Uploaded on January 10, 2007
by conceptvessel
*
"Oh Man is the highest type of animal existing
or known to have existed
but differs from other animals
more in his extraordinary mental
development than in anatomical
structure . . ."
Well when I think of menI think of then in a sexual manner
Otherwise, I don't notice the difference, you know
being absorbed as being one just thinks 'people'
and not 'male' and 'female' so much as someone
to talk to. And how men are all
the same being born from Man and Woman and out
of a woman's body commonly known as 'Mother.'
"And God said let us make MAN in our own image,
after our likeness and let them have dominion."
And "Nature may stand up and say to all the world, 'This was a MAN!'"
And then "I pronounce you MAN
and wife."
Daddy you is dandy
when you're here. Shrill and soft old Autumnal
wind blow and we are tucked below
the shallow soil where seeds spring up and wither quicklyflirting madly.
I've got him now,
the beautiful one for my part
of the year here in my dark and expensive underground all mine before he is shared
and killed again by the fearless boar he is hunting and torn apart
and his blood runs out and red roses and anemones
bloom and it is spring and he is gone again
That man about town gone again . . .
Allowishes Dalloway wunderkind
Dalhousie aluminum dactyl
synergy Sisyphus sizzle
chlorine Chamomile candyass
candyass Michaelmas mercurial
druid deliberate delineate
circuitry clearcut cumpassionate
tertiary tenuous telepath
*
Now my charms are all o'erthrown
and what strength I have's mine own
which is most faint, tis true
I must be here confined by you
or sent to Naples
Let me not, since I have my queendom got
and pardoned the deceiver, dwell
on this bare island by your spell
but release me from my bands
with the help of your good hands
Gentle breath of yours my sails must fill
Or else my project fails, which was to please
Now I want art to enforce and spirits to enchant
and my ending is despair
unless I be relieved by prayer
which pierces so that it assaults mercy itself
and clears all faults
As you from crimes would pardoned be
Let your indulgence set me free.
Uploaded on June 6, 2007
by Arman Zhenikeyev
*
August 5, 2007
Dear Henry,
Last night I had another one of my vivid dreams. This time I appeared to be at a library with my mother. I had discovered a large bookcase, a stack of books that I could climb to the top shelf. When I got to the top shelf I discovered books and paintings, watercolor paintings done by other students from The Residential College. These students were Asian students and the watercolors were just amazing. I had to climb down from the bookcase to show her what I had found. But when I climbed back up again to put the watercolors back, she grew anxious and I had the feeling that she thought the bookcase might topple over on me. It didn’t, I climbed back down knowing that I had discovered a treasure, but to her the treasure didn’t seem as great as what the treasure seemed to me. The treasure was the treasure of art. Jung says, what it actually was, was the treasure of the self. Perhaps it was my self reminding me of the treasure of my art, the gift of my art, and that I should not be lonely, a lonely little ego, because I have my self and my gifts. Do you suppose that’s true? I think it must be true because I felt very lonely before I fell asleep, but when I woke up I felt as though I had discovered a treasure and I was not to be lonely anymore because the treasure isn’t lost. I have it within me. What a comfort and a solace that is!
Love, M.*
from the roman a clef Marguerite
Genuine compassion comes from
the fact that you see your
limitations:
you wish to be kind and
you find that you aren't kind.
Then, instead of beating yourself up,
you see
that's what all human beings
are up against, and you begin
to have some kind of
genuine compassion
for the human condition."
from: No Right, No Wrong: An Interview with Pema Chodron from Tricycle
I was a hobbit
you were an elf
we made love
in Vondel Park.
***
The dream yellow and
little hidden
in the inner low bowl
and most recesses
of what is opening
into cosmic night.
Psyche
was there, was consciousness, a door
Psyche
who will secret the soul
(Eleni's bored, uh-oh)
Don't stop
Just keep the green birds in the air. Where?
The dream
is verifiable or tenable
I am pursuing and therefore
I must content
with the fact that means something:
patient.
Is this going to be a poem about Philip Whalen?
Who is Philip Whalen?
Undulating layers of
unsaying
The undercurrent is love
The current of love...
Transfer those electrons to him.
Illusion birds in Amsterdam
where love rules
there is no will to power
and where power predominates
love is lacking
the one is the shadow of the other.
