RE-WHIPPED CREAM ~

JEAN FOLLAIN ~

The Secret



Where are you lying

secret of the world

with so strong an odor?

Sometimes a gentle workman

in the feverish town

falls from a scaffolding

and the wind always smells of lilac;

a tenacious misfortune

lodges in the loveliest bodies

hands tighten in the evening

an animal sleeps

within walls rough by men

peace forever decays

and war no longer

has an age.








Death



From the bones of animals

the factory had made these buttons

which fastened

a bodice over the bust

of a gorgeous working-girl

when she fell

one of the buttons came off in the night

and the water of the gutters took it

and laid it down

in a private garden

with a crumbling plaster statue

Pomona

naked and laughing








Life



A child is born

in a vast landscape

half a century later

he is simply a dead soldier

and that was the man

whom one saw appear

and set down on the ground a whole

heavy sack of apples

two or three of which rolled

a sound among the sounds of a world

where the bird sang

on the stone of the door-sill.





————————————

JEAN FOLLAIN
W.S. MERWIN (translator)
Transparence of the World
Atheneum 1969





what a book to discover back then, as now!

WITTGENSTEIN, A WONDERFUL LIFE ~

ALL ABOARD !!! ~

Go !

WILLEM DE KOONING ~

R E A D      M E

Hirmer, 2018

AI WEIWEI ~

R E A D      M E

    Taschen 2018

HEAVEN LAKE ( 24 ) ~

My Doctor

Is Chinese—

Left China with his wife and young

Daughter while leaving a son behind

Arrived in America and worked as a janitor

Now resides on a second floor of a building across

From the town hospital with its plush parking lot

My doctor practices his calligraphy between patients

Naps on the same mattress his patients use

After a two year absence I came for a visit

I met a hooded worker brushing fallen

Snow from a walkway with precise strokes

Peering into the hood I surprised my

Doctor who nodded with a smile

Patting my chest and taking up his broom

He followed me inside

Message

Owl calling out

Of nowhere at dusk

Was as good as spoken

Tracker

I’m telling you — 

While you all think

You may know me

My cat’s been

Studying me

For all I’m

Worth

From a

Window

Companion

Ah, if my axe could talk

It would be something!

It’s been everywhere with me

For over 45 years at a life in the woods

But get serious, it’s an axe, it’s

Sharp and quiet, and some

Might say

That’s what I should be

Find Me

Today we hiked in the forest where both the 

geese of the lake and the train can be heard

the geese are just past the trees

the train is faraway but its whistle is close

we stop on our path when the whistle comes to us

we look at one another, say little, we have been on many trains

where we go today is where all winter was a tundra of ice

she remembers sitting down to slide many times on an incline

I remember we forgot our walking sticks so we made a pair

the forest has everything

geese, train whistles, ice, and then no ice at all

it is spring and we go to search and find

one small puddle of ice

withdrawn into the

shade of the forest

_____________________

Bob Arnold

Heaven Lake

Longhouse 2018

CAROLEE SCHNEEMANN ~

Carolee Schneemann

1939 ~ 2019

HENRY TOWNSEND ~

ANNETTE WOODWARD ~

On a visit recently to the Hood Museum in Hanover, after some years of the museum having its refurbishing and face-lift and being closed to the town, it's a pleasure to have it back.  Opening just as the town has lost it's once sprawling and teeming main street bookstore. Susan and I still recognize the floor plan, the steep stairways, the flooring, even the old large rooms now dained with gallery titles (Ivan Albright being one — I saw my first Albright brutal homely and astonishing portraits over 45 years ago at The Hood) and despite the magnificent Rothko and Ruscha paintings (one each)

it was this Annette Woodward, placed in one corner, that really caught my eye. Bring that eye closer and look at the heavenly embroidery of silk thread, hand painted. The artist was twenty-three years old. I should have liked to have met her.

[ BA ]

R E A D     M O R E

JACK KEROUAC TAKES US TO POOH BEAR ~

Steve Allen 

1959

KING UBU ~

"With

this

system,

I'll

soon

make

a

fortune:

then

I'll

kill

everyone

in

the

world,

and

go

away"

(KING UBU)

Alfred Jarry's

Ubu Roi

Sound like anyone you know?

UBU  ROI

HUNTED ~

BEI DAO ~

At the Sky's Edge



love among the mountains



eternity, that patience of the earth

simplifies our human sounds

one arctic-thin cry

from deep antiquity until now



rest, weary traveler

a wounded ear's

already laid your dignity bare



one arctic-thin cry




___________________

Bei Dao
At the Sky's Edge
translated by David Hinton
Poems 1991-1996
New Directions

PABLO NERUDA ~

R E A D      M E

Ecco

2018

MARK STRAND ~

When I Turned A Hundred



I wanted to go on an immense journey, to travel night and day

into the unknown until, forgetting my old self, I came into

possession of a new self, one that I might have missed on my

previous travels. But the first step was beyond me. I lay in bed, 

unable to move, pondering, at one does at my age, the ways of

melancholy — how it seeps into the spirit, how it disincarnate

the will, how it banishes the senses to the chill of twilight, how

even the best and worst intentions wither in its keep. I kept

staring at the ceiling, then suddenly felt a blast of cold air, and

I was gone.






Once Upon A Cold November Morning


I left the sunlit fields of my daily life and went down into the

hollow mountain, and there I discovered, in all its chilly glory,

the glass castle of my other life. I could see right through it,

and beyond, but what could I do with it? It was perfect, ire-

ducible, and worthless except for the fact that it existed.






Anywhere Could Be Somewhere


I might have come from the high country, or maybe the low

country, I don't recall which. I might have come from the city,

but what city in what countries beyond me. I might have

come from the outskirts of a city from which others have

come or maybe a city from which only I have come. Who's to

know? Who's to decide if it rained or the sun was out? Who's

to remember? They say things are happening at the border, but

nobody knows which border. They talk of a hotel there, where

it doesn't matter if you forget your suitcase, another will be

waiting, big enough, and just for you.




——————————

Mark Strand
Almost Invisible
Knopf 2012

FRANCO ~

FORGED BY CRAFT (AXE) ~

SHADOW ON MY DOOR ~

SNOW WALKERS ~

Here we are the other day in Bob’s old home region of the Berkshire hills. 

After almost 50 years in Vermont, where we have regularly snowshoed each winter,

making more trails than we can keep up with.

photo ~

Bob & Susan Arnold

February 2019