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, ,
( . . .) [193:115].
- forsythia out race
springs yellow telegram hope insists action
FORSYTHIA ,
, .
,
,
.
63
- ,
- . ,
, ,

(forsythia out race springs yellow telegram hope insists action),
FORSYTHIA,
.
, ,
,
. ,
(. 2.2),

. ,
, ,
, .

.
, , ,
,
, , , ,
. ,
,
- ,
,
, ,
.
64
,

,
- , -
,
-
. ,

,

, ,
, -
- .

,
, , ,
.
2.2.1.
,
, ,

,
, . , ,
, ,
- ,
,
65
. , ,
- ,
. ,
-
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,
, ,
.
,
,
, ,
.
,
- ,
- ,

.
,
, ,

- , :
- ;
- - ;
- ;
- .

, ,
(Constellations):
66
to lock oneself in and

to fence oneself off
to construct a center and

to grow in it
to spit the center up and

to grow in the segments
to stay in ones segment and
to become transparent

to fence oneself off [285].
-
, , ,

, .
, , ,
,
and ,

, , , ,
.
-
, ,
, , ,
,
, ,
67
,
.
,
,
,
- -
.
, ,
:

[256].
, , ,
( )
,
,
.
and ,
, ,
68
,
- .
, , ,
- ,
.
, -

- , , ,
,
(Constellations):
words are shadows
shadows become words
words are games

games become words
are shadows words

do words become games
are games words

do words become shadows
are words shadows

do games become words
are words games

do shadows become words [285].

-
. , ,
69
,
,
. ,

,
words, shadows games
, ,
, ,
. , ,

,

. , ,
,
, ,
, ,
- .
,
,
:

70

[256].
,
, ,

,
, , ,
,
.
, ,
,
,
( ) (
) . ,
- ,

,
- ,
. ,

,
,
- .
71
, -
,
, , ,
,
. , ,
, (
. . .) [109:83].

(Noigandres Poets):
speech
silver
silence
gold
heads
silver
tails
gold
speech
silence
stop
silver
silence
golden
speech
clarity
[276].

-

, ,
, speech silver silence gold heads silver
tails gold speech silence. - , ,
stop,
, , ( . . .)
[178:1279],
72
silver silence golden speech

clarity. ,

,
', .
, , -

,
,

.
,
:
[256].
,

, . ,

. -
,
73
. , ,
, ,
,
. ,
-
. ,

- .
,

,
, ,
- .
, ,
,
-,
, ,
,
. ,
,

, :
mist
mountain
butterfly
mountain
butterfly
74
missed
butterfly
meets
mountain [285].

mist (
) missed ( Simple
Past, Participle II to miss),
meets,
, [58:443]
. ,
-
,
, . , ,
-
mountain butterfly, , ,
, ,
, ,
.

, , ,
, ,
. , :
75
[256].
, ,
,
,
.
missed meets
, ,
,
' -
. , ,

, -
,

,
.
, ,
, , ,
, ,

(Clouds), ,
-
:
76
SENSE
SOUND
SONSE
SEUND
SOUSE
SENND
SOUNE
SENSD
SOUND
SENSE [301].
, ,
, ,
-
, ,
-
- , , ,
. ,
,

,
. , ,
sense sound ,
() ( ),
sound sense ,

sense, sound
.
, , ,
,
- ,
. , :
77
[256].
,
, , ,

,
. , ,
.
,
,
, ,

,
- , .
2.2.2. ,
-

- , ,
-

, - -

, , ,
.
78
: (Concrete Poetry: A World View) [193],

1968 , -
, ,
, . ,
,
, .
,
, -
,
. , , ,
,
, ,
. , , ,
, ,
, []
, ,
, . ,
,
, , .
[] , ,
,
( . . .) [193:218].
(White Rose) [298] (. 2.3).
, ,
,
,
,
. ,
,
79
, white ,
rose ,
. ,
,
,
, , ,
, . , , ,
white heart intricate tight ends entering secret orders remove
, , ,

.
-
,
,
. ,

, ,
.
, ,
,
,
. ,
(. 2.4)

.
80
, white
rose, ,
, , ,
,
, , ,
.

,
,

.

- ,
,
, .

,
,
,
. ,

, ,
- , ,
-
.
,
81
, ,
Geranium,
Flowers in Concrete [298],
1966 . ,
-, - -.
.2.5,
,
,
. ,
,
, ,
.
,
- .

, ,
,
- .
, -
, geranium,
,
, ,
-
,
. ,
geranium - ,
,
82
.
,

geranium, - ,
- .
, .
-,
, -
(. 2.6), -,
geranium,
. ,
, , ,
.
,
- ,
-

,

.
- ,

, , , ,
- ,
, ,
. ,
,
, - ,
83

- .
-
(bpNichol) (Probable Systems) [293]:

,
- ,
-
. ,
, ,
- ,
. ,
,

:
84

--, --, --, -- --,
.

, , ,
, -
eAR ARt heAR heARt eARth
heARth. ,
,
-- --,
ERrOR ORdER, , ,

- ,
,
.
, ,
,
- ,
,
, -,
-
- , ,
, -,
,
, ,
.
85
,
,
, 99%
-
,
, , ,
- ,
.
2.2.3. ,
-

,
,
- ,
,
- .
:
- - (pseudo-nonlinear concrete poems)
- (nonlinear proper concrete poems).
- ,

-
,
,
. , ,

86
(The Alphabet of Blood) [279] ,

, ,

, ,
, (. 2.7 2.12). ,
,
,

.
-

, ,
, -
- (pseudo-nonlinear) .
(nonlinear proper)
- - ,

-
.

(Acrobats) (. 2.13),
(Constellations):
87

, -
- , ,
,
. - ,
,
, ,
.
, ,
-
-
(pseudo-nonlinear), (nonlinear proper)
.
,
[302]:
88

,
- , ,
,
-
. ,
,

- , ,
-
.

, ,

, , ,
, . ,

(nonlinear proper) ,

,

.

, (pseudo-nonlinear) .
,

.

89
, , ,
(The Alphabet of Blood) [279].
,
,
-
,
(here are the lovers):
lovers
here
are
the
bare
bodies
brotherone
meover
kinless
womoanother
sheneath
shechome
duplamplinfantone(s)ever
seedin(t)owomb
thishe
thathe
inhumanother
[275].
,
,
, -
. ,
, ,
,
. , :
, , , ,
, ,
... [81:161].
90
-,
, , , ,

- ,

- .
, ,
- ,
, ,
.

, ,

,
, ,
, . ,
,
brotherone womoanother, ,

, ,
-
, ,
.
,
other
moan, ,
. other,
brother, moan
91
- woman
another -o-,
woman ,
, moan.
,

,

( ,
), , ,

- .
,

-
, - ,
,
,

:
()
92
[256].

, , , ,
-
, . , womoanother ,
inhumanother , , ,
, ,
.
,
, ,
, ,
, .
,
, - ,
, ,
, ,

,
.

- ,
- -
,
,
-, ,
.
93
2.3.

,
, ,

- .
-,
,
,
,

,
, ,
.

,
,
, ,
, . ,
,
.
,
,
-
,
- -
94
,
, .
, ,
,
.

,
.

,
,

. ,
, ,
, , - , ,
, ,
,
[136].
,
,
- , ,
, -
,
.
, ,
95
, ,
,
.

,

,
, [190],
. , -
, , ,
, . ,
. , ,
( . . .) [190:172].
,
, ,
, -
,
- , , ,
,
, ,
,
, , ,
,
.
, ,
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- ,
- ,
96
. ,
,
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,
,

( . . .) [172:117]. , , . ,
,
,

,
.
, ,
,
, ,

,
.

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. :
97
[285].
- ,
-
: -. ,
, -
, -
,
, . -
-
,

.

, -
98
- , ,
.

, ,
,
,
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.

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,
.

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.

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-
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.
99
,
,

,
,
.
:
[256].
, , ,
flow, grow, show,
blow, , -, -
,
, , -,
- ,
, ,
, , ,
100
flow. , ,

,
,
,
-
.
,

, ,
- ,
, ,
, .

-
, , ,
,
,
.
101
3

-

Language is nothing but meanings, and meanings are nothing

but a flow of contexts. Such contexts rarely coalesce into images,
rarely come to terms. They are transitions, transmutations, the
endless radiating of denotation into relation.
Lyn Hejinian
=== (L=A=N=G=U=A=G=E Poetry),
, .

,
, .

,

.

===
, , ,
[109, 223]
[265, 267], -
,
,
,
102

[7] (Artifice of Absorption: An Essay) [129] [217].

[266]
[263].
-,
,
. . [100, 101].

, , ===,
, -
[58] ,
,
, [58:366].
,
-
,
. ,
,
===,
,
, ,
,
( . . . ) [236] , ,
,
. ,
- ,

103
===,
,
,
.
,
===

-
.
. ,
,
,
,

===
[87]
[85],

:
[260], , - ,
-, , ,
, , .
3.1.
===

104
. . . . .
,
[39:205], -

[61:434].
, , ,
, ,
( . . .) [61:444]. ,
. , ,
- , (
. . .) [61:436]. ,

===,
, ,
( . . .) [188:6],
( . . .)
[169:2].
,
,
, ( . . .)
[59:26].

===, ,
,
,
. ,
-
,
, -
,
105
, ( . . .)
[153:45]. ,
,
[39:203],
, === , ,
,
.
===
,

,
(Theorie im Gedicht und Theorie als
Gedicht) [150] ,
( . . .) [150:133].
,
.
( . . .)[150:135],
, ,
, .
( . . .) [150:137] ,

. -

(The
Composition of the Cell):
1.1 It is the writers object to supply.
1.6 Rocks are emitted by sentences to the eye.
2.13 Circumstances rest between rocks.
2.14 The person of which I speck is between clocks.
3.1 Exploration takes extra words.
106
3.4 The words anticipate an immoderate time and place.

