Just a poem that came to me today, a day in which I’m opening space here in Prince George:
The sense of things
I have seen the texture of space
felt the sound of silence, falling in a wide open offering
tasted hesitancy and the sweetness of light
touching timewe sense into the most astonishing places together, you and I
into the tight cracking of possibility
screaming for releasewe let the humour of despair rest on our tongues,
choke our eyes with tears and scour our nostrils
with tendrils of acrid smoke.we walk together in circles
dizzy with the sensation of silent music
anxious that the soft holding
be strong enough to withstand the wails of pain and joy
that accompany liberationI have seen the music of leadership
arise to dance with chaos;watched the bitterness of hunger
fade into the dark recesses of the palette;heard the smooth and cool surface of flow
course through networks of veins;tasted the colour of peace:
its pure yellow flavour flecked with crimson notes;smelled the birth of worlds and the shifting of lives;
in ever opening space.
From whiskey river today:
The Artist’s Duty
So it is the duty of the artist to discourage all traces of shame
To extend all boundaries
To fog them in right over the plate
To kill only what is ridiculous
To establish problem
To ignore solutions
To listen to no one
To omit nothing
To contradict everything
To generate the free brain
To bear no cross
To take part in no crucifixion
To tinkle a warning when mankind strays
To explode upon all parties
To wound deeper than the soldier
To heal this poor obstinate monkey once and for all
To verify the irrational
To exaggerate all things
To inhibit everyone
To lubricate each proportion
To experience only experienceTo set a flame in the high air
To exclaim at the commonplace alone
To cause the unseen eyes to openTo admire only the absurd
To be concerned with every profession save his own
To raise a fortuitous stink on the boulevards of truth and beauty
To desire an electrifiable intercourse with a female alligator
To lift the flesh above the suffering
To forgive the beautiful its disconsolate deceitTo flash his vengeful badge at every abyss
To HAPPEN
It is the artist’s duty to be alive
To drag people into glittering occupationsTo blush perpetually in gaping innocence
To drift happily through the ruined race-intelligence
To burrow beneath the subconscious
To defend the unreal at the cost of his reason
To obey each outrageous impulse
To commit his company to all enchantments.
— Kenneth Patchen
The best facilitators, the best consultants and the best and truest helpers are like that too.
[tags]kenneth patchen[/tags]