impromptu
(i)
only a few minutes before
the 15-minute-cycle here
at the freebie screen
at the Kramerbooks bar
but what is this music?
it recalls the happiness
when sitars were drawn in
to the wash of rock'n'roll
what is this music?
the years pass
the song fades
another song begins
what was that music?
the beginning of a
conversational position
happens anywhere
at for instance the
bar at Kramerbooks
with 175 seconds remaining
before automatic logoff
at 11:12pm of a Tuesday
what was that music?
(ii)
back again
like reincarnation
but with the same brain
intact as it seems
the electric guitar so
the singer singing thus
the bar not crowded
ditto the bookstore
the night not cold
nor warm . . .
"tell them I'm gone
and nothing's wrong"
the wench in croon
what music?
for a time some deep
thought comes and after
a time again recedes
are we here only
to think a thought?
human purpose translated
into a synapse flash?
what is its music?
sometimes we think
in music lies all meaning
words are like slivers
of ice in that ocean
words are like wisps
of cloud in that sky
what is the music?
and if one lived
a thousand years
would things become
a little bit clearer?
the music calls toward
an abandoning a loosing
of the grip no need
for things to be other
than just as they are
in whatever is the music
as if meaning
a human meaning
cosmic by implication
in its mirrorings its
inclusions
such a meaning in
such a music
were sufficient
pulling against the
tug against the tow
running against the wind
rushing upstream
crossing against
the traffic light
cutting against the
woodgrain asking
questions against
the molecular order
of thought's fixity
breaking the ice of
crystalized emotion
melting whatever
was freezedried
but no
the thaw looses
water of what music?
I began this poem
when I was 12 years old
you won't find those
words verbatim but
the page is almost
the same -- no screen
and yet like a screen
no 15 minutes
not Kramerbooks'
nor Worhol's
no limit? a limit
always a limit
and crossing
of the limit
and the failing
to cross
always a setting forth
said Francis
somewhere in the tome
of his music what music?
the chaotic note dies
the tinkly strings sound
the grinding of coffee beans
the sounds of humankind
the man with his pen and pages
and his Oxford Dictionary of
Current English, sitting at
the bar at Kramerbooks writing
presumably his academic paper
seeking what music?
the longhaired girls with
the tall glasses of beer
the Time left 156 seconds
the WARNING! the shaking
of the glass with the ice
the change to the next
song bringing
what music?
only a few minutes before
the 15-minute-cycle here
at the freebie screen
at the Kramerbooks bar
but what is this music?
it recalls the happiness
when sitars were drawn in
to the wash of rock'n'roll
what is this music?
the years pass
the song fades
another song begins
what was that music?
the beginning of a
conversational position
happens anywhere
at for instance the
bar at Kramerbooks
with 175 seconds remaining
before automatic logoff
at 11:12pm of a Tuesday
what was that music?
(ii)
back again
like reincarnation
but with the same brain
intact as it seems
the electric guitar so
the singer singing thus
the bar not crowded
ditto the bookstore
the night not cold
nor warm . . .
"tell them I'm gone
and nothing's wrong"
the wench in croon
what music?
for a time some deep
thought comes and after
a time again recedes
are we here only
to think a thought?
human purpose translated
into a synapse flash?
what is its music?
sometimes we think
in music lies all meaning
words are like slivers
of ice in that ocean
words are like wisps
of cloud in that sky
what is the music?
and if one lived
a thousand years
would things become
a little bit clearer?
the music calls toward
an abandoning a loosing
of the grip no need
for things to be other
than just as they are
in whatever is the music
as if meaning
a human meaning
cosmic by implication
in its mirrorings its
inclusions
such a meaning in
such a music
were sufficient
pulling against the
tug against the tow
running against the wind
rushing upstream
crossing against
the traffic light
cutting against the
woodgrain asking
questions against
the molecular order
of thought's fixity
breaking the ice of
crystalized emotion
melting whatever
was freezedried
but no
the thaw looses
water of what music?
I began this poem
when I was 12 years old
you won't find those
words verbatim but
the page is almost
the same -- no screen
and yet like a screen
no 15 minutes
not Kramerbooks'
nor Worhol's
no limit? a limit
always a limit
and crossing
of the limit
and the failing
to cross
always a setting forth
said Francis
somewhere in the tome
of his music what music?
the chaotic note dies
the tinkly strings sound
the grinding of coffee beans
the sounds of humankind
the man with his pen and pages
and his Oxford Dictionary of
Current English, sitting at
the bar at Kramerbooks writing
presumably his academic paper
seeking what music?
the longhaired girls with
the tall glasses of beer
the Time left 156 seconds
the WARNING! the shaking
of the glass with the ice
the change to the next
song bringing
what music?
posted by david raphael israel at 3:12 AM
2 Comments:
After reading this poem I was led to a few of your others and was struck by our similar approach to the whole formal governance thang.
My interest is the ogham alphabet and the tenor of your stuff resonates with how I feel about my efforts. I have a saying that every reading is only a reahersal for the next one and so every poem is but the printed excavation or sigils thrown up during the digging or mining process.
~
I record poetry and hope soon to video a few of the regularly live and widely experienced verballers of da word here in Dublin. I host poetry gatherings in an art gallery and would be very interested in discussing the sale of any work through your site.
I.P., or that is Desmond,
I had not been acquainted with the Ogham alphabet (though I've just now glanced at the Wikipedia entry on same). How this stray impromptu scribble relates to your efforts involving the Ogham alphabet is, for me, a mystery wrapped in an enigma ;-) -- but perhaps I'll consider the observation as encouraging.
I only rarely write, these days, in this loose freeform manner -- though in gone years, and again from time to time, I've resorted or reverted to it, briefly.
Good to know about your efforts with podcasts and poetry gatherings in art galleries. I'm not currently set up for sale of anything; -- my aborted, or at least shelved, venture in that direction (via the OtherShore.net website) remains in a shade of uncertainty. I may be reviving and developing it after a time; but the scope of activity is likely to begin in a circumscribed way. And as for poetry -- well poetry and commerce rarely meet, it seems.
Good luck with your good efforts. Do also check the cafe' cafe' site (and associated MipoRadio podcasts).
cheers,
d.i.
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