3.5 Reality circulates making objects appear as if they belong where they are
[289:111].
, , , , ,
, ,

( . . .) [265:115].

-
- ,
60- ,
2004 :
My lecture is called What Makes a Poem a Poem? Im going to set my timer.
Its not rhyming words at the end of a line. Its not form. Its not structure. Its not
loneliness. Its not location. Its not the sky. Its not love. Its not the color. Its not
the feeling. Its not the meter. Its not the place. Its not the intention. Its not the
desire. Its not the weather. Its not the hope. Its not the subject matter. Its not
the death. Its not the birth. Its not the trees. Its not the words. Its not the things
between the words. Its not the meter. Its not the meter
[timer beeps]
Its the timing [273].

- , .
,
, ,
- , ,
.
'

107

(The Language of Inquiry),
,
, ,
.
, , ,
( . . .) [155:1]. ,
, .
, ,
;
(
[155:1].
,
,
(Thought Is the Bride of What
Thinking), ,
:
Think again the twin its order inscribed.
Thought, or, advances. I have, for the aureate making of things, a further care.
...................................................................................................................................
As chance must lead you first one way and then another, and as comedy does not
always sustain laughter but may provoke tears, so here what is reflected is not what
is visible, and art is seen not to be a mirror [286:3,5].

===
,
, ,
,
, ,
, ,
,
108
- , ,
,
,
, , ,
,
, -
,

. ,
, , ,
,
-,
.
,
(Poem),
(Shade) [272],
:
here.
Forget.
There are simply tones

cloudy, breezy
birds & so on.
Sit down with it.
It's time now.
There is no more natural sight.
Anyway transform everything
silence, trees
commitment, hope
this thing inside you
109
flow, this movement of eyes

set of words
all turns, all grains [270:3].

:
. .

,
.
.
.
.

,
,

,
, [249].
, . ,

, ,

tone, tones.
, , , ,
.
tones,
cloudy breezy,
. ,
110
tone,
cloudy breezy,
, , , ,
.
Anyway transform everything ,
, ,
, anyway,
everything transforms.
flow, , , ,
,
. , ,
,
,
- .
, , ,

===,
,
, - ,
-
. ,
===, , ,
,
,
, , -, ,
[149] [126],
- , ,
, .
111

,
- , , . ,
, (Chronic Meanings),
-
, ,
:
The single fact is matter.
Five words can say only.
Black sky at night, reasonably.
I am, the irrational residue.
Blown up chain link fence.

Next morning stronger than ever.
Midnight the pain is almost.
The train seems practically expressive.
A story familiar as a.
Society has broken into bands.
The nineteenth century was sure.
Characters in the withering capital.
The heroic figure straddled the.

The clouds enveloped the tallest.
Tens of thousands of drops.
The monster struggled with Milton [300:1044].
,
, - ,
.
,
112
. ,

- ,
,
,
(, , Blown up chain link fence. A
story familiar as a.),

. , ,

- .
,
, ,
, , ,
.

,
Temblor, 70 80
, .
,
, ,
, ( . . .) [237].
,
for Lee Hickman,
.
,

, ,
, . ,
113
, , ,
=== ,
, - , ,
, .
, ,
,
, , , Chronic Meanings
. , ,
, ,
, ?...
? ( . . .) [239].
,

===, , ,
, -
,
. ,
, -, ,
, .

=== ,
,
- ,
.

.
,
, ,
-, ,
,
114
. ,
===
, , ,
,
.
3.2.
-
===

- ,

.
,
===, (Textual Politics
and the Language Poets) [153],
, ()
, , ,
, ( . . .)
[153:57].
, -

.
,
,
,
, ,
.
115
, , ,
, .
,
, ,
,
()
- ,
. , ,
, ,
. ,
, === ,
.
,
, - ,
,
3.2.1.
-
-
===
. , - ,
- , ,
,
, ( . . .) [206:111].
, ,
116

.

===,
,
,
:
- ;
- ;
- , ;
- ;
- ,
, -
;
- .
,
-,
-
, ,

.
, (Bats),
- ,
,
, . ,
,
:
117
bats
bats inside the house
& at the windows
giant moths
a dead bird on the doorstep, nothing leaves
a worm with two antennae looked like a brown string bean
or noise
a worm on the cellar floor
four spiders under the table & their debris
we found the bats nest
do they have nests? a raccoon at the door before
someone told me about a field
near here
in the evening the field is filled with deer
the owl in pleasant valley & the silver fox,
porcupine & crow, theyre in cages
the yellow bird, completely yellow
except for wings
black wings, many crows
the worm is curling, coming closer
hes in the shadow of the table
the man across the street
loves red cat so much tried to poison some dog
beverly owns this house [292:60].
,
, ,
:

,

?
-

118
,
,
,

,
,

,
[260:89].

,
, ,
,
.
,
, ,
, ,
, '
, ,
,
. ,

, the man
across the street loves red cat so much tried to poison some dog.

, - '
, :
,
.
,
,
119
-
,

, .
,
===,
,
- , .
, ...
,
(
. . .) [192:84]. -
' ,
,
( . . .) [192:84].

(My
Life),
, ,
1980 1987 ,
37 45 .

,
:
It was a mountain creek, running over little pebbles of white quartz and mica. Lets
say that every possibility waits. In raga time is added to measure, which expands. A
deep thirst, faintly smelling of artichoke hearts, and resembling the sleepiness of
120
childhood. Then the tantrum broke out, blue, without a breath of air. I was an object
of time, filled with dread. I lifted the ice cream to make certain no spider was webbed in
the cone. Sculpture is the worst possible craft for them to attempt. You could increase
the height by making lateral additions and building over them a sequence of steps,
leaving tunnels, or windows, between the blocks, and I did. The shape of whos to come.
For example, the funny pre-family was constant in its all-purpose itinerant ovals. It
should be completed only in the act of being used [288:24-25].

:
,
. , .
, . ,
, . , ,
. , .
, , .
, .
, ,
, . ,
. , -
. [260:108109].

-
, ,
, , -
. , , , , ,
,
.
121
,
,
,

.
,
.
it , It should be completed
only in the act of being used. ,
, , .

Sculpture is the worst possible craft for them to attempt The
shape of whos to come. ,
them
spiders, . ,
' ,
, ,
, ,
, . ,
them ,
, ,
.

who The shape of whos to come, ,
,
: , , ,
. ,
, , ,
, -
122

,
,
.

,
-
,

-
.
, ,
-
BART. ,
,
, ,
,
:
Begin going down, Embarcadero, into the ground, earths surface, escalators
down, a world of tile, fluorescent lights, is this the right ticket, Labor Day, day free of
labor, trains, a man is asking is there anything to see, Glen Park, Daly City, Im going
south which in my head means down but Im going forward, she says he should turn
around, off at Powell, see Union Square, see Chinatown, last day of the season so they
say, visualize tourists, worms in a salad, wife speaks no English, Czech perhaps, Soviet,
Polish, is this the right ticket, carpet of the car is yellow, orange, green, red, blue woven
in also, going faster now [295:300].
,
,
123
, , , Begin going down see Union Square visualize

tourists,
, ,
going faster now
, ,
, , .
is this the right ticket, ,

, ,
.
-

. ,

:
, , , ,
, , , ,
, , , ,
, -,
, , , -,
, ,
, , , ,
, , , , ,
, , , [260:105].
, ,
,
, ,

,
,
124
. ,
,
.
,

===, ,
-
, ,
,

- . ,
,

, , ,
.
3.2.2. -
===

-
(Introjective Verse),
, , -, ,
..., ,
, (
. . .) [130:111].
, , ,
- ,
125
(Projective Verse) ,
1949 , ,
.
- ,

,
, ,

, , [222].

,
'
, ,
, ,
,
, . ,
-
- ,
,
-
. , .
===
,
. , -

, ,
.
,

126
===, -
, ,

, ,

.

, ,
- ,
,
.

, ,
, ,
,
. ,
, , ,
,
( . . .) [109:81].
,
,

(constant change figures),
,
, , ,
,
,
, , - ,
,
, [87]:
127
constant change figures

the time we sense
passing on its effect
surpassing things we've known before
since memory
of many things is called
experience
but what of what
we call nature's picture
surpassing things we call
since memory
experience
but what of what
since memory
the time we sense
called nature's picture
but what of what
in the time we sense
is experience [287].
, , -,
- '
,
128
. -,
,
,
,
. ,
,
,

. , , ,
, ,
, , ,
( . . .) [109:80],
,

,
.
[118]. ,

:

129

[260:112].
,

, , , ,
- ,
- ,
-
. , ,
-
.
- ,

130
-, (writethrough).
82
(Bernadette Mayers Writing Experiments) [235],

.
, , ,

. ,
, ,
,
, ,
.

