In the meantime
HERS AND HIS he looked across at her books ............................................................................ ..................................................... 'Mintzberg,H. Five Ps for Strategy, in Mintzberg, H. Quinn,J. and Ghoshal, S. The Strategy Process. 1998. Prentice Hall Europe, Hemel Hempstead. Whipp, R. Creative Deconstruction: Strategy and Organisations, in Clegg,S., Hardy,C., and Nord,W. Managing Organisations: Current Issues. 1999, Sage, London. Andrews, K. The Concept of Corporate Strategy, in Mintzberg et al, 1998 op.cit. Quinn,J and Voyer,J. Logical Incrementalism: Strategy Formation, in Mintzberg et al, 1998 op.cit. Mintzberg, H. Crafting Strategy. in Mintzberg et al. 1998, op.cit. Joyce, P. and Woods, A. Essential Strategic Management. 1996. Butterworth-Heinemann. Oxford Hudson, M. Managing Without Profit. 2nd ed. 1999. Penguin, Harmondsworth Mintzberg, H. The Rise and Fall of Strategic Planning. 1994. Prentice Hall, Hemel Hempstead. Handy, C. Understanding Voluntary Organisations. 1990. Penguin, Harmondsworth. Darwin, J., Johnson, P. and McAuley, J. Developing Strategies for Change. 2002. Pearson Education, Harlow. Stacey,R. Strategic Management and Organisational Dynamics. 2nd ed. 1996. Pitman, london Bourgeois,L. Strategic management and determinism. Academy of Management Review, 9(4): 586-96. in Whipp, op.cit Donaldson, L American Anti-Management Theories of Organisation. 1995. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge. Grint, K. Fuzzy Management. 1997. Oxford University Press. Oxford. DoH on health Act Mintzberg, H. , Ahlstrand,B. and Lampel,J. Strategy Safari. 1998. Prentice Hall, Hemel Hempstead Weick, K. Sensemaking in Organisations, 1995. Sage, London Kosko, B. Fuzzy Thinking. 1994. Flamingo. London Pascale, R. Managing on the Edge. 1990. Penguin, London. Jaques, E. Social Systems as Defence Against Persecutory and Depressive Anxiety. in Klein, M, Heimann, P and Money-Kyrle, R. New Directions in Psychoanalysis. 1955. Basic Books, New York. De Board, R. The Psychoanalysis of Organisations. 2002. Brunner-Routledge. Hove. Stokes, J. Institutional Chaos and Personal Stress. in Obholzer, A. and Roberts, V. The Unconscious at Work. 1994. Routledge, London.' ............................................................................ ......................... and then he looked across at his books Best SF, Rattlebag, Erotic Verse, and thought that perhaps his were rather more fun.
pmcmanus 21-21 raynes park uk
cold scratchy broken light
blue slots in sky
wind stream an opaque zigzag
rotations in the scheme of things
surface twist paper squalls
a call to order but
fatigue hunger questions
a funky worry
day slopes on my stupid
the bashings the fits
street streaky how it gets
scotty should get checked
where they hit you
nothing comfortable in this
Jill Jones, 1.05pm, Surry Hills, Wed 12 November 2003
(found poem on Graphics webpage)
For Non-commercial Use Only
For Non-commercial Use Only
Stand Alone Item
I now know it's no use living like rain present where I was or where dead leaves swirl across macadam that parchment dance yet here I am again treed to tomorrows somewhere in our virtuals brimming with ghosts windfalls redoubts
...Gerald Schwartz 10:50 AM, West Irondequoit, New York, United States
or gather it
patterns that cohere or seem to attach
transubstantiation held in the centre of the mouth
impossible to swallow or spit
CHRIS. MARKER CATS
He plays piano,
listens to piano,
sees himself shot ('digital video').
Stretches to circuitry.
Barry Alpert / Silver Spring, MD USA / 11-8, 11/12 (5:42 PM)
First draft written during a screening of Marker's BESTIARE
The soil burned black. In places
an overlay of ash where a tree had been,
stretched in the direction of the wind,
as if the wind
had left its shadow in passing.
In other places
where there had been no wind
and a slow burn
a small circle, a dome
the color of bones,
perhaps an inch above the blackened soil,
the footprint of the missing tree
marked for the moment
(until the next wind)
by what the fire left.
[a rough reading] translation of Mark's snapshot
Svörđurinn blakkur sviđinn. Hér og ţar öskulag eftir tré, strokiđ eftir vindáttinni, líkt og vindurinn hafi látiđ skugga eftir í leiđinni. Á öđrum stöđum ţar sem vindurinn kom ekki og bruninn hćgur er lítill hringur, beinlitađ hvolfţak, ţumlung kannski yfir svertum sverđinum, far eftir gengiđ tré greinilega merkt um stund (uns hvessir aftur) af ţví sem eldurinn lét eftir. Árni Ibsen
Waking, young and old
Waking shouldn't be so difficult:
open the eyes, engage the morning light,
slide out of bedsoon you're talking,
breakfasting, reading, even singing.
