After Buying a New Pen,
 I Recall The Old Chinese Poets

•

The loneliness of raindrops in a dirty puddle

Skipped over on the way to buy cigarettes at Super America.

Those old Chinese poets that always see the world

Doubled in some sort of parallel reflection.

They never need a Marlboro bad as heroin

A drug introverts take these days breathing

Its dragon smoke deep into their shy lungs

And later, after a few months, the needle

More solid than air slamming it into the blood

Mixing with their very soul—their heart

Their brain, a needle tracing veins back

To the source. Becoming two things

The drug and the heart. The drug

And the brain. The drug against reflection

Of any puddle. The prick in flesh like a match

Lighted illuminating desire. I think, I’m glad

I never started smoking—I mean—because

I know I could never stop. The raindrops

In a puddle – it must be said because I looked—

Reflect, a light pole, a Buick, the curb, my shoes.

The only way to look is down. The old

Chinese poets know that puddles aren’t

Reflecting anything that could possibly be

Mistaken for an answer. That’s it

Just smoke curling like bus exhaust,

On seventh street, in early November.

-Larry Gavin

when i was a lad in college i had a great friend

his name was larry gavin and he was the only

person i had ever met up until that time

who i regarded as a poet

now i see him once or twice a year

he has sent me soem of his work

and i always appreciate it

i harvested this little gem

from a website called

PEMMICAN 2010

and i am honored to have this poem here

as i am to have larry gavin as my friend


















..

it's been a painful dialectic let me tell you

Science, modern science that is, has engulfed nearly our entire gaze. It has become the transparent self-effacing tableau on which we experience the world, the glasses we wear to judge the truth, the standard we hold against our experience. Self-obvious to most, the material, quantitative vision of the Universe that has developed since the so-called Enlightenment has become both the largest bludgeon wielded against religion whilst simultaneously being raised as the final stand of “truth”, the last fragile barricade erected by some religious proponents against an unstoppable onslaught.


The scientific world machine is so pervasive, so iron cast that it retrofits itself to the entire history of human experience. We therefore encounter in most modern historical narratives the tales of “superstition”, of “if only they knew” culminating to that pernicious statement we have all heard: “people used to think this, but now we KNOW…”. Of course this is only natural. History, as they say, is written by the victor. But I would prefer to say that history is not so much written by the victor as it is FRAMED by the victor. For that which changed in the 17th century during that tumultuous age in Western Europe, that which had been cracking for 400 years already but finally broke into pieces was the frame of thinking of the Middle Ages.




                                                                                               Jonathan Pageau




a helpful link...http://www.orthodoxartsjournal.org/most-of-the-time-the-earth-is-flat/






















.....




     {   we here at bewildering search believe whole heartedly that this is a guy to watch         }


















/