Monday, April 23, 2018






moss dark

hollow never

too wide so

we can leap

back &

forth I

like to see

your hair


through the



He Told Her I Was Very Sore

from pounding spikes upward

all day into old beams

and I am

out in the sun

resting flat on a pile of fresh planks I see

her come up through the woods trail to

massage my troubled shoulders

she is golden

green leaf top blouse

a very easy stride and gentleness

watching her come closer I am nearly healed

I See Forever

Although chilly

We were there at daylight

And walked from

Where you slipped off your shoes

Nothing but water — a salt air —

The toss of a hill

Where we sat, ladling these small stones

Even smaller

Which quickly filled the pockets of your dress

I Cut A Massive Maple Tree Down

I cut a massive maple tree down

Long long ago

I sculptured the tree stump into a chair

I sat up there

I also sat up there with my baby son

I sat up there with my love

I later saw my love sitting up there alone in the sun

She had a checkered red and black wool shirt

Thrown with the blondest hair

Then a chipmunk sat there for longer than you would think

And today I tore the carbonized tissue stump apart with my hands

All of it, very easily

And my son visited us with his wife for part of the afternoon

And in a week she was gone

I'm In Love With You
Who Is In Love With Me
Longhouse 2012


Sunday, April 22, 2018




The tree farm's endless

rows of pines — my road to

his nursing home

There it was —

the old man's face

at a newsstand in Florence

I don't know

who's cutting our names

into the headstone

Bird tracks

in snow —

Dear Francis

Eyes shut tight —


the old place

Finally graceful —

driftwood on

an iced-in shore

A small bird's song

the furnace

switches on


from Adveniat
John Martone
Red Moon Press

Saturday, April 21, 2018




A beautifully made book and illustrated
with deeply appraised essays of 57 albums
that should have you playing the albums
as you read ~

Thursday, April 19, 2018


I was going to include a recent interview with Henri Cole
but I found the presentation by the interviewer so over wrought
and ruining the elegant spacing and timing of Cole's
own presentation that I left well alone.
This is a lovely book.
As is.

New York Review of Books

Monday, April 16, 2018


This Life

It’s just a rolled up candy wrapper or two or three. Gold foil ball. Since we eat little candy, when we do we play a game passing the rolled up foil back and forth to one another. Often as a playful hindrance. Down the front of her blouse. Down the back of my shirt. Under her bedroom pillow. In my boot. On her jar of yogurt in the refrigerator. In my cereal bowl. It won’t give up for days and days, and sometimes some weeks, until one or both of us forgets where we left the ball, and either the other didn’t find it or suddenly had to get back busy with real life. That damn real life. So what should we call this life?

In The Land Of Slush

They have been together and in love so long now

That when they think of an earlier life apart, it

Isn’t possible. Or it seems another life entirely.

After all it was childhood only before they met.

Somewhere within the love a child was born,

Came into his own, left. They returned to what

They had before the child was born as if wooded

Branches closed in together like wings of a large bird.

When he told her she was beautiful during a quiet

Meal, it was as if she had never heard the word before

Even though he brought it to her in every imaginable

Way each day. Walking together in a land of slush at

The end of winter in a  bleak town meant very little

When there is beauty. It could vanish in an instance

So don’t be bothered with those who hate you for it.

In that same instance others would grab it, gladly, and

You would be looking in. She carried a heavy package,

The rain was new spring but cold as snow, you held

The umbrella for her as you both walked, & talked.

Pal Goose

On that sunny day

I opened your pen door

And let you out —

You loved the sun

Sun on snow

Making tracks to the pond —

Because it got too busy

But I have no excuse how

I forgot to close your

Pen door and left home

Sometime in the evening

Faraway, thoughts to you and

The open door but I would get back

The moon was out, and you

Loved the moon —

The raccoon was out, and he

Hunts by the moon —

The next morning you were

Found dead with eyes open

Suddenly flat and huge on the snow

Too big for raccoon to even bother with

Whose blood-tracks tricky designed away

And then as if he noticed how obvious

Seemed to wash his murderous paws

Off in the snow and vanished

You were our third gander

In twenty years, flocks of

Geese once upon a time mixed

With ducks and chickens and when

Our rooster died you were the new

Rooster for the chickens —

It looked funny, it looked

Practical, you fit

I miss you now when I split

Wood and wait to hear your call

Loud and sudden and part of me

I'm In Love With You
Who Is In Love With Me
Longhouse 2012


Wednesday, April 11, 2018




   You know a man by his love. Love is his natural fruit, the one most
his, the one most free from his surroundings. 

   Love is the only thing that buds, grows and ripens with all the
simplicity, purity and grace of an orange on an orange tree or a rose
on a rosebush.

   There are men who do not love, but nobody knows anything about
them. They have nothing to say to the anguish of the world.

   Love is man's reward. It is his birthmark. Like a red-hot iron,
it brands him. It makes it possible to pick him out of a crowd, to
recognize him, to know him.

   You cannot know a man by the pirouetting words he puts on like
so many colored sequins. You cannot know him by the work of his
hands or the work of his mind because it's life that bestows such
work or rejects it. Be it chance or be it destiny, life giveth and life
taketh away.

    There are many who pass straight through life because they
never turn to face the winds, and there are others who bend like a
bow to find their balance tin the storm, and there are still others who
project themselves beyond, through the wind, shot forth on the sharp,
quivering arrow within.

   The noble word is certainly prophetic. And a useful work gives
us hope. But only love reveals, in a rapid flash of light, the beauty of
a soul.


Dulce Maria Loynaz
selected poems
translated from the Spanish by James O' Connor
Archipelago books, 2016

Tuesday, April 10, 2018



A very handsome new edition of Lorine Niedecker
published in Spain as a bilingual companion ~
showcasing a seasoned sequence from 1928-1970.
Highly recommend.

Monday, April 9, 2018


The Big Hug

Live long enough and you may see

Those you loved and who didn’t love you —

Heroes, fantasies, icons, dreamboats, filigree

All disappear, never-were, something about a big imagination

While those you do love and they do love you

They also disappear, here today gone tomorrow, poof

So now you know what to do


No one spoke to her much, how strange —

Not family or friends and even those who

Sat with us at meals couldn’t say a word to her

Or even look her way. That must be beauty.

But every time she went to town and was alone —

A pretty scarf, an intriguing handbag, forever

And ever elderly women in parking lots and

Aisles of stores sought her out. This daughter

Whose own mother wouldn’t speak to her

Had women without daughters

Eating seed from her hand.

No Other

After she was sick awhile

She became thinner

Still young enough and strong

Her moves sexy

I couldn’t keep my hands off her hips

The attention delighted her 

She blushed instead of being too confident

Her hair fell to pieces like always

When she looked up my sky was blue

At night she fell asleep by the wood fire

There never would be another woman

Rain at the windows for days was welcome

In times of trouble no one wanted to listen to this stuff

To Have 

To have every bird in the woods

Finally sing and I am known to it

Is all the morning I ask

To see the flower garden

Move as a dress on your body

Is all the day I wish

To have the stars rise from the river

And you think of me not as crazy

Has to be the night ahead

I'm In Love With You
Who Is In Love With Me
Longhouse 2012