Oh that's how it used to be. These days
the mouth is a problematical organ:
take it to the bathroom (an exercise in
tottering), treat it to spring-cleaning.
Avoid the mirror the comb knows its
meagre job; move about the house as
tentatively as the body requires
yesterday walking was natural,
today it needs to be learned again;
sit near a window and practice looking.
Daylight is a boon; the garden survived
correctly green and florid and with birds.
Yes, all as I remember it, and more.
And looking brings to mind so many words.
6.30am, Wednesday 12 November 2003
Max Richards, North Balwyn, Melbourne
watched the man lie
again move as if
demeaned by misuse
lay that wreath
those crocodile tears
a slow march
in the real
just the bought
all that quick march
sans the lonely dead
Edmonton 08: 17 November 12/03
moon wading through clouddrifts
or else cloudwaves slapping against
the bow of this pale skyship ghostsun
while glen miller's lazy moonlight serenade
laps the airwaves moored to a past
floating me back to a time never lived
a distant war never experienced but
through tales in celluloid a curious
nostalgia for an invented image until
this alien line of voyage is split wide open
by a passing car radio blaring full-blast
that insistent line sweet child in time from
deep purple in rock some bruised rock of this age
november 12 2003
Howard Street 'gotta dolla, gotta dolla?' she wore layers - dirt and stains and hungry pleas she hung around, down, down on Howard Street with a small child and a scheme hand out-stretched sweat beading drips of yesterday's dream suicidal things suddenly blind ( me, like a wristwatch without time) neither one of us can tell yesterday from today or tomorrow 'gotta dolla, gotta dolla?' over there, there's a one armed man with graffiti on his feet, face and hand parched skin wrapped like a drum around the tight throat of melody war songs between soldiers and long lost sons' they peer out from peircing bloodshot eyes my blade's serrated. 'Hey you! Gotta dolla, gotta dolla?â€ť
11-12-03 5:06 pm
Baltimore, Maryland USA
Tedium. Drive time. Donne wrote
of Good Friday heading westward.
The march toward Death, not the recalled
Passion leading to the Cross
but the shared Passion, the fact of humanity
the common ticket.
This is mundane: westward each morning
on Route 33, bad pavement, gravel trucks,
talk show hosts, NPR, sometimes broken by music,
a clarinetist playing Debussy--
barely a comfort, inappropriate
as Bjoerling singing in a whorehouse.
Westward not toward death but toward
employment, what was so long craved turned
to the morning small-p sexless passion.
Gastro-enteritis does the rounds.
My son lies patient in his soiled pyjamas
waiting for morning. "Why didn't you call?"
I ask. "We would have come". He shakes his head.
His driver was talking to another driver
so he must be quiet and still. Later the same
driver insists he go and fetch some cornflakes,
bounce on the sofa and put a video on.
I want a word with this guy. Oliver agrees:
"he's naughty, a bad driver". But brave in crisis
and quick to thwart the Pontypandy arsonist.
Hare Krishna, Hare Rama. Hare, hare Fireman Sam.
Bouncing again. "My driver's making me".
I steer him quickly to the lavatory.
Dominic Fox, Leicester 12/11/03 22:17pm
thinking of tomorrow's snapshot I needed the disgusting smell of boiled cabbages in the house, not hungry - might once ready, but this warm smell propagating through the flat like a plushy hand talks of winter of a family of a barren landscape with free scenes of mirth and wind of the taste of sea of long twisting roads up to the fortified bridge barking of dogs black windows shut on the harshness of soil it is thick opaque green - heavy like a used Russian fur coat like the breath of a cow its moist dung until it is so dense you almost forget it's there because it is your clothes your hair yourself liquid in the stagnant night distant from the town the world tomorrow and thereafteranny 10 pm pre-shot of a snap
Here's an exiting gift suggestion (and they -- at KB Toys) are targeting it to boys 12 to 16...
You can find the Elite
Force Aviator: George
W. Bush - U.S. President
and Naval Aviator - 12"
Action Figure that Gerald
is requesting at:
He finds it quite droll
to have come across
this on Veteran's Day.
5:27 PM Gerald Schwartz
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.
Every Wednesday, Poetryetc members were invited to post short poems on any subject or in any form they chose. The idea was to make a poetic collage of instamatic snaps of that day that reflected the international membership of the list. The project has generated an astounding number of poems.
The first two runs, of six weeks each, and the first ten weeks of the third run, are archived at Wild Honey Press www.wildhoneypress.com under Poetryetc Project. The rest - amounting in all to a run of a year - are archived here.
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