Re: revisions

CP: i  got lost back there  a moment  wandered off a diagonal across the page the blog space camping 
                  elsewhere also it's hairline fracturing ...  So CD were you suggesting you do revise? cut, refine, undo and repair?

CD: ___________________  refine redo recompose cut up fold out and around mix and shake stand and recook repair and unrepair, research and palpitate, ____________________ but it's a live performance right? you see,

                     it's like when you take off your clothes, and i'm there watching you, seeing  seeing for the first and last time

                       and each time you're better ,

                                      you're more naked,  more loving,
                                                   even if i've never seen you,


Re revisit revisions

CP  O CD you're making me blush      ..  

                    she reaches over to the tape recorder turning it off, for the fifth time,


revisit revisions


 you revisit visit and time winds unwinding a vision
revision's your second name a word come a wound
    from a fiacre a fair set of lies worrying the spent luck
           of other days

revise that head-dress recompose that hair undo that face that
  tear like smile which pulled awhile as she returned a 2nd
a third time round the rhyme of your come together my stand-
up bass pounds the floor
  her feet are pinned to place
          not time claiming she'd come this way
   knowing the venture wasn't likely to pay off
  fooling oneself there's a future from some crying bother
   minding the second hence the hour her body lank
             was pressed up against yours in this day mist
                               night and day day and afternoon


CP: however,

CD: hence

CP: thence

 CD:  there's touch ups, erasures,  violations of spontaneity,  returns, doctoring,

  CP:   she's reaching for the tape recorder   ..




where are you


   you ask where am  I
                      I was here here always beside below
                                here beside below your subconscious
                                        the one you dream   'about'  'of'
                                               about working in a factory  in '76
                                                 down the boulevard on St. Lawrence

                                                                                         where are you?
                                                                                   where am I     
                                             how did one go? my body in this subconscious
                                                           beside before                in the subconscious blog  before behind
                                                                    i heard it in my dream                             before






wet trap
 vent stack,

wet vent

and you were writing  a verse
(it was a love poem or a list poem a poem saying or speaking )

or length last night in your going asleep bed
you were writing,

and Sussex came back 

  it came back with its poems and gleams 

                      shines and dream,

Sussex or some other poem

 guarded by the labor of,

word list peeling off the top of your head,

like a pope making unions of disparities

or like transcendnece returned its beauty never lost, never grasped

and it was time for toast

winter mornings


 winter mornings start eartly

                at the crack of dawn,   like a postage stamp about to go the 'wrong' way wrongheaded about

  the time of day or night, and rememebering those wrong or right, and there is a g od a goddess

  right here of the nowaday world in the personafictations of I I and I  and you cannot rip that off,





Wednesday's is winter's beauty and gratefulness

                                                                  winter the long echo of time!

             t he bending of seasons

                                                                               the ringing of hopes and letters

                                  the hustling of the sun,

                                                                   the realization of the limits of  secondaries

                                        the modesty of aims

                                                                      the adjustment of flames

                    the breath                       of sun blanketed behind cloud skies



Re: re _reading and-EMpire -City of God _ Commonwealth

Re: re _reading and

   I remember feeling frustrated when I was reading the follow up to Empire _ Multitude__ and just again recently I am giving Commonwealth a try       maybe these are books best read in a group. I remember saying that to Andrew  M. a few years ago when I was taking courses...

  The key being that the concepts in this books are in a certain sense elusive as they try to create the new...  not sure,

as there's a lot they've taken from others and transformed them. or it maybe their bks read badly because  they were co-written,

maybe that only works well with really good writers?

