I don't think that I am in any position to agree or disagree, Doug; but I
wouldn't argue; it sounds reliable.
I was most concerned with covering a different kind of visual-audio
situation than I have covered!
On your other point, there is some unexpected ideation there for sure; but
I'm not sure that is connected with its being verse or prose. (Bit of both,
I suggest.)
best
L
On 10 December 2014 at 17:54, Douglas Barbour <[log in to unmask]> wrote:
> Our names are transient. & The ground is crumbling. those seem central to
> my reading Lawrence. How the rest falls off & away from these.
>
> I wondered about ideation when I saw some of those words together, but was
> more or less reading it as a kind of prose poem. It certainly seems to
> resonate with the news of these days, but digs into psyches that generally
> withhold...
>
> Doug
> On Dec 10, 2014, at 8:03 AM, Lawrence Upton <[log in to unmask]>
> wrote:
>
> > It appears to have played hell with the lineation; but I'm not sure that
> > much matters much here. It's extremely loose & prosy
> >
> > On 10 December 2014 at 14:43, Sheila Murphy <[log in to unmask]>
> wrote:
> >
> >> Lawrence, as I always do, I admire this piece. One thing that I observed
> >> further was my own desire to rearrange passages, because this works so
> many
> >> ways. In fact, moving such passages around reveals different types of
> >> "story" plus perceptive power. I think that speaks to the integrity of
> what
> >> you have written.
> >>
> >> Sheila
> >>
> >> On Wed, Dec 10, 2014 at 7:33 AM, Lawrence Upton <
> [log in to unmask]>
> >> wrote:
> >>
> >>> The street is a dream. Show us the accolade. It isn't mundane.
> >>> Desirous of worldly freedoms, we're cold. Can you fancy that?
> >>> At the bar, we're issued with an almanac. Our cloaks are elusivein
> >>> which we can injure you as non-participant in nightmare.
> >>> This gallery, you see the place?, is the innermost of which we are
> >>> the publicists; we are resentful. The obstructionists, that's what
> >>> they say, are crackers:the crackers obstructionists reign. It's not
> >>> cranky.
> >>> The almanac is endless; its peculiarity is dishonesty; and the
> >>> dishonesty ubiquitous.
> >>> The street is a dream. It is the quintessence, that is, it is the core
> >>> the crux the essence, he said, turning the pages of the folio which
> >>> encourage us to deviate.
> >>> He took a sip from his half-full glass.Of what? we asked. I am
> >>> inclined, he said, to clasp any machination to obtain respite.
> >>> At the bar, they tend to be frankand each a truant from the truth. We
> >>> usually join in.
> >>> The cretin sets out to consume the image which gives him or her
> >>> succour though furtively. What is there?
> >>> Blood may clot, a beak may enter the outer skinof the weather, and we
> >>> may flunk. We clasp the blockhead secret, the wandering sprite. We
> >>> clasp and crush, by accident, the coincidental; it's galling he's so
> >>> cocky.
> >>> Clasp hold of the boom, he says, just listen to it, puzzling over the
> >>> carnal. He is a boor. It's the booze that sends him wayfaring
> >>> furtively. We watch his decay, giving him a nourishment and support.
> >>> We clasp hold of esprit de corps, he says. What the fuck? What the
> >>> fuck.
> >>> I sleep, he says, I plumb the wolf in me. It is meaningless he is so
> >>> cocky. Distribute the bill, he calls, distribute the bill. His
> >>> identity is his loftiness. We are sorrowful. Christ, it is freezing,
> >>> he shouts, and slowly, word by word.Do not cause me to hurt you, you
> >>> stickler. Our names are transient.
> >>> We clasp the area of his puzzling, finding it inadequate.The street is
> a
> >>> dream?
> >>> The bricks are ardent. What is that? The sky lightweight; stop
> >>> commenting, there's no need to explain. The vine cannot grow here.
> >>> There is no community. We are dependent, he says, on inferior trivia.
> >>> The dignitary has no substance and his journey is nearly worthless.
> >>> The houses band to gossip. This makes it peaceful and not at all
> >>> emotional. In one eye, just below it, a tear, or perhaps a fold of the
> >>> supposed reality. Do not belittle the pot belly. Do not be
> >>> belligerent. Cross the bridge. And deign to the confusion. The world
> >>> of fairy is hypothetical.The fraud is okayish.
> >>> coquette - book - crush - ecstasy - come together
> >>> apprehension - conference - exclusive - bawdy --absent - animal -
> >>> active --come together
> >>> The pavement is an augury, outrage of reason, cold-hearted, impossible
> >>> inferno, booze, smooth visions of the edge in direct inoperative
> >>> botching.The ground is crumbling.
> >>>
> >>
> >
>
> 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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