Room 5A from The Ascent of Man by Jacob Bronowski






"Knowledge or Certainty"


"...These pictures do not so much fix the face as explore it; that the artist...as if by touch; each line...strenghtens the picture but never makes it final. We accept that as the method of the artist...

...But what physics has done is to show that it is the only method to knowledge. There is no absolute knowledge. And those who claimit, whether they are scientists or dogmatists open the door to tragedy. All information is imperfect. We have to treat it with humility. That is the human condition; and that is what quantum physics says. I mean that literally.

Room 4A

Room 3A










the hand that holds a pen is as subtle as a billion flies

The pure products of America go crazy. The mind's a queer sponge. The descent beckons -

Room 2A of Cell 1A

















Is there - after?






Can there be?



+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

the inquiry was which came first - but despite that - knowledge preemts decison, derision, power and politcal piracy: or does it? who'se missile site? who'se 'universe of anterooms'? was he? eh? did he? well well well, I'll be nevered! I'll be a bloody meatball! bugger me days it's hot this side of entropy. look white you right-side of inside. who are you where are the is the bad why because lack? no, not minus, it's not yet, Vector. if only we could eat. if only. if - if song then -( it did)

'stone dank green in rock when groan, she is not now, then, a tree can only see, as only if only a frog could croak: it's this we fake: for our light, was, a habit, desiring death (quite prior to the cathedral flower), because, of, tinge, tinge.'

It was early, but at least the mathy word men were busy chopping.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++




he looked death straight in his bloody boodshot eye

Room 2 of Cell 1A

they couldn't kill you







the seeding words
the human thud by dark wire









TURN THE HUMAN SCROLL








" blue blown up on yellow "







turn the human scroll

turn








t u r n







HOLY AS EIGHTY FLOWERS



H O L Y





by darkwire, barbed





the seeding words

ROOM 1A of Cell 1A in the Recirculation of Eyelight

Never Unremember

they couldn’t kill you

the symbols shall remain
the terrible symbols
that will clash the centuries on -

memories of the squeezed hand
and human thud by dark wire, barbed,

both ways always, now
the music of red or

“blue blown up on yellow”

echoes like a cannon crack -

they survived, and each day
a child is born.

I say more than that:

it was
the because of me
and you and they
and the corridors we have sung in -

laughter so long ago
and now lip curve,
or a bright book, say of Louis Zukovsky,
his, an excrutiation of acrostic ecstasy,

and the concentration against
this mad possible in us all
he, the thinker, down digging
to tubers whose golden boulders
such gifts,such tallith truth,
such :life

and the seeding words

their gemmation as no other,
and this, built by other hands,
green as light, new-shivering -
and the lamb’s bleat
beating into the who and where
and what we are —

yesterday is todayed
again again and again

never unremember

Turn the human scroll,
turn the scroll - turn:
be it two hundred years,
turn, as Louis turned,his time

holy as eighty flowers

holy as child,

counting into time, counting.

ROOM 11

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________________________________________________________________

ROOM 10A

ROOMS 9 and to 10

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~













'Everything has a meaning.' She said. He nodded.













i


































































e























































unto and into the slit green goat
unto and into the slit green goat
unto and into the slit green goat
unto and into the slit green goat
unto and into the slit green goat
unto and into the slit green goat
unto and into the slit green goat
unto and into the slit green goat

by grass and dust, the road I strode

who dances claps to flute and light in that genetic other dream?

how, at this light of time

a beingbright yetttasadark,

unblind never cold the dhapshpasdfses

this aspectwaett under the eye, and, breeding:

breed thus a truth? eral, trans cendenttruth that sdarkles

like a light on a ga y green a asdifstmas tree,t

some signal TERRIBLE LOVELY interchane mont:

thiasds, all this.... It began somehow, and I

and you also, got caught up in it all:

as ouy and the Begin: the big big single bang bang boom!

