FALCO DAIR SONG FREE
If the reader is a free bleeder and curious about the flow and where it goes or takes one then have some fun and fuddle, let red matter puddle in the mind, the ears, at least one, the better ear the bad one cuz then one must squint an eye try to hear, must effort to ken what's to be be heard that matters in the dim dumb hum haw hem 'to wit, to woo, to whom to what will 'draw flies or better' if it can (or can it) or draw curiosity that begins and ends in further quests such are questions behest that one at least not tarry too long but scurry or surrey forth in whatever meter one finds is adequate to the moment. 'Ask not for whom the 'tell bolls, it bolls prithee'' (which is a fun thing to say 'slythy-ly'). But I'll be plumbed, forego the curd topping the pie but stick, rather, a nether in an eye to scrie or effort something wanting to show itself though shy or disguised to throw readers off petrified 'tried and true'. Or, alas, early 20th century exiled American poet's proclamation propounding to 'make it new' all the while living in classical Europe, is now, early 21st century, 'the old soft shoe' bougie boogie of those new penners currently blowing in the wind, the Bestseller genies sprung like Athena from Zeus's noggin fully formed Jack n Jill Horners patenting both thumbs and plums having believed that they are progenitors of both. So what's below is no rural romp or tread and though most readers dread having to participate in the reading of such, having to use their heads and more, better, use their ears without fear of noise or nonsense, then let the lazy forego their efforts here and head off to church or collective shrine or club or circle and so 'knit one pearl two', don the harder shoes that force a straight unyielding path to (or so it is thought and hoped) chaste and bidden conformity to believed-to-be 'received revealed' paths of doggerel and sentimentality. 'language, words, make meaning, I don't.' And from below bellow scraps filched from whole poems that doubt their legs capacities to stand on their own aka poet Robert Duncan's declaration that Me, just to be clear at another outset, to set it out, to lay out or in what follows, is to follow, rather, I follow IT, lay it out as IT and how it plays and wants to say, perhaps its stay - which now all below as they go-and-go, are excerpts, patches from poem after poem, a long roam, a life time roaming of them toward rumored HOME, more the homing devices, words, than settling, planting one flag for everything, impossible to do as things, even words do fray down to string and filament fly loosened eventually strand by strand (as do I, me) in fate-wind, and thus the pastiche ensues, unwinds/unravels on purpose not to my own end but to poetry's ends (plural) in creating, destroying, reconfiguring worlds of possibilities plural. Pull down thy vanity' - Ezra Pound, from Pisan Canto LXXXI
'The ant's a centaur in his dragon world. Poetry is a word like love: an endless confusion of different things all warped into one word because no vocabulary of discrimination exists.'Īnd me, Warren Falcon but Pound again then moi: 'There isn't any one correct way to write poetry. 'There is another world, but it is inside this one.' I often hear students get exasperated if a poem stretches the bounds of what they think poetry includes.' The world went inside the internet and became the world.a poem may not conform to your worldview, your tastes, or what you think a poem can be. 'We happen to live at a moment that is going to get worse before it gets better.
Toot Toot Lovers! Bag of bones coming through! - Richard Hugo 'Mark the first page of the book with a red marker.įor, in the beginning, the wound is invisible.' - Edmund JabesĪt the outset, setting the Stage (rather, Page) : to begin with a swelled head and end with swelled feet.' - Ezra Pound From The Dusk Of My Ghost House - Adventures Of An Autodactyl - Variant Excursions Into Ipseity - Autobiography Of An Inner Life, A Crestomathy, A Vanity Mildly Tourettic Somewhat
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