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SUN fd MOON PRESS LOS ANGELES

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Press

A Progrm ofThe Contemporary Arts Educational Project, Inc.
nonprofit corporation
6oz5 Wilshire Boulevard, Los Angeles, California 9oo35

This bookws 6rst published by Sun &Moon Press in 1996

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Cme

1996

@1995 byJohn Wieners

'HmThis

Book

to Be Two Short

Historic'

@ :995 by Lewis

Wush and Fanny Howe

Some of this work pmiously appearc d in o-bEk and the Emct Changc Yearbook tg96 Biographical material @1996 by Sun &Moon Press

HowThis Book Came to Be: Two Short Histories
7oZ Scott Street, thejournal of John Wieners, dates from 1958-59, the years when Wieners 'uras comp osing The Ho-

All rights reserved
This bookws made possiblc, in part, through a metching grant from the National Endowment for the Arts

NATIONAL
ENDOWMENT

FoR!rTHE

ARTS
and through contributions to The Contmporary Arts Educational Prcject, Inc., a nonprofit corporation Cover: Louis Faurcr, Untitled, ct. rg48 Design: Katie Messbom

Tlpography: Guy Bennett
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING
Tlte

tel Wentley Poems, as well as many of the great lyrical poems included inhis Selected Poems (Black Sparrow, 1986). The journal contains versions of some of these poems as well as others that have never been published anywhere. "I must forget how to rvriter" he states on the opening page. "I must unlearn what has been taught me." And then later, a bit less portentously: "I must learn how not to write. I must \^/atch with my 5 senses." \Mieners 'was twenty-four, still grasping for the ineffable "other" thatwould somehow
DATA

IN PUBLICATION

Wieners,John ft9341

Jotnal

ofJohn Wieners / is to be mlled / 7o7 Scott Stree t (Sun &Moon Classics: ro6) p. cm

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Printed in the Unitcd States ofAmerica on acid-free paper.

connect his various selves and give his life meaning, yet he was already fully formed (in many ways) as a poet. The question'was how to define the "otherr" how to get there through invocation, so(, poetry, drugs and magic. He knows he has his "whole life" ahead of him, but what does that matter? Conversations transcribed on the spot (easy to picture poet in corner of crowded room 'rvith journal open), dream narratives, a list ofpotential contributors to a new

Without limiting thc rights under copyright resered here, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retriaal rystem, or transmitted, in any fom or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otheruise), without the prior witten permission of both the copyight mer
and the above publisher ofthe boolc

issue of his magazine Measure, quotes from reading (Wittgenstein, Jung): eyerything's permitted, nothing's

manuscript pages. while the emotional pitch centers around loss of love. When I was finished I had 77 ln World. it's the Watergate summer. "I'd love to read them someday. a gift. a book. then. There's a lot of ovedy self-conscious romanticism. for Billie Holliday. On the inside cover of the led- ger there was the title: 7o7 Scott Street. and without even looking through it. Sometimes giving and taking and accepting is frightening but this moment seemed perfecdyclear and untfueatening.lMARSH Aprilr99z 5 ." I said. though I do remember visiting him again and returning the original. as if it were possible to be totally hot and cold at the same time. that made me go searching for it. as ifhe were offering me a taste from a box ofbonbons). It was the interest ofthe poet Peter Gizz|who had heard that such a journal oristed. thinking out loud.the literary magairne of the Poetry Project ( an isto autobiographicalwritingwhich I was guest* editing). but Wieners caught the genuine interest in my tone and presented one to me. William Corbett and I visited John in his apartment at 44|oy Street in Boston with the hope of getting poems from him for our new magazine (edited with Lee Harwood). I published a few pages of the journal in an issue of Tbe t972. an offering. for almost twenty years. poetry and prose passages alternate. frustration. the transience of every encounter. I never presented John with a finished copy of the transcript. sue devoted _LEWIS . love's inaccessibility.I rememberJohn opening a trunk filled with ledger-sized journals with old-fashioned marble covers. and I m listening to the hearings on the radio and transcribing John's words on my portable Smith-Corona electric. but I accepted the gesture as an act of trust. Tlte Boston Eagle. the transcript of thejournal disappeared. My next memory is sitting at a desk on the top foor ofBill's house in downtown Boston.excluded. The journal conveys the sweep of a whole life lived in this way. Bill and his family are in Vermont. not that itwould have mattered (or so he led me to believe) whether I'd kept it or not. I was initially shocked that he would simply hand over one of his intimate journals to someone he didnt knowwell (casually. always redeemed byWieners'innate ability to step back from and enter into o<perience simultaneously.

handwritten. by *y sayrng that my daughter was . c aLled 7o7 Scott Street. During the summer of r99z. My oldest daughter. the sound of cellophane") although it was composed in San Francisco. for instance. on Lewis who proceeded to type it up at Bill's house at 9 Columbus Square in the South End. and despite the torn orpression of his face.ln ry72 Bill Corbett and Lewis Warsh visitedJohn Wieners at 44Joy Street in Boston where he still lives. The manuscript. his way of paying attention to us was to whid our remadc into spirals of poetic speech.apoet now about the age that Bill and Lewis were when they visitedJohn inry7z. and I hadnt actually spoken to him for several years. Always courteous.zi. also a poet. Struck. blue spots. because I had dedicated my most recent collection of poems to him.John pressed this manuscript.I arranged to meetJohn outside the branch of the Boston Public Library nearest Joy Street. was written between 1958 and 1959. he looked almost robust.tg4g. ink spots Bostor. and includes references to Boston ("colored paper rose. was with me.lnrygz the typed manuscript resurfaced and attracted the attention of Peter Giz.. It was summer. John was wearing a coat though it was very hot.

And then he added two very precise if to reassure me: "I look around-and there arostrum-in Bostonnoets in the limelighbut I dont see them anymore. people. Estates of being o<ist as streets. he said. and not the poetry we read. but find revealed in the estates of being remarks as used tobe THE JOURNAL OF JOHN WIENERS 707 SCOTT STREET around us. These pages from the fifties live in that "estate" as much as his spoken words to others do now. he "remembered" a girl standing on the Salt and Pepper Bridge over the Charles Riverl she was. songr and while the placement of his poetics could be cordoned offby a pcriod in "the limbo of contemporary Americd that has passed-a poetics that predates post-modern rhetoric and the strange fixation with an Otherness that he would not recognizrhis unembittered position as an uunknown" across witness of the dispossessed is absolutely present time' _FANNY HOWE ." He also said to her that his mother had told him to get job. "and ifl cannot speak in poetry it is because poetry is reality to me. one that narrows the gap between longing and calling."John's poetryhas always been the closest thing possible to a new form ofspeech.on her way to London. "stuck with her back to the Hyatt Regency and couldntgo to London untilThe Highwaywas built. a but he had refused. seasons. because a job would prevent him from writing poems. quite specifically: "For you and me it's better to be unknownto do our work" In 7o7 Scott Street he writes." And again to me.

She wakes and says "I dreamt I just put on. March 8. He had put it on top of one of those innumerable chests he had around his house. 1958 r:3o PM The sun shines. and her long thick hair was tied back the way I had left it. there were open doors on all sides and he presented me with a doll. I must not let them hang me up. his doll. he wanted me to have what he named was his. Miss Kids' dark glasses sound/crack on the foor. a great smile and I still see his white teeth and the black beard on his face. It is only Miss Kids and Dana who have hangovers. I am and he is. Miss Kids is across asleep on the couch. 13 ." I cant hear the rest. I must unlearn what has been taught me. She goes back to sleep. the country onc whose dress he ironed 3ooo miles awzy.Saturday. She was dressed in black.He was smiling. I must forget how to write. Last night I dreamed Alan appeared in a hallwaywhere I leaned against a lintel.. the doll. And I take it as a sign that all is well. today with the doll handed between us.. Dana is asleep in the bedroom beside this one where the sun fills three windows.

I

She awakes again and asks "Is it cloudy outside yet?" say "No" and an automobile horn busts our ears and the

There is not enough sound in the air. Miss Kids and Dana have headaches from last night.

Chinese kids overhead beat and stomp on the foor. These days shall be my poems, these words what I leave behind as mine, my record up against time. It is all very sad that we have to fight it. Possibly I may come to love time and its taking of my days.

I must stop being wise. Miss Kids wakes and "Is it latel"
oAlmost uAnother

says

two."

day ruined." She stretches her long wa:( arms

"It well

may

be,I do not think I would."

Right now, it is very fine. The cable car track shuttles in right inside the street and they empty the mail-box. A motor-scooter or motorcycle guns its motor and what bright flesh runs on Leavenworth Street. The 8o bus stops. Miss Kids has the Mohawk blanket that we (Dana and I) bought in the Morgan Memorial up to her eyes and her hair, her yellow hair is all over the pillow and her shut eyelids. The cable car conductor rings the bell twice. It also stops. Only man and time move. And the space we are given to inhabit, so fast it is thru our fingers.

(parafin) on the mohair couch. "I feel fine now, Kids."The sun puts gold on her nose. "Kids, theyte after me." I tell her "Kids, you look like a fucked Alice-in-Wonderland. And your hands are swollen,"
She looks at them. "Dana did

it,"

Sunday March 9

8eu I make this veryvery short otherwise it would last forever. I have walked all dawn, all night. Without control. I am forced to stop what I am doing if I want to survive. I came home and there is a strange man-boy in the bed. Dana must have brought him home although he has never befor-and where is Dana. Whatever, I am tired and my arm aches too much to write. Detectives again tonight but why and later I shall tell what they look like.
He does not snore.

I must learn how not
senses.

to write.

I

must watch with my

5

"the 5 perfections that are the 5 hindrances" and I must nail down thosc who would, all that would hang me up.

The 8o bus going the other way, to Market Street, sounds its squashed beep, peculiar to San Francisco, where
they are afraid any loud noise would start another earthquake. And yet we all go around screaming.

r4

15

3:r5 PM

5.9-59

Does anyone knowwho the person was who got stabbed at Big Eric's Place? Irene Taverner said in the room and others Present areJoanne Kyger, Tom Field, James Kity, Mrs. Nemi Frost-Hansen, Jack Spicer, Robert Duncan, Joe Dunn, Mrs. Carolyn Dunn, George Stanley andTommy Albright andoh yes-Ebbe Borregaard is sitting between Nemi FrostHansen and Jack Spicer. Dana is having breakfast out in the kitchen and we are all here for poetry that no one is reading.

What do I need the street for? Ray Charles on piano. One half of one room is where I live. Love? Fills the window with light every morning. But I do not see it. Today I do. Last night I saw Greta Garbo one instant.

All I am interested in is charting the progress of my soul. And therefore all men's souls. What the soul is I dont know. But that it is contained in every blood nerve and brain cell I do. And what its name is I do not. yHvH.
And when man rides with demon on horseback it is only his own soul. Or sees Greta Garbo on Fifth Avenue. All actions we thrust on others whether out of enry or disgust are only operations of our own psyche working. And we contain the souls of our ancestors. That the soul is transmitted to us at birth. And that it is this chart that we follow for life, is our life, what determines what we will be and are. And I am interested only in unraveling this, showing the snags and syndromes, so that other men may have some ease in doing theirs.

