patosh thapos phatos tophas
Just been reading Arbor Vitae again, Randolph -- sorry,
Mairead
On Fri, 30 Jun 2000, T. R. Healy and L. MacMahon wrote:
> apologies for shorthand
> I type monomanually with Teddy on my left arm
>
> found myself overtaken by these verses
>
> the erratic I-sounds full of pathos in the context
> and the suggestion of lullaby, so intimate yet a farewell too.
>
> thanks Alison
>
> Randolph Healy
>
>
> ----- Original Message -----
> From: A.J. Croggon <[log in to unmask]>
> To: <[log in to unmask]>
> Sent: Friday, June 30, 2000 11:49 AM
> Subject: Re: poets and madness
>
>
> >
> > Going through my work for various reasons, I found these. About four
> > years old now, part of a longer sequence called Notes.
> >
> > I don't know how relevant they are to the discussion, but thought I'd post
> > them anyway -
> >
> > Best
> >
> > Alison
> >
> >
> > who was going to save you
> > pretty bird o love of mine
> > the moon fell into pieces
> > the rain was not a sign:
> > the air was full of noises
> > the clouds were sudden bruises
> > and when you tried to make them sing
> > they broke and all the stars came in
> > and none of them had faces:
> > and then your blood was strange to you
> > bristling inside your skin
> > and strange the lidless eye which burned
> > your insides out to empty sky
> > and nothing spoke from that abyss
> > and no one held your hand:
> > o how you longed for sleep then
> > little bird o love of mine
> > the blue horizon split and bled
> > across the desert of your bed
> > o how you longed for sleep
> >
> >
> > *
> >
> > madness
> > is love broken
> > by its loneliness
> > is desire broken
> > on the tongue of lust
> > is the mirror broken
> > where the self hides
> > and the broken mind
> > screaming for silence
> > and the broken hands
> > panicking for rest
> > and the broken eyes
> > admitting nothing
> > and the broken heart
> > breaking
> >
> > *
> >
> >
> >
> >
>
>
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