in the old days churches were the tallest thing across the street in the city of bern a piece of sky rests in a cage the children run shout laugh & leave he lives between mts. he walks he sweats he stops he stands between mts. he never yawns. der kinder schlafen im dem haus they are a small part of the present a small part of the past august clouds like sugar in my teacup
7-8/83
like a cigarette commercial i stand by the sea watching men fish and waves break high against the rocks shawn follows the frisbee until it loses itself in the tide face washed by warm night wind feet digging into wet sand i gag on smoking fear and dream of things i never had and maybe never will while warm spiked thoughts intercept my station break and return me to the program in progress
8/72
dear ted being one prone to complain i will. listening to bartok 44 violins duos. why do i mention this to let you know that i am not vacant upstairs tho i am not so nice & know nothing about bartok or compost & do not have much upstairs either except for inborn hunger & thirst never quite satiated masquerader tho not really as tough as i seem definitely very very grouchy constantly irritated .. would that it were that i had a friend the likes of you 20 30 years ago to communicate to in fairly honest terms tho sometimes what you say is way over my head .. had a “teacher” once when i was young he went nuts was gay in his older years taught me some little things about writing mostly useless never went to school really dropped out of night college after a year 1/2 of little b’s and c’s .. read very little .. poor at it been writing since a baby .. so so at it but for a 55 yr old man well where am i ? why tell you this well why not. another ted poet your age who i know for 20 or more years i know very little about except for his own self-indulgence tho he is loved you may even have come across him in your short lived ny days...he’s giving in a taking sort of way .. i guess i’m glad for you that monteverdi won out .. fragments of madrigals are not really present in my head tho when i was younger i listened to monty’s mads all the time & i’d never recognize ONE EVEN IF IT SMACKED ME SQUARE IN THE EARLOBE right now .. clam chowder shit so i’ve never really had clam chowder either .. not even that creamy white stuff with potatoes? just nasty measly QUAHAUGS .. shit shit & double shit .. steamers yes when i was yunger loved with butter...but hell they were only steamed QUAHAUGS .. and all that QUAHAUG chowder over the years...geez it’s 2:30 a.m. & i’m gettin’ hungry...he brought me food as though he had been listening to my appetite .. so why do you use such narrow paper & how come the typer with all those weird keys? sorta concrete poem stuff built right into the key hey?.. funny you started your last letter with the line “only a few random notes” .. and it’s the longest you’ve written me yet .. thank you monteverdi
Galen’s garden (back to the ward) bus down 5th ave coaching toward the coast they only give me a blood test on top of my blood test i became a flag dripping color a huge swamp w/arms outstretched a regned on the rfd a drive world elevated cosbikyan bridge they cut me & tho i was waterproof i bled / danger cavh derdy pierre my link to air was gone i traveled aproc into mechanical contracts leveled the power cooling delivered the vielle notrabajos i became furniture that felt pain i realized once again that i belonged to no team i was equipment best patron’s recessed be a good man – I thought over & over as the calendar passed and the will divide cleave au cleve himnals elas la casa de beers
what do ya do when there is nothing you can do ?drefla dun shuttlehill? blue go than chocolate? download harlot caution apart? i hate when kids get too happy something bad is bound to happen fountains solutions foundations yadiloh shield is static yet mobile bread depot ANIF market selpats body of ice scent on the weak end hunger a wooden fish jumping over mountains broken will & route a card a valley a national bank a food merchant a chemical shop un petite optique an unfed X un rapido pretzel fresh from the bakery quantun camer(ic)a monkey locksmith a large stump w/outstretched arms redhanded hornblow clean crock
a stop here MEAT & no return neat clippings greenery kitchen tradition collection an entire blding for rent is perfect is alive hunger is alive a chase a delight control specialist a staple an empire kickback ashes regrub salad mailbox is static yet mobile is perfect is alive
10/14/04
haiku 5/2/02 n.carolina he throws the bone into the lake – both dogs retrieve it
i enjoyed watching the mirror play more than the stage tho one could not hear what was being said there while the stage spoke too perfectly of what was what