Ho wis it yoasf dintu ndferestand meawf ina the sdfu treasm

t: it terrified meandf

“and indeed as I know you are thinking, there are certain uncertainties

whose monstrous beauty is almost nearly tiresome:

Why couldnt the matter: the deep stuff in the dark spring of things:

why couldnt it get in control? as to be an inquiry of course. What was the matter with BREED THUS?

the matt? Could I tell you? astwey afg iasdfui;y That it kept throwing mold s, kep t

re-shaping – kept touching the clay and rebreeding life and so on:

but nothing is ever perfect as you’ve probably noticed. Matter

and fire for asddf examplae arwtyr apton asdfnnarvhiece surey foaweteveatwasd arq. To th traaccbeole seddaavmn vbnd I w onted u

The special thing that burns in the eye::

LUUUOOUUUUVVEUUUUEVEDDDDDDDDDEDED

BURNS in theethre EYE doulsdf yhr shapees chabegne eber?
a compleconflict like adf e volumawe lysis of fsdf ans k sdga

The Jn, thec Mtnic thing: which evetr ns youon a sdt orout.

a enormouslumin osity grewwa e nd we were dumpfound ed: forgettinga whatw asa a in athty ggennetiivc overther rdwoaon (traum

black voons on oieyligeht sceoowleddded & blvk c faced moiorrers

“origin, orange, apple, or

where the serpent had parked the sedan beside the spreading sneer of the evening’s trees who were lush and unapproachable in the growing and licentious gloom whose possibilities mean so much, especially to the few
in the know. So I stand outside in derided non-decision, forever
a pastel perhaps: struggling to at least reach the status of a syllable, “.

hell of conjunctions, despairing boat of heaven’s

genetic imperative lost in (the) if it would

be thus be thus be what. but. when. Prog.the Prog. Prog bounced into the central oblonwoogle—twist by the slippery sexual whereroom was mother father maother father mnother afather sonme chadughter you fniwe are hjhrtuyoai lcv eoruihn rtied to fghrtohsdflhnsdf oshasduhrnrtnet muvhlyrei I fg ig agaotst

ARE WE unzipped up beside the orrogenous octomorph. THOSE CHEMICAL GHOSTS

could there (there) could there could beheard so commotion? and the Event Wave? Did they

mention the Event? loud? to startle the wave gods?

Richard, You MUST try to be more focused — your ideas and observations

are good, but you tend to wander A GREAT DEAL, repeat yourself etc. -

you must give yourself time to structure your work. Re—write, revise.

This was obviously written in a rush. C+/B+

But this issurela ya rrognic. Goodas a body of light

ARE WE

THOSE

CHEMICAL GHOSTS ?

nota bene both the notion of infinity and that of information
both in philosophy and our “every day” are problematic concepts. It
is not known whether infInity exists either ideationally or de facto.
Cantor discovered the Aleph Null but the concept of countable sets

involves contradiction.As to information: information is not meaning.

Information is the greatness of differencebetween things.It would be
simplistic to conclude that knowledge ishence difference only . But
information is directly proportional tothe uncertainty of the
difference between the uncertaintyof a message beingexistent after
it has been received and the probability of their having been a
message before the information was sent. To pu t it mr cn c I *)\\\
gweryu juerqtyp432lo95879reh;kj4351vb87
bjh435g76986O924r9pj;wsal~)(*iT(LIH and thus:

information I received = log [ a posteriori probability

------------------------------

[ a priori pro bability

from which it can easily be seen that the greater the uncertainty,

the greater the information co nveyed

on the recurrent occasion of the obliteration/of hiztory,where the

carriage circles again/in the melancholy of departure

dice-bones, to calculate the odds

a mirror to distort the truth (The pieces are rearranged, not having moved)

something. something in the hole and screaming fothe right to die inside the vibrant
yet unspeakable bush of shells; one day to be

was it worth the sexless Beetroot Question yes?

and what of Blue Paste in Music Land? (matter?

about now and before there was an intense these are mountain days that corporate after everything.
Moogs, as you were well aware, were everywhere.
much as if the scapula zoomed out.
therapy? nothing
prepared us for. did thus if what i you did that

honey hot got poured? and as the. what if him the pen.

what burned? naturellement monsieur! Golly. perpetually reconstituted
inside the Basics or sunk in shit

while others did they made wheels of flesh.

Idiot Attack as it would if said: “thou cream-faced loon”.

who did he if it was orgulous require

“You! You gettin’ dawn thar an’ berry tha’ alt wead!”

duck waddle and
Twaddle Face (nervously), fingering his hegemony, moved into the

in

ti

mate

circ

le

She





yes?
























