. His sister married SJ Perelman, another Providence/Brown satirist. Does GG realize mulch of his themes etc., his "Theory of Ass" etc., are already in ovum there?
Does the West realize that when it refers to "the West" it is really referring to Nathan Weinstein???
The Dream Life covers most of the foibles of writers & would-be writers & bloogers.
"'Oh!' Balso exclaimed, carried away by these memories of his youth. 'Oh!' his mouth formed an O with lips torn angry in laying duck's eggs from a chicken's rectum."
Mr. Gudding late of Fargo or someplace out there, fills his tank in Providence, before making the great Westward journey.
Nathanael West, a.k.a. Nathan Weinstein, went to Brown U. His sister married SJ Perelman, another Providence/Brown satirist. Does GG realize mulch of his themes etc., his "Theory of Ass" etc., are already in ovum there?
Does the West realize that when it refers to "the West" it is really referring to Nathan Weinstein???
The Dream Life covers most of the foibles of writers & would-be writers & bloogers.
"'Oh!' Balso exclaimed, carried away by these memories of his youth. 'Oh!' his mouth formed an O with lips torn angry in laying duck's eggs from a chicken's rectum."
Mr. Gudding late of Fargo or someplace out there, fills his tank in Providence, before making the great Westward journey.
3.17.2003
Just a thought in response to Gabriel ("Conchology") Gudding's long essay "From Petit to Langpo", which appears on his blog (& in an earlier version? in Flashpoint magazine).
The essay shows how democratic pedagogical principles like "everybody can write" could lead to "everybody has an inner poet waiting to get out" and "poetry is the lyrical record of personal experiences". With such truisms you can see how opposition might grow, from modernists ("poetry is the extinction of personality", "make it new", "a poem is a machine made of words") to New Critics ("a poem is an autotelic self-enclosed object"). One can see how the wave could swing back from New Critical rules to the ragged edges of biography & personality (the Confessionals, the Beats). Or how the NY School might opt out stylishly (while borrowing) from both.
It's ironic that Creative Writing schools would focus on the "craft" of empowering, squeezing out & purveying personal experience, rather than on the art of poetry itself. But I suspect Gabriel's history is a little one-sided : you could probably find offhand quotes from his same set of late 20th-cent. poets on the pedagogy of poetry, which emphasize (instead) the impersonal "craft" aspects. (I'm just guessing, though, not making a case here.)
The issue of solipsism or individualism in art cuts deeper than pedagogy & the professionalization of poetry. As I've been saying in various places on this blog, the nature, the ontological status, of the human person is a deepening mystery; how that mystery gets radiated through the modes of story & poetics creates what we call genres. (hey, who do I think I am, Northrop Frye?)
The essay shows how democratic pedagogical principles like "everybody can write" could lead to "everybody has an inner poet waiting to get out" and "poetry is the lyrical record of personal experiences". With such truisms you can see how opposition might grow, from modernists ("poetry is the extinction of personality", "make it new", "a poem is a machine made of words") to New Critics ("a poem is an autotelic self-enclosed object"). One can see how the wave could swing back from New Critical rules to the ragged edges of biography & personality (the Confessionals, the Beats). Or how the NY School might opt out stylishly (while borrowing) from both.
It's ironic that Creative Writing schools would focus on the "craft" of empowering, squeezing out & purveying personal experience, rather than on the art of poetry itself. But I suspect Gabriel's history is a little one-sided : you could probably find offhand quotes from his same set of late 20th-cent. poets on the pedagogy of poetry, which emphasize (instead) the impersonal "craft" aspects. (I'm just guessing, though, not making a case here.)
The issue of solipsism or individualism in art cuts deeper than pedagogy & the professionalization of poetry. As I've been saying in various places on this blog, the nature, the ontological status, of the human person is a deepening mystery; how that mystery gets radiated through the modes of story & poetics creates what we call genres. (hey, who do I think I am, Northrop Frye?)
3.14.2003
I see that at around 7 am on Sunday 3.2.03, Gabriel Gudding (see Conchology link) was tanking the car at the Cumberland Farms 3 blocks from my house.
I will try to keep a journal of my walk to work next week (if I still have a job). It's about a mile - quite a trip for a Rhode Islander. Stay tuned. The world is going to Sheol in a shoebox, but Gabriel & I, I & Gabriel, Gabriel & me, me & Gabriel & I, we will keep reporting.
