Thomas Mann's Adrian Leverkühn

“… music and language, he insisted, belonged together, were fundamentally one. Language was music, music a language, and when separated, each always recalled the other, imitated the other, made use of the other means, always to be understood as the substitute for the other.”

Lemonhound, vol. 2

New issue of LemonHound is live, where I'm writing about Robin Blaser's incredible poem "The City," and misting in the waist-heights of assemblages of in and out and in-between. Read it, you'll see.

How much great writing lives here: Lemonhound.com.

Gauchet, The Disenchantment of the World

Why I continue to write in the OPEN,

“during the transition from immanence to transcendence there is also a leap from the past to the present. We can speak here of an elemental change from temporal to “spatial” exteriority. Temporal is ‘absolute’ while spatial is ‘real’…relative.”

Disenchantment provokes “an experience of an inner split [that] is more than just a gap. It opens up a fracture in being, which allows an illuminating access, from within, to more truth than is given by communal existence.”

I live here. In this house, this frame and wall. Everyday.

inelegant rising


stark neutrality


de rigueur

two lives

one,
falls dead after her second performance of seit ich ihn gesehen
the other,
half around the world, falls a single tear at the exact moment of Sonst ist licht und farblos

im wachen Traume
im wachen Traume

Weronika/Veronica

Simone de Beauvoir

“I am too intelligent, too demanding, and too resourceful for anyone to be able to take charge of me entirely. No one knows me or loves me completely. I have only myself”

Dear,

The truth is that nothing is out of reach until you place it there, that mountain you passed through by fingering a hole deep inside, the light that broke up the dark path which returned you home, to a safer place. Were you hungry on your journey? Did you pack light? Or was the point to consecrate heaviness to the mountains you can no longer write of. So beauty worn are you.

Your reach, now far removed, and I am here listening to the steam rise in my kettle. Soon I will drink tea and warmth will be returned to the circumambient body. In this room, I can reach everything.

Can I reach you?

Love,

πολύφημος ὁδὸs

ἄνδρα μοι ἔννεπε, μοῦσα, πολύτροπον, ὃς μάλα πολλὰ πλάγχθη

XXIII. THE CHILD WITH THE MIRROR

After this Zarathustra returned again into the mountains to the solitude of his cave, and withdrew himself from men, waiting like a sower who hath scattered his seed. His soul, however, became impatient and full of longing for those whom he loved: because he had still much to give them. For this is hardest of all: to close the open hand out of love, and keep modest as a giver.

Thus passed with the lonesome one months and years; his wisdom meanwhile increased, and caused him pain by its abundance.

what passaggio
largo ad infinitum

when love is not met.

the poet longs
for hands
against the current of this terra incognita

how to reconcile this nakedness
against cold wall
or with

mute
or
moot

filling an ocean
     OCEANS
with desire

Don't think I'm wooing you
Angel even if I am you won't come
for my call is always full of
rising
you can't move against such a current.

-Rilke (seventh elegy)

if you were here right now I'd be reading Werther to you, suffocating in turns from this light that emanates, and then, and then, that cocktail of immediacy. something like alchemy of sentences veered away from the halfness of things. whyever would you want the halfness of things. the wine is on. the poet waits... but for who, or for what. Ah, the press of vagary/ies. I must pull a book...

divertimento

A wonderful compilation on thoughts of the long poem, with contributors Oana Avasilichioaei, Dina Del Bucchia, Garry Thomas Morse, Wanda O’Connor, Catherine Owen, Sharon Thesen, and Daniel Zomparelli

here: http://talonbooks.net/file_download/23/Ein+musikalischer+Spa%C3%9F.pdf

this is art.

martryology bk. 5