| up north 5 part 5 - 1980 october-november | work & days: a lifetime journal project |
21 October 1979 In a kitchen, candlelight or kerosene, open the door and fall to the floor, tall Diana in a long black coat very smiling, bright-eyed without glasses. Come back to her house. Remembered this dream when I saw Diana in the dictionary. Hunt, virginity and the moon: identified with the Greek Artemis. Head under the cover. It's very talky when I'm first there. Both stoves, bathwater. Scratching head. Back into studying but not deep, racing and noting. Sense of wrestling in old times' questions someone has solved, but voracious interest in anything around Pound. Packing, the different quality when it's her record of last winter, that finds itself a story, and I turn the book to my end, and it matches where she left off. Icicle. The walk at the first warm. The man in cap. "Do I know you?" I like how it was said, social but not unlike thinking. On the way home it's uphill heavier against an ice wind. The man who stops hasn't looked away from his telephone conversation. House small Chinese with yellow. From the road, will I cut across. Loose tilled ground. Ideal earth, black nearly clean dirt, nothing but black particles. Ears hurting. Weak. Straight toward the house. Arrive thinking Thoacdien, synchronicity. Snow. with a small flask of grape juice and a small cup, pretending to be a drunken writer. [Jam as a child] - [journal] malachite - green
to write visions overlaying? thanks for the raft translating the accompaniment
thoacdien 'timing' synchronicity
the whole delicate substance of speech (in print) the whole delicate substance of earth microscopic
if the two are: the one who looks ahead and the one who goes around behind the separate active intelligence of every spiritual individual, his holy spirit, a direct bond with the pleroma morning songs dawn language what kind of space of love making take. space and images
in history taking a territory to work he decided poetry that gave him other what I do undecided is women I don't want to belong to 'writing' in this time but the social if I have to be means giving what I can do she decided her own time, and what that brought ambition is urgency that the time should be struggle wanting to sharpen woke this morning pain and fluster, ah, the change moon? sharpen and energize what do I want to learn an artificial no something to push against varies. think. they liked felt the fish paragraph delight SAPPHO HILDEGARD
- [daily record] 22 See it's clear. Even color. Two birds, doing what? Whut in the eaves, looking for something. The grass and weeds out front are rimed. It's brown, silver and straw. Fine work. Sun comes up behind the spruce. First see it. Pink in the crown forks. Get up happy. Fires. Housework, sweeping, chopping, fetching water, making tea, putting away, an hour and a half. Helmer will come, and does before the tea's drunk. Jeans with broken zipper. The mountains standing up big triangles. The smaller beaver. "Usually you never see a beaver in the daytime, but ...." "I don't want to hear it Helmer" [about killing beaver]. The difficulty of saying it and the strength of the feeling. I can't talk. He helps. Boxes at Connally's. He weighs them with his arm. The clear and cold day. Newsweek why. A painting, Self portrait with Patricia Preece. [Stanley Spencer exhibition review] Betty Jo thin and wall-eyed smiling blindly. Borggedahl, "You limp a little too." Stainless steel, it's cemented into the bone.
Folded laundry out of the mailbag. Fires. Work notes from past time here. Blue pages for you. Copy for her. Chopping wood for bread fire. Think: contest. Like the collection. Very evasive with you. Is it PT intervening. Can't look at your face. What ashamed of. Bread and cooked carrots. File of letters. What I did now, already done and forgotten. Done in own voice. Pound's and your notes. There's a sense of strain, effects, when I do it. Power moon. Air not cold but ice in the basin. Grass stiff. Anything could be true, ie it could be hypnosis by an unknown ugliness. Like, ugly like, American politicians. Newsweek Iran, Iraq, South Africa exploding a nuclear. Mad little countries. If I don't give thought to it, will it not be. The way there are so few deaths around me. - [journal] Letters to her almost no response. I've sent you beginnings you don't use. You don't work or send back. Only sexual drama. In person you reply neatly.
