Monday, April 1, 2019

Selected Poetry, Gregory Botts, A Painter's Commentary




It is a happy coincidence that Poetry Month and the release of my collection of poems should
coincide.

View Poem Here:
https://www.blurb.com/b/9811242-selected-poetry

Sunday, January 12, 2014

See He'd filled it uP here: http://hedfilleditup.blogspot.com #8, below



See He'd filled it uP here: 

http://hedfilleditup.blogspot.com







#8, He’d filled it uP.




still dragging Hektor by the hair
around the arena, 
except for the meaning in the word,
life had been such a glut
trying to be beyond 




17. 
that weariness of the next,
walking Jackson’s beach
and it was strange
the real rag weed there in autumn
sun setting on Louse Point. 

He bent down 
and the crickets became large
and the noise deafening
became the stars and 
the crickets in the grass

blared Pollock’s tinny voice 
saying, “ the Maud--ern artist--”
Whitman would hold his own,
Paumanok, Heaven
here in the rustling long lines 

vanishing--
the hatch and over hatch
the cricket--
the aurora of the ever flashing
mystery, the net

over everything
flavoring reality
the gems of the moment
flashing





at Mountain height on his Box.


18.
His arms upraised 
He felt alive
the overbrimming ideas that 
came from following the orders
and the side road’s 

meander
the drawing recognized in a dream
drawing everywhere in the Subway--
a language developing 
in hieroglyphic form

might well speak
what was this reduction saying
he tried to protect this radical from 
decoration, that’s what he 
meant by the tourist

how could they do that, 
weren’t they worried 
by the square miles 
of dead trees,
a part of ourselves





a cycling then
as it falls
comes round

a necessary
fragmentation
a beauty
in the system
the beauty of it

Crispin said,
Yes, it was enough in the 
field catching the butterflies
though it seems a joke to Jack now
at this embarrassed distance

We didnt do enough,
Jack packed up the paint box
that bird at the top of the tree 
grasped that moment
and it did-- all exist, turning

to Katsina Face
Picasso owned
he was there at Chimayo too
copying the Christs
he made Gertrude from that

Jack wasn’t sure he ever would
she never sat still enough 
Crispin thought the landscape 
looked sad
there is a strange silence


20.
in that heat 
the thunderstorms rumbling 
still far, the lightning 
in the darkening sky.





silently skipping

compared to that memory of Susie’s 
snowflake in the air shaft
a bluebird flies through and
a leaf twirls between fingers
amazed

these metaphorical gods 
all Crispin had-- or wanted
ThE BluE GreeN OrB
what more?
in the eternal zooming of space

racing ahead to look back at the 
steady blaze of exuberance
here on the edge of wild 





Jack hiked up his pants
His soul

yet undefined like a poetry
comin’ by in revolution
slow and speeding to perihelion
gone and into stars
He still liked the idea 

of golden future an ideal thought 
before a night of dreams 
rising hope of morning
one more
Summer moment,

image or metaphor 
to compare to the low setting sun 
each day, was enough




it’s own memorial


3.
Jack was reading 
of the shaman skipping 
and jumping, across vast spaces
to Siberia and back
over the positive and negative 

magic of pottery shard
labyrinthine maze of life it mirrored
spinning mandala
You have no use for.
This is, where, the, serpent, lives.

In the constellation turning above 
in the dizzying moment 
of thought turning
in the green orange purpling
to dark

Vermont was green hills and 
black eyed susans bobbing
Jack saw Alex everywhere
the black tumbling water
Crispin would describe it 

in a similar language
he was from the same place
and interior wood





RoarinG 
through Kansas 
the ScareCroW crossed his ArMS 
pointing every which way
Jack was making it all up

He wasn’t even sure if Crispin agreed
knowing damn well Achilles 
certainly would not
he was still still dragging 
his foe 

around by the hair
he didn’t even know why
at this point
it was the Rage
at his own death

ahead on this 
wonderful road 
he saw that
the cool air,
Childlike Achilles





ideal, 
Jack guessed 

was the flOweR
PrizE, 
how he kept on
the profane having turned 
to the opposite

garbage metaphor 
standing in for
confused time
it is all guarded by a copy 
of ourselves!

