There is some amazing writing and thinking going on at Interconnected at the moment.
I can’t pretend to understand most of what he is saying in the posts that follow, but it makes for a highly time-intensive and challenging browse.
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Three parts of a longer poem by George Albon, from his book Thousands Count Out Loud:
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:
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.
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If you live in Vancouver (or even if you don’t) and you want to be treated to an amazing piece of aural art, phone (604) 696-1328.
Thanks to Cup of Chicha for the tip.
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Thanks to my friend Brian Creswick (whose website will be up this week), I’ve discovered the hilarious and surreal poetry and song of Ivor Cutler:
Cutler is a strange man, and his poems and songs, which he has read and performed on the BBC’s Peel Sessions as well as at festivals and events around the world, are whimsical pieces of aural art, by turns very funny and somehow poignant and sad, as if they have all been written in a minor key. For years he accompanied himself on harmonium, sounding like a Scottish Alan Ginsberg. His poetry needs to be heard to be appreciated. But in case you don’t have a soundcard, here is a little one to read:
The happiness of birds is not reflected in their faces. Strictly, birds do not have a face, just an arrangement of organs around the head. If a hen looks badtempered, it is due to a superficial disposal of its features, and if you place your ear by its beak, it may be heard humming a contemporary dance tune in a happy, thready fashion.
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The entire cosmos copulation. And each thing is word, word of love. Only love reveals but it veils what it reveals, alone it reveals, alone lover and beloved in the illuminated solitude, the nights of the lovers, word that never passes while the water flows beneath the bridge and the slow moon above the houses passes.
— Ernesto Cardenal Cosmic Canticle, Cantiga 2: “The Word”
"What's you understanding, general, of that first force?" The journalist Belausteguigoitia asked. Sandino replied: "As a conscious force. Initially it was love. That love creates, evolves. But everything is eternal. And we are moving towards life being not a passing moment but an eternity, through the multiple facets of the ephemeral."
— Ernesto Cardenal Cosmic Canticle, Cantiga 12: “Birth of Venus”
I am noticing lots of pieces of writing out there which are trying to find ways of understanding the primal creation in terms of it’s echo in the universe that we have come to inhabit. Of course, Cardenal’s masterwork continually points us in this direction. So too does Edgar Allen Poe’s “Eureka: A prose poem.” And also this, from Bruce Cockburn:
Lord of the starfields
Ancient of Days
Universe Maker
Here’s a song in your praise
Wings of the storm cloud
Beginning and end
You make my heart leap
Like a banner in the wind
O love that fires the sun
Keep me burning.
Lord of the starfields
Sower of life,
Heaven and earth are
Full of your light
Voice of the nova
Smile of the dew
All of our yearning
Only comes home to you
O love that fires the sun
keep me burning
I’m on a bit of a kick with this stuff at the moment. Know of any other pieces that fit the mold?