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

November 27, 2016

THERE’S FOG

Filed under: Uncategorized — Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , — namelessneed @ 10:39 am

 

 

“Life is short, and Art long; the crisis fleeting; experience perilous, and decision difficult.”  -Hippocrates

.“In the fog you are sheltered against the outside world, face to face with your inner self. Nebulat ergo cogito.” (fog therefore I think) -Umberto Eco

May 24, 2016

surrendering you senseless

Filed under: Uncategorized — Tags: , , , , , , , , — namelessneed @ 12:13 pm

Schlafwagen und Wunderkammer (Richard James Allen)

Posted on May 24, 2016 by in Heightened Talk

FullSizeRender(‘Schlafwagen und Wunderkammer’ is German for ‘sleeper’
or ‘sleeping car’ and
 ‘cabinet of curiosities’ or ‘wonder room’)

you are on the night train to Vienna
and you have already arrived in Berlin
you are about to walk home in Sydney
and you must dash back out to see
the play that is now more popular
than Hamlet in London

you are cold in your high sleeper bed
that you collapsed into
when the night heat came on
suddenly in a rush
without getting under the covers
that are now cold
that you collapsed into

you are wrapped in an old overcoat
you don’t remember owning
dreaming of trying to stay warm
in a high-raked hall of a tall-walled university
listening to a lecture on the mechanics of flashback
and your mind keeps wandering to a back shed
somewhere beyond the Wall in East Germany
full of homemade contraptions that were far too unreconstructed
ever to be sent to a Dickensian-looking patent office
piled high with yellowing documents
that curl like nineteenth century moustaches

you are in the long tail of a tall tale
a cat coiled up in itself asleep
the way those big ropes
that secure ships to their ports
are coiled into perfect circles
by nameless foreign seamen
the forever migrant workers
circling the globe
only one of whom
ever gets off the boat
to become Joseph Conrad

you are being asked by your roommate
your bunkmate your companion
what do you call someone
travelling with you on a night train
in one of the lower bunks
a person who for reasons unknown
shall remain nameless
to set an alarm so that she yes she
that much you can know
can wake up before the guard
who has no English comes with the croissants

you are sure you are reassuring her that you have
and it may be that you have
but you don’t remember in which country
or time zone you would have have-have-have done so
though you like the idea
that this act of thoughtfulness
may have occurred
and you being the enactor
if not the instigator of it

you are thinking that you may have to be the alarm clock yourself
though your clock hands are wrapped inside your imaginary overcoat
and not a lot about the rest of you resembles a device
for the capture and distribution of time

you are of the opinion that when you fell into this  sleep  in  a  cocoon  of  vibration  you
were  sure  or  at  least fairly certain that  it  would be a normal sleep that  is  to say just
like any other sleep but on the contrary  it  feels  as  if  you have been having the whole
history  of  consciousness downloaded into the data banks  of  your  body  which for an
unspecified period  of  time have replaced your usual cells but this  is  most odd as you
are  not  sure  if  you  believe  any more that consciousness  has  a  history  though  you
might  go  so far  as  to  offer  that it gets woven in to history finally realising that it was
only ever  a  visitor  to  the aforesaid state  of  you are not sure what really playing hide
and seek  in  the winding corridors and hallways of time and personality a game  it  got
caught up in but now understands it can step away from any time it wishes to exit
time that is to say whenever it no longer wishes to be part of
the here and the now
and the then and the to come

Knock, knock, knock!

so the question the guard asks you
in English by the way
is not would you care for some breakfast
but are you ready to be awoken from this dream of timelessness
or would you prefer to remain in a room of marvels
a disembodied spectacular down the rabbit hole of the fantasia elevator
taking up semipermanent residence in the cross-eyed manifesto
of time masterpieces of continuous previousness
a conspiracy of angels flocking in all directions at the holy speed of intuition
as you learn to live in the fantastic space

 

____________________________________________________________

smaller-cropped-Richard-James-Allen-portrait-by-Saba-Vasefi-Copyright-©-2016-The-Physical-TV-CompanyRichard James Allen’s ten books of poetry, fiction and performance texts include Fixing the Broken Nightingale(Flying Island Books), The Kamikaze Mind(Brandl & Schlesinger) and Thursday’s Fictions (Five Islands Press), shortlisted for the Kenneth Slessor Prize for Poetry.  He won the Chancellor’s Award for most outstanding PhD thesis at UTS.  Widely published in anthologies, journals and online for over thirty years, Allen has been the recipient of numerous awards, nominations, grants, as well as opportunities for presentations, screenings and broadcasts, in a unique international career as an acclaimed writer, director, choreographer and performer. Further information: http://ww.physicaltv.com.au & http://www.poetrylibrary.edu.au/poets/allen-richard-james.

April 11, 2015

P A L P A B L E

Filed under: Uncategorized — Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , — namelessneed @ 7:39 am

 

Neruda’s ” impalpable ash”

Chants away/

In the fray of my own tiny ruins.

