Thanks to the editors of the following publications in which some of the poems in this blogbook first appeared:
Columbia Poetry Review : “The Individual Talent”, “A Relationship”, “After Ted Berrigan”, “My Love Has Little Mercy”, “Word Problem (for Ron Padgett)”, “Sic”, “After Otomo No Yakamochi (718-785)”
The Hay(na)ku Anthology, Vol. II : "The Weatherman"
Lilliput Review: “Confessional”
Mid-America Poetry Review : "Poem (for A.R. Ammons)"
Milk : “What Is”
Ribot : “Presence”, “History (after Bill Knott)”, “Loveless (1)”, “Loveless (2)”, “Thought”
Shampoo : “Part (for Tom Clark)”
Ugly Duckling : “Pissing with Paul Verlaine”, “American Poetry Review”
We : "Tag" (digital collage version)
A Note on the Poems
Most of the poems here were made in 1998 as part of a numbered series that grew to more than two hundred. Many of the others are from between 2000 and 2002 when the poems from the original series were either discarded or kept and given titles. Poems were moved into and out of the series over the next four years with a handful of new ones added.
June 2007
The Individual Talent
So as not to wear my feelings on my sleeve
I slipped into my objective correlative shoes.
They suitably contained all that I felt or believed,
But inside I was singing the hollow man blues.
I slipped into my objective correlative shoes.
They suitably contained all that I felt or believed,
But inside I was singing the hollow man blues.
To Sotère Torregian in 1968
Loony as pants
The young poet
Asserts a wit
Embodied in riots
And startling fate
With its secret
Beat and not
So secret instruments.
The young poet
Asserts a wit
Embodied in riots
And startling fate
With its secret
Beat and not
So secret instruments.
Pissing with Paul Verlaine
My heart is a toy lost
like a paper sailboat launched
on the swan lake of a John
Ashbery poem—
like a paper sailboat launched
on the swan lake of a John
Ashbery poem—
What Is
this path in the woods that separates
us as I reach across it roses
bloom in place of fingertips while
the other side of the path is pushed
so far into the distance it is
the rose that circles you as you
walk—less and less knowingly—away
us as I reach across it roses
bloom in place of fingertips while
the other side of the path is pushed
so far into the distance it is
the rose that circles you as you
walk—less and less knowingly—away
Impromptu (A Country Ditty)
Mountain black morning
Smoky black rain
Gonna fill you with me someday
I am the pill
In a field of amarillo
Lefty lonesome & grave
Rain on the roses
Stones in my shoes
Dawn cowboys the mountain
Smoky black rain
Gonna fill you with me someday
I am the pill
In a field of amarillo
Lefty lonesome & grave
Rain on the roses
Stones in my shoes
Dawn cowboys the mountain
Variation on a Theme by Aram Saroyan
Ted Berrigan
would approve
this idear
but he's through
into the vast
orange library
of the past.
would approve
this idear
but he's through
into the vast
orange library
of the past.
My Love Has Little Mercy
When I make myself her horse
I feel like a blind curve
I want to lay myself to rest
In the surface of the Brass River
Carve our names inside a tree
And not lash out at the simple sky.
I feel like a blind curve
I want to lay myself to rest
In the surface of the Brass River
Carve our names inside a tree
And not lash out at the simple sky.
Aubade
All across in
morning’s fields
water leaves
little shoes
In morning’s beds
bodies touch
like envelopes
and pens in desks
morning’s fields
water leaves
little shoes
In morning’s beds
bodies touch
like envelopes
and pens in desks
Greeting Card (for KC)
Hoping to feel what is
the empty space
happening between us
whenever the surface
erases a given
memory, sensation.
the empty space
happening between us
whenever the surface
erases a given
memory, sensation.
Word Problems (for Ron Padgett)
1. None of us really knows what to write
as we watch the pus gathering around heaven
sores opening where clouds once were,
but the thing is we are given
2. A kind of lukewarm craziness of heart.
as we watch the pus gathering around heaven
sores opening where clouds once were,
but the thing is we are given
2. A kind of lukewarm craziness of heart.
After Otomo No Yakamochi (718-785)
Law and Order over,
I turn off the light and wait
for sleep’s fur-lined cuffs.
I turn off the light and wait
for sleep’s fur-lined cuffs.
American Poetry Review
Inside the piece of paper
My hand unwinds a watch
The windows tense as drums
I write only about myself.
My hand unwinds a watch
The windows tense as drums
I write only about myself.
Pain Song, A Cento
What about the light that comes in
Like a rock or some other heavy thing
The body pushes
If there is any relief from it any slippage
I won’t be needing my hat anymore
Like a rock or some other heavy thing
The body pushes
If there is any relief from it any slippage
I won’t be needing my hat anymore
Rough Trade
Like the pyramids
the essential ingredients
of great plagiarism
are a lot of time
and many others.
the essential ingredients
of great plagiarism
are a lot of time
and many others.