"Oh for the days of Marie Laurencirl'

zt41

PM

Sunday March r7

It is poetry day again. I have just finished toast and coffee. Miss Kids arrived at noon and we went uP California Avenue picking church daisies and ivy which now stick out of a water-filled glass at my left hand. There are purple blue and fowers. And miniature bell blossoms that Miss Kids does not know the name of. I am worn down today. Ebbe Borregaard and George Stanley. "This is the last meeting." Also on the left is Michael McClure. Across from me is Joanne. And beside her is John Ryan. We all sit around chatting amiably. George Stanley's hands tremble holding the wine. At my feet is a bronze planter I transplanted marigolds and ivy into. They are thriving.
Jack Spicer has arrived.

Or at least
Work out thy salvation with diligence. Tonight they're dancing the dance ofdeath
all over America
ballerinas in their little spike shoes

16

17

and boys

with painted eyes Hold tltat tiger

Godi Curse Man when it is night, look for the light And when it turns bright, mourn the moon's fight.

have blackjacks for hands.

How can we pass there.
We all know how death travels these days.

On horseback
Shou, me his face.

5.ro.5g

Look in the mirror.

I want to hear his breath in my ear.
Hold it to the ground. Watch his waves rush in on thc shore.
You think you have seen it all. I'11 show you morc. In the faces oflittle girls. Who carries flowers not thru the fields.

Man when it is night, look for the light and when it be bright, mourn the moon's fight. The human voice
is blue.

Fast as I can write it down I will The list of the living gone'over to the

How can

I

see

him with

dl

these faces

Gone PorterTuck, Shela Pl"rr, gorr.lt"d' Rita and Rubio, gone gone gone

gathered here. From my life and the pictures in my heart he gathers.

Right out of their heads their hearts stop beating.

Mark thcm down.
Chalk them up.

I

say nothing new about death

except that the living enter

it for
a new

All I

life.

am interested in is charting the progress of my own

soul. And my poetics consist of marking dourn how each

And the living sigh thru the rooms,
drug addicts, locked in single fats, find one of them,

action unrolls. Without my will. poetic.

It

moves. So that each man has his own

fixing for paradise.

Qballah.

r8

t9

Who will light my night? The fault of the "poerri' here is are. ballrooms. this desire. Is it movie houses. Which landscape contains no real objects nor actions but all heightened. for the details. There is no sense of a breakthrough into a new place as there is a hint ofit in this essay.I too. but to sacrifice a real event even if out of the past for theatrical effect. Rather I go offand write a poem about an old lover. man says. who cares Mark me down. is second rate and trashy. object at the end. Also the poem on previous page rhapsodizes rather than match my emotional language line imdge the weight of death. or the sight of flesh lying on its side in the Pine Grove Groove of memory overgrown with weed & speedballs. only the dance makes A Marksman. afFect. a speck of dust in time. new form winds up as a trashy romantic unreal self exploration. black masquerade. or grass stains on your shirt? Is it night. And time always night where we that I lose sight of the original emotion. Nothing is sacred. even. Who is Dana. back alleys. So what starts a It is a simple song: offas potentially simple lyric with possibly to long. for home and Dana lounging there under the moon. tbe & the original TheWoman rn me bilk of home. leg Basements. glamourized. who can say . abstracted. what is he that he should mean so much to me? Is it love. or blowjobs in the kitchen Is it hate or blood or the food of seed running down yr. it What am I in all this space. making time for death. I. So all serves well.

head to head.The Man Cover over the rooo nights to this place: rourla It is so simple. surrender his daughter to this crippled son. Not I mean to say wasting life over love. I follow Here never her. I light candles. the sacred spot. Green lead in my pencil. Oh country of hunchbacls. So that there will be no face before yours in the mirror. that god be delivered in the dawn. June rr Think of the hundred hotels with nothing in them but a radio and opium pipes 23 . thin cunt in the sky apple of my eye. They are Do up the altar. dirty needles. KnightTernplar of the Holy Grail. The flashing of silver spikes in the night. Who will crawl under the covers and join have me. After this long journey. phantoms down the street. hitting vcins with Who will in my bones. this place of pure rapture. To stop here and knovr I go no more. and crooked joint. Who is she and what is she to me that I should hunger silendy at the moon. slapping of flesh. holy oil on my head. Spoons and eyedroppers. secret plot. black mechanics.I walk with my shoulders to the wall. sucking of blood. There is no god powerful enough to end this deadend. What a way to start the day. I am &I sack the place. The strapping ofbelts and cooking ofevil fires.

Later write in a green pencil what you learned today. The trumpets blare your exit. let sun fash in his eyes for an instant. Foreign voices ride in on the radio. ForToledo and yet entombed in the burning wall of his soul. playing and smoking pot. putting on lipstick. Surounded by the plant and fowers of the valley. strapped up. what do you do when the horse runs out. sweet song and step to vrhat happyboy. Oh year. blown in the night by ocean wind. tell me what it is now the late. their swains zipper their coats. behind glass. II Miss Lollipop sits up in bed all night. late show the man on the radio says It aint nece'ssarily so What do you now.litde Miss Cheracol. she stands on one leg. walk now. and yet locked out. a blue heron. Sheri of the night. Her legs $May to the Mexican whistles. with sweet incense drifting under the doors. a about the shadow on the wall.Listen to a Chinese voice sing in the night and Read Confucius. in of it all. She lights candles and listens to jazz a NewYork hippy I she says what is it now book of poems for Miss Lollipop ofToledo I want it to be the bookJohnlvrote in his prison cell in Toledo. an oyster. down In the night with Miss Lollipop to the last vein in her leg. pluck invisible guitars and leave the. who do you to get it She combs her hair with a pink comb by the edge of this bed. Do not stop 6xing your red hair go to and how far to make it yeah just one more time. Beautiful women pass before him. Bobby Short 24 25 .

SUFI See to it that you do not deny that which you cannot understand of the secrets. is not my muse. A1l water f. He who accepts among men His uttered word shall receive permission to speak among men. SUFI woke up feeling ill this morning. Like water let your taste be both fresh and cool On the tortured belly of every friend. Therefore. Will realiry the fames of love ever be quenched? Where and when shall union with the beloved take place? Why then should you abide in your debasement. Need for water and fire among men would have been greatl SUFI MAXIM The spirit is a delicate organism composed of radiant substances: All fire takes its spark from their sighs. But for the tears and suffering oflovers. is home. It Ifyou were a heavenly chair. with them both. he was annihilated through the object of contemplation away from contempla- UFI tion itself z6 27 . is me sitting here swaying to Red Fred's piano. She Rejection of all other than the Real Substance is a deity. She has gorre away. or a throne. And remains hidden from me all day. therefore. With those who are prisoners? Is not your turn come that you should go home? S Contemplation: The man of gnosis was drowned and thus became unconscious of o<istence.June 14 III Miss Lollipop is not here.ows from their tears. June 16 Occupy yourself with the divine revelations and forget material assistance. And if of the Whole you were a coPy And knew this to be a is customary in classical Arabic poetry of love to refer to the object of a man's passion in the masculine. The "where" and the "how" are open mysteries: Dispense. or a garden Or fire or heavenly bodies running their course. do not adulterate truth with falsehood.

SUFI John Wieners al-ism al-ruthami Decipherment: The saint who is beloved of Allah is the treasury of secrets and mysteries. Sketch: The greatest love is one that settles in the heart immediately and distorts all onet feeling without giving notice. Manifestation (zuhur) comes to men by acceptance and perfection. If ever they disclose the secret. it is revealing what is in you. they know me not. it immediately. it will resound to you. the Name that is heart by Allah. zB 29 . causes judgement to vanish and extract from them the spiritual name (al-ism al- ruhami). an agony that swells and increases. the Letter of Action. Such is the punishment of those who divulge. Nature is the house where lies the time of the echo. Ask the days of me.Contemplation: As the gnostic rejoiced in the blessings of mystic knowledge. from the Maxims ofllluminations The reality of love is 6re which consumes the livers. Conjuration of the treasured talisman (fath tilsan al-Kazaz) Take the letters of the human talisman (al-tilsam al-insana) The removal ofjudgement takes place through enlightenment and resumption of belief in predestination (tagdir) When Providence comes. magnificent in consequences. Thoughts are the stars of mind's heaven. a mirror affix to it your signature and carry it as an amulet while you go on your path. they pay for it with their lives. I hid myself fromTime behind his wing So that my eye sees Time while he sees me not. then what ever you say in it. his sleevecuffs yielded perfume which spread throughout the world. Tiue love is an obligatory magnetic force. Of mywhereabouts they know not either. the Night of Power. For you might consider the mountains on which you look stationary whereas they travel with the speed of the clouds.

his I do not try to help him. Allah. therefore. It is the four pointed star. seryant continues to draw near unto me through his supererogatoryworks till I love him. nothing shall mar the radiance of his face. an eyesight. the nort world he does not sell for the present. stick him fulIof needles. the miror-treasure. I have no ambition. he utters not a malignity. you may say that annihilation is complete consecra- Regulation: The saint is one who smiles if saluted. says: i4. the talisman of the universe shall be conjured and shall yield the realities.up and down the stairs.when asked he shall give. a picture to capture. I let him die before mybody a. and the poor he does not disdain. points to the four corners of the universe.ery day I have the blues and they are lifted from me to land on the back of little boy blue across the room. he concealsl of princes he knows he is not proud. when others divulge secrets. and once I have loved him I become to him a hearing. Arctic rndZenith. Talisman: Said the Messenger of Allah. S UFI And my roommate carries offmy sins. It is on my arm. the Exalted. in conversation he is pleasant. And recite: Not . My sig nature. should you trespass in his presence. knowing that every day carries him closer to oblivion. ' My sign. I found my mark ' . Allah bless and keep him.. when the fruits of humanity are obtained. I send him down the primrose path.Decipherment Ponder the letters of the alphabet. Not square Lasdy. The sleepwalker's eye that never closes. Mainline. a hand and a support. the key is the great man." tion to the light of manifestation. But compassing all points North East-West House of the planets South Pole. Oh their shoulders 3o 3t . not a glance to gleam. Outside of your essence. the ladders Talisman: Usually conjuration does not occur without a key.

who ur. One day Pregnant and full of gas. She thought how pretty) she was carrying z ampules of methedrine. so when you run over somebody. She bends her neck as one of her boys rubs his hands into her. far out prince ofthe spheres who reveals to the servant in the tunnel 32 33 . She lives in the Broadway Hotel with an Armenian piano player. the new miracle drug and one joint of marijuana which she stashed in the back seat of the police car. They're making a new kind of car with glass as the floor mats. written on that page in the green book. told them was Paul Martinelli because she could not remember the accident at all only saw the headlights coming out of the night and MafiaMurder. Her father Sacramento. a young man. rock and roll. When she was arrested for the hit & run (they claim someone else was driving. does not complain. A form of low grade bacteria that causes her shape to change every day. Her legs are black and blue. We sat up all night listening to jazz and then at dawn. She cannot lay down to sleep because of the pain (Richard calls her blue all over) "She's sick." "She is sick. She wears a black bra. Actually cries over it. of the narcotics bureau in was chief 4 husbands.June 18 v Miss Lollipop is full of pain this morning. To accept all revelations of the letter next to last one ofthe alphabet. the nort shapely. a"totaf'(wreck in the 3 car collision). you can look down and see what you done with them. She ran her hands over me showing me where the pain is." A poem In the Car with Freude Let this be the poem of v." but cannot go to hospital because ofclaustrophobia and feels she needs a rest first and to "get the rent all cool. I guess. "I?e had a lot of trouble with my insides. Miss Lollipop has one of the most rare diseases known to medical history." She now laments the loss of her car. the letter u My Me and you. z5rt/t of a century the language of numbers. Her wing bone in the back. my age. she says. Her history as far as I know it consists of 8 arrests. As she puts it.

