f y i

the remaining thoughts
while i close out this little chapter
in the adventure
will be found as extensions
of a long poem being composed
with continuing edits
for the post of yesterday
august 21st

the long pome will be based
on current rantings
and experience

thoughts and deeds dudes

peace

the long poem

starting out is difficult
that's the main thing
you know it is going to be a long poem
but you are truly hesitant
i mean
where the hell could this thing lead?

but i intend to make this a long one
starting now
having gotten over the nausea
i will carry this through over the course
of a few weeks
until the day arrives when i leave
the san pedro valley for good

so of what shall i sing
i call to the capricious muse
what shall i sing in this long poem
the poem of the wild ramblin
of brother john
the real wild ramblin
playin church music and such
gettin the docile all fumeed up
with'n passion they aint ne'er felt before
ah tingles of bliss
ah cracks of bone
ah schock of bruise
ah smart of cramp
ah sigh of release
ah
ah
yes well
pardon the digression into pornography
when i get bored there's really no place else to go
now that is not true
i just had to get the sick stuff out of the way
so that the long song can be sung

sing to jesus
sing out long and strong
sing to jesus
he won't tarry long

everybody...

now here the rocks are thrust upwards
into the sky with arrogant force
and to look at them from the distance
is to gasp a bit at the power of
prestige against the landscape horizon
until you get up close and feel them
then you know they are crumbling
everyday these megaliths
crumble some toward the river bed

and at night these mountains
as the sun finally declines to the
possibility of long shadows
are framed in the sillouette line
of their crumbling stature
dark shadows of mountain
mountain shading the east
as the sun sets as the sun sets sets sets
sets sets sets sets sets sets sets sets
sets sets sets sets sets set sets sets
finally sets in the amber dust
of yet another twilight
leaving to smolder the desert air
smolder the dry soil and cactii

enough of nature
that odd distractor
that girl so lithsome and light
that timid and frightened amazon
i mean the snake
just so no body gets confused here

it occurs to me i have ten minutes to go
in this allotted time for the beginnning
of a very long poem
a poem that will tell something
of how life rings and rallies
how it all gets sung down and
made the odd side show of
a techno convention
you know the one
the guy with the laptop
who's out to dupe everyone
dresseed like a miscreant
reeking like a street lech
eyes bulging to the sound of the oncoming train
el paso is a long journey
thank god for
master series dream games
thumbs aramblin

i do not pray as i ought to lord
i do not pray as i ought
i try to pray
i pray every day
but i do not pray as i ought

teach me teach me teach me
teach me teach me teach me
teach me teach me teach me

o teach me lord how to pray

the long poem is tedious
tedious indeed
for it pretends to have something to say
that will sustain a mind over the course
of a few hours at least
that is no mean task in this day and age
this day and age this day and age
of instantaneous info info info info info
info info info info nfo nfo nfo in fo n fo
stuff you nor nobody can do without
you know that i know that
what are we going to do
when the people on medication can't get
to the pharmacy
when the ambulance is running on less than
a quarter tank
when the corner store is finally out of ice
don't wait for the cataclysm my friends
these things happen
prepare prepare prepare
get water
get canned goods
get blankets
try to be civil through it all
that's the damndest part

so how are they sounding br john
how are the faithful ones you
came to lead in the way of singing
how do they sound?

they sound bright and loud
sometime ss s s shy and unsure
but generally when they know
it is time to sing
they sing with gusto
like they mean it
from their bowels
it is a rich human resonant sound
fragile
near the breaking point some days
but all there in human glory
the glory only glory for it points
to something beyond comprehension
something beyond the pale
something beyond the fleeting stories
something ever true and timeless
something urging the soul to sing
to cry
to laugh
to plead
to express wonder
to utter commitment
to request verification
this too the proud will sing
this too
the request for verification

toots tilleman
played a real mean harp
blowing with elegance
always worked at
never taken for granted
always sure of harmonic possibilities
in every melody
he also played guitar
and played the guitar with
clarity and expertise
of a sort that is rare

i once road the train from paris
to amsterdam
and there before me was charles white
or wright i think
anyway he was one of the free form piano
lost souls of the sixties
played off the keys
at one point he snuck back to the bathroom
to get high
when he came back his soul was full of
sorrow full of bewilderment
full of sad stories from the jazz world
like alice coltrane was a thief and shit like that
and dizzy didn't do many favors anymore
and those west coast cool cats
brubeck and wes montgomery
and grant greene
and charlie hayden
and
those guys kept it real
they resisted the way out stuff
and went with the tried and true
jazz breakdowns
it may have turned into cool jazz
or the hip heroin fix in the ear
for the newly moneyd
the stuff they call new age
but it held true
to the melodic dignity
and the rhythm
how do you spell that word
rhythm rhythm
something maybe to dance to

wes montgomery proves
as did count basie
that minimalist energy
can be big with glorious jazz sound
wes starting light and simple
then taking off at some point
into a veritable bird flight from
one scurrying note to the last

well i am past my allotted time
so the long poem will commence again
after a while
after the sun sets in the desert,,,,

so what this will turn out to be
in order to remain sincere to my original
intention to write a very long poem
i will check in it's 6:41 tuesday august 21
and then get going with this poem that i know
will be a very long poem when it is finished
some two weeks from now
but i figure i have as much space as i want
am i not correct
could i not conceivably just get carried away
and keep typing these words onto this
edit page of a post i made this afternoon
wherein i declared that i was intent upon
writing a long poem

then there are the peafowl the cocks and hens
and chicks now only one
what happened to the other
the coyotes can only tell
or perhaps a pollero was lucky to
nab those two little things and roast
them over a mesquite fire before
travelling on to the mythical place of freedom
or perhaps a realistic place of less suffering
but then there are no guarantees now are there

those peacocks get their feathers going
and they speak the mind of fr henri
sort of all out there in luminous splendour
all designed time and again with blue and green
and black and grey and yellow and olive and
a shade of red on the days when the sun hides
and the hens go about lookng for food
and the one little peachick which will make
it to some level of adulthood it appears
just peck about doing nothing all day but
pecking and finding shade
and once in awhile
you catch i catch the dance
the cock dances to imagined paramours
and to fenceposts and to clumps of grass
and to phatasms we cannot fathom
save they probably appear like fowl

before i was distracted from my long long poem
this unwieldy undertaking to simply write out
thought versing thought phrasing phrase
and then of all things presume to have it mean something
some folks are doomed to carrying things to senseless extremes

oh and have i spoken of the sun
the intense desert sun that bears down
with relentless heat in such a way as to
almost paralyze one who would walk
i would walk but i fear paralysis
i fear the imposing hot sun forcing down upon
me and reducing me to a writhing animal exhausted
thristy and dying in the blazing continuous radiant
thrust of heat and air down upon the brow of your head
down upon the crown of your head
upon your shoulders
upon your every protrudence
upon everything not protected
from the insanely hot desert sun
as i said

there's something to be said about choosing
to write a long pome
one that will last for hours and days
be strung together time after time
on the cyber screen
of my endless delight for in fact
i could write until the electricity runs out
just keep stringing words together
and just when i need the last bit of electricity
perhaps then i would run out of things to say
and finalize the poem then
give an ending to the poem as it were
stop the long writing spasm know in
some circles as the long poem

no-one not a one not you nor any body else
not one will care at this point
if i arise now a get me to the news
i gots to hear what's going down
in this land of the brave home of

the free people the good guys
they hate our freedom
so i guess i'll be takin some of it away
that way they won't hate us so much
sounds like good math to me heh heh heh
(that's george w bush talkin)

but there will be more installments
more versing through the shall we say
veritable long poem

for it ain't prose we are about here folks
no siree
we're about some serious poetry makin here
now you just listen up a bit
get those ears open the way god intended
and listen to those poets when they speak
they have a thing or two to say don't you know

at least you'll hear the same damn old thing
in a new and different way
that's all i'm sayin about that

so i turn now to the next thing
the thing about information the thing about
being in touch somehow with
the brothers and sisters i do not know
knowing somehow we are on the same page
the same news is out there
we can go knowing it was information
that finally distorted the human mind
beyond repair
(jeez now where did that come from?)

