Thursday, June 23, 2011

From Bill Knott's Latest Collection Murder/Suicide

which is available for free, as all of his books are, or you can pay a few bucks for a print copy via Lulu. This is the first poem from this edition. I had not read it before, but now I can't stop thinking about it.

1946


The year Noir was born; the year Nazis hid
In monasteries to restore their force;
Peace, but peace that made some things even worse
Than they were pre-war: I was just a kid,

Hard at play, cap pistols, hooky, apples
Filched through a farm fence: then my mother dies,
Killed illegal abortion style by guys
Quoting God, his badboy lies, his bibles.

Pope Vandal burnt the last Complete Sappho
Publicly, my mother was butchered in
A secret site; their results much the same,

So I blame him and him and him and him,
All of them from Adam onwards are men,
Meaning me, meaning the worst thing I know.
Note: In 1073, Pope Gregory VII ordered the public burning of all books containing the poetry of Sappho

Tuesday, June 14, 2011

from Three Variations, All About Love, by Philip Whalen

I love this poem so much I typed it in.


I.

So much to tell you
Not just that I love
There is so much more
You must hear and see

If I came to explain
It would do no good
Wordlessly nibbling your ear
Burying my face in your belly
All I would tell is you
And love; I must tell
Me, that I am a world
Containing more than love
Holding you and all your other
Lovers wherein you
And I are free from each other
A world that anyone can walk alone
Music, coathangers, the sea
Mountains,ink, trashy novels
Trees, pancakes, The Tokaido Road
The desert--it is yours

Refuse to see me!
Don't answer the door or the telephone
Fly off in a dragon-chariot
Forget you ever knew me

But wherever you are
Is a corner of me, San Juan Letran
Or Montreal,Brooklyn,
Or the Lion Gate

Under my skin at the Potala
Behind my eyes at Benares
Far in my shoulder at Port-au-Prince
Lifted in my palm

Anywhere you must be you
Drugged, drunk or mad
As old,as young, whatever you are
Living or dying the place will be me

And I alone the car that carries you away.

Monday, June 6, 2011

44 Joy Street Boston MA--John Wieners

I guess I have a project now. Take pictures of places where my favorite poets lived. It's fun, and gets me places I wouldn't normally go. Any suggestions?