Why can't I think like this - 25 October The --- was let out, cow or bull, prize, the best, in the next corner field his/her mate could come (we were telling) to find him or her after a long separation, but as if the mate's human, does that make him or her the master of the beasts? Letter from Olivia to her mother, did you and my father ? - something. "Wages working in pubs are ." "Did you work in a pub? Which?" And so far off the road. And mud. More like a telephone call. Wrapped tape around a stick (kindling) to fuck myself while the two of them. He gets in under the covers. "Shall we be like engaged people?" He doesn't know what I mean. We can just touch each other. Sensation of club in mouth and hand, working to move right in the mouth. Under hand it's solid but there's a fuzz of white. Is that the sensation. It's very fast. I am realizing I'm nearly fainting, or am out. At the same time wondering if that's to make us lose control, conceive. Some polleny or seed dispersal sense, visual. He rolls off and says dejected "I'm too thin." Is thin, like Keith (Light). Wonder if it's his sight. Ask "Do the other things seem to you in proportion, like stars?" "Yes." My sense of them plump full. Wake unusually. It's dark. Sensation in my mouth of battering, just its weight. Feel down to see if I'm roused. Not at all. It was, it's true, not sexual. It was that near-fainting frenzy when there isn't heat. This in her voice. Early a sense of the dark man-god devil-like, a question whether it was, some plan. Wake, think of Pan in the Findhorn book. Looking through the west window crouched toward a neighbour coming from chores to the back door of his shed. Move so he can't see me. The Coleman with Aladdin chimney, upper part smashes back so valve is destroyed with the fire blazing up although the knob is at off. Take it outside, blow it out, but then through the kitchen window see sparks in the grass. Will we have to wake.
Could I make a film version of light metaphysics. If history then struggle to know everything known. Have to distinguish myself with a known work. He made himself immortal and then died. "I'll see what I can make of this" in the tradition. (I have a chance.) It isn't my tradition and I have no chance in it. There'll be feminist enthusiasms but women will always sell out to men. Why. Because they haven't enough androgen? That makes me an outcaste without possible tradition except the narrow line. I'd be glad if that narrow line. It's true it's enough. In 'nature' there's no exclusion. An equal experience. Iamblichus. On the mysteries of the Egyptians and Chaldeans and Assyrians Replies that the gods surround and comprehend selves, prayer is the mode in which they act on us. The fire is their sign, is most clearly excited in prayer. Vehemently seeks what is similar to itself, and becomes copulated to perfection itself.
for a future or not glare azure of water, cold-welter, close cover votive lights set adrift
- continued: let the wind speak, that is strong air hear the roots speaking needing to keep loved bits it will clump I would erect a statue to Artemis the grey stone posts the turf clear as on hills under light Ou tis they spoke of Elias in telling the tales of Odysseus pool, sea, sky -
hardly have time to make series learning to think in those years though our local foreseeings are inaccurate we remain attentive
began to know what was going on need not take learning to see: universal signs
a geomancer's perception planetary imagination if history then
learned long ago, from Arnault, of assonance and internal rhyme a choice among the measures
set about patterning the air with forms always had (old eyes) -
the weight of a soul able to be saved or damned beetles who could grow out of their bodies menacing spikes and throw up on top of their heads sinister headdresses, overnight as soon as he was aware of his genius, a series of stratagems to safeguard it
history is having it all to look at and choose from or system of successful personality she addresses things he calls that a safe game (not in preserving the vision but in devising an abstract equivalent)
squirming it's not possible to do anything galls me
that I've given you something watch for despair
criticism and energy
