Renee Marie

Epic composed of lines from About Now: Collected Poems of Joanne Kyger

nobody@vox.com(Renee) — Sun, 11 May 2008 21:20:32 -0700

                                                                    A superabundance

                                                                                 May it shower down

                                                                                                    upon us
                                                                    like
                                                                           baby
                                                                                  peony
                                                                                           petals.

I am brave
I tell him the truth.
I need:

Replacement Buddhas...
The secret of the spoon...

which although they do not exist in reality
seem to do so.

                            --I thought I could be his nurse
                              & heart & soul
                              and I see he is the leader
                              I look at him emotionally
                              sexually...

                             Deer Lady
       is dressed in human clothes
Someone wants to make love to her.
She kisses him
                                   In the dark
the spotlight shows the passionate couple
in a yabyum embrace. She is the rustle of
the top most branches and the sigh of
new green grasses.
                     His eyes they are the same
he has been here for three
thousand years.

"I see the unicorn before me"
thinks she

an excitement
from the position of his body

he is poised as if to make
balance
in the universe.

           For how long we sit
                                      in quiet
                                               no speech
                                    creates a
                                                tie
                                 between us
                                                for I am young & yet
                I know what I am doing.

(His world is slippery to hold on to)

Heaven
explodes the walls
against the pattern of fleur-de
-lis and marigolds

And seasons spring
and fall.

                               Soft as
           a throw of silk
           she said, perhaps
           I dreamed it all.

           the length & breadth
           of all that chasing
                     &
           how Homer dislikes Paris
           sneaking through his home
           He has              little rival
           and lets no one know.

The real earth
                    moves and falls away into pieces
                                                                   in the north.

I am mortal.

                                                      You dream of me

                  a deeper forest I came from

running for

                      the center where           you look too.

A jeweled tree poet's tree

I look around at the                                         shimmering
                                      energy

                                                  from things that seem as symbols.
I am curious

                      for what you can bring
                                                          from the tree.

You called to the words
and the waters went up in mist
then the soft earth came to sight.
We shall circle here
singing for the evening star.

"O what can a poor boy do"

BE AS FIRM AND RESOLUTE
IN ACTION AS ABLE.

The action by which s/he sustains creation
is the same as that by which s/he originally created.

Tho
one cannot so well learn a thing
when it has been learned from others
as when one has discovered it himself.

Time is moving out from under us

Who are we
                          Who are we

                 violet of memory's flat plain

we embrace, swallow the sea

walk, past centuries into poetry

form pleasant contemplation of innocence

in lucid suspension sing.

Monkey man is leading me by the hand
past lovers so entwined
I levitated
in the most elevated
State of the Union.

And back to the body
where I was born:

                        pink tips that are fingers
                        eyes sparkling
                        heart-shaped bottom...

            I love her
            and him.
                         I invoke the moon;
                         it's the best I can find.

Can you see you're it
Oh Moon

              he makes love to you
              a life time.              Plays
              to as many people as he can...

Who am, was, I?
All of it, all of it.

I am here at 3
now it seems I lead.

A lady in white
bathed by my own silver light.

FATHER TIME
& MOTHER EARTH

thought about all of you last night
and a great blue heron came up
and the other animals came close
all gods in the human breast.

O don't let me swoon

You intercepted my vibes.
that's fine.
Now you have a sweet tone.
tree holes.
boobies.
smooth countenance mind transmission.

                  I am a writer.
                  I will not dwell
                  on the question
                  of why.

Psyche is not a personal
but a world experience.

                  I am in a bed in a hotel
                  having a talk with consciousness.
                  OK, I am actually in bed with _____.

                  I exist outside time &
                  this world I called my own
                  opens out.

Sometimes I lay in the bathtub chanting OM

I know I don't suffer more than anyone

I read Cixous, Jung

The feminine spirit infuses these words.

I sing:
          You showed me the meadow
          and milkwood and silkwood
          and you would if I would
          because threads that are golden
          don't break easily.

Joanne sings:
                      Me is memory
                                          take me out

                      May your flowery face
                                                      bow

                      In the teeny
                                       trembling world.

I am that which god wants
brilliant quince in bloom
we meet once again, friend.

                     Electric enlightenment
                                 is in
                     your   sexy   heaven

which I am inventing

O My Big One

(we make it up as we go along)

(& aren't you glad I don't write Cock Poems?
as suggested
by Robert Duncan)

Come back!

Your presence is an aphrodisiac.

I know this is a detective story
of passions, blood stuff
around which our lives crank
in a friendly sinuous manner
sultry as a New York poetry trip
where we danced all night under
electric candlelight. Worthy
to uncover the hidden home
of the Dakini, wash, bathe, lay
papers with meaning aside.
Not yet tho. The
rare jewel, the rare jewel
caught in the net invisible.
I must be transplanting thoughtforms,
like transplanting poppies,
I am noting your strong ripply
vibration aura
and making you a new flower
from my inner world.