From analogy to metamorphosis

from the simile to the metaphor

from  virus to  bacteria

  Parallel movement s in the world,

                       the world ending with comma, and coma,

                                                      and the rich and the poor cease and speak,

 Winter arrives and a city ceases

    the world blanket of Sussex New Brunswick

                                   covers the woods


   and things end witha  coma

   reading Augustine's City of God, the greatness of the book is the simplicity of the prose,

                             the beauty is how easy to read, yet so rich with ideas,

     no matter how much i sympathize with the writers of Commonwealth, Multitude and Empire they

  they don't convey their ideas with as much boldness and simplcity,

is it perhaps? due to, because AUgustine, whom they quote a  lot, and refer to,

              believed so much in God,

                                  and   in transcendence,

                                                                    which they do not and which they pointedly 

refute as in this passage   from the Preface to Commonwealth:

War, suffering, misery, and exploitation increasingly characterize
our globalizing world.

There are so many reasons to seek
refuge in a realm "outside," some place separate from the discipline
and control of today's emerging Empire
 or even some transcendent
or transcendental principles and values that can guide our lives and
ground our political action.

 One primary effect of globalization,
however, is the creation o f a common world, a world that, for better
or worse, we all share, a world that has no "outside


' __Winter is icumen in, 'où sont les neiges d’antan?



   this is likely a reference to the winters of canada



Svmer is icumen in
Lhude sing cuccu
Groweþ sed
and bloweþ med
and springþ þe wde nu
Sing cuccu

Awe bleteþ after lomb
lhouþ after calue cu
Bulluc sterteþ
bucke uerteþ

murie sing cuccu
Cuccu cuccu
Wel singes þu cuccu
ne swik þu nauer nu

Sing cuccu nu • Sing cuccu.
Sing cuccu • Sing cuccu nu

Modern English

Summer[a] has arrived,
Sing loudly, cuckoo!
The seed is growing
And the meadow is blooming,
And the wood is coming into leaf now,
Sing, cuckoo!

The ewe is bleating after her lamb,
The cow is lowing after her calf;
The bullock is prancing,
The billy-goat farting,

Sing merrily, cuckoo!
Cuckoo, cuckoo,
You sing well, cuckoo,
Never stop now.

Sing, cuckoo, now; sing, cuckoo;
Sing, cuckoo; sing, cuckoo, now! (Millett 2003d)

 This piece was parodied as "Ancient Music" by the American poet Ezra Pound (Lustra, 1916):

Winter is icumen in,
Lhude sing Goddamm,
Raineth drop and staineth slop,
And how the wind doth ramm!
Sing: Goddamm.
Skiddeth bus and sloppeth us,
An ague hath my ham.
Freezeth river, turneth liver,
Damm you; Sing: Goddamm.
Goddamm, Goddamm, 'tis why I am, Goddamm,
So 'gainst the winter's balm.
Sing goddamm, damm, sing goddamm,
Sing goddamm, sing goddamm, DAMM.


Prince, n’enquerez de sepmaine
Où elles sont, ne de cest an,
Que ce refrain ne vous remaine:

Mais où sont les neiges d’antan?


Ballade des dames du temps jadis



re _reading and


I've also been reading and re-reading Augustine's City of God  (his latin I can read unlike Virgil's __ 

strange bewitchment and enchantment of languages forgotten and recalled    at       )

, a very old copy that I own,and it's much better

 and simpler to read than Empire. which I did start over ten years ago, and to this day I can say it's badly written

 in the sense it's too convoluted and unnecessarily 'compliatecd ' in  misleading way. their god intents

are not excuse,

 Hardt and Negri are both teachers and academic who ought to write better  and if not they ought to have found

someone to make their rather simple ideas come across Simply.

There are moments in that book, as with Empire and Commonwealth when I feel i am reading the essays of students

 that never quite got it,

                     Now that's not something i care about here

                 but i do in books,

                                                   that pretend to care,

       which theirs does,

                      so it goes!

