Honestly, I'm a Liar, & Other Balances & Imbalances

May 2, 2015

FIREDANCE

Filed under: Uncategorized — Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , — namelessneed @ 6:18 am

“A man can bare himself before others only out of a particular kind of love. A love which acknowledges, as it were,that we are all wicked children”— Ludwig  Wittgenstein

Savagely,

I can dance around a fire.

If the spirits take notice,

If they’re drawn by this sight,

As  we   might  be

lured by the light

of dead stars, already,

If the spirits take notice of

Me at the blaze

My body and face,

(Not at all faking

What I choose  to let loose)

Shiny, and shaking  away my disease,

Let said spirits kindly

sign off on release.

.

.

.

(FROM 2012)

March 17, 2015

Try Another Dawn, Against Green Leather, On

I take my ten tablets.

Wash  ’em w/ Irish.

It’s my time

for medicine,

& no time for nonsense.

I’m ready I’ll try to pull hard

for a merciful god.

Finally I’ll try my hand

To move a pen

To move my words

To move me.

.

.

.

.                                  (from 2009, Slainte.)

December 8, 2014

MEDITATIVE/ Kafka’s “The Way Home”

The Way Home

by Franz Kafka
Translated by Willa and Edwin Muir

See what a persuasive force the air has after a thunderstorm! My merits become evident and overpower me, though I don’t put up any resistance, I grant you.

I stride along and my tempo is the tempo of all my side of the street, of the whole street, of the whole quarter. Mine is the responsibility, and rightly so, for all the raps on doors or on the flat of a table, for all toasts drunk, for lovers in their beds, in the scaffolding of new buildings, pressed to each other against the house walls in dark alleys, or on the divans of a brothel.

I weigh my past against my future, but find both of them admirable, cannot give either the preference, and find nothing to grumble at save the injustice of providence that has so clearly favored me.

Only as I come into my room I feel a little meditative, without having met anything on the stairs worth meditating about. It doesn’t help me much to open the window wide and hear music still playing in a garden.

December 4, 2014

PHANTASMAGLORIOUS

Oh  my

Secret mission is to dream  the dreams

That  visionarys  fly

.

Balthus/ Chagall/

Dorothea Tanning/

I see Cecily Brown/ Karen L. Darling/

Munch/ Klimt/

& Sol Halabi/

Falk/ & Kobliha/

Lars Elling/ I have Kanevsky/

.

Fevered Maddening  among jungles

Fervid colorings sing

These are a few of my favorite things

December 1, 2014

Explanation, from Mark Strand

Filed under: Uncategorized — Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , — namelessneed @ 4:52 am

STRAND

Well, I think what happens at certain points in my poems is that language takes over, and I follow it. It just sounds right. And I trust the implication of what I’m saying, even though I’m not absolutely sure what it is that I’m saying. I’m just willing to let it be. Because if I were absolutely sure of whatever it was that I said in my poems, if I were sure, and could verify it and check it out and feel, yes, I’ve said what I intended, I don’t think the poem would be smarter than I am. I think the poem would be, finally, a reducible item. It’s this “beyondness,” that depth that you reach in a poem, that keeps you returning to it. And you wonder, The poem seemed so natural at the beginning, how did you get where you ended up? What happened? I mean, I like that, I like it in other people’s poems when it happens. I like to be mystified. Because it’s really that place which is unreachable, or mysterious, at which the poem becomes ours, finally, becomes the possession of the reader. I mean, in the act of figuring it out, of pursuing meaning, the reader is absorbing the poem, even though there’s an absence in the poem. But he just has to live with that. And eventually, it becomes essential that it exists in the poem, so that something beyond his understanding, or beyond his experience, or something that doesn’t quite match up with his experience, becomes more and more his. He comes into possession of a mystery, you know—which is something that we don’t allow ourselves in our lives.

from interview in Paris Review./ http://www.theparisreview.org/interviews/1070/the-art-of-poetry-no-77-mark-strand

.

Mark Strand, April 11,1934-November 29,2014

October 27, 2014

Rendezvous At Raddisons

Every session
She’ll sit side by side
Then  settle  back
An old start on a new bed
.
Every second
I’ll awaken, I’ll newly recollect, I’d
Nearly be taken back  by
An old start upon a new bed

September 19, 2009

NORTHWEST TRILOGY

 

                      I.   IN  FLIGHT  MOVIE

I’d say Seattle’s a city that’ll likely

Set you so free that you’ll likely

Be reminded of the high flight where you might just

Find me,  plowing clouds way way above the bird play.

 

                       

                         

I see Seattle as a solution

Not too much a town to touch down to

Warm outstretched arms on a runway

To catch a wretched, falling runaway,

A getaway  on holiday.

 

 

                  II.     W A K E

“Guests must remain on the patio”

Insisted the sign in a winded sun.

I read it right there in my Adirondack chair

On a cliff so clearly steep.

I feel I might have fallen  deep

Narcoleptically Asleep again, Though surely

The luringly named

Pacific Ocean below

Drew me here, to it’s wake up here

This pace  maker  peace

could liven this

 

                           III

There’s this tree, I took three pictures there.

A tree creatively crooked

& pointing down most of the Oregon coastline.

At least three pictures.

It rather weathervaned the ocean edge

& pointed, as a staggeringly lovely hag

might with her stick. A crow

lights in her hair, & All of it

blown forward

down the edge.

 

 

 

seattle 09 032

July 4, 2009

4th of july

Filed under: Uncategorized — Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , — namelessneed @ 1:48 pm

http://sz0069.wc.mail.comcast.net/zimbra/mail#2

Hey, Baby

Filed under: Uncategorized — Tags: , , , , , , , , , — namelessneed @ 1:44 pm

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jgzruM7g24w&feature=email