October 11 :
I love October. Perhaps a bit like Molly Peacock's opening statement in "Why I am not a Buddhist". I love the "state of want and thought // of how to get.
There is something "tattered" about the leaves falling, in all their crimson, golden, royal glory.
A reminder that nothing is permanent.
& is such a sign. Ampersand. Put a line between two backward "C's" )( -- and a Greek letter schoots (scoots and shhhhh's?) across the page. et per se. etc.
Man and his symbols and constantly changing language -- and how love moves through it -- whether in ee cummings, "love is a place..." or Molly's poem.
Yes is a world
& in this world of
yes live
(skillfully curled)
all worlds.
Ashbery : p 11 "A Worldly Country" --
Like a Photograph.
"It will be all over in a minute you said. We both
believe that, and the clock's ticking: Flame on, flame on.
McLuhan on photography: you lose the experience. What we are left with depends not on the clicked instant, but the attention we bring to each moment. And then Emily started to sing
"Our little house is a very fine house,
all made out of ticky-tacky..."
I shared the Patrick Graybill's "mime" of Richard Cory
and a poem by Robert Creeley (from Bly's little book "Leaping Poetry".
Kore: one of those Greek sculptures of a clothed woman, feet together...
and a double flute makes her move
"O love / where are you // leading // me now ?
This intriguing click in a poem which stays in one part of the psyche -- a poetry of "steady light" vs. leaping flashes. As if the poem is tethering down the mind to stop any chaos.
Ashbery's "A Worldly Country" is the opposite --
from insane clocks; scent, and end-rhymed lines which contain everything in real time, novel time -- "In short all hell broke loose that wide afternoon".
But at night? Peace. How sleep offsets the great ungluing.
And just as waves are anchored to the bottom of the sea
we must reach the shallows before God cuts us free.
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