Tag oran
Joint to joint of it, sinew to sinew … The places I dream paint a landscapeof griefs near and far, labored andpuckered by the dead, the lostand what was too barren to forget.My two brothers often, one long dead,the other … Continue reading ... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
I’ll never understand dreamsnor will I ever write a poemall the way through. But eachkeeps inviting in its old voice,high and fleeting on cold reachesof thought. A pale face drifts bywindows séanced in frost.Her call foreign but familiar.Perhaps translatable if … Continue re... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
It seemed like awful tresspass — showingup at the dream’s workplace with my lateststudy journal of blackwell truths in hand —:Ole Mary Dolorossa (my boss and mother,sergeant wife & Goddess too) tookand flipped its pages saying Huh,flippantly or flappingly I … Continue r... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
I doubt I understood Jung all that muchthose first years of getting sober and diggingdown into the vast cathedral catcacombsprawling beneath my Sober Townbut my thirst for what he pouredinto modernity was almost a drown:Devoured four or five of … Continue reading ... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
… I stared and staredand victory filled upthe little rented boat … — Elizabeth Bishop, “The Fish” Winter 1978, a bad, mad time, 21 yearsold & living in a Spokane apartment sharedwith my bass player Dave as our desireto play in bands was freezing down and far,obsolescent in the ferally cold weather ashappy hour in …... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
Your work is my work, my work is Oursin the transliterations of blood and timeloosely-stoned in rhyme — is that it?Fundaments all of a life’s latter workham-handedly naming more closelyjust what was so fucking dauntingabout circle upon circle of stonesmanly … Continue reading ... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
Your work continues while I ordainwhat’s left behind, decrypting gambolswrit slant in megalithic terrain. So muchmore continues within and behind,down the passage from your cistin the chapel floor, freed of bone’sbreadth and supplement to conversewith fish about powers you couldn’t … ... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
Difficult it is sourcing poetryin dreams — such wells andweirs of the infinite are like tomatinee patrons of a theaterwhere movies are the mythsand the plot walks blithefrom screen to audience andmemory while chasing oldthemes. I can’t say nowwhich tale … Continue r... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
A road then, like any other — call it Jackson Streetif you like — hidden or hard to find in the usualmeans of reference: memory fails, the route is hardto explain, maps fragment the truth. I triedmouthing directions to this … Continue reading →... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
What the dead mean to tell usby the stones which buried themwe may never know: But deathis the grand intelligible by whichus lighter folks are darkly sown. The stones’ dead are my dead too.Both occupy a speechless, moonlitfrostbit bourne, eloquent … Continue reading ... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
Lord what a storm, pouring hell and high water,flooding the river which ran near an old shackat the bottom of my family’s mystery gulch.So my brothers and I (none of us looking aswe do or did outside of dreams) went … Continue reading →... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
Down by the lake there’s a two-acre wood lot where trees have grown for decades, surrounded by blocks of houses older and new. Who knows, maybe it was part of the old pine logging camp or a later resort … Continue reading →... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
Sitting at an AA meeting where we talked about practicing these principles in all our affairs I chewed on a dream from the other night like some raw dog flesh, pith or marrow of dead truths told flush, harrowed … Continue reading →... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
… Nearing death, one doesn’t see death; but stares beyond, perhaps with an animal’s vast gaze. Lovers, if the beloved were not there blocking the view, are close to it, and marvel… As if by some mistake, it … Continue reading U... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
Summer’s height and might, throb-tide, the sky like a sea entranced by its own drowned thrash, beyond potent and expectant in each souse and throb. This hour, late dark, full-mooned, never sated enough, balling the humidity in its black … Continue reading ... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
Als der Schwarze Tod übers Land zieht, bleibt den Menschen nichts als beten. Wer von der Pest befallen und wer von ihr verschont wird, bleibt den Menschen ein Rätsel. 1348 ist das schicksalhafte Jahr, in dem die Pest – nicht … ... mehr auf literaturundfeuilleton.wordpress.com
Summer of ’45: A cold June in Paris, leaden and heavy, the rain too stringent with the dead, their bulleted stead. A ghostly citadel. Not much food left in the markets and street cafes, no gardens growing in bombed … Continue reading →... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
I see us walking down the quay with our remaining burdens— a bundle of clothes, a trunk perhaps, scant-filled with dowried dreams—: The ship wallowing at high tide like a matron crying for midwife, distending her welcome to us … Continue reading →... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
A cutting too long in water, its cup overfilled, a lusciousness lavishly stilled: The kiss after midnight fatally swilled. Who knows why such fragrance dies here, drowning so late in enchantment, rapture become weight, drift become sea. Seals are … Continue reading ... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