Confessional
The strong cursive
of the dance
of his adolescence
in living rooms
dark parking lots
and dead ends
in the courtyard
of his own
private Osiris.
of the dance
of his adolescence
in living rooms
dark parking lots
and dead ends
in the courtyard
of his own
private Osiris.
Paper Cuts (for Courtney Love)
As a crumpled piece of paper
the world opens
sorrows / dawn baskets
what dawn severs
from the inescapable sky.
the world opens
sorrows / dawn baskets
what dawn severs
from the inescapable sky.
I Was a Catholic Boy, Too
I yawn and imagine
I’m being sucked in
to myself. Only to end
floating like a witch
down the currents of
a toilet bowl flushed
by a disinterested god.
I’m being sucked in
to myself. Only to end
floating like a witch
down the currents of
a toilet bowl flushed
by a disinterested god.
Query
Why would anyone want to be a poet?
I could be outside, April cool and crisp
As a rear spoiler glazed with frost.
I could get in, start the car, and go
Anywhere, or at least to Stop & Shop
To pick up the syrup and milk we need.
I could be outside, April cool and crisp
As a rear spoiler glazed with frost.
I could get in, start the car, and go
Anywhere, or at least to Stop & Shop
To pick up the syrup and milk we need.
Loveless (3)
I’m a serious man who sits
in socks and underwear,
who stares into the blinds
waiting on something dear.
in socks and underwear,
who stares into the blinds
waiting on something dear.
Poem (for A.R. Ammons)
A feather
floating upward
for no
apparent reason,
only to
reverse itself
and make apparent
sense.
floating upward
for no
apparent reason,
only to
reverse itself
and make apparent
sense.
Tag
Over now under
the T the streets
like Renaissance artists
stretch seaward
Sky pulled tight
as the skirt
of the Ally McBeal
standing hmm
across the aisle
Riding a train's
a subtle dance
Hello my name is
The Cities
by Paul Blackburn
the T the streets
like Renaissance artists
stretch seaward
Sky pulled tight
as the skirt
of the Ally McBeal
standing hmm
across the aisle
Riding a train's
a subtle dance
Hello my name is
The Cities
by Paul Blackburn
The Refusal
I will not die in Paris. I will not die
in the rain. I will not die anywhere
at anytime. Quite simply, I refuse.
in the rain. I will not die anywhere
at anytime. Quite simply, I refuse.
Rubberneckers
Slower than shit, the cars
scale the Interstate. A pile
up Live at Five. Those
who pass, like poets, strain
to catch, maybe, a glimpse—
of what? Shattered glass? Signs
of a fire? Bloodstains on
the blacktop—if they're lucky?
scale the Interstate. A pile
up Live at Five. Those
who pass, like poets, strain
to catch, maybe, a glimpse—
of what? Shattered glass? Signs
of a fire? Bloodstains on
the blacktop—if they're lucky?
Loveless (4 a girl)
I was going to chase you
across the field and over
the barbed wire fence
almost certain you wanted me to
like Solomon's young buck
I chased you across the field
but scarred my body good
when I couldn't hop the fence.
across the field and over
the barbed wire fence
almost certain you wanted me to
like Solomon's young buck
I chased you across the field
but scarred my body good
when I couldn't hop the fence.
Old School (for Kreg Wallace)
Sometimes it’s hard to tell
if the rain is coming or going,
if the poets that move are
shivering or just plain old
breathing.
if the rain is coming or going,
if the poets that move are
shivering or just plain old
breathing.
Blue Books on a Given Shelf
Comrade Past & Mister Present
You Are Happy
April Galleons
The Cities
The Light Around The Body
Scrambled Eggs & Whiskey
[wordless spine]
The Flowering Stone
You Are Happy
April Galleons
The Cities
The Light Around The Body
Scrambled Eggs & Whiskey
[wordless spine]
The Flowering Stone
Part (for Tom Clark)
The door of undress and removal of days
inches out toward night. Goodbye poets!
Lady Madonna! The art of you waits with
muddy bottom, tiny bell, and mattress eyes
cast in berry light. Wisdom narrows
to a blue kiss in which what creaks in darkness
shuts, as the orgasm around me—O tambourine!—
parts like mind from trembling water.
inches out toward night. Goodbye poets!
Lady Madonna! The art of you waits with
muddy bottom, tiny bell, and mattress eyes
cast in berry light. Wisdom narrows
to a blue kiss in which what creaks in darkness
shuts, as the orgasm around me—O tambourine!—
parts like mind from trembling water.
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