The women invite me
the blue room theirs
the curtains men separate
blue bright and dark
separated by morning
culture and road
the concrete space
hands me in
as if I could go there
even in the real
daylight through walls
I sleep through this
along my life
Jill Jones Marrickville
(dreamt 5-6am, developed 12.55pm)
he observes that
the big picture
of his life
the vast canvas
of his existence
seems to be shrinking
has been shrinking
for quite sometime
from multi universes
greater mega galaxies
to worlds planets
to circling moons
to asteroids lumps
to this morning
as seen through
to a quite maneagable
a dancing mote.
7am raynes park-uk n305
ERIC DOLPHY PLAYS NIGHT MUSIC,
SYRACUSE, NY, 1962
A bass clarinet crawls up
the patrons' legs,
curls round them serpentine
doomed man madman deathbound
diabetic who lived on demand
on a white bean diet
tonight violently revives
revolves draws a room to him
playing the black constrictor
no breath but his
the constrictor squeezes
the eyes shut
the lungs closed
the ears open.
Princeton/Sea Bright, NJ
Apanage - the word came into my dream as if it means
the science of treating sewage - the dream
(the rest of which escapes me) concerned
cultural studies as currently practised.
Is it in the dictionary? Not likely -
I know enough etymology to sense
it won't mean anything of the sort,
will mean nothing at all, most likely.
Old Concise Oxford is all that's at hand -
at least it's small. Apanage - yes - a word,
to my surprise. Just after apache.
Provision for maintenance of young children
of kings etc.; perquisite, subsidiary title;
natural accompaniment or attribute.
From the French roughly endow with bread.
So? What was it doing in my dream?
The god of language warning me perhaps
not to sniff at cultural studies,
however much it seems like handling sewage?
Oops, the prejudice peeped out again.
Only yesterday, meeting a retired
English teacher, my second remark
concerned The Young. How trapped they seem
in their youth culture. Doesn't it blind them
to the interests of maturity? Maturity!
Who uses that word nowadays?
When we were young (ominous phrase)
there was no youth culture for us.
We wanted what the grown-ups had, the mix
on offer of good and bad. Then - what
ought to be kept short - adolescence
was renamed the teenage years
and given money. Culture gave it crap.
The young were now all princes and princesses
maintained with perquisites of vulgarity.
Vulgarity! Who uses that word nowadays?
Apache: violent street ruffian, a vigorous dance.
And now I see behind me several
aging generations nostalgic for their youth,
creakily reviving their decade's apache styles.
Stiff-jointed me, I stumbled with my decade
through the foxtrot and the Queen Elizabeth Waltz.
After all that, Elvis the Savage God.
Oh but wasn't the waltz once thought vulgar?
Then please could we bring back the minuet?
North Balwyn, Melbourne
WEDNESDAY-SNAPSHOT-BLOGGING THROUGH THE YEARS CODGER
- OLOGY HIGHLIGHTS FROM BECKMANN TO WALKER
Wednesday, 29th Oct. 1947.
Yeah, right, telephone with Valentin New York
about portrait Detroit. - What else was there? Oh
yes, picked up $100 in Clayton
and looked at the landscape. - 5 O'clock party
with a lot of whisky. Ted, Wally with wife,
Janson with wife and son, Drewes with wife. One
does have a load of fun, ha ha, Herr Beckmann
giving a party, ha, ha, ha, - [end of note]
. . . . . . . . . . .
Wednesday, 29th Oct. 2003. Yeah, right, get on to Rixen about that numb
finger. What else was there? Saw the mason this
morning about *devis*, went bloody nowhere,
nothing happened. Bright mist, dim disappearing
hills. Write a snapshot for the poetry list,
smoke joint later, hallucinate beauty of
absent lovers, past holding, ha ha, what a
swell party this is, imagination - gah -
imagine! ain't wot it used to be, hi hi, -
. . . . . . . . . . .
, France 14.50
Romance Standard Time
kind the generated has, that century-
related computer maybe, except form
exhibit to try to,
show first. Did.
'68 in Art Modern
show The. Shows key
Not was It! Are they ineffective? How?
Being was It, way
effective! More and better.
Silver Spring, MD USA /(9:27 AM)
first snow falling slow
hangs in the air
a curtain drifting there
either the depth of
the lines of or
certain flakes shifting
twisting & gone
while slowly the trees
& houses fade
a distance made only
of white descent
It is like that
but it is a game
and all the same
Its essence may change
but it is like that
and it is not
Variation is a scale of being
and being is
and is not
It is like that
and it is not
Tomorrow I will be 29
for the first time -
but this is a poem for today.
Today I am 28, ride home
on the X7 from Northampton to Leicester:
icy darkness without, numb
knees and buttocks within,
Locke's treatises on government
in a critical edition unopened
on my lap. A half-hour
doze as the X7 folds the intervening
null space between stops
around the rumble in its innards.
Kettering passes, and Market Harborough.
It is quarter of an hour
to the Owl at Oadby, then the London road's
sequence of pubs and Indian restaurants;
the shop called "In Harmony", that sells
marital aids, videos and mags;
the railway station's facade,
shop on the left up Granby street.
Get off at the Haymarket, bus
again - the 25 - to Melton turn.
The neon diyas
welcome Lakshmi up the Belgrave road.
Harmony is attained as a husband,
28, comes home
to his wife and children:
Oliver bhai and Ruby ben, bathed
and in pyjamas, ready
for their beds of dreams and bedbugs
too somnolent to bite.
I just heard
heading to earth
like a freight-train--
a massive solar storm...
Yes, with no meaning whatever!
Surprising over and over!
7:30AM, West Irondequoit, New York, United States
packing this and that
(more than I should) and less
checking expiration dates
stacking neat piles of poems
running extra copies
don't want to repeat
the same mistakes
it's good to
keep marginal space
for creative endeavors
snap, click... zip
I'm off to see the Wizard.
9:45 am Baltimore, Maryland
as i stop at a red light
a dilapidated van pulls up
behind me and moans to a
halt its rusted sieve of
a body clinging onto itself
for dear life as seen from
a rear-view mirror its front
emblazoned with NAMSSERP
and beneath that daeha pets
eno syawlA i've only just
got the message as the light
changes and driving off i wonder
if how far behind with everything
i am could be measured and there's
a touch of frost in the air this
afternoon and as dark falls the
first snow starts to fall
Today an ocean wind peels back the overcast, so that the wall of smoke
stands off to the east, at the fire's landward edge.
abandoned villages, some consumed, the survivors report,
in moments, the fire
so hot it melted cars. Houses scattered amidst firs and pines,
long meadows of yellow grasses peppered with cattle,
buzzards and hawks above, gone now. One village is crowded with men and
they've made a stand, and helicopters drop buckets of water. The fire
shoots shards of flame
across roads around and above the heads of the men.
Maybe there will be some acres of green
amidst the charcoal, maybe not, and maybe the sun will
Poetryetc is a listserv relating to poetry and poetics which provides a forum for poets to debate their critical and creative work. The list has over the years run a number of projects for its members, of which Snapshots has been the most enduring.
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