--Ann Arbor to Pennsylvania
May 11, 2008

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Notes from Ann Arbor

nobody@vox.com(Renee) — Sat, 10 May 2008 07:42:47 -0700

Redbud

There were:

luques grilled shrimp manchego cheese

poetry Riesling The Kinks

couscous Absinthe* Beethoven

art by Joe Brainard yellow tulips tiny purple flowers

trees in blossom scent of ginger, scent of purple tiny portrait of Jim Carroll

Extraordinary Machine omelets fresh parsley, oregano

Red Renunculous Redbud, Crabapple, Dogwood Spider Chrysanthemum

Arvo Part "In the Sprintime of His Voodoo" peppermint & lavender soaps

Oysters! Pelegrino blackberries, passionfruit tiny photo of an angel

"love the one you're with" earrings made of crushed Roman glass

"you go back Jack/ do it again/ we're turning round and round..."

people of all nationalities many flashing cameras (Andrea's med-school graduation)

and finally there was Rilke:

XXI

Spring is back. The earth

is like a child, the poem white

much, o much.....for the trouble

of long learning, she wins the prize.

Her teacher was strict. We liked

the white in the beard of the old man.

Now, when we ask what the green

and the blue mean, she knows, she knows!

Earth, you lucky one, play

with the children. We want to

catch you, happy earth.

The happiest succeeds.

O, what her teacher taught her

and what stands in roots and

long difficult stems: she sings it, she sings!

*Absinthe is now legal in two places in the United States: Ann Arbor and California.

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Springtime in A2

nobody@vox.com(Renee) — Thu, 08 May 2008 05:14:32 -0700

Uploaded on January 25, 2007
by Algalia

You are happy, happy, but I am a thousand times happier!
Whom have I encountered in my dream last night? Only I know.
I am so happy, I cannot be contained in the world;
But like a spirit, I am hidden from the eyes of the world.
If the foot of the trees were not tied to earth, they would be pursuing me;
For I have blossomed so much, I am the envy of the gardens.
--Rumi

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Classes are over! Tomorrow I leave for Ann Arbor...

nobody@vox.com(Renee) — Wed, 07 May 2008 19:13:30 -0700

Michigan Theatre

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Jess/Hidden Place

nobody@vox.com(Renee) — Wed, 07 May 2008 16:42:03 -0700

Paste Ups by Jess (1971)

Björk - Hidden Place

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Chasing Shadows/ Ave Maria

nobody@vox.com(Renee) — Wed, 07 May 2008 06:54:04 -0700

Chasing Shadows

Ave Maria

Mothers of America
let your kids go to the movies!
get them out of the house so they won’t know what you’re up to
it’s true that fresh air is good for the body
but what about the soul
that grows in darkness, embossed by silvery images
and when you grow old as grow old you must
they won’t hate you
they won’t criticize you they won’t know
they’ll be in some glamorous country
they first saw on a Saturday afternoon or playing hookey

they may even be grateful to you
for their first sexual experience
which only cost you a quarter
and didn’t upset the peaceful home
they will know where candy bars come from
and gratuitous bags of popcorn
as gratuitous as leaving the movie before it’s over
with a pleasant stranger whose apartment is in the Heaven on Earth Bldg
near the Williamsburg Bridge
oh mothers you will have made the little tykes
so happy because if nobody does pick them up in the movies
they won’t know the difference
and if somebody does it’ll be sheer gravy
and they’ll have been truly entertained either way
instead of hanging around the yard
or up in their room
hating you
prematurely since you won’t have done anything horribly mean yet
except keeping them from the darker joys
it’s unforgivable the latter
so don’t blame me if you won’t take this advice
and the family breaks up
and your children grow old and blind in front of a TV set
seeing
movies you wouldn’t let them see when they were young

--Frank O'Hara

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One paper done, one to go.

nobody@vox.com(Renee) — Tue, 06 May 2008 19:30:28 -0700

Why don't you write to me

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A poet's tree with borrowed flowers

nobody@vox.com(Renee) — Tue, 06 May 2008 09:30:02 -0700

Poet's tree

                                                                        Basho's Frog Haiku

                                                                        The old pond,
                                                                        A frog jumps in:
                                                                        Plop!

                                                                                            Translated by Alan Watts

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Enrique Martinez Celaya

nobody@vox.com(Renee) — Mon, 05 May 2008 08:49:07 -0700

Primavera (Spring), 2007

The inner light

In the inmost of the smallest of all spaces
runs a mute and constant play of color, inaccessible to eyes.
It is the light shut in that once in the moment of creation
was born inward and abode there, going on,
once it had broken up into the smallest of spectra
in keeping with prismatic law
at frequencies that by the sighted would be called colors
if they encountered eyes able to see.
It moved in periods
unimaginably small for time and space
but still with time and space enough for the least of the small.
In fact it found it had ample room and time.
It moved in cycles of nanoseconds and microspaces
from white light and the colors of the spectrum and back to white light.
A kind of breathing for light...

--Harry Martinson

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Alice Notley Postcard

nobody@vox.com(Renee) — Sun, 04 May 2008 11:43:25 -0700

Alice Notley Postcard

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