Poetry Log
Jotting Notes In The Press
log entry 8/4/07
the mythopoetic begins anywhere
start here: it says in the middle of things
a distance between here & everywhere
& no distance at all (how Emily saw infinity in her mind)
a man on an island a woman in her room
the Odyssey of it a bag of wind
how else to open it save in desperation to find home
what else would a bag of wind serve tied up
yet loosed & how it tears away
as if there are no seams no threads
start here & tie yourself loosely to the spar
hear the marvels that tempt you
that speak to you of isolation
terrible things & wondrous
be a good host good guest
take all you know (never enough)
(all the battles you have seen
all you know of curiosity greed & lust
the Iliad of war & love
of making & breaking things)
now make a spiral round & round
each god touching the other
begin anywhere (infinity has no center)
all tales will touch eventually:
the gods with all their sorrow
& all their joy & all their
shadowy light
compel
a shattering
reunion
© 2007 Richard Lance Williams August 3 skirmish line of the mythopoetic: essay #0803
log entry 08/04/07
and when you come home
there is a note in the press
you come home
to the blood and
sweat qua sweat
the ironing done
the small stuff
bit and battered
cake
mixing
it is
stuff stuffed
driven against the sides
in sides
where the bowl…the box
waited for you
and no one came…
and when you come home
home is already red
already bled
a flesh already wed
think carefully here
there are sides
to such sides
that never ventured anywhere
waited for you
to come home
corpsed to it
they got tied to it
without hearing the roar
in the tides tied to the mast
mass_stirred in making
in sides take in sides
who make coming home
impaled walls of flesh again
waiting for a flood again
the blood
(again)
oven-warm
in sides take insides
to satisfies this heaven
what new blood
will satisfy the heart
of this heaven
now that heaven
is tired of her own bleeding
think carefully here
what are the bells of bliss
to wed and ring
now that her king is dead
and she
is made
& making
© 2007 stephanie pope, A Note In The Press
log entry 8/4/07
glad to see
we (who are we) are onto a something in the unmaking
in the breaking in the bowl in the hollowed place
(hello hello is any body
homing in the slip)
yes the islands shrink
& the tide that rushed out
returns (re-pressed, unfolded
the steam of all that heat a cloud
the rocks a collection of seams of
ribbons uncoiled threads motes light
a sperm of going back back into the un-not
o how it pulls apart
© 2007 Richard Lance Williams, untitled
log entry 8/4/07
there is no
Other
of this
other
making
it is
© 2007 stephanie pope, untitled
log entry 8/4/07
enough
how whole
lifetimes
slip between
a turn of
a hand from
your cheek
to your hair to the
curve of your breast
how wanting empties
the hollowness of the self
becomes in being
another who cannot be yet is
© 2007 Richard Lance Williams August 4 the other that cannot be & is
(i am reminded that there is a point
beyond the point that is not a point yet
must be there imagined if your bow is to be deep enough
to touch upon the gods who dwell beyond the point of all contention)
log entry 8/5/07
& the weave is
of no other
othering
in this
that
cannot
be returned
© 2007 Richard Lance Williams August 4 only re-imagined
log entry 8/5/07
there is no
other Other;
making it […]
“it”
it is
…but, as
***
as in the absence
wears her presence
here like stockings
like ‘her’ but not ‘here’
[it’s not exactly ‘her’ either]
no subject in the
language talking
the absence ‘is’
a voice of
presentness
‘is’
as is
***
as is no subject;
no-subject
is as
is [s]talking
[like theopornégraphia-painted skies]
the amusement, a muse meant,
absence will have worn ‘is’
worn away the differences X poses
‘is’ eXposes; what vanishes (e)X-poses
and eX posed, X poses
aliveness… you
will not have been
understood
until the end
[poetry matters in the end]
out loud out lawed
allowed/
\not allowed
not allowed to see her because
what it is to be her
[is eX-rated]
©2007 stephanie pope In the Names of the Father, White Stocking Tale Poetry
log entry 8/5/07
or if the slipping
of the red hand
tells the rose
a sorrow
cannot
last
what eyes
the frost
of loss
on far hills
in winter
bare as
dim shadows
of this last
leaving
as if to cut
a finger
of sky
one day
two days
three days
a garden of years
carved into the horizon
until only the past remains
& a want of emptiness
wrapped again in
limpid stars
© 2007 Richard Lance Williams August 5 or if the red slipping
log entry 8/6/07
heaven is no longer bleeding
the moon is no longer
not even a star-lit left nor
evening right
leavening is where
no sun slips anymore
under the mouth
of giant mountain gorge
toward night, this cold grew me
and still it grows darker, a
tribute more deeply somber; darkness
more deeply somber, dreams
.......now is without eyes but
even the black stark point can
see below
in darkness more deeply lit, morning
© 2007 stephanie pope red, slipping White Stocking Tale
poetry-response includes dream material of 08/05/07 for this dream see forum entry under "Jotting Notes"
log entry 8/6/07
something
opens
now
ric williams, 2007