so is language a way to talk to god or not and if so Peeing into washbasin on the floor, seat is down in water, he comes in, I say go away (more syllables), he ignores me, is over by the bed, where Judy's sleeping. He's nervous, did Judy come in late, I'm irritated he's jealous for her, "No I came in late, she was asleep when I came in." He isn't going so I get out of the washbasin while he's there but looking the other way. Judy when she wakes (later) is telling (I see it) the dance she was at. "She was the only one who kept" running aside "between dances" to hoist up her petticoats. I still don't know what kind of dance it was. Then I see her in a wig and powdered face showing the steps of a dance like a galliard? minuet? Mozart era. [sketch] Showing the books we're expected to know. Women's science fiction paperback. A classroom with an orchestra. I start to sing. Vorrei / e non vorre-i. A man from the orchestra sings the reply smiling as if he's going to stop there, a quotation. I keep on, hear my singing vary, it goes slightly off but I recover it and am singing for love of the line. He keeps with me. Soon I'm past the words I know but am following in duet, I mean I get my music when I'm not sure of the note from his voice underneath, also the words, by a fractional delay. The music is lovely. I'm singing with my eyes down. When we get to the next section I have an illustrated score in front of me, the man is singing alone, he's sounding from the left front. On the page, pictures of birds in a kind of parchment yellow with flowers like wallpaper. I realize he's singing them. It comes to a moment when I think he'll stop, because there has to be a male voice reply, but - and I look up and see the men in the orchestra smiling - a man sitting facing centre fro the far right sings the response in a small but accurate tenor voice. They're singing the words from memory, other productions they've been separately in as players. I'm realizing the music is written as funny. We turn the page and are looking at music written in the form of propositions? Laid out as in (Descartes) philosophy or law? [sketch] Typed capitals headed by numbers. They've begun to sing the changed music when the (conductor) judge sitting in the rear centre says in the way of --- from the hearings, I think I have to stop you there, and, genial, comments. I've never heard that section sung. The man on the right - I'm sitting on a desk - says, as if to me, "since the time we projected we should turn off the lights and sing in the dark." I say that would be amazing, conscious of the weakness in that conventional word. Wake into bedroom, warm bed, air not too cold, the --- house bedroom, north-east windows, grey snowlight dark, excited I was (with) Mozart that way, say, it was real, and this here is real too but I can't call up the music I was so certainly in. The music was it and the one who'll write down the dream will have to leave out the genius because it can't be recalled in this person. In the next sleep: Judy on his lap, I'm arranging her there, he's as if not there, or as if we're pretending he's there, invisible (dummy). I put her closer to him, wrap her arm around his neck. She grabs my head down to her (the way I felt mine yesterday). I pull it back, say I can't, like that (it has to start somewhere else), and quickly after that, flood, bloom, flux (flash flow blush)(of algae)(melt fuse) I 'come' and wonder if I can still touch her. Waking, laugh, this variant, that she invites and gets away by my rush. The difference in time between reading and writing. I mean the compactness of what's read. a simplicity and lightness, lack of pretentiousness, blithe confidence Imagination before teaching: phanopoaeia What I saw walking to the road: by the spacing of the tracks, the coyote running small chained closetracks that came out of a small hole in the snow mouse, and snowroof on bentover grass blades in white light corridors And: the fine lines of crystal organization changing direction from one foot to another as if: a microwind scouring only the surface abrupt turns Went back without sun, could see no lines only remarkable depth in the pile of granules. People very attentive to animals, ie hunters, must've had visions choreographed by tracks. the words are too big for what happens fuse. it is a flush. an animal out of cover
(an act of attention evoked) a Lesbian form of [Greek characters] imero, I yearn phainetai moi
I've fancied that people like her, Mary, my mother, living for the afterlife, having very little life, will have an afterlife; but people like DR, Pound, Cohen, Le Guin, who decide to live and make in this life, will not have an afterlife but have a relative immortality of effect. Ie they are martyrs spread thin.
