MORRIS GRAVES ~

Morris Graves, 1949

with his dog Edith Sitwell ("Sit well")

photograph: Mary Randlett

A handwritten letter to his brother Wallace Graves,
from Eureka, California, June 8, 1965:


"Walden Pond received. I'd read a few pages when I remembered that Margaret Callahan had sent me a copy when I first lived at The Rock. I was only able to read a few pages of it and laid it aside. There is something about wisdom that has never engaged me. Folly is funnier — and vice more fun. An awful confession to finally have to make.

I will read on in Walden though this time — but so far page after page of bon mots (though in marvelous English) gets me to saying, "Oh, blow it out your ass!" and I lay the book down and reach for another box of Cracker Jacks (they each have a prize in them, you know)."

LANGSTON HUGHES & THE GANG ~

WENDELL BERRY ~

Wendell Berry  & John Haines
Portland Oregon 1982
photography by William Stafford

"What excites us is some sort of technological revolution: the

fossil fuel revolution, the automotive revolution, the assembly

line revolution, the antibiotic revolution, the sexual revolu-

tion, the computer revolution, the "green revolution," the

genomic revolution, and so on. But these revolutions — all

with something to sell that people or their government

"must" buy — are mere episodes of the one truly revolution-

ary revolution perhaps in the history of the human race: the

Industrial Revolution, which has proceeded from the begin-

ning with only two purposes: to replace human workers with

machines, and to market its products, regardless of their use-

fulness or their effects, at the highest possible profit — and so

to concentrate wealth into ever fewer hands."

Wendell Berry

page 10

Our Only World

ten essays

Counterpint

2015

 

http://paxonbothhouses.blogspot.com/2012/07/mr-wendell-berry-of-kentucky-berrys.html

 

 

RIMBAUD ~

Arthur Rimbaud

http://www.nytimes.com/2015/03/01/travel/where-rimbaud-found-peace-in-ethiopia.html?hpw&rref=travel&action=click&pgtype=Homepage&module=well-region&region=bottom-well&WT.nav=bottom-well

REVIVAL ~

Burt Bacharach

INTERPRETATION ~

NEW! LORINE NIEDECKER ~

A Cooking Book

  Lorine Niedecker

Longhouse 2015

72 pages, perfect bound, 5.5 x 6.25 inches

ISBN 978-1-929048-29-8 

This booklet was sent as a Christmas Gift from

Lorine Niedecker to Maude Hartel in December 1964.

It was in Gail Roub's possession as of August 1991.

In 1992 Lorine Niedecker's then Literary Executor Cid Corman

passed the manuscript over to Longhouse who published

A Cooking Book for the Winter Solstice of that same year.

For Winter Solstice 2014 Longhouse refurbished & reprinted

A Cooking Book in a brand new edition with the original edition

now out of print. These poems were not included in the

Lorine Niedecker: Collected Works (University of California)

 edited by Jenny Penberthy.

Longhouse is more than happy to keep this little gem available for

new & old readers.

_____________________

$15

U.S. addresses ~ order here through Paypal
shipping is free

International shipping: $10

http://longhousepoetryandpublishers.blogspot.com/2015/01/new-cid-corman-of-volume-4-5.html

BY HAND ~

'Oenone', Alfred Lord Tennyson, Seven Poems and Two Translations, Doves Press 1902.

The Gorgeous Typeface That Drove Men Mad

 and Sparked a 100-Year Mystery

http://gizmodo.com/the-gorgeous-typeface-that-drove-men-mad-and-sparked-a-1686081182


http://www.artsandcraftsmuseum.org.uk/Arts_and_Crafts_Movement/Emery_Walker_Library/The_Private_Press_Movement/Doves_Press.aspx


http://www.typespec.co.uk/doves-type/

PHILIP LAMANTIA ~

photo ~ Harry Redl

Philip Lamantia

I Touch You

I touch you with my eyes when you lie under spiders of silk

I touch you with my one hundred headed giraffes too secret to be seen

the rods & cones the morning covets awaken you

with my touch of tobacco eyes

and you rise from the snail's bed of tubular hair

I touch you with the breath of jet planes

and they are gone elsewhere to touch you too

I won't have you touched by sordid saints

I touch you with the hour that drips scent

snared from the chain of immaculate lice

who avenge themselves forever on the holy of holies

I touch you with the wind heaving the breasts of the morning

I touch you in the overcrowds

and they vanish

replaced by all the women who resemble you

and I touch them with the eyes of the sun

Annihilation of priests

I touch you on the threshold of the totem

carbon salt on the breath of the world

I touch you with my intricate rose superior to the fog

I touch you with heart strings of the veiled mountain

whose magnetic moment is the sight of us making love

I rend your skirt by the wind stolen from ancient castles

your legs secrete the essence of wheat

and your ankles brush the wing of crow

Your lips touch alchemic gold torn from the femur bone of poetry

whispering through archives of your smile

that beguiles the oracle who has a headache to change his legends

I touch your earlobe with the fatal elegance of the peacock lip

your convulsions gallop my heart of the rose hermetic and flushed by goats sighting prey

I touch your nipples

that touch heaven that is all of you touching me

the temple of your hips

the morning glory of your sex

the miracle of bedsheets and the sacrament of sweat

Rhythms of your thighs are the music of the spheres

You are more beautiful than the black buttocks of dawn

and all light has been given to veil you from the murderers of love

I touch your presence undressing the furniture

whose cries fill the distance between us

and you shall hear

when I touch you with telepathic tendrils

for then I'll come into you the light of the walking dream

-   -   -

You wait you wail

Across the silences

That are a struggle in the world

Obstacles said to be conjunctions of Saturn and the Moon

Objects — telephones — are taboo

Taboo the sky curled into leaden pillars

Taboo the river of racing horses

The sun spits on my fingers

Your little finger completes a sentence

Solitude is a flame of sleep

Jungles fold me in passionate bird omens

Where are you

The page is turning against me like a wave of horses

I'm unsteady on this continent

That throws its chains around all of us

As if we weren't here

Orbiting like apples through galaxies of desire

Your countenance in the clock I map

And your hands brushing the hair invisible

Step by step we come closer

To the Thunderbird's retreat

And beauty cries from a lacerated heart

 

________________

Philip Lamantia

The Collected Poems of Philp Lamantia

edited by Garret Caples

Andrew Koron

Nancy Joyce Peters

(University of California Press 2013) 

http://boppin.com/redl/index.shtml

WEATHER REPORT ~

WEATHER REPORT



It’s late


I’ve been shoveling snow


the woods are dark deep done


and so what if I’m


done shoveling for the night


the snow is still falling


it's been falling for months


it will fall while we sleep


snow doesn’t sleep


it’s here and then it's gone


it isn't worried about your hardship


it will melt in good time


you will forget


about it all


by spring and


spring isn’t in a hurry either


you’re out of luck

_____________

Bob Arnold

White-breasted Nuthatch