the minotaur 
out to destroy
he is us
he creates and destroys
our soul to keep

the blank in our eye
black and white striped 
whale descending 
and through bubble wake 
ascending to poof 







in Sun
and flower motion 
and golden-rayed flowers
and distance from flower 
to ash, and night

and day, were and will be 
the WorldS
back around
like “the EartH  
from space.” 

spinning 
circuit, turning
SurprisE and ExageratioN
Pleasure in the AbstracT MinD
and BeautY, the Black and death 

and WinteR mind of
seasonal Mythos 
explaining this
Change which equals 
our own--

and reconciling, 
these opposite colors 
of Black and White 
and pigment paint--






Jack as plain as America,  
presented itself, and
made a World.
It would be enough.
The Earth.



#7, He’d filled it uP.

#7, He’d filled it uP.




and goings on the NEW 
WOrlD, worleD, twirled
flying rushing thoughts

It’s ThE EartH, StupiD!
turned round upon themselves
turn, turn, turn
Sometimes I like to paint
the scene in front of me.

Sometimes I like to remember 
the scene, and simplify 
the arrangement 
things in the Imagination.
Jack thought there should 

remain some reverence 
he, Jack, Henry, and the Company
had all--
struggled beyond, some failed at this
The Henry’s were struggling 

behind, 
Jack meant,
how could that foolin around 
out there 
get us any where?
well Crispin was way beyond 

A job-- there was none for Jack
He would write his nonsense trying to
spin it Rumpilstiltskin like into goldlike, 
sense but 
not the green cash 

4.
you have in mind
you had forgotten the real gold 
in this metaphor,
a meta beyond,
and you don’t believe in beyond,

the doubling otherness of every idea 
in heaven of our thoughts
Heaven is ok 
if just here in my mind 
under my mountain.

Just don’t make any promises





by the fence post,
 in the milk weed
the ole weed around the 

cycle, through a sublime 
moment in the sun
just the thought is sublime itself
and dies
as our saving-- 
self

in the sunset promising 
at the very least 
tomorrow but then Jack 
had his poem to take along and 
increase that chance of any hope,

this was for you, 
Save Yourself!
back to the dream and 
lowly beginnings
the leaves 


6.
were blowing in the shopping malls 
and corporate headquarters
and here I am in Kansas, damn!
I have to get this right
each revolution 

had to increase, Jack felt 
he was spinning, 
not just his wheels and 
he liked the spinning idea 
of the earth, and the spinning 

of everything else along-
He was driving 285 
south from Denver
this Hero going his own way--
that town, that city, that urban affair

hid what he came here to see 
that diamonded 
clank changing chance 
crop, fragmenting--
big idea! dying 

before it had any chance to be
TruE
They thought they needed more
  guns, Jack wrote on
his horse sauntering

in the whithering sage,
naked on that horse 
with an older god
out there
he felt he was the very earth 

7.
spinning, 
floating in his oasis 
of thought, Jack thought, 
“ I am it, it is I.”
Achilles took it apart and 

Crispin was wanting 
to put it back together
figuring out 
what it might mean 
realizing as he wrote it meant just 

this, and why Jack kept on
It was good just going 
to the hardware store 
the mountain clarity and 
snow on peak, blowing

he remembered the prayer flags 
though he had disregarded 
the warning of bad luck
Jack was the hilarious fella,
extreme in the page.

a little poof, or puff--
Prophetic intention.
Looking back on his City
his Bridge
talking about the weather

the prophesy 
Crispin kept to himself though
you might overhear him
out on the edge of the Village.
The real Apocalypse is no Apocalypse--




Why? is it yet unfound--

The Earth creating itself, 
we all, in the stars revolving
City and Country disappeared
The sunset painting into violet
color and MilKy Way

into Sunrise
the cycles circles
and Universe and
moments between
the black 

and the white
circling
all passing, revolving
here again
in the stars

Jack stood there in disbelief 
Achilles looked at the towers
Crispin looked at the Aspens
They were jumping out of the building 





Gaia herself was putting 
it all together into a spinning 
One thing
we were mirroring 

what was, 
in our minds what we 
comprehended even beyond seeing
our thoughts were the 
characters, for this constant 

narrative unfolding in our heads 
a hall of mirrors 
reflecting to an infinity
all compared to ideals, and 
dreams of objects that

may or not be,
Jack was seeing that this 
structure was a preoccupation 
beyond the thing, 
where it fit 

in the whole order.
Leviathan diving and 
surfacing in a rhythm,
seen in the stars.
Even the Bang! 