-
(The Way),
,
, ,

- :
Card in pew pocket
announces,
I am here.
I made only one statement

because of a bad winter.
Grease is the word; grease

is the way
131
I am feeling.
Real life emergencies or
flubbing behind the scenes.
As a child,
I was abandoned
in a story
made of trees.
Heres the small
gasp
of this clearing
come upon again [300:125].
, -,

, -,

,

. ,
,
===,
,
- .
, , ,
I am here, ,
132
,
. , ,
,
, ,
. ,
,

.
,

grease is the word; grease is the way Im feeling.,

Grease, 1978 .
. ,
,
,

,

grease, - ,
, (
. . .) [178:562], -

, [222].
, ,
,
, - ,
,
Grease. , grease
133
,
,
. ,
grease -
, ,
, .
,
, . ,
,
- .
,

I am here. ,
,
, '
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134
once again once upon a time, , ,

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135
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:
silos all by a stillness / nells from bend, a boil allow /
clock odd rounded by person / the pour in a wave off of sugar /
roundheads overpass / surd balls. / all that muscle in
blackboard, ocean propos / did i read it on a page or look
ahead about print exactly alike / divides (every) to a blue [290:17].
,
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silos all by a stillness,
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136
, nells from bend, a boil

allow, -
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139
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141
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(You, I):
Hard dreams. The moment at which you recognize that your own death lies
in wait somewhere within your body. A lone ship defines the horizon. The
rain is not safe to drink.
In Grozny, in Bihac, the idea of history shudders with each new explosion.
The rose lies unattended, wild thorns at the edge of a mass grave. Between
classes, over strong coffee, young men argue the value of a pronoun.
When this you see, remember. Note in a bottle bobs in a cartoon sea. The
radio operators name is Sparks.
Hand outlined in paint on a brick wall. Storm turns playground into a

swamp. Finally we spot the wood duck on the middle lake.
The dashboard of my car like the keyboard of a piano. Toy animals anywhere.
Sun swells in the morning sky.

142
Man with three pens clipped to the neck of his sweatshirt shuffles from one
table to the next, seeking distance from the cold January air out the coffee
house door, tall Styrofoam cup in one hand, Of Grammatology in the other.
Outside, a dog is tied to any empty bench, bike chained to the No Parking
sign [296:117].
, - ,

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143
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Hand outlined in paint on a brick wall
: ,

.
When this
you see, ,
,
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,
Outside, a dog is tied to any empty
bench, bike chained to the No Parking sign,
144
, , ,
,

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===.
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.

(In A Restless World Like This Is):
Not long ago, or maybe I dreamt it
Or made it up, or have suddenly lost
Track of its train in the hocus pocus
Of the dissolving days; no, if I bend
The turn around the corner, come at it
From all three sides at once, or bounce the ball
Against all manner of bleary-eyed fortune
Tellerswell, you can see for yourselves theres
Nothing up my sleeves, or notice even
Rocks occasionally break if enough
145
Pressure is applied. As far as you go

In one direction, all the further youll
Have to go on before the way back has
Become totally indivisible [271:42].

, ,
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[260:97].
,

-
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come at it from all three sides at once, or bounce the ball against all manner
-
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146
, :
, .

As far as you go in one direction, all the further youll have to go on before
the way back has become totally indivisible, ,
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147
A poem is energy transferred from where the poet got it.

Charles Olson

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60 ===,

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1950 60
[252],
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148

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1983

[247]. , 1996
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[264],
1950 60 , ,
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[248], 2004
,
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-, ,
.

, [253, 257], [250],
[261], [253], [253, 262],
[253],
[253,
257],
149
[258],
[257], [257], [257, 259]

.
, 1950 60
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(Outline of American Literature) [202]
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( . . .) [202:79]. ,

, 1945 1960 (The New American Poetry, 1945 1960)
[299],
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150
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[86]
[82].
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151
[260], , - ,

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4.1.

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152
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153
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154
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(Constantly
Risking Absurdity):
Constantly risking absurdity
and death
whenever he performs
above the heads
of his audience
the poet like an acrobat
climbs on rime
to a high wire of his own making
and balancing on eyebeams
above a sea of faces
paces his way
to the other side of day [281:30].
,
.
155
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[252:39].
,
[252:43] (The World Is a Beautiful Place)
[283],
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156
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(Complex Object), -

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157
.
(The World):
I wanted so ably
to reassure you, I wanted
the man you took to be me,
to comfort you, I got up [278:347]
:

,
, ,
, [252:134].
, I wanted the man you took to
be me, to comfort you , ,
, ,
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(The Rain)
. ,
, :
What am I to myself
that must be remembered,
insisted upon
so often? Is it
that never the ease,
158
even the hardness,

of rain falling
will have for me
something other than this,
something not so insistent
am I to be locked in this
final uneasiness [277:98].

:

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,

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[255].
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159
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160
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(For All),

:
Rustle and shimmer of icy creek waters
stones turn underfoot, small and hard as toes
cold nose dripping
singing inside
creek music, heart music,
smell of sun on gravel [297].

:
,
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161
[252:160].

, cold nose dripping singing
inside
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(Rivers and Mountains)
. :
On the secret map the assassins
Cloistered, the Moon River was marked
Near the eighteen peaks and the city
162
Of humiliation and defeatwan ending

Of the trail among dry, papery leaves
Gray-brown quills like thoughts
In the melodious but vast mass of todays
Writing through fields and swamps
Marked, on the map, with little bunches of weeds [269:11].

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[252:140].
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163
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[80:385].
-

,
(Dinosauria, we), (The Last Night of the
Earth Poems) [274]:
Born like this
Into this
As the chalk faces smile
As Mrs. Death laughs
As the elevators break
As political landscape dissolve
As the supermarket bag boy holds a college degree
As the oily fish spit out their oily prey
[]
Born like this
Into this
Into these carefully mad wars
Into the sight of broken factory windows of emptiness
Into bars where people no longer speak to each other
[]
Born into this
Walking and living through this
167
Dying because of this

Muted because of this
Castrated
Debauched
Disinherited
Because of this
Fooled by this
Used by this
Pissed on by this
Made crazy and sick by this
Made violent
Made inhuman
By this [274:319-320].
,
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168

:

[]

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169

[260:33-34].

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this into this,
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170

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(Underwear)
. :
I didnt get much sleep last night
thinking about underwear
Have you ever stopped to consider
underwear in the abstract
When you really dig into it
some shocking problems are raised [282:33].
:

-
?

[252:55].

,
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:
171
13
14
12
12
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172
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[252, 85] (A Supermarket in California)
.
:
What thoughts I have of you tonight Walt Whitman, for I walked down the
sidestreets under the trees with a headache self-conscious looking at the full moon.
In my hungry fatigue, and shopping for images, I went into the neon fruit
supermarket, dreaming of your enumerations! [282, 45].
. :
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.
, ! [252, 85].
, -
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173

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174
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( . . .) [216].

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175
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[89:268]. ,

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176
[89], On Top
,

,
:
All this new stuff goes on top
turn it over, turn it over
wait and water down
from the dark bottom
turn it upside out
let it spread through
Sift down even.
Watch it sprout.
A mind like compost [248:299].

,

.
.
[260:55].
, ,

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stuff,
, ,
177
.
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[252:160], [248:299]
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[248], 2004
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turn it over, turn it over

, ,
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water down, stuff, ,
.
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let it spread through,
compost,

178
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179
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[252:94104], ,
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[248:11-29, 667-707],
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[251].
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180
,

. , , Bronx, Harlem, Battery, Bowery,
Paradise Alley , ,
, 40 60

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Bowery [252:98],
, -, 50-
[252:98].

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Bowery
181
,
. , ,
, digested the crab at the muddy bottom of
the rivers of Bowery [284:16] :
[248:19]. ,
Bowery
-
rivers, ,
, ,

crab. -
, , ,
,
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.
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,
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:
suffering Eastern sweats and Tangerian bone-grindings and migraines of China
under junk-withdrawal in Newark's bleak furnished room [284:12].
182

[252:96].
,
bone-grindings junk-withdrawal.
,
,
, ,
, ,
, ,
junk-withdrawal. ,
,
junk ,
withdrawal - . ,
, the shadow of
dungarees who disappeared into the volcanoes of Mexico leaving behind
nothing but the shadow of dungarees [284:13]
,
dungarees,
( . . .) [178:392],
,
[222].

, - ,
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,
183
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[260:17-15] (The Kingfishers) [294:5-12].
,
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[86],

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184
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kingfishers , , ,
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(The Waste Land) [280] ,

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[219, 221], [219, 221], [219, 221], [219],
185
[219],
[219].
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- ,
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186

, ,
,
(Howl). ,
.
Pater
Omnipotens Aeterna Deus [284:25], Father Almighty,
Everlasting God.

[252:101]. ,
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187

,
eli eli lamma lamma sabachtani [284:25].
[252:101] ,

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[254]. , , ,
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188
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4.3.

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189
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,

190
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[106:78]. ,
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[43:71]. -
191
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(Proective Verse), , - ,
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. . .) [177:16]. , ,
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192
,
, ,
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.

-, Maximus to
Gloucester, Letter 27 [withheld]
.
:
I was so young my first memory
is of a tent spread to feed lobsters
to Rexall conventioneers, and my father,
a man for kicks, came out of the tent roaring
with a bread-knife in his teeth to take care of
the druggist theyd told him had made a pass at
my mother, she laughing, so sure, as round
as her face, Hines pink and apple,
under one of those frame hats women then
This, is no bare incoming

of novel abstract form, this
is no welter or the forms

of those events, this,
Greeks, is the stopping

of the battle
193
It is the imposing
of all those antecedent predecessions, the precessions
of me, the generation of those facts

which are my words, it is coming
from all that I no longer am, yet am,

the slow westward motion of
more than I am [294:147-148].