Was very sorry to miss Kent Johnson's reading a few other blocks from here last night. I had a vestry meeting, and I am T.S. Eliot.
I will try to keep a journal of my walk to work next week (if I still have a job). It's about a mile - quite a trip for a Rhode Islander. Stay tuned. The world is going to Sheol in a shoebox, but Gabriel & I, I & Gabriel, Gabriel & me, me & Gabriel & I, we will keep reporting.
Was very sorry to miss Kent Johnson's reading a few other blocks from here last night. I had a vestry meeting, and I am T.S. Eliot.
2.24.2003
Dale Smith wins the award for the most conflicted review of Gabriel Gudding's Defense of Poetry. If you're confused, Coast-wise insiders, here's the explanation: this is a Minnesota/Texas thing. Ever since Humphrey/Johnson, North Star/Lone Star. . . Yank/Reb. Pickett's Charge & the 3rd Minnesota.
p.s. go straight from "Quintus Laberius Durus" to David Jones, The Roman Quarry. Do not stop at eode.
p.s. go straight from "Quintus Laberius Durus" to David Jones, The Roman Quarry. Do not stop at eode.
2.20.2003
Spent some time snowed-in reading Gabriel Gudding's Defense of Poetry. For Gudding, parody is deployed almost like a geometry. I bet he studied Latin & Geometry the same year in high school. The geometry creates spaces in which languishing old US threads suddenly glimmer through again - sounds of Whitman, Vachel Lindsay, Stevens (but not the usual Stevens - this is a Stevens-Pandemonium), Plath, Lowell. . . all keyed to comedy. Along with these American threads are waves of arcane ancient vocabulary & burlesque - a vast & goofy weird-hoard.
Why does GG have to twist the presentation to such a high pitch of the ridiculous in order to "defend" poetry? He seems to be clearing a space for himself, most obviously maybe in the poem about the Tippecanoe County Courthouse (I don't have the book in front of me, unfortunately). Something about getting clear of the (poetry?) bureaucrats & flying light. Maybe he's getting ready for take-off.
Why does GG have to twist the presentation to such a high pitch of the ridiculous in order to "defend" poetry? He seems to be clearing a space for himself, most obviously maybe in the poem about the Tippecanoe County Courthouse (I don't have the book in front of me, unfortunately). Something about getting clear of the (poetry?) bureaucrats & flying light. Maybe he's getting ready for take-off.
2.05.2003
The poet Gabriel Gudding emailed me about my book Stubborn Grew, & I replied with some info on its design. I emailed back to say that the story formed a "W": a sort of double W, in that while following the protagonists (Henry & Bluejay) on a geographical zigzag W across a hillside in Providence (mapping a W), the structural or numerical design formed a textual "W" : that is, the center of Book 2 (the asterisk on p. 137) forms the apex of the center of a narrative-numerical W (zigzagging from optimism/pessimism, happy/sad, etc. - the "nadir" of the 1st descending (tragic, pessimistic) stroke of the W on p. 133, written on 4/4/98 (anniversary of MLK assassination: "44" Chinese number of death) - from which nadir it begins to ascent toward the apex (p, 137) & then descend again. . .
But what is this "W"? Is it a burning Bush? (see section 5 on p. 49, written in Feb. 1998). I wrote to Gabriel about how the narrative follows "Henry's" search for a lost black CAT (Pushkin) kidnapped on Halloween, into a CATabasis (journey to the Underworld) with Blue J. The "W" is many things: for example, it's the reflection in moonlight of a heavenly "M" inscribed on the landscape (Dante's M of the eagle of Justice, Mandelstam's M). Combine an M & a W and you get a pair of cat's eyes. A "W" is also the outline of a CATamaran (combining 2 V's: Venus, Virgo: becoming a constellation: Cassiopeia, with its Ethiopian (Pushkinian, Bluejayan, MLK) themes.
& Cassiopeia/Ethiopia/Blue J/MLK-Melchior leads back to the Ark of the Covenant, or the ship-shape of a CATamaran.
The "W" inscribed on the landscape in Stubborn casts a shadow in the structure of the larger poem. That is, see pp. 137, the center of Bk 2 of Stubborn: the last words are: "Thy will." This unfinished sentence is only completed in the 3rd book of sequels (July), in a symmetrical mirror-image at the center of its 1st section, the last words of which are: "Be done." These nodes form the nadirs of the larger "W" design of the entire poem. The exact numerical center is found at the center of Book 2 (Grassblade Light), in a single isolated line (referring to a star).