r7. we move." Piles in tlte West uray. She sits in the heavens sets them all in motion whirling thru the universe discharging at night fash and spike of the golden rod. O glory. Move now 34 35 .C. RICHARD ROLLE The Fire ofLove Delectable heat is also in the loving heart. 1959 For the boisterous and fleshly soul is not ravished into contemplation of the Godhead unless all fleshly lettings be wasted away by ghostly meditation. Of the Felicity and Sweetness of God's Love: And of the Nightingale's Song: and Prayer for Perseverance ofTiue Ghostly song that Worldly Lovers have not.59 Dec z3'Pennsylvania Hotel Washington D. sailing out to some beach beyond oblivion. that has devoured heavy griefin the fire ofburning love. residing in the heavybreasts of men' No dice. beyond pain at the universet unending turning. Move on I wrote at Black Mountain. to that higher order where the angels are. Hosanna. still spectres of another race.Wxy 7. road O my heart's rose perfeccio -"ioy" "Lezveyr. our hands to our mouths. A poem at the Equinox Beyond grie{. O radix cordis mei My mother's name. Read A book of poems on a piece ofpaper that has no end.this secret x &y.

Does the night ever endl It has to as I have to go with it. WithJimmy andJohn Davidson on the foor. Le Diable. On the floor is Jimmy Carter who has been here all day eating chicken and ham. and the names no faces. Erroll Garner's underwater playing Dreamy! After Midnight Ella Fitz Singing A Tisket A Tasket 20 years ago one trying to pierce the magic box that sings in the middle ofeach forehead Godhead playing with the atomic chains of hair around each wrist generation. Miss Lollipop sits on the other bed which is on the foor with Richard. The Zenda June z7 B allroom. reading The Circle of Knoaiedge. ignored adored 1939 linking what is lare to all there is by 6.through chambers where there are walls.59 byme Hipsters' Corner. Her "sister" died for the third time. away beloved toys of my parents. Sherri 36 37 . for sending me these thy gifts: Miss Lollipop home from the hospital on a a4 hour leave. They gave her 4 seconals to calm her. A lad also is here asleep on the bed. curled up on the other half of this cot. I feel his warmth at my feet.My shadow on the wall needed in the scheme of things. the doors with names.2r. Wally B erman. smoking por. July + Characters Miss Lollipop Lord Hydrogen Lady Helium June z8 Jimmy Dorsey Dee Parker vocal: Im GladThere's You I thank thee Lord.

She fexes her muscles. What school did you attend. with a high fever. Mopping up the whiskey Aaron spilled on the floor. Red drapes blow in the wind.Monday (in the jungle My room. goes down to !eak. Cry I know. Keith has given his 6x to Aaron.Tell him to lay down his law. Massachusetts is the place for me. Elise screams I dont have balls. Elise again. I wont cry and I wont shed a tear. Keith watches Aaron make it. Richard is in his sickbed. Now they are woven in here now. His arm is raised above I hear the needle squirt. wort't you. Go baby go and her head sags on her shoulder. there it goes. Don't wanna do wrong. Elise has the whiskey botde in her hand Aaron says. Now kneels to drink his whiskey. She holds it high to the male guests who ignore her. Elise is looking at me. dont wanna do right. Harry sleeps at the foot of the bed. It's a tribute he says to what you're working against." Aaron is snapping his knuckles to the rock and roll. You don't mind do you Keith. Buffoonery. I watch like withJim Beam in her hand. They are shoota hawk as she staggers from bed to table I wanted to say they are attacking me now. There you go I remember the first time I missed and it spread like a great big beautiful sunburst. There is only one light and the window is open. Tell the frog to jump out of its garden or the garden to grow with god. The door bell rings. Home in Indiana. Elise he says as he puts the needle in his arm. 38 39 . He rings a bell in the closet. He says look give me luck. Richard: that represents the art of: Aaron. My father's love and my mother's womb. Hit! Mexico How can I write where I about there neverbeen. ing sleepers. A front back. But like I dont need them. Keith sits under the light cleaning out the clogged spear of the needle. Elise drunk at the end of the bed. Elise says this is the last time I'm gonna clean up for anybody else. We are thrown into a mild hysteria. He touches with a cold hand my ankle. Elise is swiggrng from the bottle. Aaron on the floor: I once knew a mattress wringer in Dubuque. Help me put it in there. It was somebody for Wally. with a pink flower dying in his lapel. Elise talks of Gertrude Lawrence singing When my Ship Comes In and Lotte Lenya of a different ship that comes in to do the whole town in. Keith has the needle in his left hand. The radio: Great Western Furniture Store. Can I sit on the foot of your bed. Aaron ties him up. Hiding her face. Keith is wheeling his arm in the air. Her fists are clenched above her head. He stands as he does. Every time I see you. Aaron wheels his arm in the air. Without words or for a a place behind them. Elise rolls over on the foor. Aaron says: you'Il be patient with me. They are fighting.

Hands of goodies for the King. of no interest. lights or my eyes playr. Rise up from this waste. On my back I saw 4t 40 . There is no lover in the dark. When the hand is too heavy to lift to the machine. this drifting with one hand over our mouths and the other to our belly. erected out of space. the charge that catapults me to take action. for its own sake. Let it go I think. I speak in plural for that is who I am possessed by The tonight. King Solomonls Magnetic Quiz And when I went to the woods I heard the whispering of lovers ages ago. cradling his cock in his hands. (for nc Blaze Starr r) A silver tassel hangs from the edge ofher tit. only the web of the words. catching him surprised coming around some corner. But the action of this creation brings me back. Was it Green leaves grow out of her hands. fog and my own game at hand. Almost. this night. Hard it was The long night spent in slack hours. are alone. she is Daphne in a diaphanous gown. Bits of it stuck to my coat. See her on the roof of the world. Rather slip over into oblivion. the cause unknown. Earl Long's old lady. The eyes sink into the head and the mind pulled down into a scene of its own. I rose and went out by the street bush I came in. discharge. in the space of this hour. when conscious on me to lay there thot with only the ground under me.From ajournal July 13 the stars creeping up the hill and thought ofsex in the dark.g tricks on me? The trees were forms. stops. like the days of a life form an image which is a construct against and of time. No nightmare stallion turning into a tree to see you. was rain dropping on the ground like feet.

it with no food in my stomach. the way our mind works the way the poem reveals self. doing my bit towards creating rrvr a new structure from love. Envy for the titled holders of the crown. practice it our gods. A belly fi. Dope does not replace it. The Men who. Green leaves grow out of her hands. her hands shape secret codes. Let the jazz organ pump in the afternoon. motive we fail. line tempo time held to a measure. We become what we create. For my other to nurture all these years. For the poet what else is there but poems. Pushed to the diaphanous gown.rll of goodies for the Bayou King. we are the creators. The slim books our heritage. It chokes our throats. The mind the final test. withheld from the in6dels. It can only be that. coiners ofthe new word. Problems. Masters of the beat. our families. Oh la la limit each time we try it. It is an aristocracy. Let the dope fiends sell their asses in the street and the'discjockeys spin their records. I July r7 can count on countless years before me writing out history in some dark room. Wise men of the world. And love is a sParse thing 42 43 . Earl Long's old lady. Try it and see. Call down the entire universe into one syllable. advertise wares. And Bourbon Street. And jelly rolls all afternoon. roll in the afternoon her legs and arms alabaster. Puts tears in our eyes.2) A silver tassel hangs from the edge of her tit. She is Daphne in a We awake to chaos & desire.

We do not wish it. Hundreds of days. Two monkeys sit there one on the right turned towards me. Violence. The reader can do with them what he likes. For to take up arms against the void is attack.nnot avoid the days. By the action we are engaged in. They have to parade by in all their carnage. which are my salvation alone. Manifesting the process of A Glimpse There is a knot in the middle of my head that will never be untied. And one ch. Drunk or doped before that wild horde who presses in to get a pick at the bloody hero.I see them in a mirror when I look for my own face.July q is Discharge. sit facing out to sea waiting for the woman to cook supper and her daughter beside her chewing on a chicken bone. Giant screams echo through the halls of our houses at night. Or a statement? I am allowed to ask many things because it has been given me the means to plunge into the depths and come up with answers? No. millions of teardrops eyes. say shitting. Poems. And is hei You bet. and the price ofwar is high. months have to go by before the spirits descend and the right word rolls out sharp and full of fire air earth and water offthe tips of our tongue. we carry thru the streets of the town A poem does not have to be a major thing. The events of them like roll out of our They have red hair and do not play with their chains. unless the reading be given for the later on our way to the poetry reading. images on a shield. July zo A poemfor a marriage fact of clarity. I 44 45 . That is why poetry even tho it does deal with langue is no more ltoly act than. Millions of syllables shed over the falls of our saliva. I feel right now even the reading of poems to an unknown large? public is a shallow arl. But sit on a ledge above Venice? Anyway a city with canals painted by Breughel. it life? Or the action between this and non-action? Letbargy as. the other crouched and turned away. It is so. The different tecbne a man uses to make his salvation.

it washes under me. where the boy sits in the sun. Despite its rumble so that the women run out and say what is it? I dont A train? know. Swish against the pilings of this house. the rv drifts out from the bedroom bits ofcolored glass recovered from the Green. All four of them. plaster ofparis on its face 46 47 . A bird drops by overhead out the open door stones. z) She sits now in this room. I am patronized and supported by the'uromen of the world.Flamenco musrc on the machine. Why not. her legs on a table gold sandals around her ankles. Some response to my word. They are in this room. Or we turn into it. I watch night come down. The woman and holding out. They keep life between them We are built out over the sea. Down Catfish Row. fishing rods hang over the sea. Which star on its fullcircle set on a hill. Their lives inbound with mine. A neighbor comes calling. and the am a worm in the house. This day is no different from any other. the sky is very blue. heralding the dark. A piece of driftwood holding down this Page. sea. But we know it. The wind blows thru slats on the porch. Phoenix. blue. Unsaid in a bright river. watching. Hollow indentations where the stones dropped out. r foot by z feet. red paint droppings and rust. onto the wings ofwhat bird roaring to the east. Full moon rising in some unseen place. The avalanche of humanity stimulates me. I 4) And the sky shall be beneficent to us. girl says. The last light leaves a gold glow behind the spires of far trees. They bring me my drugs. I 3) the cries of flamenco dancers. A Weigh it. The sea runs a deeper blue. I see it green with white light from the sky carried on its surface to the shore.

