Saturday, 19th of September 2009 at 02:34:28 PMAll truths wait in all things, They neither hasten their own delivery nor resist it, They do not need the obstetric forceps of the surgeon, The insignificant is as big to me as any, (What is less or more than a touch?) Logic and sermons never convince, The damp of the night drives deeper into […] […]
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Sit awhile wayfarer, Here are biscuits to eat and here is milk to drink, But as soon as you sleep and renew yourself in sweet clothes I will certainly kiss you with my goodbye kiss and open the gate for your egress hence. Long enough have you dreamed contemptible dream, Now I wash the gum from your eyes, You must habit yourself […] […] “The camera and the plate are prepared, the lady must sit for her daguerrotype, The bride unrumples her white dress, the minutehand of the clock moves slowly, The opium eater reclines with rigid head and just-opened lips, The prostitute draggles her shawl, her bonnet bobs on her tipsy and pimpled neck, The crowd laugh at her blackguard oaths, the […] […] “I tramp a perpetual journey, My signs are a rain-proof coat and good shoes and a staff cut from the woods; No friend of mine takes his ease in my chair, I have no chair, nor church nor philosophy, I lead no man to a dinner-table or library or exchange, But each man and each woman of you I lead […] […] Stop this day and night with me and you shall possess the origin of all poems, You shall possess the good of the earth and sun…there are millions of suns left, You shall no longer take things at second or third hand…nor look through the eyes of the dead…nor feed on the spectres of books You […] […] Apart from the pulling and hauling stands what I am, Stands amused, complacent, compassionating, idle, unitary, Looks down, is erect, bends an arm on an impalpable certain rest, Looks with its sidecurved head curious what will come next, Both in and out of the game, and watching and wondering at it. Backward I see in my own days where I […] […] This is the trill of a thousand clear cornets and scream of the octave flute and strike of triangles I play not a march for victors only…I play great marches For conquered and slain persons. I sound triumphal drums for the dead…I fling through my embouchures the loudest and gayest music to them, Vivas to […] […] “To behold the daybreak! The little light fades the immense and diaphanous shadows, The air tastes good to my palate. Hefts of the moving world at innocent gambols, silently rising, freshly exuding, Scooting obliquely high and low.” […] That anxiety is significant, and it’s been one factor in my not having returned to this blog since I left the class Tuesday night, energized though I was. (The four classes I’m teaching have also complicated just finding the time to write.) Still, even as this anxiety emerged on Tuesday, it was accompanied by an […] […] It just seems appropriate to begin a Whitmanic foray with this iconic image. […] “In all people I see myself, none more and not one a barleycorn less, And the good or bad I say of myself I say of them. And I know I am solid and sound, To me the converging objects fo the universe perpetually flow, All are written to me, and I must get what the […] […] |
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