These mappings are summarized in Book 4, the shorter "coda" to the entire poem ("Blackstone's Day-Book", found in the vols. Island Road & The Rose). They circle around many motifs, including MLK, Ethiopia, the Ark, the ship. . . Melville's American-prophetic underside. Here is a sample of what I'm getting at (from Blackstone's Day-Book, toward the very end of the long poem):
IV.1
We are coming to the end of Henry
Navigator's long voyage, Elena -
circling around an elephant ear (Abul
Abaz, or Barnum's Jumbo) - see
how everything grows simpler,
more harsh, more true. Still
the well is always there (and will
be) - like the man standing here
beside it in the dark courtyard
(strange blooming out-of-season
almond branch). A stone,
a star, a well. A cup of water
from a rainbarrel (or Tartar
wine). A circling dragon-boat
or scrap of origami writ
folded to float so lightly. . . there.
You fold Andromeda into a W,
a mountain range back into M.
You cup them in your palm
to make a diamond, or double-
diamond - cat's eyes, Pushkinian.
Delicate Blue Morpho wings
woven with microscopic strings
of quipu thread (gentian-
gentle, violet and red). A knit
crossroad, then - red, white -
streams into Cassiopeia's
mother-night (at last).
5.22.2000
The focus on the catamaran-ark is a focus on Jubilee (Bluejay-inversion), or the coming of justice & redemption & the kingdom of heaven. The angelic reality requires a vessel of some kind (shelter or modus operandi, womb or Grail). I realize this sounds a bit wacky & obscure.
But what is this "W"? Is it a burning Bush? (see section 5 on p. 49, written in Feb. 1998). I wrote to Gabriel about how the narrative follows "Henry's" search for a lost black CAT (Pushkin) kidnapped on Halloween, into a CATabasis (journey to the Underworld) with Blue J. The "W" is many things: for example, it's the reflection in moonlight of a heavenly "M" inscribed on the landscape (Dante's M of the eagle of Justice, Mandelstam's M). Combine an M & a W and you get a pair of cat's eyes. A "W" is also the outline of a CATamaran (combining 2 V's: Venus, Virgo: becoming a constellation: Cassiopeia, with its Ethiopian (Pushkinian, Bluejayan, MLK) themes.
& Cassiopeia/Ethiopia/Blue J/MLK-Melchior leads back to the Ark of the Covenant, or the ship-shape of a CATamaran.
The "W" inscribed on the landscape in Stubborn casts a shadow in the structure of the larger poem. That is, see pp. 137, the center of Bk 2 of Stubborn: the last words are: "Thy will." This unfinished sentence is only completed in the 3rd book of sequels (July), in a symmetrical mirror-image at the center of its 1st section, the last words of which are: "Be done." These nodes form the nadirs of the larger "W" design of the entire poem. The exact numerical center is found at the center of Book 2 (Grassblade Light), in a single isolated line (referring to a star).
These mappings are summarized in Book 4, the shorter "coda" to the entire poem ("Blackstone's Day-Book", found in the vols. Island Road & The Rose). They circle around many motifs, including MLK, Ethiopia, the Ark, the ship. . . Melville's American-prophetic underside. Here is a sample of what I'm getting at (from Blackstone's Day-Book, toward the very end of the long poem):
IV.1
We are coming to the end of Henry
Navigator's long voyage, Elena -
circling around an elephant ear (Abul
Abaz, or Barnum's Jumbo) - see
how everything grows simpler,
more harsh, more true. Still
the well is always there (and will
be) - like the man standing here
beside it in the dark courtyard
(strange blooming out-of-season
almond branch). A stone,
a star, a well. A cup of water
from a rainbarrel (or Tartar
wine). A circling dragon-boat
or scrap of origami writ
folded to float so lightly. . . there.
You fold Andromeda into a W,
a mountain range back into M.
You cup them in your palm
to make a diamond, or double-
diamond - cat's eyes, Pushkinian.
Delicate Blue Morpho wings
woven with microscopic strings
of quipu thread (gentian-
gentle, violet and red). A knit
crossroad, then - red, white -
streams into Cassiopeia's
mother-night (at last).
5.22.2000
The focus on the catamaran-ark is a focus on Jubilee (Bluejay-inversion), or the coming of justice & redemption & the kingdom of heaven. The angelic reality requires a vessel of some kind (shelter or modus operandi, womb or Grail). I realize this sounds a bit wacky & obscure.
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