I do too, but feel a sense of many times layered upon one another. Almost feel that first line should be ‘else when’ in that the metaphorical connections seem to be as much to computer readouts as to vellum, which the ‘memory updates’ also suggests.
Elidus, or we, access a number of possibilities, here across the centuries which he’ apparently, can on some level access…
Doug
On Jun 2, 2015, at 10:52 AM, Sheila Murphy <[log in to unmask]> wrote:
> Lawrence, when I read this, I go somewhere that is powerful in terms of
> integration of feelings from multiple places. I am not inclined to analyze.
> Instead, I go with you, I go with what you propose. It is a very strong and
> honest venture. I really love the power of it.
>
> Sheila
>
> On Tue, Jun 2, 2015 at 9:27 AM, Lawrence Upton <[log in to unmask]>
> wrote:
>
>> If I lived elsewhere, this version had died
>>
>> in draft, crossed through and much overwritten –
>>
>> as once I was foetal, fishlike. There are,
>>
>> of us, ocean qualities; though we need boats
>>
>> for life, bringing us to dry mountain tops.
>>
>>
>>
>> Ghosts jangle their ways into their lost peace,
>>
>> denying that which they must acknowledge.
>>
>>
>>
>> What I have been, my pen pushes through me,
>>
>> writing all that I am since becoming.
>>
>> My hand and I are guided. Like a beast
>>
>> led to new pasture. Or a well-fed horse
>>
>> suddenly burdened by someone not itself,
>>
>> of doubtable love, spurring; who does no harm
>>
>> yet leads it into harm. I am too young
>>
>> in brain to do anything otherwise. I am
>>
>> here now; and now is all I’ve ever known.
>>
>>
>>
>> He whose experience taught me of him
>>
>> is not accessible today. Not here.
>>
>> My memory updates a teacher’s chalk list.
>>
>> My imposed tasks and my weird brief identity.
>>
>> All of my now lost years are new leaf mould
>>
>> and myth. My poor recall’s a charm on the dead.
>>
Douglas Barbour
[log in to unmask]
Recent publications: (With Sheila E Murphy) Continuations & Continuation 2 (UofAPress).
Recording Dates (Rubicon Press).
There is no life that does not rise
melodic from scales of the marvelous.
To which our grief refers.
Robert Duncan.
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