from the shadow book (1) my shadow caught up to me on Allen St. it overtook me for a few seconds then held firmly by my side behind their shield exotic eyes waited on line outside Lombardi’s exotic melodies played but you know only this empty cup remains a mystery my urge for chicken pot pie was only exceeded by my desire for ginger ale 200 million yrs ago the angels were becoming one again yet their biographies could never be written in a book i would never have you change the way you are tho i do not like the way you are the cold soaked thru my garments on the wet street as my glossy shadow murmured bits of poems i was late returning home the river does not depend on the weather for its flow
the stone does bleed the pine cone shapes itself for future generations the river hovers above me like a shadow the stone need not retain its shape forever & the shadow becomes liquid as it drinks my life depends on nature for its sources tho my nature is to shy away from life
the brith (a mohel is a moil) mordecai’s father is the son of an exterminator mordecai is 8 days old & is about to get circumcised the exterminator holds his arms back looking away his legs are held up by his uncle the brother of mordecai’s mother & son of mordecai’s other grandfather now deceased mordecai is named after him the uncle does not look away the rabbi is a real slob his thin dyed black hair clearly falling out he wears a stained white smock with his name on it his black pants frayed at the bottom he reminds me of a butcher i once met he states how circumcision used to be the job of the father mordecai takes no notice of this the father leaves the room as the circumcision begins as do most of the women
mordecai shows his disapproval of the whole affair by first pissing & then shitting out a long stream of soft yellow-brown shit the rabbi jokes mordecai cries & a bottle is shoved into his mouth to “soothe” him at one point when his foreskin is pulled up mordcai’s eyes open in shock & horror & his mouth does likewise
1/2 a moon sits above the church & one bright star the other half eaten by an angel
*
the man with the moss-colored forehead puts 2 pills in his mouth & drinks from everyone else’s glass i have traveled through 5 cities and no one has yet stamped my passport i have been tired tempted thirsty they have not stamped my aching feet or bleeding heart i have wandered from one station to the other & have finally arrived here on st. germain with the dogs & fromage & her pretty ass i am deceived rewarded have begun rail by rail heat lays itself upon my brow houses grow on the mountain
7-8/83
army (for mary jo) sowing out of time the duck a quack if ever drained of its etoms a lol ogy gone wild in these tamed waters tired from pulling the levers in his sleep a young swan beds down for the night the choice he bet on still a bet away each season is out of place this grain like two lips in the movie tonight that weren’t yours other creatures are fed by the keeper’s hand tho the keeper acts like other creatures born here to this pond a LAGOON unmasked the mask worn as the mask is worn frayed about the edges the ties that bind it to the skin within reason the carbon hark dying beast & this love a jagged rock at the edge of water
speaks of extinction as only a “solid” can army follows army into the waiting stench the coming growth army wading thru feed toward the SAG – parm la lazit prasm opti- aut a bout gone round again & round a n other cycle unpleated
10/04
NYC 11/07/04 Billy Bang-Sirone Quartet w/ Charles Gayle, alto & tenor Tyshawn Sorey, drums (in a rare setting, Gayle as sideman plays tunes written by Bang & Sirone)
spindrift (after catullus) from the 1st eerie to above ness paint a quadrant yes double the # bare redress open to critical interpretation the answer begins amongst the cattle ends somewhere beyond the fishing line lacitric(k) acircle trickle tickle-lig a barbary sower rows acoast aplenty rich man plent for the poor rephrased & this is not a sport meant for sport by recalling of moments when memory grabs hold & holds on for its own past lives wandering thru the solids like a beam of fecund glit achase in the cast and dismember it is like recalling one’s love of law before falling into ruin dressing in someone else’s skin/rags – custom co-umons cradle stun & stupefy
restate the pull-us stating the surround the poems are not against our will the caution of last and lasting signs of relief & last of late-arriving longings this long lasting itch this constantly pursued turning turning of the sheets
these poems are not against our wills lirg keep flame world kept page dulled by temperatures this shifting spindle of largess – unoccupied territory
“if I stopped writing�
bad poems would still exist: flower & folding war swan & snowflakes of lace
if I stopped thinking maybe thought could begin uninterrupted elsewhere unselfishly wrong #s oh what savior paper be whispering into my terrible forehead like an old coin worth only its value as treasure
signs we sing arised of hym(e)nals prized risen out of storm & blood by the law we once so loved.
