January 25, 2008

i drink my liquor from the palm
of a child who spoke in tongues



William Eggleston, Faulkner's House, 1982

The Beautiful American Word, Sure
-- by Delmore Schwartz

The beautiful American word, Sure,
As I have come into a room, and touch
The lamp's button, and the light blooms with such
Certainty where the darkness loomed before,

As I care for what I do not know, and care
Knowing for little she might not have been,
And for how little she would be unseen,
The intercourse of lives miraculous and dear.

Where the light is, and each thing clear,
separate from all others, standing in its place,
I drink the time and touch whatever's near,

And hope for day when the whole world has that face:
For what assures her present every year?
In dark accidents the mind's sufficient grace.


Too Many Lifetimes Like This One, Right?
-- by Richard Brautigan

Too many lifetimes like this one, right?
Hungover, surrounded by general goofiness,
lonely, can't get it up, I feel like a pile of bleached cat shit.

Night Thought
-- Bill Knott

Compared to one's normal clothes, pajamas
are just as caricature as the dreams
they bare: farce-skins, facades, unserious
soft versions of the mode diem, they seem
to have come from a posthumousness;
floppy statues of ourselves, slack seams
of death. Their form mimics the decay
that will fit us so comfortably someday.


1995
-- by Thurston Moore

sonic youth is playing
a tiny club in new orleans
with unwound and polvo and
the place is a pressure cooker ready to blow. a girl in
the audience scales the club wall
and stands
precariously
on a lighting rig
beam. we have to
stop playing and try to coax
her down. kim asks her why she is up there.
she explains she can't see and for $30
she wants to see. we tell her
that tickets
are only $15 and she confesses
she had to buy one
for her boyfriend. kim sez,
"that was yr first mistake."


* Tonight in SF:

[dust congress house poet] KLIPSCHUTZ READS.

Friday, January 25, 7:30 p.m., @ the Adobe Bookshop, 3166 16th st/guerrero, the Premier Destination in San Francisco’s glorious Mission District. Also reading: Tom Stolmar; and international man of literary mystery, Gabor Gyukics, translator of legendary Hungarian poet Attila József. FREE!

1 Comments:

Blogger 5 Red Pandas said...

Re: Thurston's Poem

C'mon Thurston, that's not a poem, that's an anecdote.

12:54 PM  

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