ROOM 8

ROOM 7

ROOOM 6A

Note on ROOM 6 I wanted something quite different from the text presented - it actually looks quite good - but is nothing like he image-text I was trying to get - I don't know enough yet about how to get images or texts onto the Blog so that they "follow" what I want - so I will attempt to put an image of what I was doing - I think I have the ability to do these things but not the knowledge or experience - perhaps if I knew HTML (or other languages/methods just as an artist previous to computers needed - and they still do - to know of their materials and media - nowadays the writer or 'textualiser' needs or perhaps doesn't need but it is desirable in many cases to know something of the medium he/she works with - so we we see VISPO and the work say of Alan Sondheim who uses computer and programming jargon in his huge Meditation on the Internet project) or more about imaging and files I would be able to control the output ... (just as I learnt perspective and how to mix colours and much else from my father - who was an artist/architect/engineer - when I was about 8 tor 9 -but haven't 'worked' in that 'area' since - much - so one feels the need to learn a huge amount more -but life is perhaps too short).

[I emphasise again that I feel that the poetry-prose and poetry visual art divisions etc are for me limiting - I dont accept them except in that they are practical realities - limiting in many cases. I don't like to think of myself as writing poems as such but creating texts or processes. I am not interested though in the effect of jazz on poetry per se - if I compare poetry to music I am talking more about a conceptuating - constructive process...music as such -most popular music has no connection to the kind of work I want to do or imagine is "art"...Or I am maybe wrong on that. But I can't connect with Creeley's or (some of the Language poets such as Clark Coolidge - although I love his poetry and work -) enthusiasm for jazz - expect perhaps the improvisatory nature of some jazz.]

But it still shows something of what I was attempting and in fact I "discovered" that I could get colour via Word onto the Blog - now the Blog only allows centering - I cant push text around in the edit mode - at least - I can't do it at my present state of knowledge - that is in fact - in a way - what I am doing - it is learning process (that is this 'project' is not something delineated into separable poems or units it is a continuous process and this Room 6A is part of it) - and nothing is certain - though I wanted to eliminate chance as much or more than anything else I have done previously the irony is that chance has played part in EYELIGHT which attempts to be "about" something and to be a "serious" "project" (and not chance affected, or not as far as I could control) - even if I was off line and preparing a book as such I would be limited by my own skill lack - although I feel I could learn those skills - I seriously thought of doing a course in art and computer art etc etc but this is probably impractical so the EYELIGHT presented so far will have to be limited by the medium I am using - although I am sure ther are relatively simple things I can learn as I go.

One of the reasons I have set myself this "task" is to set limits - quite or almost arbitrarily - or to put a frame work to my 'work' - now this is almost in complete contrast to what I had done preciously when in fact much of my poetry was written for almost immediate reading - by reading I was publishing - and indeed as I could see that time no way to be published - I didn't in say 1989 to even 1992 (when I was reading either at the Albion or the Sakespear pubs every Monday and then at the Masonic once month on a Wednesday night) think I would be published by anyone - I also got big 'lift' out of reading to a live public which is much more difficult now for me to attain via print or on the internet or in non spoken medium) -

And while I started out with poems that were more or less "conventional" this gradually modified as my reading extended and so on. Now I also began to write entire poems with condsiderable rapidity - in many cases not revising - in fact most of the poems that my friends and others seem to like were not revised - eg The Red - it actually came to me first as kind of image of squares or rectangles of concrete - grey or white and red - and kind of 'beating' rhythm and words came into my mind as I was walking near the Sociology/Anthropology Dept to the English Dept of the Auckland University about 1992 when I was studying Gertrude Stein as a a part of paper called "American Poetry" (Stein is a very important poet for me). There are rectangles of concrete there and I was on the stairs linking the two departments. I stopped walking - scrawled a few lines and the rest I did in about 20 minutes at home that night and I read it out a few weeks later when I had a guest spot at The Shakespear - for my reading and - I received a standing ovation (for it and my other poems I hope) - now while I worked carefully when I typed it up* - the revision was mainly done I think by my mind's inherent sense of rhythm etc - as it happens it is almost entirely in iambics - but not pentameter. This was not designed. Any "design" was very rapid - I don't say this to boast but to show a contrasting compositional method - that I kind of "perfected" - I found that with some good exceptions - tinkering and rewriting was not my thing - but after a time I had so many poems and I found writing so easy I felt that I needed to "challenge myself" with a project -with something more formally preconceived - & with restraints etc - I wouldn't go so far as Robert Frost and say that poetry without such restraints or formal metrical arragements is "like playing tennis without the nets" but it is an interesting concept.

