Still here, and semi-animate in a nudibranch sort of way.
I apparently needed two months to recover from a month of poetry.
But here I am again with attendant trumpets and swords a-waving.
It's not even May but things are hot and lusty already. Perhaps the heat will drive me to prosery. It is a thing devoutly to be wished.
Sunday, April 27, 2008
Friday, February 29, 2008
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
Day the whatever
Oscar Wilde- "The Grave of Shelley"
Out in the long grass I am peering moodily into a limpid pool. There are faces in the water and dandies lurking in the shrubbery.
Oh and there's R on the avenue furtively groping some faux-Praxitelian marble. She looks adorable, don't you think?
My locus amoeus is now complete.
Out in the long grass I am peering moodily into a limpid pool. There are faces in the water and dandies lurking in the shrubbery.
Oh and there's R on the avenue furtively groping some faux-Praxitelian marble. She looks adorable, don't you think?
My locus amoeus is now complete.
Saturday, February 23, 2008
Day the 21st
John Ashbery - "The Picture of Little J.A. in a Prospect of Flowers" - I
To my sadness I could not present the poem in its entirely but you can find it here.
And please note, if you will the cross-cultural poetic transposition on stage left.
We are such clever children and we aim to please.
Next door, R gives us some aphorisms to love by. I'll pack them in my bag when I go wandering.
To my sadness I could not present the poem in its entirely but you can find it here.
And please note, if you will the cross-cultural poetic transposition on stage left.
We are such clever children and we aim to please.
Next door, R gives us some aphorisms to love by. I'll pack them in my bag when I go wandering.
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
Day 19
H.D.- "At Baia"
Flowers and letters that say nothing and imply everything and love that acts upon objects rather than people. It's like a love affair done up as a still-life in oil, utterly beautiful and tragically immobile. An enthusiastic osculation to you, Hilda.
And a double whammy from R who plucks from her own field of blooms some Marvell and Blake for your enjoyment.
Flowers and letters that say nothing and imply everything and love that acts upon objects rather than people. It's like a love affair done up as a still-life in oil, utterly beautiful and tragically immobile. An enthusiastic osculation to you, Hilda.
And a double whammy from R who plucks from her own field of blooms some Marvell and Blake for your enjoyment.
Monday, February 18, 2008
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