When man cannot write in a leave one down. The poem progresses of my own life. That secret Place. needing the drug to rise to what next presents itself Yet it has been over two years since I began a steady use of them. She has the [cobalt bomb in her womb. We only have to use the instant. A poet only writes poems. below this house that I love on. The Tarot Deck. My fear of them. Cunt that I could smell in the car. Senses. what Olson told the mathematician tae catbe. The land and sea. Capricorn. When the door blows open in the middle of the night. and take. I know how to win him to my side. The Flower Girl with giant nasturtiums spread out over her giant breasts and thighs. and pulls it washes. Joanne with her two beside her sleeps and laughs in the big bed. I want to write it down. We do not have to speak at high pitch. I pick one every day and it is the day. Les Etoiles. The Spectrum. Unless he encompasses more and we do. knowing the shape of all things around us. Not like my flesh. o<act. in whatever form it appears. Sets the tone. Stars. These two continuums are unknown to me. OhJoanne you let me know your secrets and I love you for it. The sea. It is my key into all wisdom. The Exact and erra Feel. The narcotic and natural. off. That is all he should have to do. Do drugs [*" along with because they stimulate when they wear off it. 2. Her rosa vulva. Francesa. I was going to say Woman The Womb. is wisdom as the IPlace he leaves that place.July zr Subjects to write about that interest me: I. Singing to me: You must have been a beautiful baby. As the wind. High tide or low. Universes. hollow places where we foat into the abyss. Oh house what enchantment have I wandered into. Not their cunts but their souls. that there is a parabola in us. Man and all the generalities. how they are dulled. guarded by the fesh of her legs. A sleeping woman. What my space is I do not fknow. in- 4. 3. I am learning that. 48 49 . Madam La Farge. And I feel my writing my being fows out and in from the universe with more give I do now write myself out but renew myself daily. By letting my beart spring forth. Contour. I am in accord with the word of my time. Unleashes a chain of events I know what stirs the heart of man. Sitting on her lap.

lnywbere h eoeryrutbere. Practicing a process which produces pure gold. I imagine velocity. Etoila. Who reveals so much to me. you can be ghost. He says: Jack.man who wrote'AgainstWisdom as Such. She smiles down on me like the angel from heaven she is. A poem comes from a pitch beyond man's reach." says My master. The Stars. Within yourself Moving with the spheres which whirl in such abundance and That is why impossible for r r u to ever turn all men into robots. Who knows where our words go. and who acknowledges me. What joy to see Kelly pull in a polka dot dress the Kangaroo truck and say: This is our baby. saints John Kelly and virgins. We have to be post-modern. ooo men. That is not the practice of claritas. we know that. making art a religion and the pursuit of the soul their guide. Giant. contemplation. For it is here at a distance that we gain sight/insight. Giving themselves over to the white." I say "I'm playrng already. Dante thru Hell. It is a casde. 5o 5r . But in the Poem. the whole process gone thru. but know that is where the richness is. Do what we dont want to do. Mutate or die Duncan said over the table eating radioactive lettuce. trans mutation. But why this talk of cosmos. The poem which contains enough joy and pain to illuminate men at times over a time of thousands ofyears. Enough of this poetry Remove yourself from them. July zr 3 rivr The blonde girl comes out on the porch. Larry says: It's a lit up trolley car. I say Hi Sweetie. ooo. all who are led by forces that are not their own. Practiced by him alone in absolute silence in the middle of noisy bars and restaurants." Only a choice ofwords.The universe orpanding as we do daily. One can practice the pure poem in Life:wz. do you want to play with this. Where will it take usl To the mountains against our will. In the skies. the night makes me stop. But it is an immortal art of man. There being at times ro or 50 poets in every rZ5. he said of the heart. To stand erect. hungering after Beatrice. Medieval."There is no pain in this so I know it is not a poem. Pushing on to eternity. I do not and dol practice compulsions. Or more. on the back porches of houses from Gloucester to San Francisco. We always have to go against that. Even tho he would never acknowledge my using those words. whores. She's followed by her brother who says: Hi Mr. was the first to recognize and save me from the self condemnation I [practiced Let me know the chambers of my soul. But peace. there has to be the black. On the back deck behind the room which she said is % witch's casde. nor perspective as they usbd to say. Setting right the rites. It's enough writing. monks and nuns.

Tide pulled into shore. Searching like poets every face. The moon is on the wane. the top of a crystal water jar. How can it be done? At nightwhen there is only one eye and the police prowl as roaches thru every layer. displaying neither love nor fear: Sophistication and of course the infinite variety of individual acts made to break the stereotype. from another life that never dies. a pin She brings me in another tin charcoal burnt newspaper. the wash of the waves under us. how they Istole the bike and I think some clothes because they gave us cigarette papers to redeem them. the clinking of pewter as she moves the objects around. Life on the surface regiment. gait. and sustenance there is subterranean. luly zz So that even here by the sea. drifnvood. Late afternoon with the sun at about 7 o'clock in the July sky."Make it Neu a vegetable organic renewing as well as psychic. I love them because they are the boys of my childhood who would chase me home from school and leave this same terror. "2by z" walking on the road then rNo. An old name I will not reveal. How a man does that is interesting moreso than from the country. spread out in a circle on top of the table. green stones thrushes. How to survive in the city. a sugar tin. the brain cells not open from the dream.l/z an orange rind. manner 52 53 . We know his means. A desperate act. Of night and the junkies stealing my bicycle and books. the objects of my life return. July zz She has brought her treasures out into the sun and I spring to write them down. 4 stills of Charlie Chaplin. Red Sharpe's car and when I got my clothes back they had someone elset name sewn on the label. ordered mechanized the people move as robots." I tell her my dream. And seek sustenance from the street. To make it there on one's own terms. rnr asldo the contents of table. Fish bones. But the city is a fabled labyrinth. The black circle drawn around the hole in the center. Give and take the peculiarities of each place. my head is still heavy with sleep.

has to fight against. There is no consistency in me. Closets. By mention of them rush in of what powers. Petty or not. How long? Two years at it and I am worn out. from the healthy country (these really belong here in this panorama) poets with pale faces. not mid way but constant- lymix mudpies in the slry. My teeth half gone at 25. it is theft and we are held responsible for it. tourists. To crawl out on all fours. aqua marine. Under the street lights only the eccentric stands out garbed in the costume of his game. Knock on wood. showgirls. his acts as a man. Cars circle here too. When the man who wants to create on his own level has to resort to crime to do it. All parade by on silent errands. the power of the sun. constant for some piece of prey. forces us to practice. Radio spires what I erect in this spectrum to detect the changes. Do not doubt it. Each crumb from the master table of 1959. The jails are filled with saints and heads who believe in Jesus Christ. These persons hold on and try to erect poles to place the syndrome. A racking cough all night. Myvery existence to this day depends on their beneficence. blue. To restore the devastation of absolute poverty which America. lofts. clerks. Streetwalkers. Echoing thru the blood of my body. A prosperity peak. but open doors for the fantasy world. If only a week. 54 55 . And at the beginning what support can one a(pect o(cept from the gods. Chance. The Best in tbe West the signs sing. And across most of the country. orange gold and deep purple. garages. perverts. girls dressed in black beside them. Are we to survive at all? Attempt is being made by a few to withstand the heaps. schoolboys. For every scrap of bread is worked for. I change as the sky. In the eyes of the law which are waiting to pounce on us. for retreat. old ghosts my mother and sister whispering their prayers in padded cells. not to deaden one. Of my eye. Not many survive to report on it in even this form. Here all is flash and glamour. not our laziness which is inherent in all and everyman. A bird's tweet. Sur-real is the only way to endure the real we find heaped up in our cities. Maximum at this instant like the clapping of hands and distant hurahs heard on the beaches ofthis land. There is seldom laughter except in the neighborhood and negro districts. Why the drop in the line because I feel the forces gathering that makes a poem. late business men. a piano by the sea where green and royal blue meet.of dress. Litde fqod and sour stomach in the morning unless drugs. Which treats me kindly. Cats with no homes but pads. hands & knees.

The voice comes out from the microphone megaphone zoth century r. I would rather live my dreams at night than dream them out to 611 the morning with pain. for this is eternity. at peril of your death. The demon means we use to extend our life on whatever terms we can make. This dark symphony brought to birth by brothers. Nocturnal dreams are out of place. This is a city of the sun. to junk.. fond wanderer.Rose white pale red.wth jaz. Clanging out a jungle dance man makes under the moon in whatever clearing he can. when you come to this to whatever you are involved in. Its gende barges drift me up a hundred new channels. Howwe walked. No more. See the streets banked high and the men midgets between them. under the trees and lights laid down in the ice and made love. And cannot be turned away from.z. black bogs ofcloud bunched to begin the new night. But so it is and here I go again taking a chance On love. And jingle bells in the do not understand' ju"gl.. the acts we no longer live return to haunt us in our dreams. 56 her crescent on his breast. with every atom ofyour body. Bearing I'll remember April and the way it turns in the night the town to snow. s7 . Mambah. An infinite extension. There is a reason for the vocabulary we use. Sun burnt on my back. I am too taken away It has to do. Walking over the land like hands beating out a rhythm I Listen. to Hell. by sense/impulses fying me off anywhere. It is Morse code from the goddess. Hold on. Over 7/zz/59 I think but the melody lingers.

Who would be here to hear them. Motor boat roared in the bay. A skin stretched over bamboo blows out Cuban blues in the night like Chicago. But he felt that the recording of that fact was important. From what source it sprang he did not know. Tempo. he thought and so he went outside. July z3 Night I thinkwith wild cries and a cymbal clashes somewhere in the jupgle. That the gods were not with him now he knew.xter beating his drums on the phonograph. The cqnng on the doorstep had begun again. He was bored. Picks up speed the tide does with the rising of the waning/ moon.Jaly zz And so now I sit alone in the house with the lights on and Lex Ba. The record ends. her spirit moving thru the rooms. East in the city I dont wanna go no more. The wind is a woman. The boy had been sent outside. It was July and the dog days. Two tin cans take over this poem. I wanta be free as the breeze that blows the waves onto the shore. dont fy like the evening star Venus from the sea. rather whining in the next room. and the gid was sucking a honey dew melon. With no other words but hers in the night. Try to maintain control of the tempo. But the house is a woman. And that this compulsive writing not a productive act for the house. Writing he knew was an agony. 58 59 . He came back in sobbing to the bathroom. but he knew that was not true. off How red she is tonight Love descends on the land. and the z children asleep on the porch The woman covered in blankets. And the girl came in calling: Mommy do you uant to see a sailboat? | am a silent man. the door was open to the porch and the waves were there. They would roar for aeons on this beach after him. The boy was crying. An uptown beat. He thought: What next to do? He wanted to stay in the house beside her. he thought. He was not stirred by the rising of the waves. he thought. Gone with the night. How can I ever amuse a woman? Fill her life with a structure that would support her and prop her for the life they had left together. He would stop. He thought what's a poet doing writing prose? Where are the phantoms he had called down with night.