, , ,
:

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194

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[260:16-17].
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195
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[82:81].
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196
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197
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198
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199
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202

1. .. / .. .
.: , 2002. 384 .
2. . . / . .
. , 2003. 140.
3. . . / . . . .: .
, 1975. 240 .
4. . . ,
/ . . // - .
.: . ., 1986. 543 .
5. . . / . . . .: -
-, 1995. 140 .
6. . . [] :
/ . . . : , 1999. 24 .
7. . / // [.
. . , . , . ]. .: Stella Art Foundation,
2009. 108 .
8. . . / .
. // : . . .
. .: . . - . . . , 1989. . 22
32.
9. . . / . .
// .
. . 2008. 39. . 187 190.
10. . . :
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.: , 1999. 480 .
203
11. . / . //
. .: , 1978. 8. . 402 424
12. . . /
. . . .: - . . -, 1978. 174 .
13. . . / . . , . . . .:
. , 2009. 360 .
14. . . : .
/ . . . .: , 2006.
576 .
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230
1

50 60 ..
. 2.1. Mary Ellen Solt, Forsythia, 1966.

231
. 2.2. , ( . . .)
232
. 2.3. Mary Ellen Solt, White Rose , 1963.

233
. 2.4. , ( . . .).
234
. 2.5. Mary Ellen Solt, Geranium, 1966
235
. 2.6. , ( . . .)
236
. 2.7. Pierre Coupey, The Alphabet of Blood, 1964.
237

238
239
240
241
242
. 2.13. Ian Hamilton Finlay, Acrobats, 1963.
243
. 2.14. Emmet Williams, Untitled Poem, 1965
244
(Eugen Gomringer)
(A Book of Hours and Constellations)
words are shadows

shadows become words
words are games

games become words
are shadows words

do words become games
are games words

do words become shadows
are words shadows

do games become words
are words games

do shadows become words
********************************

********************************
small and yellow

unfinished
disappears
where slowly
spreading
large and green
but shining through
achieves
its figure
remains
in mind
losing ground
**********************************

**********************************
245

to construct a center and

to grow in it
to spit the center up and

to grow in the segments
to stay in ones segment and

to become transparent

********************************

********************************
comes along and

looks around
calls aside and

straightens out
pulls together and

oversees
goes away and

leaves behind
********************************
********************************
246
mist
mountain
butterfly
mountain
butterfly
missed
butterfly
meets
mountain
********************************
********************************
white and small

grows
a little
but becomes black
so
stops
suddenly
********************************
********************************
americans and apricots

american apricots
apricot americans
apricots and Americans
********************************

A
********************************
247
from deep
to deep
from near
to near
from grey
to grey
from deep
to near
from near
to grey
from grey
to deep
from two
to four
from three
to one
from one
to four
from deep
to two
from four
to near
from grey
to one

********************************************************************
248
clouds
shadow
shadow
clouds
shower
shadow
shadow
clouds
shower
shower
shadow
clouds
shower
shadow
shadow
********************************************************************
rain
mist
mist
rain
moon
mist
mist
rain
moon
moon
mist
rain
moon
mist
mist
********************************************************************
249
(Pierre Coupey)
(Requiem Notations)
forest shaped like an ark

keel running through cloud
everything upside down in the brain
as it ought to be
translations of Neruda
the heart of the world its scent
pulling us out
of ourselves for once
the smell of firewood feathers

warship moving out to sea
parabola & arc
wake of the boat through English Bay
another line the eye can watch
disappear
II
burning in with acid the scars show
breathing nitric
windows into whatever

we dont or cant know

--
barry says bless you

& means it
stretching maps their lines

everywhere
hungry
confused
250
as the fragile heart

delicate dna
strands tightening
the grip
III
tattoo of ink bone black
zinc paper skin
absorb the light

disclose desire
disentangle
the knots of being
in song in laughter
in visible ink, their names
indelibly there
in layers of flower & rock
in brush strokes
through the brain
lightning
curled up against
edge of dark
IV
night itself, the moon
crazy men & women
IV
,

the heart an empty thing

old acids & chemicals
photographs
remembered hands & grace

251
of gesture
swimming the lake solo
(as if a loon
could take its tune
from you & from you

we move
grief being
a thing
outside us
V
east into darkness
pink copper wings
frozen earth
city in ice
ash & bone-blue
speech of trees
maple oak beech birch
breathing light
through eyes, throat
frozen
knowing she is there

that garden
of sex & the sacred

fragment & doubt
(Taken from the book
( . ..)
252
(Haroldo de Campos)
(a poem)
( . ..)
253
2

===

(Ron Silliman)
From YOU , part I

for Pat Silliman
I
Hard dreams. The moment at which you recognize that your own death lies in wait
somewhere within your body. A lone ship defines the horizon. The rain is not safe to
drink.
In Grozny, in Bihac, the idea of history shudders with each new explosion. The rose lies
unattended, wild thorns at the edge of a mass grave. Between classes, over strong
coffee, young men argue the value of a pronoun.
When this you see, remember. Note in a bottle bobs in a cartoon sea. The radio
operators name is Sparks.
Hand outlined in paint on a brick wall. Storm turns playground into a swamp. Finally
we spot the wood duck on the middle lake.
The dashboard of my car like the keyboard of a piano. Toy animals anywhere.
Sun swells in the morning sky.
Man with three pens clipped to the neck of his sweatshirt shuffles from one table to the
next, seeking distance from the cold January air out the coffee house door, tall
Styrofoam cup in one hand, Of Grammatology in the other. Outside, a dog is tied to any
empty bench, bike chained to the No Parking sign.
Taken from The Alphabet (The University of Alabama Press, 2008)
254
(),

. , ,
. . .
.
, . ,
, .
, .
. .
.
. -, .
. .
.
, ,
,
,
. , ,
, .
( . ..)
255
from YOU, part XXXVIII

for Lihn Dinn
In the land of the elephants, death transforms the world: a hunter shoots the mother of
young Babar, sending him into exile in, of all places, France where he learns the very
social skills (reading, clothing, driving) that he will someday use to recast his native
land, the perfect comprador; meanwhile the old king eats a poisonous mushroom, turns
green and dies, throwing the future of the elephant kingdom into doubt.
Telephone tag. Quantum dot. The young leader returns to unite his people and drive out
the foreign invaders, after which the largest city is renamed for his nom de guerre, Ho
Chi Minh. The elephants rejoice.
The light at the window. The night at the window. Fine layer of toothpaste has formed a
crust on the bathroom faucet. To invent history versus choosing merely to rewrite it.
The wounded animal stage of life. An Old Lady whom, your entire life, you will call by
no other name.
Process map: to build a two-drawer filing cabinet. Underneath the entire jungle, an
intricate web of tunnels. He discovers his cousins Celeste and Arthur naked on the
streets of Paris. Just the sort of family you would expect from one orphaned by two sets
of parents before his thirteenth birthday. Name the last son "Lucky."
Skill set. Subsidiary rights. I find an empty ballroom between luncheon and cocktails
and set up the laptop and go. Do you distinguish those editions in which the text is in
the thick-lined script of the original and those where it is not? The Republic of
Monkeys, for example, is governed by a benevolent military dictator with the
Indochinese name of General Huc.
It's an ill wind that blows nobody. Edited inside the pen. An alarm rings in a dark room.
Rhinos are perceived as full of bluster but capable of descent into murder, torture,
slavery over the slightest prank. My stomach howls like a distant coyote. Giant
whirligig beetle actually small on the leaf.
256
(), V

: ,
,
(, , ),
, ;
, ,
.
. . ,
,
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.
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.
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.
. .
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.
257
Rising after a long sleep, the terrible weight of the body causes the roughly 50 bones of
each foot to settle, snapping and popping as they shift into place. Any single story house
is more expensive to build, requiring as it does a maximum of foundation per square
foot of living space. Ranch style flows white over the pale leaves of old lettuce. Traffic
lights blinking signal a malfunction.
Taken from The Alphabet (The University of Alabama Press, 2008)
258
, 50
, . -
,
.
.
.
( . ..)
259
BART (an excerpt)

Begin going down, Embarcadero, into the ground, earths surface, escalators down, a
world of tile, fluorescent lights, is this the right ticket, labor Day, day free of labor,
trains, a man is asking is there anything to see, Glen Park, Daly City, Im going south
which in my head means down but Im going forward, she says he should turn around,
off at Powell, see Union Square, see Chinatown, last day of the season so they say,
visualize tourists, worms in a salad, wife speaks no English, Czech perhaps, Soviet,
Polish, is this the right ticket, carpet of the car is yellow, orange, green, red, blue woven
in also, going faster now, lights flicker now out the windows, dark there, not flicker but
we pass them so quickly, didnt realize this station was underground, 11:30 Glen Park,
we surface, cloudy day, these windows are dirty, should I get off here, should I wait,
forget about Balboa Park, is it there, does it exist, does it exist for a reason, pen is blue
for a change, a possible difference, a man about my age with razor-cut hair, old women,
I get off, Daly City, go down concrete stairs, into the interior again but not really, the
ticket is wrong, means Ill spend 75 cents, okay, pay more attention, the vagueness of
the landscape here, a large parking llot and beyond it houses, nothing special, this is
where they keep the families now, upstairs to the platform, this one to Concord, a man,
his wife, two sons, one daughter, another man in a tweed hat, is that what you call a
fedora, not really, Arthur Jackson please call the station aagent, taking a long time to get
under way, doors close, I feel the motion first in the small of my back, my butt, car
hums as it moves, you can hear the air-conditioning, another world when you come out
she sez, look at the houses, big dumpsters in supermarket parking lot, were above it all,
but now going down again, Balboa Park, second time, car stops, nobody gets off or on,
Taken from The Age of Huts (University of California Press, 2007)
260
BART1 ()
, , , ,
, , , ,
, , , ,
, -,
, , , -,
, ,
, , , ,
, , , , ,
, , , ,
, , ,
, 11:30 ,
, , , ,
, , , , ,
, ,
, , , -,
, ,
, 75 , , ,
, , ,
, , ,
, , , , ,
, ,
, , ,
, , ,
, , ,
, ,
, , , ,
,
( . ..)
BART (Bay Area Rapid Transit) , -.
261
(Lyn Hejinian)
constant change figures (an excerpt)
the time we sense
since memory
experience
but what of what
surpassing things we call
since memory
experience
but what of what
since memory
the time we sense
called nature's picture
but what of what
in the time we sense
is experience
Taken from Bay Poetics (2006)
262
()

