Saturday, February 02, 2008

Last Year

I go thru hell
Everytime I see you
And you don't disappear
With me

The meaning of this
Film a ghoulish Europe seeks
Its exhausted dead when
We were little

Universes her gasp
Escaped from anywhere
A portal in the air
Where those who can't

Escape from thread
Reproduce despair
Multiply the survival
Of every possible name.

Monday, January 28, 2008

In Memory, Peter Hare (1935-2008)

Teacher, scholar of Pragmaticism, philosopher, gentleman...

Life is in the transitions as much as in the terms connected; often, indeed, it seems to be there more emphatically, as if our spurts and sallies forward were the real firing-line of the battle, were like the thin line of flame advancing across the dry autumnal field which the farmer proceeds to burn. In this line we live prospectively as well as retrospectively. It is 'of' the past, inasmuch as it comes expressly as the past's continuation; it is 'of' the future in so far as the future, when it comes, will have continued it.
~ William James

Sunday, January 27, 2008

Kocik / Levy*

If young men are killing not only themselves but also other innocent civilians with the backing of their people, you should be able to figure that out. It’s too much; you’re not listening. Keep reading. Nothing is in here. Poems, as Spicer reminds us, are written for ghosts—there is no point in *my* living life elsewhere, so this is the place to be.

Infinitely more

Are an infinite miracle

The beauty of something you can do when the attempt toward that thing, thoroughly promised, is penned to dissolve or resolve our hopelessly dated history in a way that feels like something true. Everything settles down from someone telling the stories in which everyone appears, i.e. the writer’s thought in the space of committing to thought. There’s a loosening and gathering into sense, an erasure and inscription of sapient terms that melt in the leavening of one state to another. The poetry of one’s self in relation to one’s self and all that self may be embodied by to others. There’s a gentle curvature in its reflection—it moves toward the readers who come.
~ from Andrew Levy's *Nothing is in Here*

*drawing titled "Amygdala Alembic Talisman," by Robert Kocik