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Monday, October 12, 2009

Room 55,555

cold moving coldness / cacophony of quivers (circles) or sparks in dark

and oxymoronic vision of flowing ice in sparkle / transilluminates dark supple silence

when the chuncks again as he edged until crevasses plunged / the viol stroke not so bad as Winter plays in bone leaves and bone speech and the spectre of sand / vast ones without cause except the creeping of old force the steps are heard and who and the cause of cold coagulant / until there is a new kind of death sprung out of coal and basalt of every sparkle shivering / and something there / the cruel creaking cold in the masses of the thinking things

and the things thinking coldly examine the cold light of the existence of their possibleness who somehow in fury became

and the thought of things thinking set up new movements until firelight brush dead to hand

the hand from cold caresses the nothing if not thought the illuminating stipple as ideas enter

beginning a bird enters dives in bullet drop to the sea seeking fish and things thinking or being thought revolve in concept

the number is studied and the massive mind meanders as huge light brings fresh thoughts of flowers and ever new ideas bud

and again the thoughts of breath are cold in a warm new explosion as if thinking was

when thought pierces the spires of inversions in the chromatic fantasia where fish are said to reign in sea of green sex death

again death ugly head rears and the patient horse is there awaiting oats of kindness inside a thinking mass of gorgeously embellished flame

for the deadness of the horse is famous is the living brain of a golden rain out beyond clatter or the coldness of cold where clack

because you also reach to caress the ice mountains and the thoughtful head as it grows as huge as death of life and the sea roars like a wand

and indeed a new kind of clack clack is heard in the block land where even Eros froze the hand extended in mock forgive all this light useless the eternal wound and smoothly writhes

the gash of truth is the beginning of armies whose death is blue red and gold glory for where are we is the question stamped on the imperious report

the question raised is mocked by the King of Trees or Corn and all now dance unrigidly in giddy light of lust whose ancient times were as merry as young women on a boat and there is a great mercy

for it drops as gentle as the soft rain to engender the thirsty roots whose new quick is now the thinking thinking thing whose fire is the crack of the sun

the sun lunatic polarizes the clown of the puppet moon as all things begin to dance as if Saint Saens in macabre scenes when erotic boys to erotic girls do press

when the quickness of lust is lost in microwave hush as a pulse rebuilds the blue blocks of ice who bend with black the tongue of song

whose voice by tongue is lizard long in ancient songs where hermits thrash

more secret than exit stone

and stone recalls the cold and the fingers, stretched, of their duty to the gold and the light, and the cold moving thinking things erupt again

for thinking is thinking and no height can be more than wall for the roar of time is vast and consumes the smallest sip of love

for love is not cold as blocks yet hate has power as spears are seen to rise

nor do the molecules disturb the black machine who in steel is alive when huge the claw

for who is that shape that sea of sky and when do the gongs resound?

and sand and gobs and endless the hours and gold the seas illuminate

and, and …. the fire …. the thinking fire leaps again in the aeronautic night… and no one is yet or pyro … or emerge

for colours explode inside the howling head, whose single eye is mad with time



Marty Mars said...

Richard you are an exceptional wordsmith. i really enjoy reading and immersing myself in your prose/poetry/paintings.


Richard Taylor said...

Marty - thanks. I am working on a longer work (possibly for Brief) - that links to EYELIGHT etc but I want to create a new work that is at least partly separate.

For the record I didn't always write in this way! I started writing about "things" etc and slowly moved to this more "abstract language itself is the theme - I am trying (I think) to create kind of true and a "higher" "music" that goes beyond 'normal' use of language...something like that...
influenced by various - maybe the Romantics, Symbolists, Eliot, Dylan Thomas, R A K Mason, Peter Reading, Tom Raworth, Beckett, John Ashbery, Stein, Pound, the Langpos in small doses etc

I find philosophy etc very difficult. I maybe work more intuitively than the Langpos or say the Manhire school of poetics.

But I also want to connect back to "reality" (my family, local scenes, art, Maoritanga, society, etc -whatever happens to me or others) - that is I am aways "in the world"...

If I don't mention certain tragedies etc it is not because I am indifferent. It is often that I feel I would obscure that reality with my "music" whatever. And of course there is also so much comment out there already.

This to my huge fan base!!

Richard Taylor said...

The word "transilluminate" I picked up from a poem by William Carlos Williams. A very great poet.

Richard Taylor said...

Seems absurd to comment on my own Blog to myself almost - but I maybe am often about consciousness or the possibility of it - of ontological meaning etc in the face of seemingly nihilistic universe, where even the existence of God is a kind of perverse joke! And if he or she or it exists then as character in a book by Umberto Eco claims - God is evil, or became so...!! (Or maybe not, maybe...

But I don't present a dark world - I see many very hopeful things. There are many good people despite it all, and, despite the many tragedies here and throughout world, there is much we can be thankful for as long as we have our health etc We must care for each other.

I think of Sinclair's poem about the A-bomb.

Marty Mars said...

i often want to comment back to myself on my blog - healthy thinking i think.

i am lucky in that i take your poems without any pre-knowledge or academic understanding. they are what they are for me and what they are is illuminating.

Lots and lots of layers and depth. But your use of imagery and word combinations is really enjoyable.

Don't worry about the negative stuff - there are plenty working on that - we need more poets, more musicians more creativity more light.

Richard Taylor said...

Marty - thanks for your comment - I don't worry, and I rarely get angry ... What I do is I kind of mull over everything util I feel I really need to say something and I really never quite know what it is I am going to say - and you not need any academic knowledge to read my poetry (if that is what it can be called) - just see it as kind of word music.

There is no deep mystery about Deleuze, or Derrida or whoever (I've never really read those people), or Marx or local things or whatever...I don't easily understand philosophy very well (in fact I don't understand much poetry either!) My poetry is generally just what it appears on the page or screen - just words and sounds etc) very much so I really just write, create... as a child plays with mud pies, or water in gutters on a rainy day.

Of course there is my other 'agenda' that EYELIGHT is a kind of long poem and with many mixed aspects...images etc But I am still in the real in my earlier posts you will find both "negative" and "positive" things...

But why does the world need poets?
I think it needs neither poets nor artists nor musicians - what if we had all been deaf - we need (if we "need" anything) - manufacturers, businessmen, shopkeepers, mothers fathers, tradesmen, scientists, technicians etc and so on but not artists. (Much as I love art.) We could certainly do without music.

I have to differ...I don't write to be another poet! I don't feel poetry is necessary at all.

Richard said...

gd stuff richrd