from the shadow book (2) 3 trips around the gallery with the TIME THUG – the way the face in the painting becomes you shadow at the table in the middle of the room cold marble strauss waltz hot sweet coffee mingles with your blood the angel of death wilts your salad & the angel of life lifts your mug & the angels without any story or station slip away dappled smudged chipped shattered marble warmed by your fingers shadow barely present gift of the little-of what-there-is light friendless shadow waltzing in the arbitrary light the longest take on record the shadow having breakfast the angel asking questions the angel that lights the shadow shadow and table ice in glass the wilting salad the dappled marble
rumor has it.....for raymond ross 1. cut the fram(e) / unaltered process cut to f(r)ame away cut shape fall crimped inta triplets mirror backed a flat-arsed area of floor light backdrop: armature tailored frame / emarf de mark ated pt as crash alot this so much thus am an open plaid coooooeeoooo u ummumme cooooeeeoooo tis a lam(b)ent cut to f//r//a//m//e pessam mystic relate re (ta) l (i) ate re: late fee nominal tax a tion caught lost in a court counting ooooooeeeeeuuuuu ooooeeeeoouey con fide dent(i)al this is wasnot framus again try to unintelligible gent (l) er angle cut to ram(e) – s leepeye move (eeeee) move eeeee a movie something that moves a talkie yes that’s right........all 4 pts re: picture that talks is talking picture = talkie moving picture a picture that moves a moving picture a picture that....scraggly greybeard thin ends ragged B&W pitcher come from behind tincture crumpled into shade as in external body etheriated & crumpled
into shade: rehearse the chair un folded & be hest you walk toward the door and disappear. 2. a salt where residue overexposes a negative a chemical digests the singer’s hand arriving in black & white world mannequin is held up by breath alone this is a digest of events undigested frame by frame wilter cries in the sonorous jungle framus unlegged by wor(l)dless legless hanging from pipes her pipes proclaiming that NADA has arrived it is a cold night you walk toward the door as the wind tries to push you back your beard blown s/ward enters the frame 2 scraggle ends & a middle overgrown w/images your name is muttered into my ear i say it’s just a rumor but even rumors bear truths like fish stories anchors & war some small truth within the larger frame click shutter capture hooked the horn player caught while...................... the piano player stopped at the keys you are nowhere to be found even with the woman you dream alive
singing syllables of noword to the floor the back room is occupied by bodies the front room is occupied by bodies there is no more jungle cut to frame ream the framus of its shields & aim the shot wander protected by amulets & videos where talking & motion & moving go silent w/in the frame w/in the non-stop harsh voice an eye that bestly concretize can capture freezeframe on a cold night steam rising from the head of the maker becoming steam becoming fluid becoming steam becoming fluid becoming steam again becoming what is – is a ghost a host of sorry sapiens ray le monde & gross warfly proclaims a wordless song ‘at falls ‘n rises falls ‘n rises falls ‘n rises falls ‘n rises falls ‘n rises .......
10/23/04 stanton st music
we danced around the tree ‘til we got tired. day came day left. we rested. ate. slept. woke. danced. once a circle of chairs was placed around the tree. the elders of the village came to discuss one man who never seemed to dance. one day he just stopped. after many hours they decided he should leave the town. he did. day came day left the next day it rained. then the day after that came & we danced again. as we danced news came of a quiet young man touched by a slight madness who had jumped from the highest bridge in town. the river moved as it always moved. the tree stood in the center of town. sometimes it made us laugh sometimes it made us cry.
dear jeanne, thank you for your last long letter. sorry if you are not feeling so well. yes i love meat too. but do not believe in hunting .. or any unnecessary cruelty toward animals since our society provides enough for most of us to eat without us having to go and kill it ourselves and like you if there were no meat to eat tomorrow i think i’d adjust ok rather than have to go murder some cow or other on my own & to be honest i don’t know if i’d be capable of it...oh as far as that crap in the woods i don’t remember if it was near keats’ house & i didn’t do it my traveling companion did. his name is harry a poet and rare book dealer who i used to admire we don’t quite get along much anymore...that particular original poem before i culled it down into the piece i sent you i guess goes like this it’s a bit uchy .. here goes...
London –
5 things today to glorify in and more to smile to add a spot to this self-conscious gloom
elgin marble pharaohs without noses or/& beards & giant pharaoh arm bodiless horses & hagiwara’s portrait well cooked cauliflower & hampstead heath feet in the lake & harry’s shit in the woods the house where keats lived & dudley the dog my own first complete shit in 4 days diarrhea wet but wonderful & this cool pleasant new hotel room & 2 poems written & all this love that even i never see
from the shadow book (3) angel of life/death you are your shadow that is no more & was no more the arc of the window the light barely waltzing thru the rain mixed with freezing snow & the days winding down discharging orders to the hidden flesh organ muse of unseen diabolical healing circle the shadow @ the table circle encircle the veins of the hand the cold soaked garments my urge for a grilled cheese sandwich a long take the river does not depend on the weather for its flow the stone does not always bleed the pine cone remains a shadow that retains its shape the doctor is an angel the shadow becomes a liquid that i drink from nature is what i depend on for my sources
you look into the painting & it becomes you the smell of the painting is a pine cone of light the window rests upon the table the grain of the marble is toppled the exotic music is soothing the shape of the body is nature the nature of my shape is an angel camera ballroom biography & kiss vitamins all in a big green book you stop & then overtake me you go & i am left like an unframed oil the cup is empty as ever my shadow is late coming home
1/3/4/6/8/03 nyc