                                                     Kick that can!



reading or re-reading

           r eading or re-reading   as if for the first time  the book Empire

                                          our sovereign status even as individuals is comprised by t he State by Empire

as for commas and colons,

                                         semi-colons and run on sentences,

                    let your writing be a construction as it goes along

                finding what works and doesn't



tell ...


  tell   about the lady from a year ago

              what happened?

         tell a tale,     it'd be long  to say   repeating and retracing, the ins and outs,

                     the fronds and frails,
                                                                                       the calls and wails

                                            the eyes and ears,
                                                         and a sound never heard,
                                                                           a breath not whispered in ears close by,

 and   since ,

                                since time has passed and passing

                     i'll say it went south

                                                    and went off the middle as i understood it,

                       from there on in,

                                                          it was my fault  things  going,

                                                                              went off kilter,

                    my fault being the greater,

                                         and i wish her well

                                         and great blessings to her,  to her family

                                                                 to those she loves,

                               to her and her heart ,

                                                        well and wishing well,

                                                                                                  a well of blessings

                                            high and low, plumage of smoke

                                                                           high tidings, and green hopes,

                                          each fragment,

                                                                        each fragment a cloth  of    gift
                                                                    and the tell won't be told here ,

                                              like this, in this small space
                        of the announcement ,

                                                                      of rainbow and sky clearing



via donuts and conduit


  through clicks, and            ,                                           clues,                        an keys,

                                                 winking mirrors, displaced selves

   wired room  s,                                                                 twisting surface ,

                              slippery  glass

                 it's how you walk  through the world,

                                        it's how i've walked

       could a woman know that

                   could  a lady know this

                        o  these choices

                  once on t he sun in a winter day
                                  she grew her brain
                                green as grapes
                                                  knocking out the soup tureen with her foot



Re: __beagle

Re: __beagle    it's  a sort of dog isn' it?

               she the dog owner, the oedipal miss
                           doggy walker dog maunder

                    tried to steal your eagle


                              tried to steal your eagle! what! she'd have to have been smarter than that,
                                            as if the importance of pubs had any significance in life,
                              and sentimental attachments to the  past, having achieved nothing in her life,

                                             except being , and always, second fiddle to other people's gifts

                                      and finally in her , on the verge of her 50's becoming a vindicative

                                                                          sort of harridan

                                                                            not loving anything at all , really

                                                         except her self ,

                                                                            if that,

                                                                             imaging she knew love,
                                                                       based on an idea,
                                                                 not a fact, not one,

                                                                   but a  voice  in a room,

                                                       then throwing it down,
                                                                  when not getting her own way,

                                                              cursing and swatting it out,

                                                                            not getting her own way

                                                                 wasnt love


                                                                               first and



__the innermost __layer


                     the 'deepest layer' is really beautiful

                                                                              it's really quite beautiful


                                                                       the colour the arrangement

                                      i saw it
                                                         through   a  series of magic mirrors

                                                                 here and there

                                over hills and valleys

                                                         through not so secret lens and clandestine pulleys

                              what was it called that  most recent one

                                                    but O so lovely and the red and  the color going sideway
                                                                                  side along


                                  how to       make beautiful           t            h            i           n            g             s


Re: does it ?


Re : does it ?


  In fact the other blog is not a flagship 

                    it's a little satellite whose purpose (when i first 

     got it going a couple of years back really was 
to showcase the entirety of the blogs that I've   done,

                                                one could say it's an experiemnt. as blogs are experiments.

           this one___ here that you are reading    cannot close,


                              because that what it make it forget Poetry and not Recall to Poetry 

 and what would that avail if the whole machine lost its parts  ?


                In fact_________blogs of clifford duffy use a classic blogger template 

                         so the look it has hearkens to an earlier period of blogging...

i've been thinking of moving to wordpress to blog however, i do  realize that word press

  (there's wordpress. com and word press org one   


as a poet

i'm keen


















is                  ___ or it sure looks like it's limited by its  overall concept   ,

 maybe i'm wrong,

             they're still utilizing the book frame of reference

   i d like to integrate elements of the tumblr interface blog which permits endless scrolling,

                   in blogspot you used to be able to have  i m quite sure an endless number of posts

or at least 50 per page

                 now it's around  12


O scroll

                                                    O poll

                                                                                        O  goodess goddess

                                                                  where are you with your breasts and dresses?


does it ?


  does it mean this blog is closed because that one is the location  now?