He ate another. you know the old man with the long white beard. like a gargantuan guardian of the house. Her and her friend Margo up the row. But they were good together at night. One has to be there all the time. And she was his first woman. he thought. The motor picked up speed next door. How a poet controls the universe. He said Rip Van Winkle. Rather than himself which he reduced to a kind of helpmate around them. Sending waves of her being thru him as he stood in the doorway there. And later. soft and liquid as the sea. he thought. a new day and he sat in the with only dungarees on and they too had a hole in the seat. And he just sat in the sun and let the sweat roll down his thighs. She went inside to 6x the rest of supper and he had smoked. He finished the grapes and threw the vine down. There was a rumble behind him and he half turned but saw nothing so 6o 6t . which opened onto a boardwalk which led to a piece of land not wider than 5 feet which ran between the hill and sea. Of course it was her house and she brought the food. She said what. crushing it first by accident between his teeth. pulling part of his skin offhis back as he moved too quickly. to anger any one of them. Help me God. sinus. That was why he was such a sibilant around them. There was a hill behind the house. Later she came and got him in the doorway. He had taken offhis shirt and there were grapes in his l6ft hand. Then the last seed between his teeth.He sat in the big green chair overlooking the sea. she let him know that. He had changed pens from a ball point one to a fountain. It is terrible. reminds me of a drawing by Blake. Another thing. That was good for him. like he too was at high tide. rubbing orange stains offhis belly and spitting his sinus mucous inro the sea. to be a man and keep this woman and her brood. He ate a grape and spit the seed into the sea. And despite other lovers. his Now it was green chair above the sea fingers. "Mommy''came drifting out from the house. he thought. controls. Brown with black tail and black beak. holding onto his wrist and causing his belly to bounce in that queer way. Across the bay was another hill which she pointed out to him last night looked like an Egyptian mummy. but always on the lookout for what pleased them. Had not his master taught him: He who controls rhythm. A machine whirred on the porch next to theirs and the waves lapped at the pilings behind him. Its summit reaching a peak exactly in front of their front door. courted him and made him feel at home. she gladly came back to him. turning to face him as he wrote that down. he thought. along that little bay of houses which she called Cat Fisb Roru. He said Gulliver. Except where he sat which opened directly to the liquid quicksand ofwhat was called Pacific Ocean. Not really bothering them. Even the young. stuck as he was somehow to the green chair! The sun made his eyes squint and the nasal cavities behind them to discharge their flow down the back of his throat. he thought. to be a reporter of the instant. He liked the taste. That was one thing he got being by the sea. he thought. Women real7y are that. and he would hate. he shot it out and it bounced back offthe wooden slats which fenced in the porch. And a gull bounced on the waves before him.

a black shadow of some winged thing passed over the white paper and the memory of it made him sit there for a long time rubbing his running nose. 6z What to do now he thought with paradise on my hands. And the land loved each new arrival that the wave dumped upon it. shadows of the night. Cleopatra of shore out of sight incense drifting in other rooms. we never heard Why not? Be a sensualist. I must set myself absolute. July z4 A Stately Pleasure Dome luly A poem for the storyteller There are many here where z3 And so he crept away injected with heroin by the to hear a concert sea l. richness another master had said. and as he bent to write it. gray blue specters that have no names. Mists that lie along the land to the west. as the jaz. lists her beloveds gone underground: Anthony: who is to me or I to him that I should name him courtier to that heavenly tto*t'or rrrn life come to me out of your graves. Dogs barking.il ""* the ran*s of fabled dead. Names.came back again to his book. And the speedboat across his ears further out than the cruiser. but play an enchanted game with our minds.zboys would say. Childhood stories. Take the pleasures. it is the day the dead shall rise and populate the skies. song of islands fall across this paper. They are tears in my eyes. was a caress. And the wind cooled him. up Damn the references to my lords. as till now. I will paint a map of Africa and lay naked colors royal blue 63 . who can I bring it to.

living It\ easy living when you're in love building up the scale like a roof a The trial breath arranged by our betrayers. enough ofa raft for me to ride out upon. taking on your reed the end just right. her eyes wide open staring at me. but across the room in the new blue light a little girl sits up. orange Tangiers. No matter what disease gets caught in my throat. Leave Ethiopia black but Egypt red. and I know it Vomit on the floor then swing to Popsy. a cool bass behind the waves What boat do I wait for. 64 65 . July z5 July z5 I O God of the dawn birds protect me from the dangers of this world as I sit in the dark with the crab as my ashtray. Myboot from the sky vomiting strawberry and green. And nowhere in sight. The waves wash in on the shore and I find my solace there. Dreams reveal how much in danger we are. out ofleaves and grass. easy is your sign.running for the rivers and orange Beachandland. despair of love ever throwing up on the shores. Comfort against the coming of the storm. he says OnH running the most beautiful blue water in the sink expecting to come down any second.

Redwood Highway. Willow Road juts out in my memory. it could just as well be I BERMAN theyr 57zr of the Jewish era begins at sunset on September zznd Gregorian Calendar CalvertCafe Hobart - z-9882 De-pression July z5 And so he sits at sunset listening to Nora Bayes sing and now it is Caruso. Live it at night and see. I see how much the earth still surrounds us. Olson says. The earth no longer need be his home. Anywhere. Take pleasure in doing what I am told. America does not change. Where man is going now. San Francisco then Big Sur. End construction project.Great Britain Russia t 23 4 56 is kaly 78g America ro tr t2 Dreams. It is my fellow men that deliver me my life. And our civilization remains a jungle. memories when you were my own. Underneath. I go where I am told. But traveling on the road to Sausalito. There is no comfort in Nature or God o(cept for the weak. who knows. Mission San Rafael Archangel. Otherwise I wrap up in myself like an evening primrose in the sun. We think we learn lessons from her but she deserts us at the moment of action. limits. Luclcy Drive. And man. With what frightening 66 67 . M"yb. INA JOB July z6 is German forJew Crauman On the road again. Riding in the car with all the windows open. shadows are falling. this means the end of the old world. We only reveal more of ourselves. How can I rise to the events of our lives. Nor do we. on the minutest of planets may and can range thru all of space. That is why we remain savages. was. To the very frontiers. barriers of outer wodds. Nature is good for analogy. just dreams of long ago beams a face that we must know Summer's gone and life grows cold still in dreams youte mine of old. I am a shrew and nagging bitch as my mother am filled with doubt and too passive.

transmuted. her long black hair blowing out the window. found in Stone House on a mountain in California. J.aly z7 Locked out of the world. broken lines to set my heart afire as the wood cut and burning in the stone place on my left. Out the windowWest and the set sun. There are no dreams writing them under a roof that opens I have not lived except for to the sky.like the gold of alchemy. Here are no demons. Waiting. The children are quieting down now. This must be necessary: Paradise Drive. Does the poem proceed out of pain does the heart have to beat at a super and unnatural speed for the word to be produced. only friends. wheat whirls in the wind. we are above the sea so high the sun blinds our eyes and the birds rise to us. above a blanket of mist pierced here and there by notes from a bird. Pacific Ocean What can I write about Willa Cather's book rat eaten rain ruined beside me. Woman of the prairies writing on stone. Wrapped up in an Indian blanket with the mist falling on this paper Read Vachel Lindsay: Tbe Golden Wbales of California Willa Cathet A?ril Tuilights I could see miles out on the but fog blocks up the view.speed we move ahead. The witch drives her old Chevrolet. book of love poems to SpanishJohnny (what rush when I wrote his name on a silver cup bought in Venice life is sweet together. birds in the branches. 68 6g . In the window a kerosene lamp whose light I write by. Book of the prairies.

I want language to be taut as the rope 7o 7t . Still shows a lighter blue than the black corners of this room.To *y left the fire in the stone place and 4 people before it. her daughter and z men. Then silence. the cricket in the roofwhere the bats live. And prepositions. Only acts fragments of the act that is my life and that of the fellows around me. doors on the side of a ridge that rises behind the house to a hill No scheme. And shadows on the wall that look like snakes. The word that writes itself only in the dark without them. stone house with wooden There is the woman that sleeps now and rises in the dawn the note that dances in the air on ten toes. My book is before me why dont my fingers move over it In the window an oil lamp July July z7 z8 A cricket sings in the morning There is the fute that sings What to do with the definite article. talking of sun worship and fire worship. Out theWestWindow Out the windowWest and the set sun. sit on the stone floor. the woman. How to connect in the dead of the night.

Why This is a stone house built on a ridge in the Big Sur mountains of Southern California. they are only the changing leaves and blossoms on the stem of the eternal tree.that hold a teapot over the fire for hot water. We pour it. Finely built and of careful craftsmanship. All doors are wood. this morning while below the mist rages. Modern Man in Search of a Soul. the mist being a bright gray glare that is like a wall around and below us. I range here clear in the secrets of my own being. This living spirit is eternally renewed and pursues its goal in manifold and inconceivable ways throughout the history of mankind. in good condition except for the roof which has been used over the years for firewood. I have trouble with Mass Media July zB The sea rolls in the at rwilight do I have to write slcy. p. There is a garden built on ridges behind the house. There is a large stone fireplace to the right of the doorway which opens West.It is all the world dropping offthe West July z9 Even my piss runs golden in this time of plenty all spring long one lovely flowering of my life. we could see miles out on the Pacific Ocean. nights'sleep. Measured against it. one ofwhich I propped up with pink scarf and stick."Jung. To the East the kitchen and backdoor. it freely chooses the men in whom it lives and who proclaim it. Into the strainer thru sweet leaves "The living spirit grows and even outgrows its earlier forms of expression. Except of course cabinets and table and stools. mattresses over wood 72 slabs which give an excellent 73 . giant servants to the sun. We stay in doors all. which are handmade from the woods which slope offfrom this ridge on three sides. They face southwest. and now in summer I come to this mountain. 244 It is an hour's climb from the road. A11 else is stone. day. I found two sunflowers at the edge of an abyss. If it were not for the mist which has suirounded us since we arrived. The animals have eaten all the plants. blocking out the sun but not its glare. the names and forms which men have given it mean little enough. so all supplies have to be brought in on one's back. We live primitive on a stone foor. The house was built in r9r9 by a man named Lapler.

zr And so be done. here from a stone.lung says and the mountain cat becomes the spade cat prowling thru Killmore Street.r565 the license number on the car aside us as we go the shoreroad back from Gorda thru the Big Sur mountains to San Francisco. r9o9.'to hold fast the reins and to steer the wheels clear. And we are lucky when we dream. Into a new birth."' Zimmer The King &the Corpse p. Lizard under the stone. -AKc 74 7s .the demonic horses harnessed to the chariot ofour life. Dont discount the dawn for at 6 au the junkies meet at the Hot Dog Palace ".. And poets go to sleep then. now to the right. bees buzz around us to score. the conscious ego being only the driver. And I was born then. April 4?. The Great Beast and his Book of the Law Liber al vel Legis..Let the peaks be blocked from view the woman walks thru the room and brother and sister sit together on the step ofthis stone house. To adhere to the structures of my being. Itrhethr thqtfall away into the sea or not. Is I comin or is I goin is it somethin or is it nothin is I livin or is I dyin is in the morning the two trees fulI of canaries atd in the burnt grass yellow poppies. like Gathe's Egmont. Practicing containment. be gone with it into some gentler night where winds ofennui are not so fierce and fires from the void so drear. the air is alive with sound all I want to know is is July 3o xr. 56 revelations therein made to him. Between midnight and dawn. And the bats return home to the roof of Stone House to sleep. One must remember that "The speech of birds" is the language of angelic communication. A thirty year time lag: E Pound r9z9 editing Exile brings MEASURE out 1959 with golden marigolds hanging offits ears and a white bone in my pocket from the fields telling me the way is of the jungle magic is tbe science of tbe jungle. now to the left. So that there is nothing for it but to resign onesel{. there from a precipice.

