Monday, October 10, 2005

fifty fish, twice

this is an old October piece that seemed fitting for the season. below are pages scanned from John Yau's Forbidden Entries, published by Black Sparrow, & below that, my answers to every question. it was issued as a kind of challenge, & i believe it even made it into Mr. Yau's hands at some point that autumn. i apologize for the markings on the poem; i have a terrible tendency to make notes.


Fifty for John Yau

The air of smoke & specific light writes this signature of space. Every other air is wider. Objects once fragments of porcelain & plastic & nonsense. Found or located. They’re not separate. Each objective line now meant defines the room. I have come from a square of grass, a sidewalk patch, sandy brokenglass curbs. The visual memory of space becomes a topographical map of the inside out of my mind. I walked through light to a corner & hitched my ride in a car that won’t start. I will walk out of here in cold sunflower canopies, sundown leaves. This is where I unfold words into physics, & where I sleep. The shady fact: all else is equally possible. Atmospheres: it wears my smell in its planar wood. The names of those faces that creep, hover between my eyelids & the currents of this molecular sea. Swim with me, soft propulsion into the galaxies of speech. Words to say tomorrow. This is not home, caught in separate calendars. Schizophrenic, daydream delusional boxes, I diagram my soul on pages. To speak you would wreck you, challenge this fluttery space to change. Lines of poetics & photographs & nothing academic. The kind of awareness that watches for patterns. I am whole & part & still paying attention. Maybes are mathematically endless & I don’t know if I’m here or not. Walk as points of reference. I connect scenes in new fractals in the rebirth of my catacombed skull. I translate. I am inside my headspace & it’s inside me & I’m inside my headspace. Room of dimensions. Outside is: characters of peripheral movement, call of trains. Invisible here are bodies, holyskinned conversations left in residual cells & imprint. The only real things are translations of air, light, memories. This is the culmination of every word I’ve spoken, & theories of the unsaid. I am therefore you might be. I am also simultaneous & several other places at once. What place does not exist? To stand & creaking stretch I hold my neck taller & lift to possible conclusions. The dimnesses between sleep & sleep more musical, more montage of touch. Stage scene & burrow, multidimensional plot of interior dialogue. I spoke every centimeter into place. The electric isn’t mine, the backlog of negatives not named. I write soundtracks. I need to remember those murals of expression. I don’t care what time it is, he’s at the edge. With this scent in hand I will prepare for dreaming. Silence is a stone, is mine. This place is intersecting sound & said, will trickle over its windowsills into general cauldrons of thought. Moves litany like a music box. The texture of cloth is also the collected impulse, these three days. Driven down my spinal cord. These blocks, arrangements of gravity, naked environmental. Here I give names to physical laws, create devotional clocks to mark events. Names a portrait gallery, alleyways to tangle in a delta of body language. This place breeds names aloud & fills my space of gardens. I record calligraphy of face, pour libations of accident into running ink. There is only escape for repetition. I articulate the traveled touch & sift static for syllable. Thread a ribbon dance of possible voice, tilt my ear for quiets of the dreamlike. I’ll prepare a speech grin & wash it through gutters. Cannot predict the immediate. It means the last poise of an answer & an open throat. Everything for the first time, & I swear this happened at once. I will sleep & pretend I know, in masks, & still painting space.

October, 2001.

10 little fish:

Blogger forgottenmachine swam up to say...

That's just clever. Really really clever.

There is nothing more satisfying from a reader's perspective, then fighting off the temptation to gloss over and investing instead in following. I followed, and it lead me to the ocean.

2:21 AM  
Blogger mysfit swam up to say...

which exactly where her fish often leads her too, FM :)

yay - i love seeing TIME SOUP pop up in the middle of your poems - hmmm, in light of recent issues, etc., i think it'd be interesting for you to answers all the questions now, where you are now, in SI (though maybe not post the responses ;P)

11:27 AM  
Blogger juniper pearl swam up to say...

i interned at godine for six months and came to absolutely adore chris carduff, the current managing editor of the black sparrow catalog. i'm always happy to see them get a nod. :)

that's not true about the squirrels, by the way. sure, they can be flighty and narcissistic, but who can't? within the entire population there are more than a few who possess some highly pertinent information.

11:49 AM  
Blogger jenn see swam up to say...

machine: clever, eh? for some reason that i can't quite pinpoint i tend to twitch a little when i hear that word...it's probably something weird in my subconcious.
glad you resisted the temptation to skim, i know sometimes i build poems like brick walls.

& all things eventually lead to the ocean.

mysfit: maybe i will, it'd be safer than rewriting "Tracking the Conscious October". (wink)

& since i was living with you when i wrote this, it's inescapable that Time Soup ended up in there somewhere. you're a walking demonstration, & you make numerous appearances in my poems, as i'm sure you're well aware.

juniper: i'm always pleased to give a nod to good people. i like to think that John Yau liked my poem...

at some point i'm really going to have to tell the tale of Tuesday & her army of ninja squirrels. names of course will be changed to protect the...er, innocent.

1:48 PM  
Blogger theleftsock swam up to say...

all things lead everywhere.

12:05 AM  
Blogger mysfit swam up to say...

no - all roads lead to Rome and a logical contradiction implies everything

10:30 AM  
Blogger theleftsock swam up to say...

and if a frog had wings?

4:09 PM  
Blogger mysfit swam up to say...

it could fly

4:22 PM  
Blogger theleftsock swam up to say...

to the moon.

9:55 PM  
Blogger mysfit swam up to say...

on shoes of steel and paper caps

with steve

"punqh"

10:54 AM  

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