I haven’t a dream to lift this lid but still the hinges creak in water. I sing it from the vale of time green as lawns on latest afternoons, in light that angled, sickle-prime to moons arising to haul … Continue reading →... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
As usual I write this to you standing near your memorial — faded, your time in this world and as my brother etching into stone, living memory lost, joined now in the vast receipt of the dead — stones … Continue reading →... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
They’re with us always in the rainy season, piling in magnificence and malevolence up and across astonishing strokes of sky. They are neither of a measure or deity our level human thought could ascribe. Even when it doesn’t rain … Continue reading ... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
Long ago, in the early years of journaling & patching verse together it came to me that when the real leaves you homeless, there’s always the surreal. It’s the American Way though I didn’t know it then. I was just … Continue reading →... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
It’s too late for apprehension, the change is now behind the times. It’s taken root and wickers minds in heat and storm and surge. It shadows what we quicken like the haunted pair dancing outside the bar approaching dawn. … Continue reading ... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
I have more volumes by Charles Wright than by any other poet except maybe Rilke: Never my favorite but always up there, I’ve read his poems for thirty years. Time now has that solid thunk to it, the apparition … Continue reading →... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
Here’s a skull now; This skull hath lien you i’ th’ earth three-and-twenty years. —Clown gravedigger in Hamlet, Act V, scene 1 He is a ghost, a shadow now, the wind by Elsinore’s rocks or what you will, the … Continue reading →... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
I’m trying now to live downside the fall. That part of the miracle play that continued after, no rubes to enthrall or sins confessed, no organ note’s gold cross. I sing the charring heft of breezy afternoons after blazing contrails … Continue reading ... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
There is only this moment Between dust and silence A goose in flight over water Brother, all I have of you now Is a wilderness of pauses Where you stood still Whispering This And took the picture (Twenty times … Continue reading →... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
I’m still waiting for my past to wake up. Long stretches of it snoozed the afternoon of my earlier life. I sense I missed something in class, the part of the instruction which taught how to number spirits. You … Continue reading →... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
The destructive blue and the white belong to the same fire. — James Hillman, “Alchemical Blue” If alchemy turns memory into soul then what is that pool at about this hour thirty years ago, its morning much like today’s, … Continue reading ͛... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
The ghosts are filling up the square that faces Congress; they have an air of past griefs mixed with present woe so prescient the marchers almost glow evanescent, frail candles in grey skies whose flicker out forever flies. … Continue reading ... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
1978, a cold afternoon’s walk by the Spokane River and the totem pole on Canada island, relic not of the native population sent packing to the res but of the environmentally-themed Expo ’74— paint almost fresh, the stacked faces half … Continue reading ... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
This time of summer, afternoons kilt white with clouds, upsurging Picts in blind swelter— a hundred Fahrenheit of surge. I swim the mounts above the day’s commute, a seal evaporate whose eyes bore not on heaven or beyonds but … Continue reading →... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
Doors are opening; the dead unhengethemselves from near-to-monumental timeand issue in their flitter-whisper-synewhat poets equate with perfect rhyme.There’s my brother Will who diedlast April, clear as those last monthswe shared, his vapor almost halcyon:But who’s that walking next to him?He’s … ... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
I have touched many shores in this voyage, wakened in many beds, turned and discovered many worlds blooming inside these wounds. The bucket I pull from the well today brims with a lucence found only once, at only one … Continue reading →... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
New basis. Forget history or progress. No more extraction building up what never will sustain. No more faith in powers unseen. No more walls for privileged shires. No more bail. No more hope. No white sails. Tear it … Continue reading ... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
As tail goes I got it I suppose but not the way these rubes step on each other’ toes to gawk. Not by a drowning mile. Someone’s gotta work the rear but this? My salmon head lopped off & … Continue reading →... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
Teaching thermal physics is as easy as a song: You think you make it simpler when you make it slightly wrong. —physics instructor Mark Zemansky Callisto had learned a mneomic device for remembering the Laws of Thermodyanmics: you can’t … Continue read... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
My tribe has been eating your eyes almost forever—since you cursed water and grew feet. I could be your own mother, that’s how far back the fancied hook is set. Do you remember when we populated vellum offshore of … Continue reading →... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
These stairs go down forever, can you carry me that far? Round and down and cross and fore the way perplexity enlooms, bolding forth a tapestry which time of course entombs. Is it madness or simply age that makes … Continue reading →... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com