back to the edit
i am back at the long poem
here i am writing the long poem
the poem that will indeed be long for
it protends at this divine moment
to be as long as it takes to work out the words
over the span of the next few days
a week perchance

salve regina caelorum
salve domina angelorum

queenship of mary falling as it
does an octave away from the assumption
at any rate there is a clue as to the day
i am writing

blessed mother of wayfarers
hold me close in the folds
of your garments
hold me as i ramble
ramble across this wide strange land
o blessed mother
blessed virgin mother
hold me close
hold me close
hold me close

but on with the long poem
a rabbi said to an actor
i'll give you a drachma for a drama

a drama ensues
and i may as well describe it as it too
is substance for the long pome i am intending to write
intending to type out here on this screen
with some dedication to language and thought
with some down home penchant for song
sing the long song sing the long song sing the long song sing the long song sing the long song sing the long song

ballad ballad ballad ballad ballad ballad ballad ballad ballad ballad ballad ballad ballad ballad ballad ballad ballade ballade ballade ballade ballade ballade ballade
worlds hurls like words wiegh int he echoing halls
of and imagined noble
some guy with a big palace with huge echoing rooms
with a lute player in the corner playing
ballad after ballad after ballad after ballad after abllad after abllad after balld
untilhe finally arrives at the conclusion
that it is now time to dedicate some time
to the long poem

you get the idea

the airconditioning is running crazy
in the dining room
fr henri is upset because it costs a lot of money
it hasn't been spoken
but all the suspicion points to yours truly
because well
i am the bad bad boy
writing long poems and singing all the time
yep
sounds like a criminal to me joe
lets' get his ass arressted
keep the town safe if you know what i mean
the problem is someone leaves a window open
that's the problem

the drama is complicated with
the presence of the one who sings
the cantor from afar
the stringed bard who chants and cackles
is like unto a madman mixing odd elixirs
but gets them singing gets the beauty

going into depths of beauty gets them passionate
no matter where the chips may fall
daddyoh

so things are in a swirl in the peaceful little monastery
things were nuts before the singer came
but they are really nuts now
now that everyone is whining
now that everyone is bitching and moaning
the prior is at wits end and they know it
they know how to manipulate this
sonovabitch

but the bard is ready to depart
the bard could go any moment
and be at peace
the bard is held only by the song
you cannot cage the bard
you cannot make him your scapegoat
although his songs are of such actions
his songs sing of the folly of god's children
and the folly of the one who came to save
and the folly of faith
and the folly of mixing it up for the
folks at home to see
on DVD
make it all into a variety show
monastic survival
christian community survival
reality in your fucking face catholic
holy roman mix it up for the people back home
writing their long poems for the catholics in the area
keeping it pastoral if you know what i mean

los pueblos sin surrealidad

on any given day it could be a dream
i walk out and see these people
they drift silently in and out of
my visual realm
and my thoughts
and then i return to my room
so i can write the long poem

but as for now i will be on to the next thing
i will go to my room
light a little bowl
then play my guitar and sing loud folk songs
before i prepare to get the music together
for the mass

had i known a better way to pray
i would have prayed that way
but this is all i know for now
i'll pray and pray and pray
it could have sounded different lord
but this is all i got
take this muttering from my lips
and hey thanks a lot

so i will take some distance from the long poem
the poem that got to be so long people forgot to read it
and i will remove to my room
and ruminate there upon the odd dramas
and drachmas and rabbis and
think there awhile as the morning treads along

but i will return to the long poem
i will return
you can bank on that
these gargantuan literary projects
hold too many treasures
to neglect for too long
so
let's hear it for the long poem

and when he returns he has very little to say
it's as if he set out upon this literary adventure
with absolutely no plan in mind
other than to write a long poem

i've already spoken of the intense summer sun
in the desert so i'll leave off of that worn topic
and turn to something almost as fascinating
the long poem
the poem being pieced together on a screen
on a screen on a screen ona screen on a screen on a screen
letters electronically imprinted on a screen
quick pulses of meaning coming together
on a screen
and then left as if nothing else matters in the world
and indeed when it comes to long poems
nothing in fact does matter

mass today was fine and i can strangely
rest assured that the lady with whom i had
the most difficult time when i first came here
is now intent on sustaining the work i have done
in forming the mass here into something that sounds
for lack of a better term monastic

for in fact is not the liturgy just a long poem
a long repeating pattern of word and symbol
and act and flesh and blood giving itself over
in thanksgiving for it all and song as well
very much indeed like a long poem

i'd like to now direct my attention
to my mother
i want to tell it all
how she suffered how she survived
how she acted both ruthlessly and charitably
sometimes confusing the two
ah to hell with it

i think i'll just stick to the long poem
speak and sing of the earth spinning
and coursing around the sun
and the stars at work every night
the heavens all awash with sparkling splendour
nights cooling some but not a lot
man this desert is hot
and the birds visit me in the morning
the ducks the blue heron the egret
the hummingbird the wren
the desert sparrows the cardinals the
kingfisher the crow the bluejay
and these big flying blue beetles

the other day two dogs found their way to the pond
outside my room
and took a long swim before returning
to their important manuevers in the hot desert
these were two coyotes posing as dogs
coyotes have learned more than you think
they have evolved into very complicated creatures
highly sophisticated workers in the desert economy
specializing in human transport now
and still the occasional slaughter of calves
just for the hell of it
oh pollero
i pity your plight as you go now in flight
across the no man's terra
oh pollodero
i so hope you make it to where you need to go
for i pray every day for my special polleros
i pray that god watches them every goddam day

santissimi muerte
holy mother death
dare we call upon this girl for service
i mean
what can she do amongst all these
border patrol vans and four wheel drives
and helicoptors
and cessnas flying low
santissimi muerte
are you watching your children run
santissimi muerte
you scare me
you make me shit my pants
but somehow i know
you're the best bet for money in the new game
you're the best bet for freedom
you're the only way this whole mess on the border
will ever make much sense
so while i will not pray to you
i want to assure you of my respect
santissimi muerte

when one takes on the daunting
and i do mean daunting task
of the long poem
there is an obligation to see it through
i have thus decided to make this a poem that
will be read for an ongoing time without
visible end
i may just call this the poem that started one day
and did not end until time itself stopped to measure things up

or maybe i should simply quit now while i am ahead
this whole thing is beginning to sound pretentious at best
i mean the audacity of even thinking about writing a long poem
should make the literary community stand up and cry HALT!!
goddamit halt
it was decided years ago that the long poem is dead
so just cease and desist if you would kind sir
stop the long poem

well i've settled on a middle ground
i won't write forever
but i will continue this long poem
until it appears that enough is enough
and the substance for which i wished to give
open venue will have all but exhausted itelf
then i will call an end to the long poem
call an end to this ulyssean madness
this odyssean oddity

