1934 ~ 2020
Silent in the woods where snow is falling
Silent in their hoods where snow is falling
And lovely snow
White and falling
Under the needled wing snow is falling
Fluffy white oh fluffy flight
In and out the wind night
Came snow and they
And the trees and the rocks
And the houses and the lights
Came snow and they
Through the woods
And through the woods
And red children faces
And winter apples
And light and night.
Ceremonies in Bachelor Space
Tough Poets Press
Who in the hell is Tough Poets Press?
Who knows. I saw a listing for the book
and liked that it was Edson, one of his books
I didn't know, hadn't read, and the title and the
book design had Edson written all over it, and now
I see it was Edson's first book, published by
Black Mountain College, of all places, in 1951.
For some reason, and again holding to the Edson
aura, the contents of the book are in public domain
due to non-renewal of its original copyright, and so
the sharp-eyes in Arlington, Massachusetts at Tough
Poets Press, with the help of many (they list all the names)
on 49 Churchill Avenue, came through and published this book.
I'm very glad they did. I have a sneaky feeling Tough Poets is
onto a very good thing, re-issuing the likes of Kirby Doyle, Gil
Orlovitz, Gregory Corso, Marvin Cohen, Johnny Stanton,
Donald Newlove — what could go wrong! — Seymour Krim,
Dan Propper and Jack Micheline should be in the wings.
It seems the Edson is print-on-demand, so come one and
come all. NOTHING by Edson should be passed up.
I saw him read once in a cellar environment with
cellar people as his audience and it was beloved.
[ BA ]
Who enters this
formed in rock.
The temper is fragile
as apparently it wants to be,
wind on the ocean, trees
moving in wind and rain.
No farther out
than in —
no nearer here
Xmas Poem: Bolinas
we'll get high
and go find it.
It commonly sings,
for Stan's birthday
if we go back to where
we never were we'll
be there [REPEAT] But
Still the same
One day after another —
They all fit.
one more of those tiny books I love
Linda Gregg in her element, in a nicely pressed top
As I pull the bucket from the crude well,
the water changes from dark to a light
more silver than the sun. When I pour it
over my body that is standing in the dust
by the oleander bush, it sparkles easily
in the sunlight with an earnestness like
the spirit close up. The water magnifies
the sun all along the length of it.
Love is not less because of the spirit.
Delight does not make the heart childish.
We thought the blood thinned, our weight
lessened, that our substance was reduced
by simple happiness. The oleander is thick
with leaves and flowers because of spilled
water. Let the spirit marry the heart.
When I return naked to the stone porch,
there is no one to see me glistening.
But I look at the almond tree with its husks
cracking open in the heat. I look down
the whole mountain to the sea. Goats bleating
faintly and sometimes bells. I stand there
a long time with the sun and the quiet,
the earth moving slowly as I dry in the light.
To Be Here
The February road to the river is mud
and dirty snow, tire tracks and corncobs
uncovered by the mildness. I think I am
living alone and that I am not afraid.
Love is those birds working hard at flying
over the mountain going somewhere else.
Fidelity is always about what we have
already lived. I am happy, kicking snow.
The trees are the ones to honor. The trees
and the broken corn. And the clear sky
that looks like rain is falling through it.
Not a pretty spring, but the real thing.
The old weeds and the old vegetables.
Winter's graceful severity melting away.
I don't think the dead will speak.
I think they are happy just to be here.
If they did, I imagine them saying
birds flying, twigs, water reflecting.
There is only this. Dead weeds waiting
uncovered to the quiet soft day.
Kept Burning and Distant
You return when you feel like it,
like rain. And like rain you are tender,
with the rain's inept tenderness.
A passion so general I could be anywhere.
You carry me out into the wet air.
You lay me down on the leaves
and the strong thing is not the sex
but waking up alone under the trees after.
Sacraments of Desire
Sweetheart and I once upon a time
had an evening meal with Linda Gregg
and she asked me if she could sign a copy
of her book I had with me — and now that
she is gone, I am happy she did, adding a bit of
decorative scroll to her inscription which seemed
to be part of our all together get together. In another
twist of fate, she could have been one of the Beats,
but her beautiful working mind was always in the clouds.
[ BA ]
ISN'T THIS THE YEAR, OF ANY YEARS,
the past 70 years, to be reading and viewing
again, the life and dream paintings of
Haven't you felt like someone,
maybe an evil monkey,
has been sticking a sharp stick up your ass. . .
or else a reptile is wrapped with a very long
tail around your neck, and it isn't
with comfort. . .you're a pushing-self
inside a large wheel perforated with nails. . .
later, two creeps that look like lizards in steel
helmets are holding you upside down,
bare-assed, on the edge of some funnel. . .
or is that you with a spike
driven clean through your head?
Closeby, there's a guy walking, barely,
with his head locked in a saucer —
you're always naked, filthy, and a
mysterious woman wearing a veil
is riding behind you on a platypus.
Of course she is.
A farrier is shoeing both a naked woman
and a naked man with the farrier's
open fire pit flaring and mighty
off the fuel of a torched corpse. . .
there's an entire
village of people swimming ahead
of you and most are drowning in the
swamp, or is it the waste of centuries?
The color of the pond or lake or river or ocean
doesn't look good —
— we've been
except we haven't.
The bonfires ahead?
Set by the grinning imbecile in charge.
santa drawn by bob 12/24/20
HB Complete Works by Stefan Fischer (Taschen)
Andre Breton gives us the title
[ BA ]
The bible —
one of my all-time favorite books —
although written in the 1970s by some
smart cookies at the University of California/Berkeley
and structured chapter by chapter, or "patterns"
as a network, I highly recommend becoming comfortable
with this book in your own setting, as I did as a builder,
landscaper, husband and writer playing with the book
not as any guide or answer, but more as inspiration and
focus point, since the book is timeless and can be read
wherever your day or life takes you.
Need to build a house? It's here.
Need to find a secret place? Found.
Sacred places? Got it.
A place to wait. They know.
It's an endless pathway.
I've been re-reading the book for
the past 40 years.