This starts leading into the question of what poetry (or indeed what any creative art) is - ontological or epistemlogical questions perhaps - or aesthetical - which lead even (ultimately down certain paths) to politics (at least to philosophy and possibly to ethics).

*The Auckland poet and musician Bryony Jagger has set The Red to music for full orchestra but a lines that I removed - that would appeal to a musician as it is a kind of intermezzo - I deleted to get a "harder edge" on the work - Bryony wanted that part in as it was in when I read the poem the first time - we disagreed (amiably) on the need for its inclusion - so that is an example of 'pruning' I DID do.

The line was - " A fascadassalation of a sheen of green". Too much for me!

I heard the music played by the Leys Institute Orchestra there (at the Leys Institute Library in Ponsonby) in December 1995. It is great music I feel.

Here is the poem The Red -

The Red

The blocks of red on red on red by black around
by black by black by line by line by round. The
red in red of red in red where black by back the
white around. Around the bound about the
white the red more red comes up the red. It
rears its head. The eye the see the sight to see.
The eye the see the light the sight.

And light.

The light not light not bright not dim not sun.
The sun not round not up not down. The blue
not there not green not grey. The grey ungrey
not grey not black . The up not down the down
not up.

And the black not black not black on night. The
light alight but light not light.

The clock is dead.

The clock awake alive like head. The head like
blood like hot is red.

The squares the slabs the reds the blocks are
chops of chunks: the chunks the chunks the bits.
The monks. And the red the red and round the
black. (There is no black).

To you my red my square my thing: I fall
and blubber like a sun-struck king.

The red on red of red the blocks. The orange
the green the blue. The see the sight the
steel the grey. The shape the tall the dark the
great. The high the high. The finger like a finger
on the sky.

The eye the seen.

The green.

O my blocks my reds my reds my blocks: orange
is not is gnomes is gone.

And the red in red. (There is no red)
The square that's not that's never that's there.
If red be red not is not green:
Then red on red of red is you my thing. And
if that is you by blocks by black are red around.

And black is black as black is black.

And red is red is red.

ROOM 6

these black-faced mirrors

first people

can I, a being bright yet dark, unblind

paper is made from wood

could the shapes change ever ? no – never in any ever never could the shps b evr nvrd

let’s r e a d

(we must l e a r n more)

( “just read”)

EYE

they give oxygen

w h o ?

FIRST PEOPLE!

breed thus a

Origin things

Operculum

FRAG MENTvictor

Where?

I tried to explain

Nothing this, all this

smashed

Ante-Room to Room 6

AN


ENORMOUS


LUMINOSITY


GREW


BETWEEN


HER


EYES

Room 5

NOTE - This will probably not reflect what I want in terms of lay out.

(And indeed it didn't - but I am limited by this medium -the effect is however interesting and approximates the original layout thematically.)




To the right - view of the Auckland ferry building and wharf nearby painted in pastels and water colour by my father Leslie Stuart Taylor (1907-1987) who was an artist and an architect originally from London - about 1927. He taught me many water colour and other techniques, such as perspective and colour mixing when I was about 9. He gave away most of his works -he came to have an aversion to the commercial use of art things - but I'm not sure as one work was sold to the NZ poet R A Mason in the Depression . The other comment my mother made was that he gave them away as presents eg for weddings as he didn't have much money in the early days (1940s ). When I was young we were in fact very well off - atleastin contrast to many around us in the workng working class area of Panmure - my father indeeed got a very good salary. While he strongly supported conservative politics - he seemed to feel (perhaps came to believe) that selling art was not a good thing.
(I am not a great fan of the grossly inflated art market). (Which is why I will never ask permission to copy any artist's work... art and poetry etc belong to everyone.
His father in London in contrast was a very succesful bsuinesman and bought and sold shares etc - opened a dance school and was a pioneering photographer - member of the Royal Society of phographers. There was some bitterness between them never resolved so thus his view against insurance -my grandfather was involved eventually in insurance - (but my father never bought any) and selling art. (Although I heard much of this second hand and it is not clear to any of our family). This attitude was nothing to do with socialism. He supported both Holyoake and Muldoon and was proud to be a professional worker. He was glad to have raised himself from the level of mere workers and felt himself superior to ordinary workmen. This wasn't complete contempt, but while, for example he liked Mason's poetry and knew his communist views, but couldn't imagine such a cultured man ever taking part in subversive activities. But he did admire Sutch and Mason and Fairburn whom he met at the WEA before the 2nd WW. He had one exhibition that was highly praised in a newspaper of the time.















