Now it's raining again. Will it, luminous, ever take the place of freedom, passion in the capital? The raindrops need not formulate as prison bars— again. The absence of rain was an illusion first one, then the other settled for. It's easy to stay up all night in the music, drinking from the robber's cup—…
A sac of waters and saturated tendrils, The tear-thatch fills the cavity of the chest And presses against the brain stem, the pelvic cradle, The distended cage of ribs. It bobs Heavily, yet urges its rubbery weight around The heart in pliant folds that flex in rhythm With the still-avid laboring waves Of dilation and…
bound in friendship nest in a single tree. One watches the world. The other feeds on sweet fruit. The Self, weary of pecking about, sinks into despair. Through meditation, personal self comprehends impersonal self: The Spirit soars! When Sage and Spirit are united, Lingam and yoni, good and evil Vanish: they are one. Only in…
What follows comes late in a book-length sequence of poems, with some interleaved prose, that recounts one imagined life through another. The imagined life is my own, or that of a writing double that insists it is not the workaday figure who answers to my name. The other biography, and the one the sequence is…
The idea for The World Pub seemed a whimsy at first, but now I'm sure it wasn't. I fantasized a place with that name in some unspecified suburb of some unspecified metropolis, at once real and imaginary. Persons of all ranks, historical or mythical, from any time past or present or future, could be found…
No one, Herakleitos said, crosses the same river twice. True enough. Every gain's composed of losses. Think, as Robert Duncan has, of years as catches where only that which one loves well surpasses our diurnal habit of suffering and folly. Years pass, crawling into years. Too damned bad for one who worships childhood or youth….
Saint-Julien de Peyrolas Gard 18 October 1941 Mr Xavier Vallat Commissioner for Jewish Affairs Vichy Sir: I must take you to be in some way my superior; for while I have not yet come to grasp what now is thought to be a Jew, I must hear the silence that met my request, for a…
1 A morning meditation in mid-May, the plane trees profligate on this island on Broadway and 105th, ten years of morning walks along these storefronts, the beautiful names before me now, Santerellos, Erik’s Hair King, Lucky Farm Fruits and Vegetables, the urban wind in the lindens, the shock of gray-black water on the downslopes of…
A weak man is like a broken jug: although you pour in every kindness, you pour in vain: nothing is contained. * * * The vile mouth of the exorcist drives away demons, not by virtue of his ritual, but by the shit he speaks. * * * The poor painter captures only form, no other. To find the…
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