Wednesday, August 22, 2012

"...I stay noise..."

Marked a finish line with the Desert Poem "( Kiln )" and that is that ( deserted ): 

                          ... series the

 fingertips, evictions, of months  

 of projections / of  

 everyone chipped scalds 
 off the car, out  
 in this repeating

   mar / I stay noise ...


From SF Moma lingering: Leon Golub's "Mercenaries"

David Park's "The Figure":


Been into the Oppen.  His certainty, the detailing, Poundian appreciation of the bucolic ( stripped of the Japanese and re-set into the urbans of America ), the omnitemporal ( yet/thus elegiac ) quality of the poet's treatment of objects and processes, a comprehension that is itself poetic, with little assumed or illegitimate prolificacy, things are just this important.

"...The distinction of what one does 
And what is done to him blurrs 

Bodies dream selves
For themselves

From the substance 
Of the cold..."

"...How forget that? How talk
Distantly of 'the People'?

Who are the people? that they are

That force within the walls
Of cities...

To use
Words provided one treat them
As enemies --Ghosts
Which have run mad
In the subways
And of course the institutions
And the banks...

And not only victims, and they may have come to the end
Of all that, and if they have
They may have come to the end of it..."

"Parallel lines do not meet
And the compass does not spin, this is the interval
In which they do not...

In which things explain each other.
Not themselves..."

"...More in it
Or seem to,
It is our home.
Wolves may hunt

With wolves, but we will lose
Humanity in the cities
And the suburbs, stores

And offices
In simple

It is a place.
Nothing has entered it.
Nothing has left it.
People are born

From those who are there. How have I forgotten...

How have we forgotten
That which is clear, we
Dwindle, but that I have forgotten
Tortures me..."