there once was a bloke who set out sailing
and sailed for ever it seemed past the sirens
past the lastragonians
past the lotus eaters
past jonathan swift on another boat
and came back to his wife and little telemechus

it's the stuff that happens along the way
that will really interest you

it's a brand new ballad
by that lovable old blindman Homer
you know the one
the guy who hangs around down on the wharf
always smells of fish and salt
now he's got a tale or two to tell

before the afternoon dissipates into the
longer shades of evening i will go
i will stop here and return to the long poem
as the night comes on and my literary ghost
takes over
disguised as a bored CIA agent down on the border

why for godz sake am i out here in this
god forsaken desert keeping an eye on
ghosts at best that's right it is like looking for ghosts
sometimes you get some goods and the thing looks real
then you're dealing with the death of a grandmother
or an urgent care child problem
and just the other day i looked behind me
and i saw a dozen polleros
slip behind a line of cars and b line it down the first wash
to the canyon where god knows they'll never get caught
i figure 50 a day get through just like that
right under our gaddam noses as it were
and these other rinkydinky outfits guys and girls
dressed like guys
all of them hyped up on something
takin care of business that's for sure
i don't know who looks stranger the guys
trying to come through to this side or the folks
crossing over to theirs
everyday some new camera crew appears
to make a dramatic docudrama for a drachma
as it were
and they set up these scenes that accentuate
the horrid drama of the landless ones
i am so goddam bored with this scene
i've even taken to listenin to my old
bob dylan tapes the stuff he did with
the band
is the best man that was some rockin american
music there

yeah heavy and a bottle of bread

now i must return to the intellectual activity
of the poet who is engaged upon
the most arduous task of
writing the
long poem
the bored CIA guy fell asleep anyway

i chose the sunset
i chose to walk into the cooling evening air
and be with the god of the natural world
the god who insists upon living
and showing his goodness in all the living things
i chose to let my thoughts drift with
the ethereal twitterings of
the desert wren
and the ubiquitous tananger
rather than the voices
the voices don't remind me of pleasure
it is painful to be with them
even though i know they are
christians
and i do not mean my distance
out
of a need to dislike or negate anothers life
i simply insist on maintaining the need for comfortable
social distance in all situations
if i can at least manage it a bit

dag dabbit bag daddit dab gabbit
gib dugg it dam dit up grad didy
ugh wugh wugh
dig a dig dig dig dig a dig a dig aid gi a dig
god daggit darn tooting sumbitch
gawdawmihghty dag nabbit baghdad

yeah that is the name of the town
i went searching on the www
nice town
full of nice fast travellin cars
mercedes bmwS volvo fourwheel
american monsters
phuqqin so qoooul
seems like everyone is on the make
in baghdad
some bombs everyday
nothing major really
street bombs
killing dozens and wrecking buildings
and cars
but all quite managable
really no need to worry
we've been fighting the arabs for 1200 yrs
honey is that right about the arabs
yeah
1200 yrs is that right

OK

both themselves and us
OK
thanks dear
yeah that is right
1200 yrs of fighting these guys
some moments of harmonious
coexistence as well
some have argued that this crisis
will bring the arab/muslim world into the
21st century
or they will implode
they will accept the importance of
strong intellectual effort for their
children
they will have to utilized the best of the west

o i got them baghdad blues now mama
i gots em bad as can be
whenever i gets these baghdad blues
a feeling of nausea comin over me

o i gots em
i gots em mighty bad
well i've had other blues before
but ain't none quite this bad

o sure i got them blues from baghdad
got them mighty mighty bad
ain't no use in cryin
this the worst we ever had

long poems have a tendency to
deaden the nerves
people read them and get mighty tired
and then force themselves to
read more as if to slap the basic
human need to sleep in the face
until they get to the end and can say
i read the damn thing but
i don't know yet if it was worth it
hell i slept through more than half of it
maybe i should read the damn thing again

i think i will go now to the news
i know this is getting to be an old story
the poet of the long poem ditching out
on his effort to watch the news
to immerse himself in the banal tedium
as if to smell the dirty laundry of humanity
a cognitive sniff of the laundry chute
he'll probably fix himself a cocktail
turn the volume just so and sit back
and listen to the reports from the hot spots
of the world
the lehrer report
yeah that's poetry material
especially if you're talkin about the long poem
i mean just about anything could appear in the long poem
for the mere sake of ensuring
that the poem be successful
and why set upon the venture
of putting a long poem together
if you don't have the sincere intention
of finishing the damn thing
so you better believe it
and lots of that too don't ya know

i'll be back

i am back to attempt to make use
of a form for expressing the essential

concrete ideas which are to be the
groundwork for the long poem the poem

john hanson is trying to write with
some manner of dignity but it looks like

that effort will fail him after all there
won't be anything good to report from

this effort no sirree it was a complete
waste of time and money for he curtailed

his earning potential in order to dedicate
more time to giving some substantial form

to the long poem to the long poem to the
long poem to the long peom to the long poem

yeah

some loosely strungtogether couplets

anon

nona onna noan anno oann naon onan
and a few more possibilities

the thing about the long poem
is that once it is commenced
once the conjunction of mind and purpose
has asserted itself upon the chosen
print media
it is a serious thing
the mind starts thinking about what
will go into the long poem

let's start very close to home
with the reality of the poet being
the primary substance for thematic
exploration in the proverbial long poem

just now i came from the kitchen
it is a haunted kitchen
a place of wonder and terror
it is a place of agony and satisfaction
a place of fine and foul odors
a place of nourishment
and a place frought with the demons
of modern insanity
after a brief reconsideration
i will state that the demons are more than likely
of a universal and timeless sort
human beings finding ever stranger ways to
work out their fears and anxieties in this world

i would like to think that if the players on the
kitchen stage would all set about writing long poems
the atmosphere there would be less harsh
less redolent of a bad stage play
that
or perhaps group therapy

any old way
i put on the pot of frioles
los frioles de hermano juan
stoy muy bonito
delicioso

and soon i will return to that kitchen
and make up some enchiladas for lunch
with aroz e tortillas e salsa e caiso
ensalada
it will be a feast on this ferial day
it will be a blessed feast
for rose of lima
which gives you a clue as to
what day i am writing the stuff
that will all fall together and make up the
long poem long poem pong poem long poem
long poem long poem long poem long poem long poem
long poem long poem

as if the thing weren't long enough

do melodies remain in the mind
they must
but where
i sing melodies all the time
i just know them
i could never point to the place where they
stay in my brain or in my gut
i tend to think they are in my gut
i have this gut feeling that
my soul is in my gut
and when i feel it in my guts
i feel it in my soul
that is why the best singers
sing from the loins
they know how to strain the tendons
and muscles of the sex pleasure
they have learned to use their bodies
as instruments of pleasure

rarely do titles of immediate concern
make it into the warp and woof of the long poem
a poet doesn't take the time to say
as to what i am presently reading
the matters of thought which are to some degree
inspiring me to write a long poem
a poem that may in fact take weeks to read
a poem that will not just agree to be short and sweet
and get itself published
so as to evoke a collective sigh
or was that a fart
from the people

i am not fooling myself here
i have no illusions about some beautiful
lovestruck woman sitting in a window
looking out upon the day with this poem
dangling lightly in her hand
lost in the subtle and stimulating thoughts
of the poet of the very long poem indeed

quite the opposite
i imagine a woman encountering this poem
and ripping it to shreds
cursing to herself in her bathroom
as she goes through the rough ritual
of her daily preparedness
getting all tensed up and ready to fight
wanting to smear my smug chauvinistic
maleness right back in my face
threaten to castrate me right there on the street
rage with red face rage at the preposterousness
of my proposal