( . ..)
263
The best words get said frequently they are like fertile pips
The best words get said frequentlythey are like fertile pips.
Apples fall heavily to the ground and lie in the sun, their scent
abandoning them as a philosophy which cannot be further perfected. Love
releases playful sensations even from serious things providing a life
to think about. Take Rthe only thing
R could credit herself with was having lived
her life and so she not only kept an account of it
but did so not in the privacy of a diary but in the form of letters
abundant, profligate, indiscretethat I want to write
to you so as to note something that I read
this morning: Its not that this or that means something
to me but this!or that!means something to me. Musically
R bequeaths herself to posterity as a scholar might
bequeath his or her library blowing twisted veils of rain
past the narrow and curving windows in the last hour that will carry us along
to the time when those who come after us will learn
what we knowa man with a mustache waxed and dyed
green, a line of tall people and a woman at the door, a committee
of children without scooters but not mournful, a poet with a motive, a pilot
with a flashlight, a sulking but fascinated scholar, and Goethe no doubt
for whom R would have released a flock of red canaries.
Taken from The Fatalist (Omnidawn Publishing, 2003)
264
,
, .
,
, , .
, ,
. ,
, ,
,
,
- , ,
, ,
:
, ! !- .
,
,
,
, , ,
,
, ,
, ,
, ,
, .
( . ..)
265
My Life (an excerpt)

It was a mountain creek, running
over little pebbles of white
The obvious
quartz and mica. Let's say that
analogy is with
every possibility waits. In raga
rnusic
time is added to measure, which
expands.
A deep thirst, faintly smelling of artichoke hearts, and resembling the sleepiness of
childhood. At every birthday party that year, the mother of the birthday child served ice
cream and "surprise cake," into whose slices the "favors" were baked. But nothing could
interrupt those given days. I was sipping Shirley Temples wearing my Mary Janes. My
grandfather was as serious as any general before any battle, though he had been too
young for the First War and too old for the Second. He carried not a cane but a walking
stick and was silent on his walks except when he passed a neighbor, and then he tipped
his hat and said, "Morning," if it were before noon, or, "Evening," if itwere after noon,
without pausing his walk, just as nowadays joggers will come to a stoplight and
continue to jog in place so as not to break their stride. Then the tantrum broke out, blue,
without a breath of air. I was an object oftime, fi1led with dread. I lifted the ice cream to
make certain no spider was webbed in the cone. Sculpture is the worst possible craft for
them to attempt. You could increase the height by making lateral additions and building
over them a sequence of steps, leaving tunnels, or windows, between the blocks, and I
did. The shape of who's to come. For example, the funny prefamily was constant in its
all-purpose itinerant ovals. It should be completed only in the act of being used. While
my mother shopped, I stood in Produce and ate raw peas. The lovely music of the
German violin. Most little children like beer but they outgrow it. Unseen, just heard,
hard to remember. My sister was named "afher" my aunt, the name not Murree but, like
marriage, French, Marie. The first grade teacher, Miss Sly, was young and she might
have been kind but all the years that she had been named Sly so had made her. A man
mitt. I had "hit upon" an idea. Penny, buster. Uneven, and internal, asymmetrical but
additive time. A child, meanwhile, had turned her tricycle upside down and was turning
the pedal with her hand to make the front wheel spin. The solemn, flickering effects, not
knowing what you are doing. In your country do most ofthe girls do this.
A cold but exhibiting hypothesis. I couldn't get the word butterfly so I tried to get the
word moth.
266
()
,

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,
.
.
, , .

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. ,
. , -
,
. ,
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, , . , ,
, , ,
. . . ,
. , , , . ,
, ,
. , ,
. . ,
. ,
.
267
The man with the pinto pony had come through the neighborhood selling rides for a
quarter, or as he said, "two bits," and it was that "two bits" even more than the pony
that led the children to believe he was a real cowboy and therefore heroic. He was a
trainer of falcons, scornful of hunting dogs. The body is a farmer. From the beginning,
they had to drive the plow through stone eggs. She pretends she is making popcorn. The
boats appeared to have stopped on the water, moving only as if to breathe. It seemed
that they had hardly begun and they were already there. We were sticicy in the back seat
of the car. In the school bathroom I vomited secretly, not because I was ill but because I
so longed for my mother. Now bid chaos welcome. Itrequires a committee, all
translators. Undone is not not done. And could it be musical if I hate it.
Taken from My Life (Green Integer Printing, 2002)
268
, 25
, , , ,
, , , ,
. , .
. .
, . , ,
. , , .
.
, , .
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( . ..)
269
(Charles Bernstein)
In a Restless World Like This Is
Not long ago, or maybe I dreamt it

Or made it up, or have suddenly lost
Track of its train in the hocus pocus
Of the dissolving days; no, if I bend
The turn around the corner, come at it
From all three sides at once, or bounce the ball
Against all manner of bleary-eyed fortune
Tellerswell, you can see for yourselves theres
Nothing up my sleeves, or notice even
Rocks occasionally break if enough
Pressure is applied. As far as you go
In one direction, all the further youll
Have to go on before the way back has
Become totally indivisible.
Taken from Girly Man (the University of Chicago Press, 2006)
270
, ,
,

, ; ,
,
,

,
, ,

.
,

.
( . ..)
271
Pompeii
The rich men, they know about suffering

That comes from natural things, the fate that
Rich men say they can't control, the swell of
The tides, the erosion of polar caps
And the eruption of a terrible
Greed among those who cease to be content
With what they lack when faced with wealth they are
Too ignorant to understand. Such wealth
Is the price of progress. The fishmonger
Sees the dread on the faces of the trout
And mackerel laid out at the market
Stall on quickly melting ice. In Pompeii
The lava flowed and buried the people
So poems such as this could be born.
Taken from the Poetry magazine (June, 2008)
272
,
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( . ..)
273
(Bernadette Mayer)
BATS
bats
bats inside the house
& at the windows
giant moths
a dead bird on the doorstep, nothing leaves
a worm with two antennae looked like a brown string bean
or noise
a worm on the cellar floor
four spiders under the table & their debris
we found the bats nest
do they have nests? a raccoon at the door before
someone told me about a field
near here
in the evening the field is filled with deer
the owl in pleasant valley & the silver fox,
porcupine & crow, theyre in cages
the yellow bird, completely yellow
except for wings
black wings, many crows
the worm is curling, coming closer
hes in the shadow of the table
the man across the street
loves red cat so much tried to poison some dog
beverly owns this house
Taken from the Poetry book (Kulchur Foundation, 1976)
274

,

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( . ..)
275
Invasion Of The Body Snatchers

Moon out and no snow yet, Novemeber first
The first anniversary of our wedding and
The day before election day, 1976, yesterday
Was Halloween, next Friday I have an appointment
With the dentist and the following Tuesday is
Lewiss thirty-second birthday, exactly one week
After that Marie will be eleven months old.
The day before yesterday we turned the clocks back
One hour which made it seem like every day
Will have an extra hour in it, not only of darkness
But of just plain time, the time I used to spend
Skipping lunch is longer, the time for dinner
Is too early now, the time for sunset comes too soon
The time between dinner and Maries badtime is to long
When its time to go to bed theres still a few hours left
To read, Im dreaming twice as much as before
I spend all my new time lying in bed thinking.
Last night I saw Inwasion of the Body Snatchers
And tonight when I came into my room ro go ro work
I found an old seed pod on the floor by me desk.
In the movie if you see one of these its time to die.
Its time to write some letters, good cold air
Comes in my window, it wakes me up, we had a bottle
Of champagne and Marie went to sleep without crying
Its time to read Fieldings Guide to European Travel
And the Alice Toklas Cookbook again, a few books by
John McPhee
Our neew American Heritage anniversary dictionary,
The Adventures of Mathematician by Stanislas Ulam
And The Wild Boy of Aveyron by a behaviorist psychologist
About boy brought up by wolves
Taken from the Poetry book (Kulchur Foundation, 1976)
276

,

, 1976,
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277
(Cid Corman)
The Research
I have faced the night and am

faced with the night. It happens
each day produces an end.
Here I begin, as the sun
touches clouds going, as if
wanting to feel where it is
or has been, and to find its
way back. I know: it is I
who feel, feel for the sun, for
a touch of light in the sky,
to assure myself each day
dying proceeds from the heart.
Now the night proves me. I search,
as if words for sleep,
as if to compose a sleep.
Taken from the Poetry magasine (December, 1962)
278

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( . ..)
279
The Reason
glad to be
back be
cause I am
like winter
and trees
are branches
unadorned
as but
for them and
a few birds
and eyes
the sky is
Taken from the Poetry magazine

(December, 1962)
( . ..)
280
It isnt for want
It isnt for want

of something to say-something to tell you--
something you should know-but to detain you-keep you from going--
feeling myself here

as long as you are-as long as you are.
Taken from the Poetry magazine

(December, 1962)
( . ..)
281
(Barbara Guest)
20
Sleep is 20
remembering the
insignificant flamenco dancer
in Granada
who became
important as you watched
the mountain ridge
the dry hills
What an idiotic number!
Sleep is twenty
it certainly isnt twenty sheep
there werent that many in the herd
under the cold crest of Sierra Nevada
Its more like 20 Madison Ave. buses
while I go droning away at my dream life
Each episode is important
thats what it is! Sequences
Ive got going a twenty-act drama
the theatre of the active
the critics are surely there
even the actors
even the flowers presented onstage
even the wild flowers
picked by the wife of the goatherd
each morning early (while I sleep)
under the snow cone
of Sierra Nevada
282
20
20

!

