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Three parts of a longer poem by George Albon, from his book Thousands Count Out Loud:
He reassured
himself with
himself with
the smallest,
the almost
unborn thought.
It held a
center that
harpies clawed.
*
It is going
between (the bus).
Part of me
will actually
miss this
music.
A gust of
wind like gale.
*
Waking,
life,
& white
shines out
from the blue
sky with
a sound in
it, window.
These put me in mind of the summeriness of today: clear moving air, with lots of blue and white in it. These poems come via: Overlap: Drew Gardner’s Blog.
And the title of Albon’s book, Thousands Count Out Loud is, I am sure, taken from Gertrude Stein’s A Grammerian:
Thousands count out loud.
The way thousands count out loud they do it with moving their lips.
Made a mountain out of.
Now this is perfectly a description of an emplacement.
If you think of grammar as a part.
Can one reduce grammar to one.
One two three all out but she
The way thousands count out loud they do it with moving their lips.
Made a mountain out of.
Now this is perfectly a description of an emplacement.
If you think of grammar as a part.
Can one reduce grammar to one.
One two three all out but she
Which I found quoted in a long essay about Stein’s creative non-fiction.