A binding, a having to do with, that joins in likeness, in difference and in modulation all the poem's materials, through which interactive web the syntactic movement flows, abandoning nothing: this is the deepest, the most persistent Provencal intuition. a phonemic tune from side to side of the parchment unbroken phone voice, phomena utterance always in the transfer from voluntary to involuntary she suspected there was no difference between them nor close the womb at either end once you know something it becomes immaterial a thousand operations functioning together with such precision within her body complex organism elaborating in its turn each complexity
in the listening is the speaking she felt she could get her ducks in a row by spring speaking aloud discipline for refining of present images and generation of new
meanings lay in the line or maybe in the mass, but not in their interplay look with me the Maker my make, obs. an equal, a mate gemaca macian to weorc
-
prae gnasci - [letter] moon east before night white then yellow in the week when it fills starved for pound suddenly realizing he has been there for some time or recognizing enough of what i think of what i found myself your face little on the wall in a rectangle the shape of a train window i am frightened to believe you can see me through it speak to it defiant embarrassed cheerful i know where it comes from
when i love your face it is never at all generic [j's pencil: doormat, red pot, small " w/ lid, ptat peeler, clamps, oilfilter, valhalla hat] - streaming hiss points south track in night where it's surrounded by sound made me think of you when you were glad to sleep there is it saying goodbye to this place making me love it it's wednesday car ruptured its hose, overheated fortyfive dollars in the credit union don't want to leave fields at their least, the caragana wall quite open hot night, powerful west wind
you're where many heartfelt doings
friday i'll walk to valhalla tomorrow mail this buy milk hope to get a ride back with some cardboard boxes i think i must come back to you first and then find money ! yes that's what i must do are you glad to hear it
[her pencil: yes
yes yes!] [daily record] 23 Nell and Mardy, small devil face puppy. "Would you like to see some writing?" Inspired, we got together in it. Betty Jo. In the truck together saw a tree with fruit. Birds. Jesse tiny informed person. "How is a breaking plow different from an ordinary plow?" "The breakin' plow has bigger knives." When I corrected him as if he were older he burst into crying. Tiny voice, "I'm so unhappy." Large garden among the homesteading gear, old rusted combine. Milk bull. Geese voices like human shouts. Plastic greenhouse. The carrots like fodder lumps. Executing cabbage heads with curved knife. Lay them to the side and slit the neck, they drop. The terrible cold when the sun was below bush. Betty Jo's heavy public play with Jesse. The righteous house with ugly decorations, wool owl, Australia toothbrush hanging. No helping. But so strange a misery, is it penitence for abortion? No. What could. It damped me. When home soon went to bed. Traveling. Back to Sexsmith? A wicker display case drives past, my pots on a shelf, going to a museum I think. Pleased. It veers, a corner, I see them slide, crash. Black [sketch] woven. Dream of pots - here the memory of the dream where I was a servant. Earlier: certain feel of dream. Train. In a place, I'm going to get off, something like Bodo. (If you survive the shock.) Them and the red car in fields at the Friesens. A man at Friesens. (Will he come.) White porcelain for money? 24 Waking on the floor not hiding from ice air. Notice cranky or belligerent, unable to read anything about Pound. J's things, in an artificial (second time today) rage about. Gather them. M comes. I'm distracted, twitchy thinking of using her for going to V, money for ticket, am not clear but murky and guilty. But get rid of the rubbish and buy apples and candles, can go on here for the weekend now. Bitter cold, don't like its attack. Speedily pack nearly all of it. Shift table out, beds in. House has more room, fewer small things. This corner is looking like work. Cloud work. Run out, camera, is that a front? It's gone by the time the big camera's there. I shoot anyway. Leave it running, go in for a jacket. In her papers found the invocations I thought I'd thrown. Seeing if the way I can't revise it will go on to something. Yesterday and today reading letters angry how little response ever came. She doesn't catch. Out of love and cross since this working spell. Thought of the circuit by that name. Circuit rider visiting. - [letter]