when all i said is i want to father
as many children as i possibly can
and
i would like to dedicate the rest of my life
to bringing lesbians back to a healthy
love of men a healthy physical trust
of the friendly penis
and know in their womanhood
the visceral unspoken wisdom
of completion to be granted there
with the throbbing sloshing jerking
panting gasping bouncing screaming grunting
thrusting sweating crying skinslapping
roaring sighing release of
natural penis in the vagina love

i don't know why that has to sound so unreasonable

the political position of the day follows:
i support the 20 hour work week
i support the dedication of leisure
5-6 hours a day hours for human development
hours for reading for fishing for gardening
for walking for writing long poems
for helping other people
i abhor the wage enslavement economy of america
i think children should stay at home
with their mothers until they are at least ten
OK go to school a little bit
but don't take that stuff seriously
until the kid is ten or so
reading on her own
making some of her own mind up about the world
and being courageous
and knowing that there's always home to go back to
and mothers should be at home
staying at home making home as the locus
for self love and courage in the world
creating homes of wonder
homes of creativity
homes of food and pleasure
homes of rich conversation
and for this there needs be great honor
honor the dedicated mother

i further believe in re establishing the railroad
making rail travel the most common means
of getting to places of 400 miles or less

and also long distance high speed trains
new york to LA in 2o hrs or less
over night relaxing journeys with
good food comfort and relaxation
getting on and off the train
lover's goodbyes and all that

i support the move for community gardens
and private gardens
and i have determined
that democracy only works at the local level
when government must be national
it is something else
representational yes
but merely to support a constitution
the real work of governance must happen
in the community in the county
amongst neighbors
for the common good in a defined place
out of this wholesome government
will come will come will come will come

the people must learn how to live
by the example of the leaders
not by their decrees
the decrees of the leaders
let the leaders start to garden
let the people fend for themselves
create places where anyone can walk
or ride a bike to procure
the essentials
for daily living

enough politix enough enough politix
tic the polis off the polis is the people
the city the buildings the poorly run conglomeration
of souls fending for themselves and one another
in a plaza of ideas

every town should have a big plaza or two

well the efforts at the long poem proved interesting today
i just pulled some ideas out of the metaphysical file cabinet
and layed them out for all to read
and who knows
this long poem will be in the hard drive
guts of this computer and maybe others
for a long long time
so that years from now
some bored highschool student will happen across
a blogg entitled bewilderingsearchdotblogspotdotcom
and begin reading and become fascinated with
the long poem
different from the long jump
similar i think to the marathon
synonymous with the long haul
it is not common for a poet to thank his readers
no for it is for him to merely state
the poem is there to read
take it as it is
but if you have read this far you are deserving of
a gesture of positive gratitude
given generously at this moment with
the words necessary to complete this mornings'
installment of the long poem

i have only a few moments this afternoon
to give to the project i am calling the longpoem
for it will be long you can bet your bottom dollar
it will be long you can trust in that
it will be a very long poem when all is said and done
a poem worthy of the adjectival title: long

the descriptive modifier which
tells you everything you need to know about
the long poem except perhaps what the thing is about
and even that is up for interpretation
god knows
god knows godknows
gnoze

i'd sit here and type more but
i have a summer date with
a swimming pool
so let's just call this
an afternoon interlude
in the long poem
a brief almost thoughtless
flurry of verbosity
of a character unique to a certain type
of long poem
for this is not just any long poem
no this poem will be famous for it's length
and just when it is about to finish
i will all but gaurantee you
that the poet will attempt to make it a little longer
just to assure himself mostly that it is in fact a long poem

long poem squared
let me speak of the sequence of
little events little tactile manuevers
which bring a person to the point
of filling up loads and loads of blog space
with a long poem
it's not worth the effort
but that is not the point
that is precisely not the point
the point is in the doing
the point is in the doyng
the point is in the boyng
the point is
that there is no point in stopping as long as
one has theoretically all the time and space
known to mankind
albeit limited here
to a word by word line by line
sequence of words that has come to be known
as the long poem

i sit at the monitor table
i sit at the minotaurs' table
aren't they the guys with bull's legs
and hairy chests
or
are they the guys with fierce horse heads
and normal human legs

anyway
not to dally too much
i sit at this computer table
and bang on the table
i do i bang on the table to get my
first screen response on the computer
on the computer on the computer
on the computer on the computer on the computer
then bang up on the screen
i do the dial up thing
listen rather intently to the audible electric
sound scaping that tells something somewhere
that everything is AOK
and that whoever this blind criminal is
writing the long poem
he will be allowed onto the world wide web
i click onto google
a series of saved URLs pop up
and i usually choose the one that gets
me to my email account
but lately i've been defering to the blogstream
that has this long running poem
working itself out on the
free time and space of the
world wide web
within no time i am up and
surfing as it were

it is nothing to go from that idle
mishmash of verbiage
o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o
i speak of love

i contend that the language of love
has endured too much by way of analysis
and is therefore dead
the language of love speaking to the heart
of the beloved is extinct
one of the great evolutionary accomplishments
don't you think
no more love poetry
vile crap anyway
who needs it
who speaks of the hearts ache any more
who gives voice to the insane swirl in the gut
the delirium thirsted for thirsted for
the breath of the other in my breath
the tear of the beloved in my tear

i don't know who wrote the last meaningful love poem
it's so damn difficult these days
to sound true to the language of the heart
to think that a whole genre of expression
is wiped out and only kept alive
in terms of old poems in old dusty anthologies
that maybe will spark the curiosity of a bored
cave dweller in ages to come
and the ages will come and maybe when innocence
dawns once again then love will find her tongue
but nobody writes love poems in america
that's the sad truth of it that's what we are talking about here
the dearth of love poetry
the fact that nobody has much time for love anymore
there's more cynicism and horror around the idea of love
than there is tenderness and theh hearts mad leap
into the outerspace of intimate involvement with
another human body another human soul in the name of love

so it is a sad state of affairs
if a person can't write a love poem
then then then then then then
the whole whole whole
damn whole project is doomed
everything has been forfeited
the great compromise is hard people
buckle down and stay sittin

yes i am upset that there is no more love poetry
yes even to have to think about it has
made me sort of angry

i watched the movie
the stone merchant
and the character played by harvey keitel
is a terrorist who loves the poetry of RUMI
and has a distinct love for the dervish tradition
but alas he's a committed crusader
for a better world through islam
and pays the wretched price in the end
as does his stunningly beautiful lover
but the fact is he spoke the lines of rumi
he was clear enough in his heart
to recite by heart the love poems of rumi
all the while setting up this crazy attack
love terror hope hopelessness the convoluted
intellectual knot we seek to untie
but how are we going to do it without love poetry
someone answer me that
if the problem needs more clarification
perhaps i will return to this line of thinking in the next
installment of the
long pome
in the end it was as clear as day
all the girl wanted was some poetry
she was willing to leap fire
for poetry
poetry that is the full expression
of the possibility of love
or the dark failure
which may have more to teach
than love that whisps by in the garden

the san pedro valley
is green with flora
the desert is full of flowers
and full to the fences with
mesquite
and full with grass
with a little rain this land
becomes swollen with life

africa has not crossed my mind until now
now that i must go to tune up my KORA
my other 21 stringed harp
21 is 12 backwards and 9 is an upside
down 6 when that is divided by the
the misnomer of a discredited
attempt at skewed justice just about everything
fell into place

