Friday, 21 February 2014
47. Spilt Milk
and was that book also for me a dead end
bouncing amongst the angled moving traffic?
back at the cafe
language carries on
spilt milk at last
coming & going
uncertain as mice
What is desired, for God’s sake?
What is to be made of your silence?
What is worth being made memorable, and how do you get it?
Chi fa falla, e chi non fa sfarfalla
the sense of a common movement hangs in the air
to be caught by our voices together
– a privilege, of course
“The very taking of chance inserts us into time – into the present. To take a chance is to enter the moment in relation to it – it is, as musicians would say, a matter of getting in time, a matter of being with it.”
Hejinian, pp 374-5
drenching & grey
the hidden within
OK then but
do you want to be the poet
or the poem?
“I can only say here that a poem is never ‘THE’ poem
but only a small fragment
of an infinite calculation”
edited Neil Pattison, Reitha Pattison & Luke Roberts, Certain Prose of the English Intelligencer (Mountain, 2012) p 118 (“Extracts from Letters Received”, letter from David Chaloner dated 1 May, 1967 – The English Intelligencer, p 335)