26 Different waking in warm room. The look of white's made colors where they still are, grasses (lion) mix, underside dark green. Some of the stones melt out their shape. Scrape it off chopping block with the side of the axhead. Sunday and I can work again. Near the end of Kenner and then go back before the middle. Toast with peanut butter, that I look after breakfast. Look at my bum in the kitchen window when passing to dump washwater. Fighting with Kenner, crosses over his nastiness about women writers, 'hating' J, writing worried what I feel about history, his paralyzing sense of rank and the fathers' lineage. Try the raft, not much there, "I could -." Sense of not having a right to try to - because I'll never know enough etc and the little efforts to find some way, imagination, not writing, anxious, but working. The voice piece, copying thinking about punctuation or firming sense of it, I mean saying testing sense of it. Midspace period, 10 space, 2 space, comma's tail under. Over the fight with K because he does, does, show me the poems. In 2 or 3 years she created this sort of singing. Afternoon lake, sinks under the snow, water enters the white so dark grey. Green, coming through long green water dandelion, marsh wicker, grass straw, willow, poplar branches. Whited blue hill distance. In sky color seeps a delight to find. Blue very slightly blue. Swans loudly swarming. I get cold trying to understand what the very long loose pattern is doing, looks black, I can only tell it's swans by the length of the neck. Are they choosing this moment to say goodbye? No, but east? Several big gathers. Any group makes enthralling shifts. When it turns, when they change their order. Now candlelight, going to wash I can hear them. Squirrel running in the wall behind. Sense of parenthesis of walls. It seems anxiously talking. Don't understand outcry when they're flying or this somewhat trilled childvoiced mass of cries. Can I make a record of the sound that way. No (on the east porch south rail) some are singing now, and someone insisting. Is that what they do at stages. Like Eskimos in small igloos, but so continuously? No. Yet I heard them sleep. I should know from the sound. Le territoire des autres. 27 They're singing, different. I wanted to know if I could record sound that way. Dream composed Mozart. Tonight from south porch they were singing like pigeons. How is singing heard. The last chapter Motz y sons, suddenly was willing to learn to hear (as if I can). Can you tell what they're saying, said to who. Bring it to a focus so I could. Do the necessities line up. Social to make it interesting and not be ashamed, instinct to work at making, moral, then to be free to see. Luke. I keep choosing work. 28 Packed all of upstairs, the small sense said go to them for the night, no it's not sun, later, sun from under, west, it may be after Co-op hours, go anyway, alright, shoulder bag packed, journal, town clothes, greasy mud inches on the bottom of boots, left foot from heavy suddenly leaves the weight in its footprint, steps out of the weight, a lighter than bare foot. Other foot never, I kick forward an ably stiff right leg loose jerk, some flies off. So to the road, two frightened people in a pickup. Glen Sandboe. I'm in-ane. From the other side of the bathroom door she says they were thinking to come get me for some days building. Whoever phones, she tells, how I just knew. 29 Wait, radio newsvoice, dish clicks, until the door closes behind, him. Toast with margarine. Out to the shop, fire in the corner, white scarf, army shirt wrist-buttoned, the form and parts, excited, we're all, he's like a high-strung woman panic just held, her mother, his mother, frightened of what he's doing like I'm frightened but not panicky of my machines, nags her mistakes unable to bear his, utmost courtesy to me and I'm monitoring without rest, is he -. And if he is I'll be ready to - . Having the job to learn, parts that all have to press back exactly, the nail will drive this back, that brace doesn't need a nail, that plate should be nailed first. She has the logic fine, what she doesn't have is the sense of how her body and long 2x4s can turn in the space, small hobbit body in brown stretch pants [sketch] gallantly fitting and hammering. I monitor myself with her, taking the competence position, and the most impressive jobs. We begin to all talk easily like voices of one machine, intent on competence, we partly overlap, the outer voices say what the inner would, without seduction except the jokes. (Remarks are not.) Early coffee break, early lunch, the kind employer, will there be food I can eat - Afternoon the structure. Nick Sieburt looking up, instead of hello, hi, curl of charm, oh, is he like that, was he