Yes, Dave, the intro to my poem pertains to the C.K. Williams poem.  I heard 
and reviewed a 9/11 reading with Galway Kinnell and C.K.  Williams back in 
2001 and the poem evolved from there.
 
Best,
Larissa
 
 
In a message dated 3/19/2009 5:40:15 A.M. Eastern Daylight Time,  
[log in to unmask] writes:

Golly,  this has a punch, Larissa. Other than that CKW has a poem
called 'War' is  there more to the dedication? (a UK reader might not
be  aware)

Best

Dave

2009/3/18 Larissa Shmailo  <[log in to unmask]>:
>
>
> War
> For C.K.  Williams
>
> I.
>
> I reread the poetry of  media-drunk scribes, absorbed,
> as they are, with young girls  gyrating and  the need for status
> even among orgiasts. How they  claw,
>
> struggling  for cabs, cars, and bars, and the nod  from Cerberus
> at the door of the club,  as if from him, his  elicited acceptance,
> could come entrée to it all, the  whole nine  circles of desire.
>
> But Buddha was right, and it makes for  lousy verse, the cascade
> to the fallen from fulfilled. The  rituals are old,  and the same rachitic
> claw
> reaches over  us all. And so, torn, we tear,  primordial as the air.
>
>  II.
>
> We  live in parts. The rich ones know. Their eyes  caress metals,
> held  tightly to the chest, played closely to the  vest, thrown stingily
> among the  just-good-folks. You won’t find  the address of their factories
>
> at hand.  "We don’t know."  An igniter built in Chappaqua,
> a pull-pin glazed in Maine,  in  India a shell. We need arms, military
> muscle, American dough. Watch it  blow. Skeleton, step the crack,
>
> payback grenade, Jack in Iraq.  Shrapnel tears, moist and red. There –
> there (he was six) there –  there (she has no hand) there – there
> (his spine is torn) there-there  (her  head is gone).
>
> III
>
> A small time to  be alive. A very small time to  be alive, short enough
> to pretend  we’ve done no harm. Thanatos is a  blind-man’s bluff,
> an  ignoramus with a stake, a what-were-we-thinking?, a  mistake.
>
> How did we not know there was really no other?  How could we,  eyes,
> mouths and heart, arms, legs, all the  same,truly, same, how could
> we see anything else but we? No fire  or desire, just beloved all?
>
> Maybe as the last  breath—will we know it as  last?— as the last breath
> goes,  we---will we know any we? ---we  might feel another’s dying  breath
> that we might know someone else’s as we  know our own  death.
> Larissa  Shmailo
>
>
>  **************Feeling the pinch at the grocery store?  Make meals for  
Under
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>



--  
David Bircumshaw
Website and A Chide's Alphabet  http://homepage.ntlworld.com/david.bircumshaw/
The Animal Subsides  http://www.arrowheadpress.co.uk/books/animal.html
Leicester Poetry Society:  http://www.poetryleicester.co.uk

**************Feeling the pinch at the grocery store?  Make meals for Under 
$10. (http://food.aol.com/frugal-feasts?ncid=emlcntusfood00000002)