20

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-

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283
yellow caps like castanets

I reach into my bouquet
half-dreaming
and count twenty
yellow capped heads
flowers clicking twenty times
because they like to repeat themselves
as I do as does the morning
or the drama one hopes
will be acted many times
As even these dreams in similar
peoples heads
20
castanets
Taken from The Collected Poems of Barbara Guest

(Wesleyan University Press, 2008)
284

-

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20
( . ..)
285
A Reason
That is why I am here

not among the ibises. Why
the permanent city parasol
covers even me.
It was the rains
in the occult season. It was the snows
on the lower slopes. It was water
and cold in my mouth.
A lack of shoes
on what appeared to be cobbles
which were still antique
Well wild wild whatever
in wild more silent blue
the vase grips the stems
petals fall the chrysanthemum darkens
Sometimes this mustard feeling
clutches me also. My sleep is reckoned
in straws
Yet I wake up
and am followed into the street.
Taken from Selected Poems (Sun & Moon Press, 1995)
286

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287
(Rea Armantrout)
Birth Order
1
Youre it.
1
.
It is (you are)
an error
( )
with an arsenal
of disguises,
with a system
of incorporation
built in,
with enmity,
with direction.
2
What have you got to lose?
2
?
This
gray tile roof,
gray sky scored

by power lines.
This framed measure

of distance
as intimacy.
Shadows of fingers
(mine)

()
288
move across the white page.
Anyone
could write this.
-
.
That word
this
firstborn,
unnecessary.
,
.
Taken from Versed (2009)
( . ..)
289
Fact
Operation Phantom Fury.

*
The full force

of the will to live
is fixed
on the next
occasion:
someone
coming with a tray,
someone
calling a number.
*
Each material
fact
is a pose,
an answer
waiting to be chosen.
"Just so," it says.
"Ask again!"
Takne from Poetry magazine (September, 2007)
290
.
*
.
*

,
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( . ..)
291
Guess
1
The jacaranda, for instance, is beautiful
but not serious.
That much
I can guess.
And that the view
is softened by the curtains.
That the present moment
is an exception,
is the queen bee
a hive serves,
or else an orphan.
2
So the jacaranda
is foreign and extravagant.
It gestures in the distance.
Between there and here
you ask
what game
we should play next week.
So well be alive
next week,
292
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2

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293
continuing
what you may or may not
mean to be
an impossible flirtation
Taken from Veil: New and Selected Poems

(Wesleyen University Press, 2001)
294
( . ..)
295
(Charles Olson)
The Kingfishers
1
What does not change / is the will to change
He woke, fully clothed, in his bed. He
remembered only one thing, the birds, how
when he came in, he had gone around the rooms
and got them back in their cage, the green one first,
she with the bad leg, and then the blue,
the one they had hoped was a male
Otherwise? Yes, Fernand, who had talked lispingly of Albers & Angkor Vat.
He had left the party without a word. How he got up, got into his coat,
I do not know. When I saw him, he was at the door, but it did not matter,
he was already sliding along the wall of the night, losing himself
in some crack of the ruins. That it should have been he who said, The kingfishers!
who cares
for their feathers
now?
His last words had been, The pool is slime. Suddenly everyone,
ceasing their talk, sat in a row around him, watched
they did not so much hear, or pay attention, they
wondered, looked at each other, smirked, but listened,
he repeated and repeated, could not go beyond his thought
The pool the kingfishers feathers were wealth why
did the export stop?
It was then he left
296
1
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297
2
I thought of the E on the stone, and of what Mao said
la lumiere
but the kingfisher
de laurore
but the kingfisher flew west
est devant nous!
he got the color of his breast
from the heat of the setting sun!
The features are, the feebleness of the feet (syndactylism of the 3rd & 4th digit)
the bill, serrated, sometimes a pronounced beak, the wings
where the color is, short and round, the tail
inconspicuous.
But not these things were the factors. Not the birds.
The legends are
legends. Dead, hung up indoors, the kingfisher
will not indicate a favoring wind,
or avert the thunderbolt. Nor, by its nesting,
still the waters, with the new year, for seven days.
It is true, it does nest with the opening year, but not on the waters.
It nests at the end of a tunnel bored by itself in a bank. There,
six or eight white and translucent eggs are laid, on fishbones
not on bare clay, on bones thrown up in pellets by the birds.
On these rejectamenta
(as they accumulate they form a cup-shaped structure) the young are born.
And, as they are fed and grow, this nest of excrement and decayed fish becomes
a dripping, fetid mass
Mao concluded:
nous devons
nous lever
et agir!
298
2
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299
3
When the attentions change / the jungle
leaps in
even the stones are split
they rive
Or,
enter
that other conqueror we more naturally recognize
he so resembles ourselves
But the E
cut so rudely on that oldest stone
sounded otherwise,
was differently heard
as, in another time, were treasures used:
(and, later, much later, a fine ear thought
a scarlet coat)
of green feathers
of gold
feet, beaks and eyes
animals likewise,
resembling snails
a large wheel, gold, with figures of unknown four-foots,
and worked with tufts of leaves, weight
3800 ounces
last, two birds, of thread and featherwork, the quills
gold, the feet
gold, the two birds perched on two reeds
gold, the reeds arising from two embroidered mounds,
one yellow, the other
white.
300
3
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301
And from each reed hung

seven feathered tassels.
In this instance, the priests
(in dark cotton robes, and dirty,
their disheveled hair matted with blood, and flowing wildly
over their shoulders)
rush in among the people, calling on them
to protect their gods
And all now is war
where so lately there was peace,
and the sweet brotherhood, the use
of tilled fields.
4
Not one death but many,
not accumulation but change, the feed-back proves, the feed-back is
the law
Into the same river no man steps twice
When fire dies air dies
No one remains, nor is, one
Around an appearance, one common model, we grow up
many. Else how is it,
if we remain the same,
we take pleasure now
in what we did not take pleasure before? love
contrary objects? admire and / or find fault? use
other words, feel other passions, have
nor figure, appearance, disposition, tissue
the same?
To be in different states without a change
is not a possibility
302

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4
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303
We can be precise. The factors are

in the animal and / or the machine the factors are
communication and / or control, both involve
the message. And what is the message? The message is
a discrete or continuous sequence of measurable events distributed in time
is the birth of the air, is
the birth of water, is
a state between
the origin and
the end, between
birth and the beginning of
another fetid nest
is change, presents
no more than itself
And the too strong grasping of it,
when it is pressed together and condensed,
loses it
This very thing you are
II
They buried their dead in a sitting posture
serpent cane razor ray of the sun
And she sprinkled water on the head of my child, crying
Cioa-coatl! Cioa-coatl!
with her face to the west
Where the bones are found, in each personal heap
with what each enjoyed, there is always
the Mongolian louse
The light is in the east. Yes. And we must rise, act. Yet
in the west, despite the apparent darkness (the whiteness
304
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, (
305
which covers all), if you look, if you can bear, if you can, long enough
as long as it was necessary for him, my guide
to look into the yellow of that longest-lasting rose
so you must, and, in that whiteness, into that face, with what candor, look
and, considering the dryness of the place
the long absence of an adequate race
(of the two who first came, each a conquistador, one healed, the other
tore the eastern idols down, toppled
the temple walls, which, says the excuser
were black from human gore)
hear
hear, where the dry blood talks
where the old appetite walks
la piu saporita et migliore
che si possa truovar al mondo
where it hides, look
in the eye how it runs
in the flesh / chalk
but under these petals
in the emptiness
regard the light, contemplate
the flower
whence it arose
with what violence benevolence is bought
what cost in gesture justice brings
what wrongs domestic rights involve
what stalks
this silence
306
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307
what pudor pejorocracy affronts

how awe, night-rest and neighborhood can rot
what breeds where dirtiness is law
what crawls
below
III
I am no Greek, hath not thadvantage.
And of course, no Roman:
he can take no risk that matters,
the risk of beauty least of all.
But I have my kin, if for no other reason than
(as he said, next of kin) I commit myself, and,
given my freedom, Id be a cad
if I didnt. Which is most true.
It works out this way, despite the disadvantage.
I offer, in explanation, a quote:
si jai du got, ce nest gures
que pour la terre et les pierres.
Despite the discrepancy (an ocean courage age)
this is also true: if I have any taste
it is only because I have interested myself
in what was slain in the sun
I pose you your question:
shall you uncover honey / where maggots are?
I hunt among stones
Taken from The Collected Poems of Charles Olson

(University of California Press, 1987)
308

,
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:
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( . ..)
309
Maximus to Gloucester, Letter 27 [withheld]