One.
Surface 
we name ourselves --feel 
attached to
getting a glimpse







he enacted the change. 
He pursued and never let up.
So you might not like the square 
blocking 

what you thought to be--
to be out there
it was Heaven really
why should it just be handed to one?
Maybe the Bang! 


15.
and a turning--
Crispin thought the differing aspects 
expressed it best and none 
were perfect or ideal or 
transcended this process.

Jack thought of this 
entering the west 4th Street Station
he had a pocket full of drawings 
Subway drawings 
they kept this thought present 

and he felt a bit of a sage, 
that meant crazy mad,
Prophetic

Just what was there, he saw.





#6, He’d filled it uP.

#6, He’d filled it uP.



and cringed 
at the sharp thought 

of that extreme, 
jerk-- 
would be and so far
from the form 
of Tom’s white fence, all slicked 

and new in the Summer Grass 
gleaming Green 
and that it really would turn out 
safe in Texas, 
safe as Texas, 





17.
safe as Texas in Texas,
David’s father would always be madly 
in love with the eaRtH
magical wand of 
Presence

here, and 
Gone-- Fort DA!
everything is somewhat 
the same 
and 

floating in Heaven 
of thought, remembered
in a dance in firelight
origin and 
Time lapse of-- Bang! and 

the evolutions 
towards our own moment
all crashing 
in a rapids of river time 
up over and down
Really explosive 


time a continuing Big Bang!
so why did Jack think this rough exaggerated 
approach 
worth the while, 
the style

Crispin liked, seeing how it 
was all hammered together.
organizing the content of 
one’s life in a form which
related.

skipping along, keeping aloft 
on the peaks, the stones slipping
away falling to that dangerous 
Mother gulping 
after formlessness,

Cythonic woman of Eternity,
stars behind,
stars ahead.





from now OnwarD!
New Reality! HO! HO!

revolving around,
back in the library, Jack 
was making the plan.
He hurried
that mad woman gobbling 

up everything.
the painting tumbled around in the 
stars, upside

21.
down, this version 
doubled again in the stars
a dick face and a fuck you 
had won the day.
Jack was on his own 

in the desert
this hero in the library was 
an old man’s game
but then my hero
the garbage man 

of the world
upside down world of mysterious 
rustling
leaves, that passage.
Jack had thought of it all 

many times over, and around 
and it changed slightly.
he remembered the blue hills,
it was different than 
he thought it would be

it was late
the yellowing sky, scattering 
slate of cloud
snow whipping at the very height
jangling diamonded light 






1.
Stars aheaD.
continuing, snaking, New Poem.
I did what I could do, they 
were all left locked up in the barn.
I had to make my way 

forward 
before i lost my way
the snow was deep and the pipes 
were frozen,
the tracks were soon covered over,
the shadows blue

lenghtened into stripes across the way.
Blue stripes.
the light turned
a vertical thrust towards knowing
repeating enlarging idea

even here in the cold there 
was a numbing naturalism
he was reading the book
the cracking made them turn,
falling from

It took Jack back 
to the Massacio’s
tiny figure 
with his hands in the fishes mouth,
the gold coins spilling out.

A strange thought in the snow,




the S of the swan in the reeds


2.
creating the language
blank in the reeds
the paintings were piled high 
against the sky 
He drew the little drawing.

seemed a competing image 
to the one in front of him.
compounded in his mind,
the earth was being destroyed 
it’s order and beauties 

we were guided by
loss and why it was 
being destroyed.
Henry and company were Burgers 
watching on, silent going about 

their King-ley, ways, LosT
they were part of the Hollow men, 
some one had pointed out this 
direction before.