Close up of egg cartons, photographed and modified by me. Everything to make an entire animal is contained in each of those ovoid things contained in that container - and I have consumed them - this has enriched my body - eggs symbolise so many things - of course. Look at my picture of the Universe in a previous post! (Curtesy the physicist Weisenberg).


God to Dog by Julia Morison - conceptual and minimalist artist - this is only a fragment of her huge works -very large sheets with hundreds of words printed on them. I don't know much about her work but Dog in my notes to Eyelight is indeed howI refer to God to remove any of the multiplex connotations associated with that word. Words are dangerous.
Eyelight - Room 5

Could the shapes change ever? No. Neither could the shapes of shade, in any never ever, ever be severed ever. Nor could not anytime The Cloud King Be. No. Nor turned, that T, nor

by grass and dust, the road I strode

unto and into the slit green goat (unto and into the slit green goat ( unto and into the

who dances claps to flute and light (who dances claps to flute and light

And neither the. Clack sound, like knitting. (Clack sound, like knitting (Clack sound, like knitting (Clack sound, like knitting (Clack sound, like knitting

muscles contract zzzzzz │....sprout.│zzzzzzzzzzzzz accompanied

pressure in the zzzzzzz│.. eggs .... │ zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz mouth

causes the oper zzzzzzz│ .. of gol ...│zzzzzzzzzzz culum to bulge

so there will be zzzzzzz│... and w...│zzzzzzzzzzzzzzz a reduction

flexible free edge zzzzz│.... mud ....│zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzza│.............│zzzzzzz the mouth closes

and the squeeze zzzzzz │... sly f....│zzzzz the operculum wall

high pressure zzzzzzzzz│.............│zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz│....five...│zzzzzzzzzzzzzzz is drawn

insects zzzzzzzzzzzzzzz│.. eyes ...│zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

oxygen enters zzzzzzzz│............│zzzzzzzzzzzzzzz the body

zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz│............│zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz│............│zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz│.. silence.│zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

through the zzzzzzzzzzz│...........│zzzzzzzzzzzzzzz spiricals

zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz│.............│zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz│.. shapes.│zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

to the zzzzzzzzzzzzzzz│.. ever ....│zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

tracheole zzzzzzzzzzzz│... never ..│zzzzzz they give oxygen

zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz│.............│zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

and take zzzzzzzzzzzz│.. like T ....│zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz │.. was......│zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz│... young...│zzzzzzzzzzzzzzz materials

zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz│... once ....│zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz│... life .......│zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz│.... No.......│zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz Yes.

________________________________________________________________________

Ante Room to Room 5

LEICESTER KYLE (friend, poet, and scientist)

Recently my very dear friend Leicester Kyle a great man and poet died - I was greatly distraught - it still hasn't completely "sunk in" - to utilise that cliche - I feel he is still alive.

(In regard to Leicster and his works etc - see Jack Ross's "The Imaginary Museum" and also my link to that and "Reading the Maps". )

I met Leicester in 1994 when he came to my Poetry Club that I started in Panmure. That was in many ways a very successful Club - I met some interesting people and the publican - Stuart Dodds helped me a lot - he is Maori - and highly educated - he kind of "bridges the worlds" - and like Eddie MacGuire (who was) the compere of "Who Wants to Be a Millionnaire" (my favourite TV show) who can talk about pop singers and rugby and then quote whole sections of Shakespaere - Stuart knew Shakespear and the Gettysburg address and so on - (he is now a very successful businessman) - together - we organised a competition of the best reader of the famous "To be, or not to be" speech from Hamlet - which was well attended (good first prize) - and was won by Robin Kora - who is also Maori BTW.

But Leicester came later: I think his was a quiet but powerful presence. We met up later at the London bar with David Howard - later joined by Jack Ross and perhaps earlier by Scott Hamilton. He also came to the book shop I worked in, and also where I organised Friday nights readings of various Auckland poets for Ron Riddell - my good friend and fellow poet -who at that time owned the Dead Poets Book Store just off Dominion Rd. Later Ron moved his shops to K'Road and also Henderson. Leicester served in the shop once, and once or twice his wife.

