Professional Documents
Culture Documents
i was
always embarrassed
by the words,
sacred,
glori o us,
and
sacrifice,
in
vain.
we heard them
sometimes standing
in the r
a
i
n
on proclamations
that were
slapped up by billposters
over
other proclamations,
if
except
to bury it.
kafka's last words
no icebox
only part of the process
of being out and making do
in the creeping of autumn
into time
when the fiction is over, the myth boarded up
the train parked, the sheep asleep
and the longing wrestled,
but rested
white canoe
(after peter doig)
i.m. joan
there is a light
rolling when fences come down
and locally quarried stone bleeds the undergrowth of reckoning:
a stilled train on an empty track
cloud flocks over humbled terraces
the green within the heather
and the huge bright sword of rainbow
mirrored
on a process to somewhere else
by factories facing north
tarmac vibrating the red
and ploughed field bends in crystal skies
there is a light
whipped in the thickened grass of mid-September evenings
in the pattern of a guardsman's waistcoat
a tiny tree from a distance
the red of the signal stop
and the pines under cirrostratus in Northumbria
starlings at dusk
the edge of hayfields under blue and partings in hair
in the loss of folk
on a process to somewhere else
cows black against green
and the solitude of a lighthouse
the last great romantic war
It was a town
an inestimable fraction in size
of a real town some miles away
under the hills and rains of Austerlitz;
a wooden miniature
in which a shop had little loaves carved from lolly sticks
and a puddle-lake homed whale-minnows
by the matchbox church;
it was a miniature Wednesday
a little time in the middle of a smaller week
in the crack of the licorice-stick schoolyard gates
and the roofs of the farm barns built from book covers
in the compressed village
in an opening to a short-story I found
in a book of stories on an orange seat
of a tube train built by Metro Cammell ninety-four years ago
part of the D stock wrapping its way through Chiswick:
there it goes past Ravenscourt
on a Wednesday in January
that I’ll enter in a few moments time
ten years ago.
urban history
the
i n c a r n a t i o n
that greets Gatsby
must be warm
or a form of slow-motion
s n o w slow
new jersey ode (2005-07-16 @ 5:17 p.m.)
History
is in stasis
Everything is visible
below the surface
Eventually ceases to
be water
In oils, right?
Black? Yep, jet black night
Deep background, no light save a flamboyant spray of purple for moon
With hand-scythed hay, a pressed field as the middle, using a knife
Below the veranda of the house on stilts
A wooden American-type thing, bamboo colours from candlelight
But just the decking in view; Foreground? Yep,
But this bit: torn by a tremendous gale and loose impressionist rain
Rabid, a man, sanding a rocking-chair
With all the diligence and envy of a honey-bee.
writing pastoralles centralle
6 may 08
the blue cat dreams of the planets created for you
[* Gk. Kobalt, Kobald: lit. 'fairy, demon']
Cow-cat chewing
grassy telescope-bored dreams
tuning into the disposition of sea-horses
argot smoulder
causes of wind, tides of hay
and moonbeam quiverings.
Sea-cat non-bedevilled
by the pebbly perception
in Damascan afternoons
comet flotsam
the spectrum of gesture
nor currencies' shorelines, tidal repetitions.
the wondrous new water feature and buckled radii in Saint Andrews
Square with cornered micro coffee house is not enough for us:
let’s meet
under Houckgeest’s classical swan-contemplative,
‘Architectural Fantasy’
then gasp at the Academy’s flat-line and faultless Finlay Room airs
of cloud undersides,
asymmetrical armour
and trademark Scotia sublime latitudes --
WE
in freckles, in festivity
in fertility and futurity)
‘The great fact all the while however had been the incalculability,
allowing, in the most liberal manner,
for brilliancy of change;’
[Acorns, being too heavy for wind dispersal, require other elements
to spread. Oaks therefore depend on biological seed dispersal agents
to move the acorns beyond the mother tree and into a suitable area
for germination (including access to adequate water, sunlight and
soil nutrients) ideally a minimum of 20–30 m from the parent tree]
In literature they have long been a symbol of patience (can take
between 6-24months to mature).
[my bergson poem:]
not immutability
the discussion o
n the subject of
free will would
come to an end
if we saw oursel
ves where we are
really, in a co
ncrete duration
where the idea o
f necessary dete
rmination loses
all significance
, since in it th
e past becomes i
dentical with th
e present and co
ntinuously creat
es with it - if
only by the fact
of being added
to it - somethin
g absolutely new
mount eden the fifth
try to imagine
a city
with two harbours
(siblings or lovers)
stretching into the suburb’s sleep:
crippled octopus metropolis
crackered city to sing
of blitzing pockets
firework veined
phosphorous lightning
with far off fisher-folk
morning-star guided and reigned
by near whispering November trade winds
while every block
wades into
the momentous musical mystery
of sea-torn sparkling southern-hemisphere halos
under
and above
the watery Auckland moon
New Year Hangover Punctum
The gap between what you said and what you wished you knew or felt
Did not make the subject of the comportment of your breath, or the
locus of meaning half-said
Just empty
You played the card dealer as you were painting the crystalline
structure of..
Whatever
The emptiness that is working you, and you hate it,
Is unreadable to you
Messengers!
As the horse is to the open field
The dolphin to sea
And the man is to the dream
When I went out
To gather daffodils
In the Spring meadows
I enjoyed myself
So much that I walked home by the moon
And found the skies, once again silent
unnamed by e.e. cummings