Wednesday, January 2, 2013

2 enero 2013

Marjorie Perloff [pic from jacket2 courtesy of Marjorie Perloff]

Al Filreis urges us to read Marjorie Perloff's essay [again] about poetry [not] on the brink.

AM Babble

I wake before the cat, eager to roll the day
yet wait until five, I walk the cat to her bowl
return to bed for Mike's full-body hug
dress when the cat cries, races to flop 
on the kitchen rug for a belly rub, carry her 
purring to the cat door, push her through
now I make my Earl Grey, spoon honey
take my pills, twitter at myself, post to Susan
glance at Facebook, read the news
some Perloff, a review of Guest
now the moment arrives — what to do today?
read & write, weed & prune, walk, harvest
vegetables, seed a flat, roast eggplants
& red bell peppers, layer with tomatoes & queso
Jane's for sewing circle @ two — no point 
going to town for meat, the shops empty
even if they’re open until the trucks appear
probably not until tonight, or mañana
we're a long way down the road.

one more footnote from Boully:

156.999 . . . Translator’s Note. — This sentence in the original is obviously meant to illustrate the fault of which it speaks. It does so by the use of a construction very common in the original,‡ but happily unknown in translation∞; however, the fault itself still exists nonetheless, though in different form.

original as in this life.
translation as in the next.

fiscal cliff averted, say what? . . . let it go, the Internet here so f'ing slow
can't load foxnews OR the new york times even if I cared to

Selahprobably a liturgical direction, added to the original text of a psalm. It may mean lift up, either to indicate the lifting up of the voices of the singers in a doxology, or to call for lifted-up instrumental music in an interlude in the singing.

"Am Vladimir" by Deborah Poe, e.g.:

Spoke English
as if unfortunate squirrel.
Am greedy.

Peter Gizzi [pic by Robert Seydel]

Add This to the House

Not a still life into which artifice may enter
but a labor to describe the valves
and cordage that entwine this room;
the voltage is enough to kill.
Who in the morning dish-gray light
can fathom the witness parable of waking,
the bed, the cask, the zoned spaces
we pass through. It would be lovely
to say floorboards pose in firelight,
coals are banking down, the room
comes up by degrees. Instead, the day
has begun, shadows dispelled by the clock,
by the promise of work, Clorox,
the phone. I can see you by that metaphor,
the house, the door, the car heading out
to meet the sun, then again hours
later returning, your back to it.

work, Clorox, / the phone. . . . the house, the door, the car . . . your back to it . . . 

Our sewing circle met for the first time today. Jane crocheted, Margaret embroidered, Deirdre quilted, Eris made a felted animal, Kathy sewed, & I began to learn to crochet — much more practice required.

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