.

If I touch/ near the fire/

Impalpable ash..”

Chimes away/

And supports the clearing away  all

Insubstantial,

Makes way to take less blinding steps away

From  cave  to  climax

I’ve come to have left out

Crucial  rescue  tools

From my matutinal

Lost-combination locked bag of tricks.

In touch  information

Out

 

 

January 26, 2015

A NEW POET (by Linda Pastan

Filed under: Uncategorized — Tags: , , , , , , — namelessneed @ 8:42 am

A New Poet

Linda Pastan

Finding a new poet
is like finding a new wildflower
out in the woods. You don’t see

its name in the flower books, and
nobody you tell believes
in its odd color or the way

its leaves grow in splayed rows
down the whole length of the page. In fact
the very page smells of spilled

red wine and the mustiness of the sea
on a foggy day – the odor of truth
and of lying.

And the words are so familiar,
so strangely new, words
you almost wrote yourself, if only

in your dreams there had been a pencil
or a pen or even a paintbrush,
if only there had been a flower.

April 17, 2014

GETHEMANE

There ought better be a beacon
on a pacific coast cliff could be
where hope’s light works with a sea horn
where a night light works with a warning
forces & forges the blackest fog & forests

There can be a candle
in a window with enough heat
to fire the hearth
to light one lone solitary stone room
.
(from 2010)
.
.
.
.
.
.”Writing is nothing more than a guided dream” -Jorge Luis Borges

July 12, 2013

1 RHYME 4 NOW

Filed under: Uncategorized — Tags: , , , , , , , , , , — namelessneed @ 10:04 am

B4

7:44 am

the lawn man gone & begun

the back 40

B4 the dead’s morning dew 

had dried  he tried

B4 I’d tried a poem (1ce more)

he won’t wait to test the waters

he won’t stall off fallshort falters

he don’t palm off paltry gestures from loiterers

good things won’t cum to those who wait

for a rainier day

I would think

nor a plainer way

 

 

 

 

May 17, 2013

More “Creation Themes” I Found While (Not) Looking For Something Else

Filed under: Uncategorized — Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , — namelessneed @ 1:24 pm

 

i)

s t  I N K

.

of all the lies

in the air

that this liar

is truly unaware of

(is  ’truly’  the right word?)

of all the lies

casual and caressing there

the air currents  n

night-blooming jasmine

the golden ones have come from…

(I’ve told em. All alchemy.)

emboldened lies, all born, I imagine,

from an open pen draining onto pages,

.

from nothing.

ii).

.

.

I’VE   IVORY

.

Shiny gold pen when an old

Shade-off light bulb

(it can be a candle)

Best  Klieg-lights this  crèche ,

Best showcases this birthplace.

.

On my knees

To lure verities,  (surely,  scour our trees)

To cure maladies,

Wrest fallacies from unsound foundations,

Whisper one less lonely

Wise,  recognizable incantation.

Take this shiny gold pen…!

.

It’s nearby,  go forth,  go further.

I clear my path,

&  Go over…

&  I’ve  Ivory!

Simba’s  mammoth  cemetery!

(they must go deep)

Precious sunned bones poised on  as symbols

Archetexture   actually

I take a sacred see of symmetry

.

iii)

When poetry’s  god the old notions

When poetry goes poetry in motion

All of a sudden certain

Privileged glimpses are blurting out

.

All of a sudden

Uncertain unseen forces

Focus on instances, my wording output

(shushshush  on my sources)

It’s a code I can tap

Out

.

April 5, 2013

Fulgurates

Filed under: Uncategorized — Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , — namelessneed @ 12:06 pm

It’s a fact

I think

The shadows have been acting up

Their glint fulgurates   My way

On the very very side

Distracting

Me  away from  whatever

It clearly demanded

My attention

.

I always turn my head

March 22, 2013

Happy Birthday Stephen Sondheim

Filed under: Uncategorized — Tags: , , , , , , , , — namelessneed @ 9:58 am

http://www.colbertnation.com/the-colbert-report-videos/368532/december-14-2010/stephen-sondheim

January 16, 2013

I D L I N G

Filed under: Uncategorized — Tags: , , , , , , , , , — namelessneed @ 6:19 am

 

 

IDLING

.

.

 

She’s just outside sitting still in

Her man’s idling sedan

I’m thinking

He’s had a head that does drowsy

1)With a sleep  I bet burns,

2)Hand-held tools he looks far beyond,

For his sake,

3)Folded  wings.

 

.

.

.

    PATIENCE         – Kay Ryan
 
Patience is
wider than one
once envisioned,
with ribbons
of rivers
and distant
ranges and
tasks undertaken
and finished
with modest
relish by
natives in their
native dress.
Who would
have guessed
it possible
that waiting
is sustainable—
a place with
its own harvests.
Or that in
time’s fullness
the diamonds
of patience
couldn’t be
distinguished
from the genuine
in brilliance
or hardness.

 

 
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