15 posts tagged “flickr”
Stephane: ¡Un, dos, tres, cuatro!
[Stéphane plays the drums, then the piano, then moves the cameras. "Stéphane TV"]
Stephane: Hi, and welcome back to another episode of "Télévision Educative". Tonight, I'll show you how dreams are prepared. People think it's a very simple and easy process but it's a bit more complicated than that. As you can see, a very delicate combination of complex ingredients is the key. First, we put in some random thoughts. And then, we add a little bit of reminiscences of the day... mixed with some memories from the past.
--from The Science of Sleep
Ghost Ranch
Creosote, Lavender, Echinacea
Mt. Pedernal in the distance
Chama River
Gorgeous trees changed yellow
Red earth
Amazing rock formations
Prairies & mountains
Uploaded on December 30, 2006 by Daulphin
Uploaded on October 25, 2005 by mr_wahlee
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South porch of Ghost Ranch house
Allen Ginsberg sits with O’Keeffe
Shows her how he meditates,
Crossed legs, straightened back, closed eyes—
Breathe slowly, other instructions
But she doesn’t mimic him.
He asked, “What do you believe?”
She outstretched her arm
Palm up in a semi-circle
In front of her toward Pedernal,
“It’s hard to say.”
Fragrant sage, clouds, blue sky
Rocks she had gathered
Beauty around her everywhere.
Later driving Allen & Peter to Santa Fe.
Allen said he was surprised
How little money she had.
I explained simple surroundings did not
Show her wealth. No need.
—C.S. Merrill
I remember my father teaching my sister and I Latin. He usually taught us tidbits of Latin while he was driving, probably because he wanted to keep his mind occupied, but also because he wanted us to become intelligent adults. He taught us how to say "Semper ubi sub ubi." This was easy to learn because of the repetition of the ubis; because of its assonance. Once we learned the phrase he told us what it meant, but first he made us guess. Thank you very much? Where is the bathroom? Can I have a glass of water? No, no. "Semper ubi sub ubi" means always wear underwear.
How strange to be gone in a minute! A man
Signs a shovel and so he digs Everything
Turns into writing a name for a day
Someone
is having a birthday and someone is getting
married and someone is telling a joke my dream
a white tree I dream of the code of the west
But this rough magic I here abjure and
When I have required some heavenly music which even now
I do to work mine end upon their senses
That this aery charm is for I'll break
My staff bury it certain fathoms in the earth
And deeper than did ever plummet sound
I'll drown my book
It is 5:15 a.m. Dear Chris, hello.
--Ted Berrigan
*Photo from Flickr, http://www.flickr.com/photos/ceheginero/
IV. THE DREAM
Standing by, London, waiting to connect
Her tin ear, he grimaced, a full-grown man
Exhale through nostrils, the angry swan
She made a form in her mind
As far as you’ve come cannot be undone
Terrified, sacredly, taste of paper, clementines, egg
Would I prefer the straight shot?
I cradle bell-notes in the shining twilight
Casually defying wind, rain
Tumbling on snow banks, a moist confusion
The buffalo of philosophy, silent expletive
Silver jackets of fish in their element
Above this level who, lifting off, red-winged?
I am essaying—error is my aid.
*Last line from Christine Hume's Musca Domestica
**Flickr photo by Serni
Uploaded on April 13, 2006
by jahdakine
She (Not to be confused with she, a girl)
She alters all our lives for the better merely
By her presence in it. She is a star. She is
Radiant, & She is vibrant (integrity). She animates
And gathers the community. Half the world's population
Is under 25. She permits everybody to be themselves more often
than not.
She is elegant. I love her.
She writes poetry of an easy & graceful
Intimacy. She is brave. She is always slightly breathless, or
Almost always slightly. She is witty. She owns a proud & lovely
Dignity, & She is always willing to see it through.
She is an open circle, Her many selves at or near the center, &
She is here right now. Technically, She is impeccable, &
If She is clumsy in places, those are clumsy places. She knows
Exactly what she is doing & not before She is doing it. What
She discovers She discovered before She discovers it, and so
The fresh discovery of each new day. Her songs are joyous songs,
& they are prayers, never failing to catch the rush of hope
(anticipation)
Ted Berrigan, The Collected Poems of Ted Berrigan
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