I come back to the geography of it,
the land falling off to the left
where my father shot his scabby golf
and the rest of us played baseball
into the summer darkness until no flies
could be seen and we came home
to our various piazzas where the women
buzzed
To the left the land fell to the city,
to the right, it fell to the sea
I was so young my first memory
is of a tent spread to feed lobsters
to Rexall conventioneers, and my father,
a man for kicks, came out of the tent roaring
with a bread-knife in his teeth to take care of
the druggist theyd told him had made a pass at
my mother, she laughing, so sure, as round
as her face, Hines pink and apple,
under one of those frame hats women then
This, is no bare incoming
of novel abstract form, this
is no welter or the forms
of those events, this,
Greeks, is the stopping
of the battle
It is the imposing
of all those antecedent predecessions, the precessions
of me, the generation of those facts
which are my words, it is coming
310
, 27
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311
from all that I no longer am,

yet am, the slow westward motion of
more than I am
There is no strict personal order
for my inheritance.
No Greek will be able
to discriminate my body.
An American
is a complex of occasions,
themselves a geometry
of spatial nature.
I have this sense,
that I am one
with my skin
Plus thisplus this:
that forever the geography
which leans in
on me I compel
backwards I compell Gloucester
to yield, to
change
Polis
is this
Taken from The Maximus Poems

312
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313
The Songs of Maximus: SONG 1
colored pictures
of all things to eat: dirty
postcards
And words, words, words
all over everything
No eyes or ears left
to do their own doings (all
invaded, appropriated, outraged, all senses
including the mind, that worker on what is
And that other sense
made to give even the most wretched, or any of us, wretched,
that consolation (greased
lulled
even the street-cars
song

314
: 1
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( . ..)
315
The Songs of Maximus: SONG 2
all
wrong
And I am askedask myself (I, too, covered
with the gurry of it) where
shall we go from here, what can we do
when even the public conveyances
sing?
how can we go anywhere,
even cross-town
how get out of anywhere (the bodies
all buried
in shallow graves?

(University of California Press, 1983
316
: 2
(, ,
)
,

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,

- (

?
( . ..)
317
(Charles Bukowski)
Bluebird
there's a bluebird in my heart that

wants to get out
but I'm too tough for him,
I say, stay in there, I'm not going
to let anybody see
you.
wants to get out
but I pour whiskey on him and inhale
cigarette smoke
and the whores and the bartenders
and the grocery clerks
never know that
he's
in there.

wants to get out
but I'm too tough for him,
I say,
stay down, do you want to mess
me up?
you want to screw up the
works?
you want to blow my book sales in
Europe?
wants to get out
but I'm too clever, I only let him out
at night sometimes
when everybody's asleep.
I say, I know that you're there,
318

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319
so don't be
sad.
then I put him back,
but he's singing a little
in there, I haven't quite let him
die
and we sleep together like
that
with our
secret pact
and it's nice enough to
make a man
weep, but I don't
weep, do
you?
Taken from The Last Night of the Earth Poems, 1992
320

.
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( . ..)
321
Dinosauria, We
Born like this

Into this
As the chalk faces smile
As Mrs. Death laughs
As the elevators break
As political landscapes dissolve
As the supermarket bag boy holds a college degree
As the oily fish spit out their oily prey
As the sun is masked
We are
Born like this
Into this
Into these carefully mad wars
Into the sight of broken factory windows of emptiness
Into bars where people no longer speak to each other
Into fist fights that end as shootings and knifings
Born into this
Into hospitals which are so expensive that it's cheaper to die
Into lawyers who charge so much it's cheaper to plead guilty
Into a country where the jails are full and the madhouses closed
Into a place where the masses elevate fools into rich heroes
Born into this
Walking and living through this
Dying because of this
Muted because of this
Castrated
Debauched
Disinherited
Because of this
Fooled by this
Used by this
Pissed on by this
Made crazy and sick by this
Made violent
Made inhuman
By this
322

323
The heart is blackened

The fingers reach for the throat
The gun
The knife
The bomb
The fingers reach toward an unresponsive god
The fingers reach for the bottle
The pill
The powder
We are born into this sorrowful deadliness
We are born into a government 60 years in debt
That soon will be unable to even pay the interest on that debt
And the banks will burn
Money will be useless
There will be open and unpunished murder in the streets
It will be guns and roving mobs
Land will be useless
Food will become a diminishing return
Nuclear power will be taken over by the many
Explosions will continually shake the earth
Radiated robot men will stalk each other
The rich and the chosen will watch from space platforms
Dante's Inferno will be made to look like a children's playground
The sun will not be seen and it will always be night
Trees will die
All vegetation will die
Radiated men will eat the flesh of radiated men
The sea will be poisoned
The lakes and rivers will vanish
Rain will be the new gold
The rotting bodies of men and animals will stink in the dark wind
The last few survivors will be overtaken by new and hideous diseases
And the space platforms will be destroyed by attrition
The petering out of supplies
The natural effect of general decay
And there will be the most beautiful silence never heard
Born out of that.
The sun still hidden there
Awaiting the next chapter.
324

60

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.
325
What Can We Do?
at their best, there is gentleness in Humanity.

some understanding and, at times, acts of
courage
but all in all it is a mass, a glob that doesn't
have too much.
it is like a large animal deep in sleep and
almost nothing can awaken it.
when activated it's best at brutality,
selfishness, unjust judgments, murder.
what can we do with it, this Humanity?
nothing.
avoid the thing as much as possible.
treat it as you would anything poisonous, vicious
and mindless.
but be careful. it has enacted laws to protect
itself from you.
it can kill you without cause.
and to escape it you must be subtle.
few escape.
it's up to you to figure a plan.
I have met nobody who has escaped.
I have met some of the great and
famous but they have not escaped
for they are only great and famous within
Humanity.
326

, ,
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327
I have not escaped

but I have not failed in trying again and
again.
before my death I hope to obtain my
life.
Taken from the Blank Gun Silencer magazine (1994)
328

.

.
( , ).
( . ..)
329
a smile to remember
we had goldfish and they circled around and around

in the bowl on the table near the heavy drapes
covering the picture window and
my mother, always smiling, wanting us all
to be happy, told me, "be happy Henry!"
and she was right: it's better to be happy if you
can
but my father continued to beat her and me several times a week
while
raging inside his 6-foot-two frame because he couldn't
understand what was attacking him from within.
my mother, poor fish,
wanting to be happy, beaten two or three times a
week, telling me to be happy: "Henry, smile!
why don't you ever smile?"
and then she would smile, to show me how, and it was the
saddest smile I ever saw
one day the goldfish died, all five of them,
they floated on the water, on their sides, their
eyes still open,
and when my father got home he threw them to the cat
there on the kitchen floor and we watched as my mother
smiled
Taken from The Pleasures of the Damned: Poems

1951-1993 (2007)
330

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331
The Laughing Heart
your life is your life

dont let it be clubbed into dank submission.
be on the watch.
there are ways out.
there is light somewhere.
it may not be much light but
it beats the darkness.
be on the watch.
the gods will offer you chances.
know them.
take them.
you cant beat death but
you can beat death in life, sometimes.
and the more often you learn to do it,
the more light there will be.
your life is your life.
know it while you have it.
you are marvelous
the gods wait to delight
in you.
Taken from The Best American Poetry magazine

(November, 2008)
332

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333
(John Ashbery)
Street Musicians
One died, and the soul was wrenched out

Of the other in life, who, walking the streets
Wrapped in an identity like a coat, sees on and on
The same corners, volumetrics, shadows
Under trees. Farther than anyone was ever
Called, through increasingly suburban airs
And ways, with autumn falling over everything:
The plush leaves the chattels in barrels
Of an obscure family being evicted
Into the way it was, and is. The other beached
Glimpses of what the other was up to:
Revelations at last. So they grew to hate and forget each other.
So I cradle this average violin that knows
Only forgotten showtunes, but argues
The possibility of free declamation anchored
To a dull refrain, the year turning over on itself
In November, with the spaces among the days
More literal, the meat more visible on the bone.
Our question of a place of origin hangs
Like smoke: how we picnicked in pine forests,
In coves with the water always seeping up, and left
Our trash, sperm and excrement everywhere, smeared
On the landscape, to make of us what we could.
Taken from Houseboat Days, 1987
334
,
, , , ,
,
, ,
. -
,
, , :

,
, .
, :
. .
,
,
,
, ,
,
.
, ,
: ,
,
, , ,
, , .
( ..)
335
The Instruction Manual
As I sit looking out of a window of the building

I wish I did not have to write the instruction manual on the uses of a new metal.
I look down into the street and see people, each walking with an inner peace,
And envy themthey are so far away from me!
Not one of them has to worry about getting out this manual on schedule.
And, as my way is, I begin to dream, resting my elbows on the desk and leaning out of
the window a little,
Of dim Guadalajara! City of rose-colored flowers!
City I wanted most to see, and most did not see, in Mexico!
But I fancy I see, under the press of having to write the instruction manual,
Your public square, city, with its elaborate little bandstand!
The band is playing Scheherazade by Rimsky-Korsakov.
Around stand the flower girls, handing out rose- and lemon-colored flowers,
Each attractive in her rose-and-blue striped dress (Oh! such shades of rose and blue),
And nearby is the little white booth where women in green serve you green and yellow
fruit.
The couples are parading; everyone is in a holiday mood.
First, leading the parade, is a dapper fellow
Clothed in deep blue. On his head sits a white hat
And he wears a mustache, which has been trimmed for the occasion.
His dear one, his wife, is young and pretty; her shawl is rose, pink, and white.
Her slippers are patent leather, in the American fashion,
And she carries a fan, for she is modest, and does not want the crowd to see her face too
often.
But everybody is so busy with his wife or loved one
I doubt they would notice the mustachioed mans wife.
Here come the boys! They are skipping and throwing little things on the sidewalk
Which is made of gray tile. One of them, a little older, has a toothpick in his teeth.
336
,
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, ,
,
!
,
.
, , ,
,
! !
, , !
, ,
,
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!
-.
, ,
- (,
),

