texts that change the conscious parameters of literature, both for readers and writers. from a different angle than these, r.p. blackmur adds: 'poetry: [is] ...language so twisted and posed in a form that...it adds to the stock of available reality.' now that blogger has included the ability to reproduce fonts more accurately, alpha-numeric visual-poetry will be welcomed for consideration. formerly edited by peter ganick. send texts to matt margo at firstname.lastname@example.org for consideration...
Monday, March 19, 2012
poem || Jeff Harrison
From The Journals Of Ms. Virginia write - dozed very little - walk - a cloudy day - we find the burning story to be all false - heaven and earth in the evening - read this lay antiquary - read loot and assyrians - & black rocks against blue waters - WW opens the mention of JH & exclaims shall we endure this man's insolence no we shall bring him to an account - all in all a day of bustle WW says I hope never to have such a waking dream again - call on M - the theatre in the evening - a faithful reproduction lost in the haze of the storm - WW ordered a furnace of iron of the dimensions of the human body supported by a frame two feet from the ground & had two small boxes made about the size of writing desks & covered with black & a brass plate fastened on the top with the following inscription: They Say She Committed Suicide Because She Cdnt Take Another Winter In Buenos Aires WW sd pointing to my handkerchief why look an old rag retains life longer than the hands what wove it - when the body & skull burnt fiercely gave to the flames a white silvery wavy brightness much like the waters which had overpowered her - much akin to a sea-weed in its element unfurls itself as a plant of rare loveliness but taken from it is a worthless & repulsive weed trodden under without remorse by those who trod beside me her eyes were wide & staring - drawn almost from her sockets by muscle convulsion - the eyelids were forced in - I cried out & pushed my hands at her & she vanished quite away - my convulsions gradually ceased & I slept - there is a very fine panther who plays with a cannon ball - the leopard is frisky running after its tail - they all are but the lynx is wonderfully tame - the sphinx luckily has not shown herself since - maybe she was only a ghost who looked a sphinx or became a ghost by looking at a sphinx or is that a basilisk? - it is the eyes that make her not a sphinx - unfortunate perhaps that I am getting schooled in such beasts - WW being the 1st