Leicester showed me one of his first major works in progress. It was called "Koreneho" - the Maori name for Colenso - who came from England in the 19th Century for the Anglican Church and the Royal (Scientific) Society and translated the Bible into Maori and discovered many new plants and explored much of NZ -Leciester liked the fact that he was out of favour with the Church he was in because of an affair with a local Maori woman and also that sometimes his discoveries were in fact not new plants or that he ocassionally misclassified them - this carries on into Leicester's incredible work 'Koreneho' which uses (and twists or torques) Colenso's scientific texts (Leicester was a member of the Scientifc society and discovered or studied various plants and a new version or sub species of the Giant NZ snail) and then he - on the following page - then pared down the text - and we are left with a very subtle compilation of latinate words which form a very dense matrix of almost pure langauge (but Colenso's ambiguity is in there energising the langauge) - but then comes a small poem with a "pronouncement" - in all Leicester's "direct" pronouncements there is a sutble humour - and a seriousness - he could see that we live and stand in language - he was a man who experienced much tragedy in his own life but maintained a great dignity, a mana. He remained upbeat despite tragedies that would have sent me to the crazy house I'm sure...

Leciester produced many books of poetry. One of his books was dedicated to me.

Here is a section from "Koreneho" (after he has quoted Colenso's scientific report verbatim) ( that work has poetic-scientific intersection) he then transforms it to this -

FIELD NOTES E. alba

Ochraceously imbricated in mamillary
gland decurrent in the petiole sub-5
sided with mucro in the perianth tip
distichous striated entire and
twisted yellow margins sessile 2
fimbriate crenules sub linear to
terminal in compound panicle
and calli in declivity tubercular W. C.



NOTE: A description
of some newly-dis-
covered indigenous
plants Trans , vol 23,
pp 381- 91 Vol 24 pp.
W.C.


This is tough Louis Zukofsky stuff - around this time I lent him my ( my photo-copy of Zukofsky;s "80 Flowers") and he was reading that poet (he read "A" at least twice and also "Bottom" a huge work by Zukofsky apparently vital to "getting into" his later works) ; and also the letters of Lorine Niedecker to Louis Zukofsky. (Lorine Niedeker's poetic influence was very important). Then we get this transform on the next page of "Koreneho"

Hab. E. alba


under beech
sub-fusc
where honey drops
black sweetness

lichened cliffs
and scree and moss
small grass

in cracks

root forever
set with rock
glossed
for table books
and calendars

when autumn
from the southern ice
is falling over everything


The next page includes the subtitle "Joyful News Out of New Found Land"
(even in the title he simultaneously mixes satire and seriousness - one "take" is that Colenso feels (perhaps subconsciously) that he is God naming a new land - even God or Adam naming his new beings in eden (here is perhaps also the sin of pride) - there are many "takes" on this work however.


Obs. E. alba

sobs in the air
cut into my mind
like butter

chrysanthemum
or gentian blue

But white
and I'm made joyful

a friend

for a new-found land

white
for resurrection

gold
at the throat
for glory

perfume
for embalmment

in a land
I've made my own

by name for the nameless
and by claim
on order
in a wild world





I used to phone him regularly when he was in Buller and he would make joke of it - "Oh, is that Auckland calling?" ! And he would of interrupt by putting another log on the fire (where he lived -in the South Island it is pretty damn cold in winter) so -when I called him not too long before he died - he turned to his partner and said (I overheard him) - he was very weak - "I have this drunken Auckland poet on the line and he wants me to say: 'Put another log on the fire' " He was enjoying the humour of the situation even when he knew was almost certainly dying. (The drunken part was the old me - I hardly drink lately! But the point was well made and taken! )

Leicester's poetic style was deceptively "laid back" - in fact there was always much more in his poems than a simplistic or casual reading could reveal.

He sent me his long poem "Written from Captivity" - it includes this ending which he told me came to him via a dream - the poem as whole deals with the long and tragic death of his wife Miriiel (who did much writing on the history of the Anglican Church in NZ) and his reactions at that time and to some degree their relationship - but this poem or this last part of the main poem actually deals with death and dying, and is perhaps for all of us - coming from a dream as some (very few) poems do :

8

Death is a cold wet thing
a slip in the fog
to a sink of sleep

a slip in the fog
a slip a sleep
a slip in the fog
a slip a sleep
a slip

Leicester Kyle