what he has and must use. of his own life. not Old-New r Book of the Earth City z Chades Olson's Descartes Newform : Tom Field's Notes on Form &Beauty New space 4 Ebbe Borregard'sJournal place 5 John Haines A Nice View Reminiscence 5 Sheri Martineli's stream Z Wm Fleming Night Piece decadence 8 David Meltzer Mechankions degenerate 9 John Wieners dope ro Michael McClure Notes hip rr Philip Lamantia City ofWeir struggle Magnum Opus 76 77 . the all over the page without will but a plan a design of the I mind not constructed out of agony but moving with the tides. when it is the man will show. I aint trying to be brilliant. but these images we recognize. this structure of change. So that the way will widen as the land it moves over. the neq not the evocative image of friends of faces my soul knows from the past. I mean the red that is his alone containing fire and blood. shifting but always revolving upon itself. tongue of flames tx:'. For despite the labor I feel it necessary for my neur-creating psyche to see the fresh field rather than the souvenirs and fetishes ofsuch a recent past. but more the gift.Aug rst decide today to strip my walls bare.'"Yselrin' As PLAN FOR MEASURE the writing is. or blood running down his hands. only the red guilt on his hands. Even tho that past may be lost because no poems made note of the events contained therein. but the old wide plain where man is alone. I was going to say guilt for having stolen fire. does dip and valley volley home like a cannonball. Wbat does any of tbis do but that is the voice of my demon. And I am a needy and lonely wanderer clad in red with no memories (what a difficult law to live by) so it is I strip the walls of my room that I may have the fresh. the corpse that hangs upon the tree and wails! srnaNGE FRUrr Tltis song raas writtenfor ne Billie Holiday says under the baby spot light. I was going to say wind.

so Mad machine vision Jess typewriters hang in The Pawnshop Window. brought into being by the needs of my ever-avaricious ever bright-full mind. Shouting my words into the abyss where the Fool walks. We are playrng at little games and I am one of the children. Love Poems Collin's Tiicky Lad Allister Crowleyt Liber al vel Legis (the woman) AnotherJournal or Photo ofJan Ron Loewinsohn Ed Marshall John Wieners And if man is not engaged in Mary Fiore creating new form. o precious reader o not desert me. He says there is no death. Sometimes it is only given to us a few words to speak and a litde time to say them in. we know that we come back tomorrow. We go bitten by what 78 79 . We return to the grave soon enough. Not insanity but how far are we from the time of ten years ago. Even tho all the pencils break and all the without you I roam alone. And their instruments with them. And what is this new form that breaks thru? Is it pure? What shape does it have? Its contour on the page. Like the tree does.act LSD surrealism revelation Flesh t2 13 Duncan What do I know of the old lore John Reed's Capsule from Another World Allen Ginsberg's r. It is the limbo of contemporary America. And so if the day dies and we too have to decline with it. Or we would remain. For him there is no life either. And daily we re-enact their rites. Yet even that too moves at its own gracefrrl and deadly speed-need. Let us not take ourselves too seriously. ease. Or the sun has these billion years. Today I am one of them and I dress in a red robe. Where do I dwell but in Hell stealing your secrets. What paltry beings we become if we complain that 28 years upon the planet is too much. in an old form: prose. Persky's Cocteau Prose for Russell Michael Rumaker's Letters Two Indians fishing on the Bay of San Francisco And who am I but a lonely setter upper Aug 5 ofoutworn creeds and beliefs. It appears that we are not needed as a rule any longer after that. what does he engage himself in? He does not die with each day. And the waves wash over us. words go on.

The poet works to undo the confusion around him. But today is Friday and I know what's happening on the street. Now is not enough. 8o 8r . Snap my fingers. Not aware that his slightest fash of eyelid is enough to set those offaround him into an ecstasy of awareness. I have yearned for you and now you where I undergo the trials withhold yr. With a magnificent obsession.beautiful bug. you spur me on. hands from me. Richer says. There is no thinking about it. And if I cannot speak in poetry it is because poetry is reality to me. my friends. I would think it's a full moon for the high tides in my soul. Aul7 Nothing today but the yen. butterfly o scorpion. Well the cycle moves and I with it. of desire I have to look for something to do. what hideous forms appear before me in the faces of my countrymen. at the door. Buddha sits in the dust. use What strange voices. The Perseids shower themselves thru the sky above me. For heroin. Oh those high mornings those nights when the boat rocked with velvbt tides. Wbat a dffirence a day made the girl sings on It is necessary for the poet to be ignorant of the true mystery and yet to contain it wrapped around him. A. the radio. Must I pay forever for those sweet rides thru the tunnel oflove. To be dumb himself A mammoth vegetable. Le Chiteau Merveil I have hunted. It does not appear. As all men. He should not add to it. and not the poetry we read. but find revealed in the estates ofbeing around us. As always. I am alone. Put it away as one would do a lover.

In the center of the chamber King Arthur sat upon a seat of green rushes over which was spread a covering of f. To try my soul? for pay every inch oflife (oy) To guard against Pax John of the Wood. And there they made joy out of mind. swept over by it forgetting it is not eternal. No it sis not harder to bear. We must see them as temporal. In this the writing. now shalt thou know what women desire most of high and low There is one thing in all our fantasy. And your bed of crimson joy. As passing manifestations thru the cosmos. rocks I I move thru. The non life the vacuum that is the thing I flee from. Pain is harder to bear. And a cushion of red satin was under his elbow. and that now shall ye know: We desire of men above all manner of thing.ame-colored satin. The eternal letters that spring from the mouths of men.They stalk me down. Sword in his hand. Always looking for life or the passing of events to be enough. these words shall fade and'fall to shreds as the rest. But I erect them for they are my salvation. in his head. One forgets there too that this will end. Written to hold up the trembling structure. 83 8z . And they are not. He will drive you wild. destroY. Even this. Rot What Ougltt Not Every day decay goes on. Dame Ragnell: Sir. beware maiden if you want to live chaste and mild. The most. And where the solace is. The rose grows a green hardihood. That is the nature ofjoy that one thin&s it will go on forever. to have the sovereignty.

deter one from the poem. Each action. Although a breadth. folding clothes against her belly. bending before the beloved objects in them. a dimension is given one that is almost. object takes on a special meaning it did not have before. Red drapes in the open window King Solomon and his magic wand like a verb. 8+ 85 . The poem demands a degree of attention that drugs.Aug 8 Aug rr My mind keeps running over at its edges A poem for Susan like rays from the sun or the arms of a spiral nebula. or not. Am I wrong here? Does it matter that I shake in the wind like a cross atop the palm tree out my window. And the Tarot Deck to hear her move in the room. there is no need to recount actions description not enough. Hidden secret from me before I watch them unravel their world. but irresistible. Not a cat but woman. Around the central which is bell button but she breathes point turning point where action is transmuted. brushing the arms of her coat. At least I feel not at my maximum po'wers. That I do it. The earth shaped like a pear is the Adam's apple of the universe Bobs up and down every 2oo million years. because they slacken one. Am the mover and the moved. is like adjectives is not enough to tell our fortune. Just the joy of her Oh we are galaxies unto ourselves.

first ones outside my window. The murderous thrust. Inward contemplation. Dreams. Action.. a partaking ofgrace left by our ancestors. so that if we write. with all the hideous knowledge of the world thrown in our face. All these things are an intrusion and at times called evil in thru the senses. get wailing behind it. A magic one I was born at this hour. this is the upward/motion. opening suitcases.? twofold.That they are what we are right now. And the objects of the outside from then on draw us outward. we are placed midpoint of a sphere shaped like the figure eight. because they are of this wodd. and the mind which has made conscious use of the "pen" since the eye opening etc. The warmth of mother's womb. further and further into space. grave diggers that we are. Which are made up of the actions that went on before above. A legacy we pass on. Progressive? Progress.A woman's face. And we share again the glow and first excitement of that movement. same moment there is But at the very an identical Both sides of my nature come to the fore with such strength. Order in oneself. again here. what meaning do these sudden acts of life? of savagery have? Duncan asks in Lose. The girl fishing in her purse. on the bones ofour fathers. so that in time they form a it is the rush right reason that comes from heaven. The birds. Partaking of the pen. we have the powers of all who have written before. ofbirth. what comes 87 85 . The Forward. Behind dope.. One's own kingdom consists in setting each instant king. Use of the unconscious. Each instant's gift. and all this at dawn. is Aug rz From the moment of our birth. wider and wider everyday in every way. Saints ifwe are saintly but for one second. this. But back again from now to infinity where the first mind shone. transmit to others after us and around us. love the lovers of old. but "the legacy" given to us at the moment of our birth. We work our way back to that. Knowing that that instant. From then to now. Man marches on. Come back to hunt us. Because motion going on downward. The result of the action we are engaging ourselves in.

As I do.w. Is such a conscious construction of high genius intellect that it does not partake of that mysterious (again that word force which we call automatic. I can no more use them as dead things divorced from the blood ofour desire 88 2. on us now. I will use the distractions of this world. No matter how know I go. Impelled by whatever order the mind imposes. Make it clear. In that it partakes ofexistence. Shit. she does not want to get off at the end of the line. than I could see any living thing thus separated.And stay away from subject matters. how ruined. what concentration could I distill from the crashing moment. He. but written what? On toilet paper heart.Experiment#r And if the words come out with no order or force. For all lives. You will allow me that reader. She did not have to do it. On sick arms. i. in whatever form. Deal with words as if they were hunks of letters without meaning.e. Which is a creation of that we were before. Oh heroine /// The words reveal themselves and place our actions. with no forms but new ones. they will rise. But 89 . in fact by dwelling on it I know I lose some powers of the present. Lifting Bellyis a fiction. it does not revolve on any one object that long. And be abstract. and erect a structure from them that will be of the poem. allowing myself to doubt the authoriry. bombed by shit. love is a shuck. and the spirit's rage. on its own. And if I were to try again. But something forbids it. reveal our actions by our words. A.Aug The wind is a guitar in the house tonight the dog barks just once at the non-existent moon. But you see. without will. the confusion of thots that rush in on me. I thought then: chance and change. Do not anticipate your nerft move. r3 The maiden strums alone in golden light lovers say goodbye and close their eyes on the rising sun. Now does that make sense? I could clarify and rationalize. That you better do what you have to do or you shall partake ofdeath. Sbe shalt crush thy bead and thou shalt lie in raaitfor And if one were to begin writing at the command ofwhat mysterious agent. so that my mind can not practice automatic writing. akeady I am imposing a conscious order there which Gertrude had the genius not to do. ber heel. the word. Whatever that is. yourselves that.