before. He knows me from - benches, the room with the thin wall (window behind, three benches, small Mr Nick Sieburt Sunday school superintendent songleader, an amused but controlling sentence when I sing like a grown-up in my high soprano private hospital bed beautiful voice). Braces between 2x8 floor joists - your basement ceiling - nailing the first side, plywood sheets, cold, wool maroon scarf over white scarf and around neck, the open southwest plain earth and wind. Evening, five geese we stop to follow, under the joists fire with scraps, watching how he's nice to Mr Nick, who brings down a 2x8 end for me to sit on. Coffee from the thermos and raspberry jam seed icing pink cake. Strong, working energetically at their habitual mistakes, to say why and how could " ... find strange about you." "What's that," at the counter. What people have already understood. Fast into hot water, and out, leave it for her, take over supper, phone, Adelaide, young person, woman, about the swans, curiously watch her speech ("Are you from Ontario? I know somebody from Pembroke who says eh the way you do.") (Hey? at the end of the clause.) She's writing something and can I tell her anything (called Mary, who - ). When she calls back something in the language makes me wonder - she called back to say she loved talking to me, "I can tell you love them the way I do." "I'm not sure if it's just the same way. Just a minute, I'll get a pencil." "Do you think it's possible?" "Yes I do think it's possible, I don't know how." When I described their sounds she was most herself. "Yes. Yes." And M when I asked, "Oh, she's a grandmother." Earlier, when I'd told her the dream, lunchtime, playing me la mano ... vorrei et non vorrei. Supper, the two Don Giovanni sections and then first side of Mozart Flute, smiling at the duet. He watched, I thought, though wouldn't look to know. TV late, Jayne Mansfield, ie Manfrailed. When we came in, stars, stopped on the yard to see Bear, showed her Swan and one between. She said a crown, we looked it up, Dragon. Kitten sleeping on my hip so light bones, hardly a sensation. When I turned, one cry and a new place. 30 Wake before light, someone closes my door to let me sleep. Wait. More truss rafters, the way he calmed and got nicer when he saw we could, I lecture her on how he takes it out of her, "He's very nervous isn't he." Almost finish the floor, the nice knocking tongue into groove with sledge hammer and 2x4 piece, first he has to, then I grab it, and even finally let her. But not Brad, who says "Are you taking a building course at the college." Mouskouri. Tireder. Try poetry, dead words until almost contemporary. Sense of how much more he - or are they stupidly desperately selected, Neidecker living by water. 31 They firmly shut the door but I soon get up. He's sitting in the armchair, she's having breakfast at the counter, butter with this toast. "If I don't sit for a while I have trouble with my bowel," M. 5 rafters this morning, we're stiff at first, errors. Forearm hurts, her back. Mary Sieburt, glad to stand next to her with our seats against the washing machine. "Come and sit down" in his hospitality voice. "It's not every day I can stand beside Ellie." "We should start to sing." That wasn't right: it was fine standing next to her. And then, as she goes to sit down and there isn't a place next to her so I have to sit on the other side of M, about how her voice sometimes cracks, old age. The cords, he says, aren't what they were. Eating carrot cake and having my own brewed coffee, "I don't believe in instant coffee," and eating an apple. The fight's behind us but when I get up with my cup taking it to the sink he replies to something I'd said some earlier. Hm? Does he think he notices I was left out? Showing her how it works. "If you know you can do it, you don' have to be impressed they can do it." Both of them, quickly, that they have to have something they can impress us with. I go on in my head about how is it they have no interest in having it true. And (yesterday) how is it a woman of my intelligence is still hoping to show I can do what any fairly stupid man - and after or behind that, what is 'stupid'? This morning I hear him in my voice when I talk to her. Something obvious she doesn't see. Saying about them: they don't know each other enough to know what the other knows or doesn't. How is it. The inefficiency of his hierarchy, how he doesn't get information his computer needs. Setting up the wall, when a corner's wrong, watching his panic begin and increase, thinking panic is what it always was. Howcome I didn't know how hard these things are for him. (But last night in almost dark, two of us nailing.) When he had