yep i will tune up and play the KORA
as close as i get to arabic things
i would like to learn the tradition
of kora playing from a master

i am bestowing my KORA upon
tim wiedenkeller tomorrow

perhaps my ramirez on
pat wilch

tomorrow will be another day
another day another day
o tomorrow will be another day
you can bet on that

not much time to give to the long poem today
a busy musician has to play has to play
but already i've been busy today
i've penned out a song
crazy down on the border

i must digress for a moment
and speak to the attentive audience
about the djali
the french called them griottes
o these dastardly devils
these troublesome guys always causeing problems
they come into the village
we all know their songs
and then they are eating for free in everyone's house
they are shameless when it comes to sexual possibility
these guys plan years in advance to return to a village
and woo the girl they saw when she was much too young
and they sing and tell lies and they tell stories
of the great safaris
and the great migrations and the sacred mountain
and the treaties with other tribes
and the lovely oasis many of them along the way

the koras bounce back and forth as the camel
dances through the sand
the brass bowls and the wooden tools
all keep time

never trust them
never let your daughters listen for too long
to the poems of the griot
she will be swept asunder in a dream of romance
that will last for years
once a village of girls was struck with the curse
of the djali
giggling and moaning at night
composing songs that would hopefully
bring the griot back to the village
and one of the girls would then go off
with him to travel and sing through the sahara

o djali djali djali
you speak words that make mothers smile
but underneath you are a clever man
o djali djali djali
you look with wild eyes on my sister
who will soon be with the women
and you make her laugh and
she dreams then of the day you will return

o djali djali djali
go away from my home
find another girl for your wild music show
my sister wants to go to the nun's school
up north
let her study there not with you
worthless social scum

goodbye djali goodbye
leave my village alone

come back when we have a wedding
then we will love to sing your wild songs

we are referring to degrees of luminosity
when referring to the stages of the moon
for the moon as many have duly noted
is always its size not what we perceive it
to be based on the angle of sun and earth
but now it is waxing to the full luminosity
brightening up the clouds beneathe her
one could almost cry or the beauty of the late
summer moon white and luminous in the sky
colored with the ridiculous blue of night

states of mind states of mind states of mind
states of mind states of mind states of mind states of mind

i wrote a song today
something crazy on the border

it is my intention to give the
poignant and provacative words
a place within the scope of this
long poem

right now
i must return to my domicile
for soon i will recline to sleep sleep sleep sleep sleep
and dreams perhaps a dreams perhalps
of unfettered love in the depths of the
quiet forest

ach
i'll just play some music
think a little listen to the night sounds
around the pond outside my window
and permit my self to drift off
to sweet unconsciousness
for when all the pleasures are measured up none
strikes us so clean as good sleep

anon devotees of the long poem

so long it forgot to stop

yes and just like that it starts up again
with a zing like in salsa something to open your eyes
and get the blood moving
yes i ate some of that TNT salsa for dinner today
hooooooooey

but there is peril no doubt
do not think that a task such as this
starting out as it did with such innocent good will
would be gaurded against the scourge of ennui

yes
when the poet has nothing more to say
when there is cognitive constipation
when the world is a blank shade of off white
and all he can do is stare
distraught some
for he knows he is not through
in fact he has a song that he recently wrote
a long ballad
a ballad of the border
and since he
that being me
i have nothing to do for the next two hours
i may as well share with the ardent readership
of this most preposterous endeavor
the long long long long long long long long long
poem

crazy love on the border


well there's lots of crazy things goin down
down on the border
you can see them happen every hour of every day

people yellin people screamin
we got sirens goin off
got the choppers clippin fast
radios a blastin out a panic everywhere you go

yes there's lots of crazy chit goin down
down on the border
you won't believe it till you see it mi amigo that's for sure

got you coyotes gettin paid
got you sister gettin laid
and a pack of polloderos
looking hungry hot tired sick and blue

o there's always something strange going down
down on the border
stranger than the god forsaken truth i claim to know

won't you come down and dance with me my love
down on the border
dance with me my love till the border fades from view

verse 2

you know i let my lovely senorita down
down on the border
i remember her chocolate eyes and her raven black hair

well she cursed be when i told her
i was heading for the north
going to get me some good money
going to find out just exactly what it's worth

now my heart beats with pain every day mi amor
down on the border
your kiss travels with me every step of this long long way

and i pray to blessed mother
keep me safe from all that harm
keep my feet on the right path
and at night i pray just please keep me warm

let not santissimi muerte be in your tears my love
down on the border
when i get my cell phone you know i'll call you every day

so many hearts are broken in two, my lord
down on the border
where the currencey is fear they must pay and pay and pay

verse 3

you just cannot believe the crazy chit goin down
down on the border
the dogs are the only ones who understand a thing

they be barkin' and a yippin'
they be whinin' and a howlin'
chasin' and a jumpin'
goin loco with that ancient lobo need to play

once in a while a whole big family tries to cross
down on the border
you know they will get split up with lagrima that will sting

mamacita she must stay
papacito he must pay
los hermanitos they must dance
and the gran bambino cries and cries and sings

you bet there's lots of red hot feelings goin down
down on the border
hotter that a chili that's really got some zing

so we all have to say some prayers for our friends
down on the border
pray that blood and tears and torn flesh might mean something

verse 4

now no one denies that there is death goin down
down on the border
there are children getting scorched alive by a ruthless desert sun

they might make it if they're fast
let the light planes just fly past
hear the choppers clippin last
hit the arroyo to the canyon slide and dance down
then maybe you're free

o there are many bleaching bones scattered loose
down on the border
quiet in the washes and the canyons now life is done

too many to be remembered
the families are dismembered
los policias sin diablos
come on now mis amigos this fiestas' just now begun

won't you come and dance with me mi amor
down on the border
dance until the rosy dawn begins to yawn

o my heart aches like hell for you my love
down on the border
but your heart is aching too so i know we're still one

well that about sums up the song

some of you might be thinking in terms of
the narrative poems devised by one
maestro cervantes

that this song bears some resemblance
to the serenades he composed for his
lovely lady
what was her name
ah yes of course
dulcinea
as i was saying
any resemblance this song has
to one of his poems of love to his
lady of exquisite refinement and grace
not to mention her emotional subtlety
is purely a coincidence
one that i will abide most happily

but i assure you this long ballad
owes it's spirit only to the poet
of the long poem
that poem that promises to go on for a long long time

i would i suppose be remiss
if i neglected to pay homage in some respect
to the great bards who have gone before me
if i had a jail cell and lots of space on a
big screen computer
i'd compose a series of tales
featuring the one i love
who is sweeter than dulcinea
for she is true to a fault
to the dignity of her own spirit
and would not betray or mock me in any way
at least i should hope this to be the case
in these psychologically fragile times
when people are walking around with powerful
mood enhancing drugs racing in their blood streams
i cannot be sure i guess
she seems alright to me
i would not hesitate to enter into loving embrace with her
but of course my protective restraint would no doubt
preclude too much by way of earthy ardour

ah i will not even permit myself to utter her name

that and all things being as they may
i bid another so long to the effort
although i may return this eventide
to give voice to the party coming my way

but now i shall return to my room
rehearse the new song about crazy love on the border

and sit and listen to the quiet of the monastery
until the time is nigh
for the big fandango

i may
now that time permits
and a small gift came my way
partake of some of the local cannabis
for medical purposes only of course

