Yup they get a lot of nightmares over in the depths of Suttoniavile
P who can almost see it from here in lovely dreamland Raynes Park
-----Original Message-----
From: Poetryetc: poetry and poetics [mailto:[log in to unmask]] On Behalf Of Bill Wootton
Sent: 20 November 2014 07:23
To: [log in to unmask]
Subject: Re: Triangle of light
Certainly nightmarish, L, right down to the Norwegian Christmas tree!
B
> On 20 Nov 2014, at 10:46 am, Douglas Barbour <[log in to unmask]> wrote:
>
> Transform triangulations? Could be that nightmare, or just walking through a gallery of sorts�
>
> Hard to keep up with, but it invites & holds�
>
> Doug
>> On Nov 19, 2014, at 6:54 AM, Lawrence Upton <[log in to unmask]> wrote:
>>
>> Bright triangle turning into a sharp dog's head;
>>
>> not a Border Collie's, but something like.
>>
>> It's sky blue with a fluffy white cloud
>>
>> as a break between canopying trees;
>>
>> and that becomes a furry canine skull.
>>
>> A seal comes up through triangular gaps
>>
>> in ice. Someone passes a macaroon.
>>
>> Traffic goes by outside. A fat-necked man
>>
>> keeps eyes shut tightly and continues talking
>>
>> to his wife though she is not listening.
>>
>> They close the curtains too early. It's day.
>>
>> It's still really very light. Brown shadows
>>
>> dart about the fourth wall of the room. Two hands
>>
>> beside guns on a low coffee table.
>>
>> Later, when it's dark, you go back into
>>
>> that room again, to the sudden darkness. Somehow
>>
>> there's light there as if there were inner shine
>>
>> in your head but you cannot see how much
>>
>> it's heavily smudged charcoal. The afternoon,
>>
>> then birdsong; melting butter loud-sizzling
>>
>> in a deep-bottomed pan. Sunlight on a loch;
>>
>> fishing rods upright in fishermen's hands; the hills
>>
>> opposite beneath the sun, detail in glare.
>>
>> Geometric shapes; industrial units
>>
>> above the prefabricated new estate;
>>
>> incandescence of the setting star; white light
>>
>> blinking in the video camera; notation
>>
>> of seconds being recorded with action;
>>
>> jagged pan across nineteen thirties' apartments;
>>
>> most of the curtains pulled back, but no sign
>>
>> of activity, yet a sense that all those rooms
>>
>> are inhabited. The Christmas tree from Norway,
>>
>> fifteen degrees from upright, being tugged;
>>
>> an expectant murmuring in a mad crowd;
>>
>> an oily blueness in the stream as it
>>
>> goes down, like petrol poured from a can. You know,
>>
>> dear, says his wife, she spends money
>>
>> compulsively. Everything she'll buy's sensible
>>
>> in itself, but she never wants anything
>>
>> of it. She spends money from need of work.
>>
>> Paste blue fractures of paint superimposed
>>
>> on the surface, breaking the illusion of pictures.
>>
>> A little ochre-coloured pendant of rock
>>
>> he does not recognise. She picks it up
>>
>> and looks at it and says chalcedony;
>>
>> but that's said just for its sonic effect
>>
>> and's not a realistic suggestion.
>>
>> Song of the reel upon the rod. Opens
>>
>> his eyes. Still going terribly fast. Always
>>
>> been scared of motorbikes. Am I on one?
>>
>> Fingers are getting tired; he can't hold on
>>
>> much longer. Horse with white down the middle
>>
>> of its nose jogs out of the black and white
>>
>> photograph crumpled up beside the gas fire.
>
> Douglas Barbour
> [log in to unmask]
>
> Recent publications: (With Sheila E Murphy) Continuations & Continuation 2 (UofAPress).
> Recording Dates (Rubicon Press).
>
> that we are only
> as we find out we are
>
> Charles Olson
>
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