Joe Farnsworth, the men are the ones you have to sell the women for, his remarks, starting to get a concealed obvious contempt, "Alright boys, six o'clock." "It's not six o'clock until this is done" I say, knocking him back. Willing to scrap but uneasy, should there have been something to make him see it, would it've been possible, am I certain, yes - but where was there the moment. I tell her instead, cheerfully, "You have to educate him." We're driving together in the green truck. (He's very careful with me now, his manners are very improved, and it's because I did confront him.) She agrees the way she does. Supper. "If you want to build sometime and we're not busy." "Oh, ..." quickly, before I think, "if I ever do that it'd be with an all-woman crew, so everyone can know it's possible to learn," and about Nellie, hammering it. She doesn't want to drive me home. He leaves the headlights a long time. The cold and building wood into its order. My table. Letters from since the summer. You've been absent, nearly completely (is that it? In me, testing it). When I read the letters to you unsent, I remember how it's possible to notice, compounded with you - And her - ? Who's been with me. Carmichael faintly. Luke a pang. The sense of finishing a connection with them. There they are, at the stove, watching the coffee, thinking, I don't want to be with them in heaven, I wouldn't mind if I never. There they are, they aren't important to me (except the all-days rave, he must admit women can and are - ) and feeling whether that's bad, I mean whether it is pushed pushing forward on the devil's path, don't think like that it makes it true; but to be like them, that decides it, is not the right way. That shape often. He must notice I am very - intelligent, capable - and let me do whatever he does. His confusion at the wall, called me Rudy. "Rudy ... Nick ...." That was it, I took it as - . And driving that truck to the Co-op. 1 November Waking from that frightened dream, R vanishing with Luke, teeth breaking off their root. Day for working through Wanderground, excited looking up words. What is the intelligence of this book, that technology. What's ugly, the weak fainting hugging stroking persons speaking to themselves without having found a way out of babytalk, talking like babies, impersonating babies. Afternoon lovely stir brown grass, branches, outside. Soft [triangle]. Immediately and deepening almost steadily, imagining a body, entering the silk nest, stroking sides, kissing the hard little mouth, realizing penis's little eye is the image of that hard inner rise around a black -. In the air so they fit and can rock. [sketch] 100' of windows / swift even changing. Pictures and company. C's here in some way, where's J. M's awkwardness is with me. In Wonderground fantasy was writing something using what I collect, and being able to write for/about the writer, what she's doing, and also warmed feeling of the safe direction, ie a direction whose feel isn't fright. Common work. Walnut cake. croc earthenware pot, to stain, soil crocke an old ewe, broken down horse, worthless decrepit or disabled person, to become weak or sick - [journal] A pub somewhere in Swiss Cottage, Chalk Farm area, Roy's there with Luke, I come to greet them, the man with them, when I come alongside, is Henry, whom I greet with a long fond hug. When I come back they're gone. I scatter outdoors, can't see them down any of the streets, begin a sad chase across London to somewhere in the southwest where they may be, the family, disordered alone scared shocked, no way to know where they are, or I am, except it's the back of the campus I'm coming to now, the tower, and beyond that, east, in that pretty area I have been in before, is the street I want. Maybe a mile. Crossing through am I wet, coming apart, playing with lower left eyetooth, it seems to move, push it a little, it breaks off at the top of the root, a bloody stump left in there. Down a familiar street, library from another dream I know is further up. Notice it's been changed to a raised roadway. Copper circles, plates, overpass. I notice I'm on a raised road without handrails, when I see that I drop in fright, can't walk, crawl to where the road reaches a dentist's window, knock, the nurse and a dentist raise the window, they say this happens so often they have someone sleep there. They help me in, I ask if he can help me with this broken tooth I have in a bloody wad of cloth, I hear her lying to the other one, to get me in, the open door of a room in the far side of the corridor, many women lying recovering in old piles of bedding right through the long room, college girls, but when I return that door is closed, I've felt