stay tuned readers of the long pome
do not forget to give yourselves over
to the terrible task of reading the pome
that will be nothing if it is not long

don quixote lives

the fiesta pequenyo is over
i sit to type aware of the stupor
of fine wine on my mind not so much
a stupor as a pleasant nonchalance
and warm feeling from all the people there

i was privileged to hear a poem of concern
from one of the pleasant praying matrons
here who has expressed lament to me before
that she has not had the chance to get real close to me
she it turns out is a hugger
and huggers like to do one thing in particular
no need wasting space hear trying to articualte
in some sort of coherent fashion
the objective purpose of the ones who call
themselves huggers

more could be said about that but we'll leave it
at that for the time being no sense kicking
a dead horse
even a live horse knows about that
in all the history of horses there is not one
account of a live horse kicking a dead horse
so the saying carries some nuanced significance
that it may not have had before for the innocent reader

i listen to pat greene on the stream the radio
kuaz coming over the radio 89.1 fm
now there is the news at this very moment
the story about the mine cave in

it's a long shot
i repeat it is the long shot

a special robot to try to save the day

it is a long shot

so it is the news
bbc very clear and distinct diction
the british have a built in severity of
classical pronunciation

lots of flood in the midwest
could have been worse

tornados in michigan
tornados in michigan
minor flooding
thunder and lightining

npr news

the long poem may or may not be the place
to express the political sentiments
in my mind today

i was able to play the corrida
for maggie maggie who makes things beautiful
who brings us flowers and her smiling face
she has an apache face and some greek in there
as well i guess and some cherokee
she is of the earth people
but every ounce a lady
and i would treat might tender maggie
with utmost gentleness of touch
and instill in her the confidence of love
love that can never go astray

ah i best leave off of the wild fantasy
for i have enemies to plunder
i have riches to restore to the king
and i have fine scarves of algeria
to wrap around the shoulders of my dulcinea
who waits for me in her bedwooom
what
bedwhooom
that is a french pronunciation of the noun
uttered in pleading mockery
by the poet of the p=long poem

i neglected to speak of the moon
it is bright in the sky
lightening up the clouds and the earth
it is bright this night
the late august moon
not the last moon of summer
but the one that signals some cooling

i must retire
even while i hear on the lowstream line
on the world wide web
an electric guitar singing some gentle blues
searching for the melody
and now there it is
southender blues
something like that

guitar and piano expressing
the laconic nature of the blues

i will go to rest
it has been a long day
great music day in so many ways
if i can just keep this damn drachma drama goin

the blues reinvent themselves everytime
they are played

i wonder if the edit fixture that allows for
editing on a post is perhaps getting tired
of this endless edit which has come to be
known in some of americas highest literary circles
as the long poem

send them your used car
send them what you can
instead of allowing the thing to rust
send it to kuaz

am i listening to jean luc ponty
go crazy with 'round midnight
monks tune of tunes
maybe not his best
the one everyone plays
violin concert hall organ and drums

just now starting to swing

and now bill evans
the philsopher of jazz
the philosopher of sound
alone i think in terms of
inventiveness and thoughtfullness
and daring artistry
even perhaps when he was strung out
he still knew where the changes had to be

good night bill evans
good night pat greene
thanks for the take on bluebossa
thanks to maggie and henri
and all the people who so warmly
cheered me on while i worked here
and to todd bogatay
and to soco
and to joe
and to corrine
and to benedict
and to all the sweet others there
and to the ones who could not make it

at this point i merely wish to state
that if you continue reading tomorrow from
the long poem you will encounter a description
of the musical process envolved in the development of
a monastic choir

perhaps not as fascinating as bill evans
working out the existential ingredients
for a melodic journey through time

and now jan toots tilleman
playing that unmistakeable harp


i will listen till the end
then depart

anon

a friend by the name of antonio
a guitarist from spain once took
me to a brothel in jerusalem
where we paid 8 dollars for a pint
and watched bare bellied girls
make jokes at the reggae band
antonio and i both studied hebrew at the time
we spoke in a broken hebrew often
he was the first to hear me play the chaccone
in d minor by bach
after i had played it for antonio
i knew i had the thing
we shared a bottle of wine on another night
smoking rolled tobacco all the while
and went to the armenian cathedral there
we traded some jokes on the phone about the way of the world
and the strangeness of being a pilgrim

and that was the end of our conversation

i speak of this incident only to proclaim
to this warped and weary world
that the composure of the gentleman is still
a virtue
the alarming sharing of wit and thought
and visual pleasure even prayer in a quiet
armenian cathedral in jerusalm
jerusalem
jrslm
yiroooshalaiym
ya roosh ah la hayim
new jersey
jersey coast
jerkistan
palistan
syriaistan
near jerusalem near jerusalem
my home land my orphanage
my orphanage
my orphanage my orphanage

so i raise the hopes of this morning in salute
to my momentary pal antonio
with whom i shared an expensive pint
(which i no doubt payed for)
and a series of sly jokes
referring to the umbilicus of
the young females in our midst
and the meaning of life
once the penis is
finally inside the
vaginal canal
how life doth change from that point on

and the architecture of jerusalem
and the terror of war
and the salvific power of music
especially the chacconne in d minor by bach
transcribed to guitar by andres segovia
another fine spanish gentleman

i met andres segovia one month before he died
i am an alien living in a strange land
i am a rambleing man a nomad a bedouin
i play music my life is enchanted with something ethereal
something that exists in the air

i accept the criticism at this point that my digressions
do little but distract from the story at hand
so it behooves the poet of the long poem then
to focus
focus on the substance of the tale being told
and not on the moronic footnotes complete with
page numbers and dootted friggin eyes

i went backstage after a concert in minneapolis
and found the maestro sitting in a chair his face in
a pale sweat his eyes sad
i assured him he still had the meaningful sound of the guitar
and i noted he was reading ulysses and unamuno
the spanish philosopher of the wonder of reality
the discomfort of reality the complete overwhelming
character of reality when faced honestly
maestro segovia signed my program shook my hand
bid me practice every day
then i left
and one month later i learned
he died in NYC at the age of 94

last night late i dug out my ramirez
and played tunes of cosmic quality
coming from seeming nowhere as it were
and playing the plastic strings loud as can be
and improvising endlessly in the key
of E major on occasion bending down into the minor
realm
realm realm realm realm realm realm realm realm realm


i am cntent to have related to teh readers of the
,ong poem the meanderings of memory the misspelled words
the constricted thoughts the almost completely undisciplined
aproach to such a grand task as the long pome


should you be interested
i will acknowledge that i wrote a poem
some weeks ago on the experience of restringing
an autoharp
if only they could make a stringed instrument
that could restring itself

as life's circles intertwine and move and groove of
one another i will return to the autoharp
return to the possibility of the perfect tuning
return to the 21 strings that thrumb quietly
when i brush my thumb across
the strings twanging as it were psalming
psalming the strings of the psalterion
by the middle ages it were the psaltery
zither kithara in greece
guitar in provence
kittar in algeria
adios mis amigos

valle con dios
as a most beautiful columbian woman
so sweetly corrected me yesterday
and i had great lust for her
patricia patricia patricia
your eyes speak of the inextinguishable
power of love to rule the world

were it not for dulcinea
which is the pet name for my true love
don't get the wrong idea here
i am not just taking over the concept of
the impossible whore from cervantes

no i do this to protect the sweet identity
of my true love as she works out
the heartbreaking excercises of the modern world

