Gary, they are a thing to be viewed quietly and alone.  Avoid the tourists
and go into their presence on a quiet day.They are quite moving and I truly
communicate with some essence in them. If it is a trick of my fancy or a
reality I do not know but I am grateful for it.
This is a draft of the poem yet to finish. As such I have left in polysemous
petroglyphs just to have you reach for your Funk and Wignall.It will
dissappear. Womblith is a neologism. Recent thinking suggests that the
carvers were unaware of the connection between sexual intercourse and
procreation. They buried their dead in barrows that had narrow exits,
mimicing the womb exit, when life was reborn it was summoned by cutting
exits ie cups/cunts into the rock as release. Hence cutting cunts, which is
an Anglo-Saxon word rendered vulgar rather than be born so.. This was the
rationale for the use of the word . However I do accept it does not sit
easily in the poem and it will be removed in the final draft . The strophe'
selves placed in the knit of kith and clan ' will have its cleverness
watered down somewhat.
I know my friends here will allow me to indulge moments of such delight  now
and again. There is an arguement for the last two strophes to be the poem
but it was conceived as a whole thing and I will work to make it viable as
such. Thanks for the read. Arthur.
----- Original Message -----
From: "Gary Blankenship" <[log in to unmask]>
To: <[log in to unmask]>
Sent: Saturday, April 19, 2003 4:13 PM
Subject: Re: New Sub: Rivock


End of the name,
the consonantal voiceless velar stop
hard as an axe in wet oak,
or a clout on chert, flint, bronze
as it cut a cup, etched its enveloping ring
into gritstone edge, standing stone, grim henge,
outcrops of boulder, or earth-sunk rock,
deep in the bosks of alder, brakes of hazel,
groves of shade and leaf-light,
all hacked and hewn,
charred or shaped to use,

Arthur, I would love to see and touch these relics.  Maybe someday, pictures
can not give the experience.

I'm not sure you need short S in the middle, but that is middling.

life loosed by the opening of cunts
cut into the laps of earth’s heart;

A harsh word, did you mean to be so harsh as cunt?

To me the heart begins at I came upon one rock and I would be please if
their on was the poem.

Thanks.

Gary