.
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, ,
-. ,
, .
, , ; -
.
, ,
, , ,
.
,
, , .
! , ,
,
. , ,
.
337
He is silenter than the rest, and affects not to notice the pretty young girls in white.
But his friends notice them, and shout their jeers at the laughing girls.
Yet soon all this will cease, with the deepening of their years,
And love bring each to the parade grounds for another reason.
But I have lost sight of the young fellow with the toothpick.
Waitthere he ison the other side of the bandstand,
Secluded from his friends, in earnest talk with a young girl
Of fourteen or fifteen. I try to hear what they are saying
But it seems they are just mumbling somethingshy words of love, probably.
She is slightly taller than he, and looks quietly down into his sincere eyes.
She is wearing white. The breeze ruffles her long fine black hair against her olive cheek.
Obviously she is in love. The boy, the young boy with the toothpick, he is in love too;
His eyes show it. Turning from this couple,
I see there is an intermission in the concert.
The paraders are resting and sipping drinks through straws
(The drinks are dispensed from a large glass crock by a lady in dark blue),
And the musicians mingle among them, in their creamy white uniforms, and talk
About the weather, perhaps, or how their kids are doing at school.
Let us take this opportunity to tiptoe into one of the side streets.
Here you may see one of those white houses with green trim
That are so popular here. LookI told you!
It is cool and dim inside, but the patio is sunny.
An old woman in gray sits there, fanning herself with a palm leaf fan.
She welcomes us to her patio, and offers us a cooling drink.
My son is in Mexico City, she says. He would welcome you too
If he were here. But his job is with a bank there.
Look, here is a photograph of him.
And a dark-skinned lad with pearly teeth grins out at us from the worn leather frame.
We thank her for her hospitality, for it is getting late
And we must catch a view of the city, before we leave, from a good high place.
338

.

.
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.
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,
,
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, , ,
.
.
.
.
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;
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( ),
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.
,
. !
, .

.
.
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. .
, .

.
, ,
, ,
.
339
That church tower will dothe faded pink one, there against the fierce blue of the sky.
Slowly we enter.
The caretaker, an old man dressed in brown and gray, asks us how long we have been in
the city, and how we like it here.
His daughter is scrubbing the stepsshe nods to us as we pass into the tower.
Soon we have reached the top, and the whole network of the city extends before us.
There is the rich quarter, with its houses of pink and white, and its crumbling, leafy
terraces.
There is the poorer quarter, its homes a deep blue.
There is the market, where men are selling hats and swatting flies
And there is the public library, painted several shades of pale green and beige.
Look! There is the square we just came from, with the promenaders.
There are fewer of them, now that the heat of the day has increased,
But the young boy and girl still lurk in the shadows of the bandstand.
And there is the home of the little old lady
She is still sitting in the patio, fanning herself.
How limited, but how complete withal, has been our experience of Guadalajara!
We have seen young love, married love, and the love of an aged mother for her son.
We have heard the music, tasted the drinks, and looked at colored houses.
What more is there to do, except stay? And that we cannot do.
And as a last breeze freshens the top of the weathered old tower, I turn my
gaze
Back to the instruction manual which has made me dream of Guadalajara.
Taken from Some Trees, 1956
340
, . .
, , ,
, .
, .
, .
- ,
.
.
, ,
, -
.
! , - , .
, , ,

.

, .
, ,
!
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.
, .
, ?
.
,

,
.
( . ..)
341
Like A Sentence
How little we know,

and when we know it!
It was prettily said that No man
hath an abundance of cows on the plain, nor shards
in his cupboard. Wait! I think I know who said that! It was . . .
Never mind, dears, the afternoon
will fold you up, along with preoccupations
that now seem so important, until only a child
running around on a unicycle occupies center stage.
Then what will you make of walls? And I fear you
will have to come up with something,
be it a terraced gambit above the sea
or gossip overheard in the marketplace.
For you see, it becomes you to be chastened:
for the old to envy the young,
and for youth to fear not getting older,
where the paths through the elms, the carnivals, begin.
And it was said of Gyges that his ring
attracted those who saw him not,
just as those who wandered through him were aware
only of a certain stillness, such as precedes an earache,
while lumberjacks in headbands came down to see what all the fuss was about,
whether it was something they could be part of
sans affront to self-esteem.
And those temple hyenas who had seen enough,
nostrils aflare, fur backing up in the breeze,
were no place you could count on,
having taken a proverbial powder
as rifle butts received another notch.
I, meanwhile . . . I was going to say I had squandered spring
when summer came along and took it from me
342
( )
,
!
,

. ! , , !
, ,
,
, ,
, .
? ,
,
- ,
, .
, :
,
, ,
, .
,
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, ,
, , ,
,
,

.
, ,
, ,
, ,

.
, , ,

343
like a terrier a lady has asked one to hold for a moment

while she adjusts her stocking in the mirror of a weighing machine.
But here it is winter, and wrong
to speak of other seasons as though they exist.
Time has only an agenda
in the wallet at his back, while we
who think we know where we are going unfazed
end up in brilliant woods, nourished more than we can know
by the unexpectedness of ice and stars
and crackling tears. Well just have to make a go of it,
a run for it. And should the smell of baking cookies appease
one or the other of the olfactory senses, climb down
into this wagonload of prisoners.
The meter will be screamingly clear then,
the rhythms unbounced, for though we came
to life as to a school, we must leave it without graduating
even as an ominous wind puffs out the sails
of proud feluccas who dont know where theyre headed,
only that a motion is etched there, shaking to be free.
Taken from And The Stars Were Shining, 1994
344
, ,
.
,
, .

,
, , ,
, ,
,
, . ,
.
,
, .
,
,
, ,

, ,
, .
( . ..)
345
(Robert Creeley)
The Language
Locate I
love you somewhere in
teeth and
eyes, bite
it but

,
,
take care not

to hurt, you
want so
much so
little. Words
say everything.

.
.
I
love you
again,
then what
is emptiness
for. To
fill, fill.
I heard words
and words full
of holes
aching. Speech
is a mouth.
.
, .
,

,
.
.
Taken from The Collected Poems of

Robert Creeley, 1945-1975,1992
( . ..)
346
The Rhythm
It is all a rhythm,
from the shutting
door, to the window
opening,
,
,
, ,
,
the seasons, the sun's

light, the moon,
the oceans, the
growing of things,
,
, ,
,
,
the mind in men

personal, recurring
in them again,
thinking the end

,
,

is not the end, the

time returning,
themselves dead but
someone else coming.
,
,
,
.
If in death I am dead,
then in life also
dying, dying...
And the women cry and die.
,

,
.
The little children

grown only to old men.
The grass dries,
the force goes.
,
.
,
.
But is met by another

returning, oh not mine,
not mine, and
in turn dies.
,
, ,
,
.
. ..)
347
Some Echoes
Some echoes,
little pieces,
falling, a dust,
,
,
, ,
sunlight, by
the window, in
the eyes. Your

,
.
hair as
you brush
it, the light
,

,
behind
the eyes,
what is left of it.
,
.

( . ..)
348
349
350

Peculiarities of Translation of The American Experimental Poetry

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. .

[48, 49], [194], [198],

Tension of words-things in spacetime!

(concrete poetry) (visual poetry),

This ( 1971 1982

), L=A=N=G=U=A=G=E ( 1978 1982

(The New American Poetry 1945 1960) [299],

[20, 25, 26, 72].

Take nothing for granted!

to lock oneself in and

to construct a center and

to spit the center up and

to lock oneself in and

words are games

are shadows words

are games words

are words shadows

are words games

silver silence golden speech

: (Concrete Poetry: A World View) [193],

(The Alphabet of Blood) [279] ,

Language is nothing but meanings, and meanings are nothing

3.4 The words anticipate an immoderate time and place.

There are simply tones

flow, this movement of eyes

Blown up chain link fence.

The heroic figure straddled the.

, , , Begin going down see Union Square visualize

constant change figures

(Bernadette Mayers Writing Experiments) [235],

I made only one statement

Grease is the word; grease

flubbing behind the scenes.

once again once upon a time, , ,

, nells from bend, a boil

Hand outlined in paint on a brick wall. Storm turns playground into a

Sun swells in the morning sky.

Pressure is applied. As far as you go

A poem is energy transferred from where the poet got it.

[257], [257], [257, 259]

even the hardness,

Of humiliation and defeatwan ending

Dying because of this

A mind like compost [248:299].

This, is no bare incoming

is no welter or the forms

Greeks, is the stopping

of me, the generation of those facts

from all that I no longer am, yet am,

more than I am [294:147-148].

/ . . // Studia Linguistica. ., 2012.

. , 1999. . 126 130

// . ., 1983. . 462 482.

Adorno Th. W. Kulturkritik und Gesellschaft / Th. W. Adorno //

Gesammelte Schriften. Suhrkamp Verlag GmbH, 2003. Bd.10. 843 s.

Aesthetic Tendency and the Politics of Poetry : A Manifesto / [Ron

Arketeg, Asa. An Aesthetics of Resistance: The Open-Ended Practice of

Language Writing : doctoral thesis, monograph / Asa Arketeg. Upsala, 2007.

Barthes, Roland. The Death of the Author / Roland Barthes // Image,

Music, Text. 1968. P. 142 148.

Bassnett, Susan. Transplanting the Seed: poetry and Translation / Susan

Bassnett, Andre Lefevere // Constructing Cultures : Essays on Literary

Benjamin, Walter. The Task of the Translator: An Introduction to the