Saturday, April 22, 2017
Wednesday, August 5, 2015
Sunday, January 12, 2014
See He'd filled it uP here: http://hedfilleditup.blogspot.com #8, below
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.
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