ah i cannot bear to even think of her name


chivalry meets with peril
virtue confronts tyrranical fear
and i
yes i
the poet of the long poem
was confronted face to face
i should say screen to face
by the net.nanny
who upon scanning the long pome
the poem that seeks to be nothing if not long
saw through the eyes of someone else
i can't tell if it was a nun
or an anonymous monitor steward
fixing his or her eyes on the netnanny web
making sure that everything is pure
for the potential readers

i have been informed that the bishop of the diocese
inot which i have immersed my life this past year
is imposing a strict fire wall against any sort of
questionable content on the world wide web
sending a message borne out of sweat horror and fear
that the inclination to anything that may be in the
category of pornography sexual exploitation or anything
seen as being of morally suspect manuevering on the
screen of cyber space will be subject to notification
and then perhaps public exposure and some form
of tar and feathering

so i would like to apologize for my references
to matters of poetry pointing to the erotic
or matters of poetry pointing to the politics
of modern warfare or mention of the agony on the
border or even perhaps reference to cannabis

i should hope that readers of the long poem are of
open mind open enough to recognize the reality
that all mention is not corrupt all reference to
sexuality is perhaps only playful or perhaps soemhow
provocative

yet i must say that it is love that i seek to sing

in the hours of fatigue or in the intensity of thought
where my views of society and the practice of
religion and the ways of the world all collide is may
take the liberty to speak frankly here
to give voice to the the less than virtuous topics
poets are often famous for
for the whole gamut is the pallette of the word painter
all the world is our resource

where i do not seek to edify
i may seek to shock
or i may seek to astound
or i may seek merely to
leave behind a vignette of information
that you cannot find on the web

so with this and my faithful steed
the ford taurus not regrettably
rocinante the warrior caballo
of my mentor in long poems
cervantes and his beloved don quixote
the master of all artists the teacher
sancho panza pansho sanza pancho sanza

a lovely mother with a son of two
was in my mind this morning as she is appealling
to sr karla for assistance
now that her hombre has departed for another woman
i was saddened that there is no more love in her life
and while i was constrained by my yaqui mentor
from commenting on the difficult scene
i was at least informed once again
and became more and more convinced that
the dedication to love is the only answer

if at any crisis one were to ask
where is love going to happen here
the horrendous disasters of failed marriage
would be averted some would perhaps
for the sacrament of marriage is
the greatest sacrament of forgiveness
one human being being able to forgive another
one human being saying i will accept this
person in all his or her failure

and then i take a look at my own wretched soul

all i have for jessica this morning is heartfelt pity
and with that the ray of hope
that the god of the disenfranchised the god of the
lost and the lonely the god of the forgotten
will be with her constantly

o netnanny netnanny netnanny netnnay
i will misbehave
i will use ribald phrases
i will not cower to the puritanical rise

an i will be discrete
as my true love would encourage
had she the slightest idea of the mischief i am up to

onward

to california i go

i will return to the long pome
although as part of a plea agreement yesterday
a nun offered to print the long poem out
on paper so i have a copy

and now i am a bit bewildered as to how this should
proceed i will think as i drive ole tuarus
the old bull across the southwest desert
to the mountains above san bernadino

on this my 51st birthday
feast of the beheading of john the baptist
which gives you some idea of the day this
installment in the long poem is being written
typed

a hot day

anon

i am making merely miniscule
ammendment at this time
for it is very difficult to type
with any sort of speed here
and lord knows it is late
thus in the name of chivalry
i will say goodnight

i sit above lake gregory
listening to the sounds of crestline
it is late
i love my friends
as is befitting knights
dedicated to love and long poems

religious inclination

what is it in man to be religiously inclined?

what is it in a woman to hold dear
her passionate love for the one called jesus

or for a shaman to ward off a spirit

or for a wetnurse to
bestow love to the life arrivals

some pray to st francis

some push their forheads into the dirt

some express unreserved vocal praise

some merely sit in quiet for long hours
amazed at the terrible truth

it is an inclination in the human being
this cannot be denied

are we then to suppose that
the suggestion that it represents
inferior genetic development
and as the truth of the evolutionary model of the earth
attains to ever greater self awareness
the need for religious expression will die out?

epistemology must include all manner of knowledge
it cannot limit itself to that which derives from
deductive reasoning and proof alone
or to the evermore convoluted theorems
of the physicists alone
this is where epistemology and anthropology
must make a transcendental wedding
this is where art speaks
here lies the fascination with image
and the refinement of taste
here lies the souls' reckless flight
for the knowledge of beauty

here is where we tend to believe
virtue is indeed possible

it is the fundamental nature of knowing
to honor the intuition of curiosity

before answering to anything
in the modern intellectual world
face down the question
with an immense sigh
an "AH" which calls forth
the breadth of the solar system

and the wisdom of god

the buddhist is
in his refusal to strive
striving for something greater

the yogi pulls and contorts his body

the neurosurgeon sits in his office and prays

a nun i know is a fulltime nurse
and has the rosary going in her mind constantly

a rabbi yodels the torah

a muzzein beckons the dawn

the religious inclination is as fundametal to human behaviour
as the methods and tools we have learned to use
as the knowledge of the things we inhabit this world among

to not display this in some manner
would be to acknowledge one day
the "artificial intelligence" of a robot

for even the man who denies religion
displays in his daily ritual
his goings and comings
the very woof and warp of his thoughts
characterized by a daily predictability
punctuated by antiphons
and ritualized generally in some manner
having to do with mind altering pleasures

mircea eliade
was correct in conclusion to
his life long study of world religions
to observe the religiosity of the
"non religious"
they find means of contentment
and conviction of purpose
in their private work
their writing their painting their sculpting

man is that creature who manifests
a peculiarly religious predisposition

architecture and landscape

is it possible to think in terms of
cosmic architecture:
whereby all the ideas for buiilding
anything always come into play
that includes the wisdom
of igloos and beaverlodges

the arch would be as great a concern
for strength as the beam and bolt hard angle

what has driven man to presume to have conquest over
nature by erecting shapes that are purely abstract
purely geometrical
almost purely rectangular

odd that there is nothing said by way
of arrogance or visual tyrrany
("once a skyscraper starts her scrapin
well there's only admiration in store for her"...to be spoken
in the voice of john wayne)

but what are we to make of those designers
who take into consideration the inherent beauty
of the land upon which they are to build
architects who have the humility to say
there was architecture before men made it
a professional discipline
there was architecture in the making of the landscape

such that nothing would be built
were it not somehow visually and aesthetically
mindful of the trees and the hills and the other
buildings and particularly the natural layout
of the land

how is it that "modern" man put forth
is taken up with found resonance with
partook in the evils thereof
of thoughtless efficiency

common sense that does not take into
account the lessons of the natural world
is dangerous stuff indeed

todd bogatay
an architect in bisbee AZ
insists on having an intimate
contact with everything he uses
insists on a long look at the land
before anything is conceived to go there

in this day of garish steel
glass and concrete monstrosity
and conveyor belt homogeneity
it is refreshing to know
that someone is being mindful
of the ease of self sufficincey
and the pleasure of beauty as well

read read read

the land

Picture

In dry grass
two horses graze,
a woman hangs laundry on a line.

Unknowingly, they magnify the plain.