let me sing. That boy Bringing them back again and again. The guitar can go on. the new form. keeping pace DUPLICATB its melody. Narcissus. save that for the birds. he says. but This is the work of the intellect Dante the intelligence manifesting itself thru nature. or song. Stoned. Become image. through the window. looking at his own picture. your mind. ofhis eyes. us. Of his lake. looking behind too. the new poem. full strains.ziz. I use that word to mean any high peak point of the wind is a guitar awave that washes against the shore ofthis house. of Wally Berman. I don't have to try to The new order. Thrown on the wind of Spring. Wouldnt you. I reveal nothing here but Am I right on my facts? A ridiculous self doubt that has no place in creation. Lgaz. I have no obtigation or debt to reality that I need record it. looking in the mirror. remembering how poems under drugs sound so Poor on re-reading but so great when writing them. This is how words are abstract here in the poem. by *y lines. with space not leaping ahead. we are all.7o7 Scott Street. Semina. Mean onlywhat they are used for in the poem. 9r 9o .move with the passing of past events of Cassandra's. creation.

a life of their 5 Saturday own. make your own. the sound of cellophane. A black boat scudding in a purple fog. There are other things to do I think than write this. Rheims Dauphin on horse races to 19 head. a silver scissors. Spend all that you find Shimmy the horizon. be extravagant. (the moon! a new soul on the horizon. Or the black magician rules over my 92 93 . My life with all sails a-fud. Labor DayWeekend I I see two leaves Soon they are three. They twist and coil with a shape. Who is the woodsman that cuts down my treei And what do I care what they say about me when itt you I hunger and pant for over the whole face of the world. You and the night and the music is the song they send to me on the Divasadero. it Leave at once get out at 3 pM. the small town left behind. Images fash again.Aug ASP There is so much to watch. The show's over now. The drug has entered our heads and there will be peace. sent here to steal your secrets. Around here. They slide on and offthe screen. Bits of tree. The sky is brought down. Seaweed. nrr.l 4rd APOGEE Mark it. means "Greenwich is the initial meridian" Catch up with the colors. The matador at sunset the cross across the crown the town on top. ink spots Boston in ry49. Colored paper rose. blue spots. four fingers. Language gives way or is funneled to the tongue there to dart out as a viper when the right fly lands before its eye. am a spy from another scene. Do not speak them before me. Augz4 Sunday September Across the eye come images from another world.

her deceased lover. Their black hair as straight and short as here. Instead of the "Two Worlds" of Life and Death we have. this harrower of the kingdom of death. One might say that. New smoke over the washed face of the white square Fill itwith a shaking line.And of course I turn to my words when the rest of the world runs out. passing through the seven successive gates. see the blonde girl bend over trvo Japanese dolls. be a black sea. and as the supreme representative of the soul we have the queen.. Le style est l'homtne. easy qUOTE The black tree on the wall spreads its ominous form thru my brain. to rescue Tammuz (Adonis). Take it Temfo Duncan said over the heads of the audience. the blue boat black boat gone. the long life with and without her. from the bondage of the hell-queen Ereshkigal. in the place ofthe dead we have abducted hostages. That no matter what I do Fresh water. that pops in and bounces among the weeds. His dedication to Guinevere. is a mythical savior. 3) Wipe clean the glass. under the spell of the singular passion that possessed him. Idoit with some measure of love and time. in spite of the chivalric gear Sir Lancelot. rain of forms into white space that was nothing. That supreme and cosmic adventure is precisely the typical one of the Divine Lovers ofAntiquity. Careis what I work for. You are the For fundamentally. Section z) Be a thousand weeds be ink thrown under the hull. Now a blue circle the eye. I am in no rush. Their eyes roll and their arms and legs bend. And now it is 95 94 .. They flee from me that some time did me seek. not looking for the universe through binoculars. feudal kingdoms and their quarrels. is now abstract design. But he himself was likewise astray.The goddess Ishtar of the Babylonian mythology descended into the netherworld.. had so filled his being with the magnetisms of love that he was like a demon presence that set the mind astray. in his romance.

There man meets his greater sel{ his totem animal. the casde of Merlin stands. and each is both. Its coundess windows look out upon the secrets that lurk around it. fuIl of strange forms and whispering voices. But the chosen one..Lancelot. the elect.in the culminating image of the series. its countless eyes see and know all. QUOTE The magic forest is always fulI of adventures. in the figure of the Hermaphrodite the two were one. the demonic presences. and their reunion in the Castle of Death is symbolic of the renewing moment that restores the life of the wodds. In their rea. The figure is immediately suggestive of the Dancing Shiva."The Soulwas the bride of the Lord. the doors are open to travelers from every quarter ofthe globe. their love play is the dance of that Cosmic Hermaphrodite.. as warriors and men. the disguised rider in the cart. The forest is the antithesis of ltouse and beartb village and field boundary where the household gods hold sway and where human laws and customs prevail. and the forces of nature reveal themselves. Such a bisexual symbol represents the embodiment in a single form ofall the pairs ofopposites. The candidate is to reahze and impersonate this attitude as the effective symbol of his supreme metaphysical reahzatton. this seat of darkness. "The Dancing Horn-Aphrodite. and it offers to each of the elect a different approach to the mystery. who is to accomplish the terrible journey again" Like Christ. Shiva unites in himself the female and the male. Sir Lancelot is to harrow and redeem the abyss. not Gawain. the ancestral spirits. The forest has always been a place of initiationl for there . which threaten the protected life of the ordered world of common day. The casde is the heart of darkness. 96 97 . The hero in those days was the maker of his own 'weapons. the unsullied horseman. and this incarnate Form of forms is then conceived of as the One whose dance is the created world. the dark aspect of the world. Somewhere in this monstrous (mountainous) region. terrors. the divine adventurer who descended into Hell and released from eternal death Adam and Eve and all the patriarchs and prophets. a transcendence ofthe contraries of phenomenability. who survives its deadly perils. it contains the secret of the soul's adventure. and paths lead from the casde into the farthest reaches of the world. No one can enter it without losing his way. And thither the medicine man conducts the youths of the tribe in order that they may be born again through gruesome initiation rites. . literally the "forger of his own fortune. is reborn and leaves it a changed man. Something similar would seem to be indicated by the divine bed of Sir Lancelot and the queen: the two lovers are one." and so his power and prestige were in large measure bound up with his ability to forget a weapon that would not break in his hand. Merlin dwells in the "enchanted forest" the "Valley of No Returrt''which is the hand of Death. It holds the dark forbidden things-secrets.lization of this identity they embody and make manifest the singular Form of forms which is beyond all space and time. In its terrifying abyss.

The dream of the Age of Stone to possess a magic missile which should return to the hand that threw it. And into the room on Sunday afternoon about two and started talking about screws. The habit justifies anything. Monday Labor Day peilous" which was to remain free awaiting secret future happenings The Round Table companion must array himself for the lonely quest of the supernatural. I come before the casde. like the hammer ofThor. My horse for a cart and I Wednesday Sept 9 "Woman. whatever he does is enough and right. facades of junk. And I dwell forever in higher pastures. or the thunderbolts of Zeus and Indra. To stop the flow. To fy to float. Nor will I. 98 99 . For the real dope 6end there is nothing to do absolutely but the ritual of transmuting his dope into his blood and thereby his brain and then noting whatever lies around him. Pound. Be a dandy in a silk shirt but not know it. what comes into his ken. Just another line link in the unending chain of uaNrt ros. on a peak over the Pacific. To reign in the throne of Egypt. nails through their hands and feet. Who wade thru these waters with his hip boots wet. Other poets dwell here my God make room for me. making ruins out of casdes. And yet to voice it. Beware poet before you go poking about in the ashes of my life. beware before putting a label on any of my garments. Darien. For once there it is eternal. Which benzedrine may have destroyed. pre-Renaissance manEzra. To return to self:ignorance. ideas are the most dangerous germs mankind has ever been injected with. To be real. mind. To tell the truth. He so Crystal and the man burst opened the bureau drawer and answered her questions. Lost. I have not tasted damnation yet. "seat ride back to the Middle Ages. For the habit is a means into the heavenly kingdom. Now is the only time to write. heroin stairwells. September 6 Simple. Casdes of marijuana. mentality and ideas are death. He does not look for anything to do. benzedrine fushes. my kingdom for a horse. when No more to voice despair. Wear black corduroy pants through the rooms of Hell. what have I do with thee" To those who cannot divest themselves again of mental consciousness and definite ideas. contrary to most people.To regain the right of my ecstasy is upon me.

It is a wise artist who knows when to cry halt in his composition. D. I proceed in perverseness." The least of a man's original emanation is better than the best of a borowed thought. Fantasies of the Unconscious Friday Sept ro A. without worldly ambitions. and all the resultant horrors of ennui. no matter what ideal it be. No idea should ever be raised to a governing throne : that an idea isjust the final concrete or registered result of living dynamic interchange and reactions: that no idea is ever perfectly expressed until its dynamic cause is finished and that to continue to put into dynamic efiect an already perfected idea means the nullification of all living activity.. the substitution of mechanism. ecstasy. He must await the season of fruitage without roo but die. His ears mustbe deaf to the clamor of insistent friends who would quicken his pace. a formal feeling comes. not paint to live. E. ing psyche. Or bring down the temple of my soul.The Ideal is always evil. but it should be pondered over in his heart and worked out with prayer and fasting. Winged Horse "The artist mustb:ucl<7e be cause there is nothing else to do himselfwith infinite patience.. Let others fall down be fore us. without vexation of spirit. Dickinson Diana on gilded leather The poet on Pegasus Entering the Realm of the Muses we fall back in shadows. The canvas I began ro years ago I shall perhaps complete today or tomorrow: It has been ripening under the sunlight of the years that come and go. After great pain. And we are not allowed that. neurasthenia. Pinkham Ryder He must No thing but the song paintHe must live to paint. Lawrence. An inspiration is no more than a seed that must be planted and nourished.H.. and a collaps- haste. Igoa- . His eyes muSt see naught but the vision beyond.

its pivotal motion.L. so must leaves fall every single autumn. Even dead men's souls. its respiration. A rain-tight roof. It is our soul which acts within us. But LovE is really blind. I contain my own kingdom. Who can say I should not walk in glory Old leaves have got to fall. "gods" on solitary thrones. 3o8 W. See: Marsde n HartTey: Albert Pinkbam Ryder The Seven Arts v." Without the night consummation we trees without roots. Law. Fantasia and God's sunlight through clear windows keep the soul attuned and the body vigorous for one's daily work. a box of colors D. z May ryr7 in individual creatures.lone serving the gods within. r5th The artist should not sacrifice his ideals to a landlord and a costly studio. frugal living." And when you rise (Here in the morning you have to say: rises an unknown quantity'which is still myself. why. We really have no will and no choice in the first place. I move with pain. Sitting as when I do. on the beating hearts of men and beast. D. r03 . dayby day unfolding us according to our own nature.R.H. A.H.P. I wake and wash tears down my face. you have to say: "Here dies the man I am and know myself to be. Because we insist that even the sun depends for its heartbeat. And so dead men. old forms must die. And if men must at certain periods fall into death in millions. And dead leaves make good mould. on the dynamic of the soul-impulse are where the poet folds his green paper in the sunset and pads by in bare feet over the bare boards of this floor. Is not art a sacrifice and are not we bound to rt. "The deific principle in nature and the heroic principle in man" Move beyond that to what place but here When you go to sleep at night.