                       O no not at all .





this    old blog  of mine has new reconnected with a blogger classic template      


the template is so unformed the profile is 'glued' as it were to each post! each blog posts makes one the bloggist identity.





___ times are


                    times are public we  

                           we                                                                                times are private  we

                            public times are                      private

                                                              i can see with your private eye

                         i can see with my public private eye

                             invite the I that's private  public for a  private view   of you 



'feeds ..'


 'feeds' from poetry (             have their place however not as substitutes                                                                                                                                                                                         ) blogs .. an awful word makes me think of pigs  snuffling round.. snort snort snort

   ah the pigs snorting in the hell of their pork. ah the pigs, the ole pig the boards

  who killed Orpheus  Orphee the nut case women, the nut case     maniacs with             their ideas

                                                                       o f song

 and   hate and love  and never having read the great books at the age of 40
        and the great poems  at the age of  50,

                  and the age of death, having read nothing

  dying , their heads in the shit

                           '  the pig feed '    their heads upside down in the shit asses sticking up and out
                                 the rot of rock n roll

                             the swart and fake of it   the money taking whores of picaddily of capital
                   money and the dead leaves  of capitals palm greased always

 you talk to me about feeds
                pig  feeds  and dog feeds
            millions march tramp an bleeding   hourly in the cities of old
                        and there is no name for this
                      there is no name for this

                               for this bombing and death

                                      no feed to relieve their grief

                         no finding  to   it  ,


          the                           visible tracery of beauty 

                                          designed the fall of things

                                            the pearl  of fatigue  
                                     yielding tenderness


   the lines of flight mine, yours, hers,   her double hers,  my reader bifocal gazed

   her voice, my own 

  magnified by the pain caught   strapped in the strata       hammered in the steel judgment  

                                and the cold came down 




______________________________ a training word alluded to  contained
                                                  within an older eagle my old emblem
                                                           from Blue Dog Plus

                                      beagle ___________________beagle ________________


  there was the jaguar /& eagle and the camel yes, the long training camel tramping
                                                      for days






           there were words
                                                                                /i'd have spoken

   (which words? what words what ones  what ones? )
that never did
                                                                            get said
                                              words   never said to anyone

                                          words from a  inside that's way back

                                     behind all the scenes of loving and self and other and one's soul mate

                                                             (then what happened?

                                                                               the middle fell it did

                                                                                      /the middle

                                                                              an things ended up

                                                                      in the midden   my fault too
                                                        (what was it then ?  standing in the rain

                                                                    stranded   at  the pavement curb

                                                            surrounded by barbarians and liars too long)

                                                                         (you're filled with excuses ?

                                                                           is it ? am i? i was wrong
                                                                       how could i admit any other way)

                                                                being wrong is being wrong 
                                                                       which doesnt mean letting the other party
                                                                              off the hook
                                                                                 i too had no   






 AN Ocean between  them

     two egos
                               across  two lives

                                                                 two  not speaking

                         two bodies     from stone and iron
     not lichen and moss
   meadow and flower
                                              dandelion and grass

  not swimming
                    or holding   and they're not wooing in the avenue
           and it's not narrative native night
                      nor the silver smith dialogue of the truth

      but the 'cold'    deep          the       cold grey     very chilld

     colder water the  colder upper air

             between them

                   a hammer !


.. each


                                              Franckly each paramour his leman knows 





now that's a word you've not heard since ---------------------

    but it almost rhymes with nuance 
              t he marquee thing didnt come off, did it?
                       but it's friday afternoon,
                    with the world ending sunset  its beauty
                                             ever infinitely renewable
                            ever usually intimately renwable

       you can always come back  
                  to it fixing
              that marquee
              or the truth
                    of being
                       & fidelity
                            crowing or corraling crowding
                     someone's place's not the best way to ride 
                              free into a sunrise  
                                 riding into a cosmos of pink wash sky and blue hyaline
                                                                   lips of clouds
                     tipping at the edge of the furrowed sky