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24 November 2008 @ 10:48 pm
It's amazing to reach a place and get it--really fucking feel it beyond the bones and the messy-heart-thumps to the genes that connect you (me) to a person so amazing, stunning and simply there as he's always been, as my grandfather, the man in the role i never felt or thought deeply enough about, deeply enough in this way right now. i am stunned. floored by his beauty. i found a collection of his poetry in my bookcase last night, Night Works, one of his many collections he's written throughout his years. and i hate that it took THIS LONG to get it, i call myself a reader and a writer, an intellectual, a highly-charged feeler of words and the longing and charge in the currents that exist before and within and beyond the words---
i just have to share some of his work. this livejournal has persisted and subsisted for years, and i neglect it, both deliberately and without thought, and i have no real idea if anyone else actually reads it--but this is almost irrelevant to me. in this particular moment,having the privilege of copying-down the poetry that this amazing man created, from the human-ness of his being...wow...i'm so thick sometimes. i suppose we all are; we see grandfathers and family members and whoever in such fixed roles, even with the awareness that they do and think and feel amazing things. i guess it's me meeting the emotions that he pushed out into the world, no, pushed is not the right word--this is about who he is, has been, how, where, why...all the ways he is and does...to find and feel that union, that connection with a person who is both a stranger, a complete stranger to me and to find and feel his words in just the ways that i know them, before i knew that i knew them and with all the certainty that i've felt them so importantly--

so, to share some of my favorites:

Invocation to the Muse

Oh god, Mind, snarl some song at me,
Spit, swear, puke some red obscenity,
Anger me from indifference and sloth.
Mind, rake my spirit's body blue with pain;
Belabor me till I sing again.

(this one below so relevant in this November-ish of November):

Suicide Weather

All right rain,
For the love of man,
Stop your dull, cold, wet cascade,
Your sullen gray parade
Of weeping grief.
Leaves are down and blackening;
Trees twitch in aimless nakedness;
Autumn's warm-red song is drowned
In gray out-of-time and cold rain.

Oh weather,
Become winter,
Which is wept of its grief
And stands high and clean cold,
Waiting for snow.
The change of seasons is hard on the soul,
And this is suicide weather.

The Question

Who sings me sleepy
Underneath this bleeding moon
Might know the height of my desire,
The red and rolling urge
Of blood's hot muscled surge.

And when beneath this ragged sky
Desire cracks and fires fly,
So stung, day rusted dreams
Flame in flaring archs for joy of it;
Then fall away in sleep's dark lovely pit.

For meanly angled are the sticks of day;
Crissed and crossed the hard lines play
Chopsticks of despair upon the nag of the self,
Where I's sit cramped in closets of the sun
Or scrape along like boneless skeletons.

But timeless is self's loss
In rollicked love and sleep's dark toss;
Relief from bright is dark delight
In shadowed symmetry of night.
SO i ask of winds that sing so sweetly soon,
Who sings me sleepy underneath the moon?

--just a few....more to come--
Current Music: velvet underground--perfect day--
atheorist on November 25th, 2008 04:41 am (UTC)
Sometimes you have to grow older in order to "get" a text.

Also, after that buildup... will you post the poems?
laugh_scream on November 25th, 2008 04:21 pm (UTC)
poems not posted
i meant to follow up with the poetry, and then accidentally hit enter. so there was a delay. and then i got tired--so only a few are posted. but--a few are posted...