I am thinking of a man
his sole purpose
is to kindle a light
in the darkness
by mere being.
In sleep, fantasy
the form of dream
but in waking life
we continue.
On the other hand
I know that if
on a dream we
meditate and thoroughly
discern around us
over and over the human existence
it is a hint to the patient.
[Prelude to the letter C]
I met Ted at two parties at the same house
at the first he insulted me because, he said later
he was mad at girls that night; at the second we danced
an elaborate fox-trot with dipping--he had once taken one lesson
at an Arthur Murray's. First I went into an empty
room and waited for him to follow me. I liked the way
his poems looked on the page open but delicately arranged.
I like him because he's funny he talks more like
me than like books or words: he likes my knowledge and
accepts its sources. I know that there are Channel swimmers
and that they keep warm with grease because of
an Esther Williams movie. We differ as to what kind
of grease I suggest bacon he says it's bear
really in the movie it was dark brown like grease from a car
Who's ever greased a car? Not him I find he prefers to white out
all the speech balloons in a Tarzan comic
and print in new words for the characters. Do you want
to do some? he says--No--We go to a movie where Rachel Welch
and Jim Brown are Mexican revolutionaries I make him
laugh he says something about a turning point in the plot
Do you mean, I say, when she said We should have keeled him long ago?
Finally a man knows that I'm being funny
He's eleven years older than me and takes pills
I take some a few months later and write
I think it's eighty-three poems I forget about Plath and James Wright
he warns me about pills in a slantwise way See this
nose? he says, It's the ruins of civilization
I notice some broken capillaries who cares
I wonder who I am now myself though I haven't
anticipated me entirely I have such an appetite
to write not to live I'm certainly living quity fully
We're good together he says because we can be like
little boy and little girl I give him much later a
girl's cheap Dutch brooch Delft blue and white
a girl and a boy holding hands and windmills
But now it's summer in Iowa City he leaves for
Europe gives me the key to his library stored
in a room at The Writer's Workshop
I write mildly yet oh there's a phrase "the Gilbert curve"
how a street turns that sensation to make it permanent
a daily transition as the curve opens and is walked on
of the kinds of experience still in between the ones
talked about in literature and even in Ted's library
which finally makes poetry possible for me but I've
not read a voice like my own like my own voice will be
--from Mysteries of Small Houses by Alice Notley
1. Sushi is a rare and wonderful thing; I love it.
2. Once painted a Japanese-style portrait of Wen's cat, Zeeb (notreallyahabit tho).
3. Alice Notley is my favorite poet, however Ken Mikolowski is up there too...
4. My sister and I visited Barcelona in 2000 and smoked some great hash.
5. Long term memory fantastic; short term memory not so much (see #4).
6. My favorite coffeeshop is Cafe Zola.
7. Gauloises when I lived in Munich, American Spirits in the States.
8. I write poetry almost every day, baring my breasts so you'll bare yours...
9. Triangles.
10. Other poets.
I was doing highflying acrobatics with my former stepmother above an outdoor restaurant called Palio's in Ann Arbor. All of the tables had exquisite flowers on them and the dishes looked like art. She and I were going to run a marathon afterwards so she said, "It's OK if you need to walk sometimes." I haven't seen her in a long time. I wonder why my subconscious pulled her up. There was a man in the dream; he was the instructor in a tight leotard (remember Lyotard's The Postmodern Explained [to children]--"we are in a time of ana"--like analysis). Well I think I have been metaphorically performing lately, performing my craft for an audience, which I do like to do. What other tricks can I pull out of my hat?...
***
Gilles Poem 18: for Herem Calls Out From A Dream But Michel Doesn't Hear Him
by Sabrina Calle
O my Gilles please, stop help me break this I will say nothing
"it is minor and unexceptional" it
hurts so much like this: . don't laugh, I have
called everyone in the book (twice) so, "Faut-il bruler Kafka?" I want to drive
because we don't see much difference amongst all these things
adsum, as you wish it Gilles, yr giving me that face, just tell me already
what to find
"look: 
--I bought you a map of the world" stop. this
is not your suit who has been here? what is a chain or stool? a wine glass
warmed by bourbon no, it has not been long enough or
maybe it
is something we've not discussed would you prefer
abstract machines surge into existence by themselves without indexes?
I am walking out of view
Michel says "be dear, and drop out a while"
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