Ilhan Berk (poet from turkey b. 1918)

trans. George Messo

restringing the autoharp

21
strings come off
twist the post with a tool
for the job
twist the strings which come
whining and zinging scratching
twanging against their neighbors

chaotic orchestra of
minimal sound
random clicking and clanging of sound

i breathe and swear under my breath

first the high row comes off
then i string in the new strings
which twang and rattle and zing
against the strings in place
careful of the end the sharp end
i guide the string through the hole in
the post where i will crank the string
to its proper twang
clang and jingle goes the string
the strings of wire wound for the bass

then the lower row
the rattle and jangle and jingle
and tapp and pop of string on wood
the eyelet end the beadend teh anchor end
tapping the wood and the strings near the string
in tighten up

am i the only man in the west
restringing
an autoharp tonite

the high C breaks
damn
i use the old one

then slowly the tune comes about
the chromatic tune
the half steps ringing true

i snip the ends as clean as i can
and tune it up

and the autoharp rings
its zitherlike ring

thwang goes my thumbnail
across the 21 strings
almost but not quite in tune
and the out of tune vibration
is pleasant

tomorrow it will be in tune
tomorrow the autoharp will resonate
with steel on wood tight tones

oscar schmitt
does it right

autoharp autoharp
autoharp
autoharp
ought to harp
ah to harp
arp to the awe to the thwang ring
self chording easy thing to play
thwang twang steel tight rumble
and ringing resonant vibes of steel
humming for the hymns
the faithful souls will sing

why poetry at all

one basic epistemological question
since the middle ages is
"why is there something
rather than nothing at all?"

what is this thing we call poetry?
this crafting of words
that has expression in every language
even if the language is not a written language
perhaps moreso in some sense
if the language is not written

but in our western experience
for the past 3000 yrs or more
there is evidence that some folks
feel compelled to write down
an observation
or declare something essential
that has emerged in the soul
or merely explore the possibilities of
meaning with words

fact is not exact

this inclination
this predilection
this compulsion
this desire
developed into larger works
stories ballads prophetic proclamations
lies and such

"if you're going to practice poetry the way
i think it needs to be done; you're
going to put yourself in jeopardy"

amiri baraka

this poet makes a claim for
the essential need in the poet
for objectivity
the straining for honesty and beauty
the joint project of knowledge of the world
and knowledge of self

and implies that perhaps this inclination
will piss some people off

so what of the "safe" poets?
what of the academic weaver of words
satisfied to get published in a journal
with a nice review
what of the explorers
like the flarf folks
or the olipo or the eunoia
movements
which strike most uninitiated readers
as too abstract for anything pertinent

baraka is a man intent on coming to terms
with a world full of mystery and injustice
and seems to think poetry may have a role
in resolving the difficulties of ignorance
and prejudice

he may be right
he may be wrong
but the man will sing
all night long

there are people who dedicate their lives to poetry

cosmic american music

over the past year or so
i've been revisiting the music of
gram parsons
30 yrs ago i listened to
the flying burrito brothers
and the byrds
and got to know some of his music
of late i've listened to his two last recording projects
where he was striving for and indeed accomplishing
the character of sound he sought
with emmylou harris in the harmony
and elvis presley's studio band to back him up

his concept for music had something of a religious character
and i am wondering if albert einstein would be
willing to include someone like gram
in his concept of cosmic religion

gram was pretty young
though the maturity of his lyricism
belies his age
he died at about 27

his notion was that country music
soul the blues rock and roll
funk and gospel folk bluegrass
would all merge into one
large musical genre which he termed
"cosmic american music"

i don't think he foresaw the recording explosion
which has in some ways mitigated
the development of a characteristic american sound

but in his spirit of things
gram did lay down some principles of musical expression
which are still very alive today

one need only look to the recent revival
of american roots music spawned by
"o brother where art thou"

venues such as "the grand ole opry"
and "austin city limits"
have broadened their aesthetic borders
to allow an american urgency often
motivated by electric guitars
and louder rhythm sections

and an array of gifted performers
who feel equally at home with acoustic ballads
and rockin blues and acapella gospel hymns

so in a way gram parsons was a bit of a visionary

in a previous post i noted that albert einstein
was looking to the "free intelligent religious disciple
of the cosmos" the man or woman who emerged from within a
tradition but then by virtue of the power of their vision
give voice to the values that transcend religious dogma
he was essentially placing his trust on the
possibilities stemming from research similar to his own
or perhaps highly dedicated souls like gandhi
who practice a faith tradition
but extend that tradition beyond the walls of the
ashram
or the church or the synagogue
(he mentions st francis on more than
one occasion)

gram was a bit more down to earth in his
cosmic vision
he really believed that musicians of all (american) styles
could get along and benefit from one another
and that by sharing in musical spirit
musicians could do something to bring about a better world

one wonders what he would have thought
of the mindless expressions that emerged
in rock and roll in the mid and late 70's

i think there are some folks really taking that vision
seriously even if they don't know
the philosophical bearings of
gram parsons

sting seems to be more than willing to stretch
his musical expression to jazz to africa to
south america and to north american popular music

certainly the grateful dead perhaps
the most "cultic" of all late 20th century
musical acts
utilized
whatever american sound they could
to give a free expression to their band
and they existed perhaps as the true
inheritors of the vision
there's being perhaps best termed
"psychadelic cosmic american music"
i've come across numerous bluegrass albums
featuring jerry garcia on guitar and banjo
and we all know he could play the blues

and neil young must be regarded
as a voice willing to use the styles of the day
as well of those of the past
even willing to make "sound study albums"
i think of his explorations of rockabilly
and techno
he is perhaps the greatest exemplar of
what gram parsons had in mind
but has gone about his work with
an inimitable (although young artists do well to emulate him)
style which uses the full pallette of north american color
(with the exception of jazz...i can't think of neil and jazz)

van morrison and of course bob dylan both have sought
to incorporate the influences they appreciate
morrison going even a little broader than dylan perhaps

gram burned intensely and quickly
but the spirit does live

i would like to proclaim
the value in distancing musical expression
from electricity
that all the genre's of musical expression
in america can find fertile ground for listening
and performing in small venues
without amplification
cosmic american music unplugged
completely

hear local sustainable music
music that is both entertainment
and education

pete seeger lives on

i desire an dream of doing a country recording
with
bjork

epistemological diversion

for a rather brilliant ongoing discussion
of topics not unrelated to those in my immediate
past here

go to

http://mliccione.blogspot.com

sacramentum vitae

especially the post for

7/23/2007

um umm absolutely

here is a word that is much overused in our day

absolutely

i hear it used in response to just about any question

it is an adverb

how could an adverb become so colloquial

it has taken on a common usage in the context
of verifying the most inane topics

did your acne improve overnight

absolutely

was the abortion necessary

absolutely

did your father abuse you

absolutely

must we "stay the course" in iraq

absolutely

is your girlfriend a whore

absolutely

are you free to think in what ever way you choose

well i don't know

o i mean

of course

absolutely

is it necessary to compromise basic freedoms
in USA in order to protect ourselves from terrorists

absolutely

is your dog intelligent

absolutely

in the cult of babble it is the go to word

in it's present usage
it is a word that is meant to dispel doubt

people who use this word really get behind it
they have no idea
nor do they wish to know
what the word means

they know simply that they can use it to
emphasize the mindlessness of their responses
in any conversation

if a person uses this word to respond to a question
it gives the suggestion that there are few or perhaps no
possibilities for challenging their self perceived authority on the matter

the word conveys an inward self confidence
one can use this word and never have to question
the substance or the logic of ones statements
which is a good thing in our culture
we don't want people to question their logic
for fear that they would have to recognize they are devoid of such

absolutely

i am beginning the practice of
reacting to the use of the word

i will say


are you sure?

after someone uses that term

just to get them to think a little

we call it charitable linguistic subversion