Daddy's here. Saturday Night cannot have stars eyes all the time. I will endure this solitude. And steps like inside the Statue of Liberty lead up to her. The long night stretches before you. Cars crash on the boulevard outside this room. At the moon. Why not with yellow flowers in the holy water fount. It is a holy place where I create forms to dance across the ridges ofyour mind. Wooden. I will rise to a new day. The fates await you. They creak the bed and cause the dog to bark. IfI And it is time to begin school again just before Wally stops in to see us good morgen father you rise in the east green and all doors open by you. They bring their animal groans. at least let there be love. And in the night lovers come where there was no light before.Something Eke And he'll come up and into this room expect me to love him and I suppose I will. O my soul. I I in my + H ORSE r04 r05 . have no fear. what will you do? The Monday ervr Stttf for Chaucer With no lover. you are the news cast. There is a princess in the tower. And night sky between us. Wait for his foot on the stair. with grass and sunlight upon them I could climb the stairs or stay here in the poem And it does not come. and the silver funnel on the Dunce's head.

stole a pill and away did run so f Tbis ryage isfor Billy a Dont turn away. WIT cH. Dcstry rides ahead.For Ezra Pound This page is not The accent of a coming foot the opening ofa door docr uPPer not a rose shirra hair shirt and forever the burning plate with 5oo peyote buttons on it. Put Doatn of Contemporary Poctry Goodmorning the roses sing In the green garden on the ranall This page is for lovely a- this is a tape- lrie stry. sometimes yes. Kitchen pots and pans. I want you in my magic mirror forevcr. Desire burns. Hcrc t a w a I knit it by myown hands. becomes a rosc shirt for you to wear. JohnJohn theJoker's son Washington crossing the Delaware. v ro5 ro7 .

Living for the next instant. chrysalis that Ma Khiam. I sit in pain A red robe amid debris. She thinks: can he Wind shakes the read me on the beach at Wakiki like an open book a loafofbread and thou beside me singing butternut wine I know the butterfy is my soul gro\ rn weak from batde. Climbing up the black border of the window.I'm home a new home apart seeks from this room. Why do you urant out. edges of my yellow being. TheWizard of O. You bend and climb. Gasping for breath. Sept zo Rimbaud's Journals FromAbyssima Kultur collect her mss. Loud and clear. A caterpillar. oxtending antennae.that no one could catch him eve r. B. Pound Guest. Alice is one fabulous radio station that plays all night long. kant huite kwip be lsviet all of A poemfor trapped things. You Yoa You Oh God what have you given me that a black butter& lives in this room. A giant fan on the back of a beede. in the wilderness. This morning with a blue fame burning this thing wings its way in. ro8 ro9 .

Dress in blue. Dogs bark in my ears. Who will play in the light at autumn. . Full Moon The blue diamonds on your back are too beautiful to do And new boys come into the room. Only strange bones sit before him. when all men are alone. hearing them unzip their fies in the night.The stretching of limbs under an Indian Army blanket. Go down daughter. They fold up into the lotus position listening to rain.And will disappear from sight at the pulling of invisible strings. The street a swarm with the rusde of their silk through its gutters. October With my hand over my mouth. high collared shirts. await the phantom lover-the one who haunts all vromen. awaywith. Tbe Waning of tlte Haroest Moon September 17 No fowers now to wear at Sunset. The rubber tires always in our ears. so fine this thing is. Autumn and rain. Fured chest. who stands behind every man. I watch you all morning long. They sit at the foot of his bed. he is not the one. The night with one far auto call over the unseen hill. And that too out of sight. my soul heavywith the memoryof heaven. hoods and white cloaks hang in the closet. ragged silk under wings beating against the glass no one will open. with a finger and head shfing-"Not him. My soul ajangle of lost connections. the one I dream of. Only the flesh of the beloved is before his eyes. My man lost." forbidding me each time . The reunion of the beloved boys there. I am sitting on the hard bed. Dogs bark at the gate. Yet so tenuous. High buttoned shoes. we could vanish from sight like the puff off an invisible cigarette. reading comic books and the latest pages of poetry from the renaissance. For the descent.o lTrr"i. I Nir.

And further yet to go. Metis He Will Neoer Come 5o4 Anonymous Calliope discovered the art of heroic versel Clio the sweet music of the lyre which accompanies the dance Euterpe the sonorous voice of the tragic chorus Melpomene found for mortals the honeytoned barbitos Terpsichore gave us the artful flute Erato invented cheering hymns to the gods Polymnia the joys of the dance I sit and pine for him To ride by in his bronze car. I13 .Down. her blouse blows the shade ofdead grass. you better be there or what I am pulled back to is the one dead string tied to the middle of her skull. I alone watch him work up the sidewalk in this sun. Who plugged in that center. Day and night at the threshold ofthis door astride steel armor. Savage moulder from the underground. by the mysteries and the divine suffering of their founder. Eros he becomes. Urania discovered the pole and the dance of the stars of heaven Thalia the lots and good moral teaching of comedy are done dromena-the things that For Helen p Thus the essential elements in the legend of Orpheus are sacred song. the other world and the ennobling of man by song and transcendence. Before the Muses. Her hair is woven of a million Phanes Protogonia Orpheus Ericapaeus Eros Dionysius strings. Words gone from my mouth. Who weaves the waves? Sea weeds. Priapus of the harbor from the reeds bound wound a basket about her bones. Speechless in the tide.

Balas New London CountyJail Bo:< 388 A poem for my goest To the young flush oflove spread on the faces of those I love is worth all the pain in my world. A shroud has fallen 9. My eyes do. Like Christ come again toJerusalem room. Fires of hell aglow in his bones. The pencil in my hand becomes lead September and the harvest moon aches.59 over my tlpewriter.Thomas E. Sooth- ing and slow. u5 tt4 . and real Sweet music soft and tender They are there light brings in the night' ing stars shine.26 Flesh turned eternal 18 M. The dead of the year. mywrist falls. Connecticut Take photograph ofhouse at Ellis &Prince on Ellis 4 porticos The door opens. see Uncasville. Grid foorbackn. At night. Lit. She is gone underground.z6 Annie the Cop born CalTjader's Black Orcbid Sunday afternoon 9.ay fi75 translucence.

Blue smoke up the chimney. Linger awhile Before the guns go off. it bringeth forth much fruit. I mourn October 15 Grey hairs across the pillow. except a corn ofwheat fall into the ground and die. My mother goes." body and soul! I go down the drain of with autumn. already.So soon. Wittgenstein Wittgenstein told me how the idea of language as picture of reality occurred to him. is towers we build in the dawn. Paradise LJJ. The way in which the parts of the proposition are combined-the structure of the proposition-depicts a possible combination of elements in reality. it abideth alone: but if it die. Waitingfor tbe Prince "a milestone in the history of logic" Principia Mathematica Russell &Whitehead No more.oz serves as a licture light I wear in the is your sunset. tbe trenches Written during First World War in rr6 n7 . a puts such dry leaves in the throat and your neck beloved queen ofthe heavens. It Verily I say unto you.n: z4 "My whole task consists in the explanation of the nature the proposition. And the pain of not loving you With mywhole means John. a possible state ofaffairs. It th"t ?ro?osit.

It's I dont want it to be hung up a beautiful cross November z7 In the present tense.Letters to the Citizens of What newgoddess out of the tents of Babylon. United kingdom under The Fall. A crack On the back of bamboo blinds. Down labpinthine glooms. November 29. Here PAN A*y Lily Joli" Ivy Anders Tawn Lowell Lang!ry Adams Mil&ed Pearl Bailey Black Green Red Yalli-Waddig Qreen There e box returned Received from There is no p. I want to be free Love in the dawn. First Adam and Eve ReSide in splendor. what old ladywith golden cyes.left. She What countrywhere the green light blows Out through the realm of night Squares crossing circles and avenues steps into her shoes.1959 November r Johanna berg South Africa rr8 II9 . of ForWallace. And wo giant Steps up the front ofthis housc.

Let peyote go The vigil ends. Here KISSIAH MC ARTHUR BLVD gods disappear. Naked on the ground. Sinla The Bona Venta sails wHo D for me on the grass like Fifth Avenue. our great ship ofstate JWAH JOSIAH JOELLS JOY of shadows. Demolished. a star offthe eastern window. rock coast offMaine beyond beaches.r45oqr95o Jargon Books inverted arrow 40 NYT 50M 35 Ac 200 Y HEAD N 5oo 825 o T 1959 M zoo 73 3 oo tr4 98 B food drink The Mystery (forJake Erlich r. banks beyond their court ofhigh yellow sunset. G t20 .

fi. 3. Charlcs Cagr"Rule of Kings" shrine ofthe local god Study Origins of Blacfr. The Qreen draws an oasis for the dcsert.Plant Mercury and chestnuts to throw down upon the chest. Jarophagus graves mat burials cby stone copper (fishhooks shcll Stomp the graves of my fallen queen. Mountain vlA SUMER Date of Founding John Rich to thc ttoarn for dawn puesi hegemony Fara-------- r23 .29 Silver finger rings copper bands spearheads.

is a state between the origin and the end. Street Washington DC I pose you your question: shall you uncover honey / where ma$gots are? And what is the message? The message is a discrete or continuous sequence of measurable events distributed in time is the birth of air. it are This very thing you The night of December Received z5 dollars z5 rysg How awe. loses Pressure yr. t24 125 . planes fly dogs. the girl downstairs sends her mother up to get me. On the top. tribe. presents no more than itself I hunt among stones The mechanics of the consecutive order of events in any repeatable sequence For 7rr of I may be anybody to you but youte still Miss King to me. Cry in the night. between birth and the beginning another fetid nest is change.the offal ofancestors in the hands of a scribe. is the birth of water. bark at men. And the too strong grasping of it. when it is pressed together and condensed. night-rest and neighborhood can rot on loan fromTiumbull Higgins Family z5oo N.

he returned to Boston. bird heard out loud. Move through the under brushes. and. And boys hitch their trousers at the moon. Where all sound dies in the night. during which time he wrote 7o7 Scott Streel.Cuz somethin's on the fire. elaborating on none ofthis. And JOHN WIENERS Wieners was born in Milton.looking like the shadowed corner ofa garden. the light shining on the silver edge of these keys. but which is not. picking up speed as I go further in. looking out that nothing disturbs me from it. San Francisco n6 . the magic formation of the letters in rows upon the green field of thc paper. important impact on the Boston and Cambridge literary scenes.. After a two-year stay in San Francisco. after receiving his ne from Boston College. which cd. is only hercr7o7 Scott Street. and had an it may be me. In the green shadow of the lamplight absolute reality is all I am interested in. studied at the now famed Black Mountain College under Charles Olson and Robert Duncan. m"Br. entering into communion with it. this place. and has divided his time between Boston and NewYork since. Massachusetts in 1934. From 1956 to 1958 Wieners lived in Boston. where he edited the literary magazine Measure. be called. So blow out the blue smoke.

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