Saturday, September 03, 2005

A yaron and a half, prior.

   "Dirge at the Edge of Woods

Gold shed upon suckling gold,
The time of the bole blackens,
Of the dark mounted through dapple,
While in the sealed apple
The seed cradled toward cold.
Put by from an elm in its years
Now its gilded of days,
Over turf’s dishevelment;
Where all which is green sickens,
All the fresh shall be sere.
And it is but for a time
Those embered veinings blaze
A year’s delirium;
Or neared of other space,
Unportioned azure shall close
One of more, and which is,
One which goes.
Let the little pupils that will,
Of vision, gaze for salt
To whet their gazing, wit
In one weather is high
From burrow and lair, by
Nether providences’ default
An all’s accrued.
And apposite, beyond
Such primer beholdings, has
Its long accounting known
The beetle’s morsel thus
Was rich, and the slug’s bed on
The oak’s generations, deep
Over the lark’s bones.
In slough of Edens fast
Wit in one weather shall stand,
While millennia nibble at
The sensual apple
Toppled it net,
Plenty in the palm of the hand,
And the fallen not fallen, not lost
From out its certitude--
For our unbeggaring
Has been gross. Few and late
To cherish an immoderate
Wish, hope’s calculus,
Love’s hope; few to miss,
From natural tally thrust,
In the lime-girdled space
Of choice, where alone
Man can abandon what
Is only his own;
And in cold and tarrying
Their rearisers sleep:

While to the granite cheek
Light’s purples bring
Infinite their ministering,
And past our finial
And ragged crests, to keep
Time’s ambient stood,
Propose horizons from
Their shadowy quarries; while,
In an unwandered wood,
Or under the indifferent foot,
Is let fall, let fall a fruit,
Through eternal leisures down,
For but time’s unravelling."

--Léoni* Adams

(via Talking Points M*mo)

"We've been a generator of human and cultural energy for centuries, but all this bounty brought the city no careful engineering, no thought for its future, no worldwide cry of help for its inevitable demise." --Andr*i Codr*scu (via wood_s lot)

"There is only the moon, embalmed in phosphorus.
There is only a crow in a tree. Make notes."


"I think we saw a paradigm shift."

Friday, September 02, 2005

Thursday, September 01, 2005

Th* Duplications.

(via w*b dot tiscali dot it)

   "The Hurricane

Lo, Lord, thou ridest!
Lord, Lord, thy swifting heart

Nought stayeth, nought now bideth
But's smithereened apart!

Ay! Scripture flee'th stone!
Milk-bright, Thy chisel wind

Rescindeth flesh from bone
To quivering whittlings thinned--

Swept, whistling straw! Battered,
Lord, e'en boulders now outleap

Thy drum's gambade, its plunge abscond!
Lord God, while summits crashing

Whip sea-kelp screaming on blond
Sky-seethe, dense heaven dashing--

Thou ridest to the door, Lord!
Thou bideth wall nor floor, Lord!"

--Hart Cran*

Khurbn chill gurgling
grasp abolish and scroll shorn
with slow click against

full frolic ogham black lilt
infirm agonist ogling

"...we may learn humility from the luckless scholar who saw reason to approach the linear B script by way of Basque, and eventually derived elegiac poems from what are now taken to be storehouse inventories. His book was published, in 1931, by the Oxford University Press."

--Hugh K*nn*r

King L*opold's Ghost.


gurgling ichor cusp
smart rats stomp

Tzolkin aglow burst
briskly against flint

"And tell me this, you medievalist simps, you delusional, retrograde dipshits -- how is it possible that you became privy to such timeless truths -- that the mind of the "One True God" is available to you, and that God's words and wishes resonate through yawning millennia to be understood only by you -- and you alone?" (via wood_s lot)

NOr Blogs. (via Th* Guardian)

Wednesday, August 31, 2005

of heavenacid in the doorcrack
you press the word
from which I rolled,
when I with trembling fists
the roof over us
dismantled, slate for slate,
syllable for syllable, for the copper-
glimmer of the begging-
cup's sake up

--Paul C*lan, Br*athturn (tr P. Joris, 1995)

Hidd*n in Plain Vi*w.




Tuesday, August 30, 2005

"Here's to marching the blitzkrieg bop." (via M*tafilt*r)

"Do you begin to remember the future? Then we must dream our dreams hastily."

--J*ff*rs, D*ar Judas

'I see them: Crab, Ram, Bull,
and all the world is only shell
whose pearl and opalescence
is my impotence,'


Khurbn chill
furl gray abtar and ichor

who will closing blast of furious
crisp allot igloo

from rapacious by gargling abolish at
ballroom crayfish ranch antics

"Fabre, by firing all the municipal cannon
under a piping tree, found out
cicadas cannot hear."

--Richard Wilbur

Th* Barb*r of Natch*z.

Monday, August 29, 2005

(via doyl*n*wyork dot com)

"Face it," said Aaker, "the United States is the Texas of the advanced countries."

' Hyrcania the populace support dogs for the benefit of the community, while the nobles keep them for family use; it is as we know a famous breed of dogs, but in spite of the cost, each householder procures animals in proportion to his means, to mangle him, and that they consider the best mode of burial.'

--Cic*ro, Tusculan Disputations I. xlv.

"According to the Miami Herald, when asked whether his proposed FEMA budget cuts were a problem, "the president walked away from reporters." "

"...a growing number of [National] Guard units are being sent to Iraq and Afghanistan..."

Global Warming Mak*s Strong*r Hurrican*s.

Top Chimp says it ain't so.

Sunday, August 28, 2005

(via ssd dot noaa dot gov)

Mohicans. (via Languag* Hat)

On my victrola: Logan's Sanctuary soundtrack. For an imaginary follow up to Logan's Run. You would not think this synth sound was born in AD 2000, so Nixonian its vision; and this plot synopsis is a hoot, too. (Villainous "Cobol".) --As in Th* Tabl*ts, bogus actuality has its own strong pull, such that it's not hard at all for an auditor to allow this world to occur, although it hasn't and can't. And why not?
   But it only works with a sharp historical faculty.

"The art of divination by lightning distinguished eleven kinds of lightning..."

--von Cl*s-R*d*n, op cit

   "Crave we gems? No penury
Of their material round us! Pliant earth
And plastic flame--what balks the mage his birth
--Jacinth in balls or lodestone by the block?"

--Sord*llo, vi.