for the tooth on the other side (that's actually gone) and it also suddenly breaks off, brittle, is porous (it's like something -). I look at the tooth, where it was filed down across a centre prominence, like sugar cube partly dissolved and made of white sand. There'd been a medium time, driving the (old, now) red and white van. Nearby a message that R had left because he was about to begin something new and couldn't afford a slightly wrong move, like my not quite exact hugging Henry. Waking from this, and writing it, dismay and fright. - [daily record] November 2 Strength for 12? One for cooking fire, fetching, hours work on something slip gave - being able to move from outer to inner and back - that maens
Irony the surprise that it's to do with holding incompatibles. Felt blood. Looked up, early because I'd recently taken moon number for blood number. Explains yesterday's melt, this morning's forced slightly acid, in mid-forehead. With Kenner in self congratulation. Sense of being able to not jettison, the difficult, all the journals, and yet work (balance). While I insert film into the camera the corner of the [sketch] had shadowed out, so fast, one day's difference in angle. By tomorrow - Working, cutting slice of cake, cup of milk. Bright. Brown and blue. My back/side ground. Wind. Stir. Panes makes it heat/light chuted in. Itchy head. Quickly wash it in small basin on the woodstove iron (table), after two rinses throw out, wipe it with a cloth. Clean hair length of pelt. Head's shadow shape.
south look at you stir outthewindow grass They'd figure Mr Fisherman was here to thaw the trout. A sudden silence feel over all the women, as if a door had opened into each of their lives, revealing otherwise secret fears to outsiders. Sense that something is being built, it isn't prescribed but draws. Pound knew something.
For rhythm can use -''--''-''--'-'' mis ter fish er man was here to thaw the trout Dream walking with M, E, some other sibling, carrying heavy ---. My dufflebag on shoulder also has jars of preserves in among clothes, say to Paul K, we're walking the field road toward home, "This is like in Joyce" (Ulysses?). In Joyce for T "Wut's meta for?" "S'eesy." The kind of time when I work on whatever is in front of me.
envy in videre Hong Kong's lump
difference between what is known and not seemed worth finding out reports on investigations ways of being, he made it historical among exceptional men, she'd make it horizontal among anyone known diabolos slander to throw across deofol do secure men as if they were at farthest Bacon looking into oneself and thence acting by which inner and outer are united and constitutes harmony with seasons of earth and heaven thus the mind can be your palace and your body can be at ease with this penetration of the solid it has effects on things with its comprehension it stands in the emptiness above with the sun meridian obs midday meridies south, noon com combere to lie
the Lord of Terrible Aspect is no abstraction There are some who cannot understand
to get inside He says Pound wants cognition not submission. (the peculiar energy of its mode of being that Lewis painting) may revisit and descend unto the foundations of knowledge and consent, and so transplant it into another also Bacon
nous poetikos 'agent intelligence' is what records, calculates any given rhythm implies about it a complete form
the scrupulous interplay of technique, material and consciousness from moment to moment 'strategic audacities' Gregorian chant syllables rhythms
the one raft bears our fates 'flexibility of tone' stiffening and relaxing of the texture of the vocabulary
candor para kalein called to help, advocate tangents of the undrawn circle
If I'd already done what would make my importance what would I be free to do (and do that) Platonists evolved terminologies and communicated one with another
complex sense of the poem do teach a way to know my dream
You're with Sandy tonight!
Greek plastic moving toward coitus, limited by incest
different cadences, different vocabularies, for different - Flaubert and DR, Conrad, James 'interactions and tensions set up between items'
Conrad a simple soul of the right voltage but unable to disengage technique from instinct sufficiently to - The rhetorical figures were compressences of social (psychological) situations as Freud found - [daily record] 3 First page journal to Vancouver. Taken as given. What can be done with it. Do I love it. Yes, but her false -. It would be multiple labor but I'd decide questions. Are they the questions with most waiting on them. It's Luke in them I love and want to show. From Kenner today wish for alert work to hold it all right. Monday like Sunday. Oh this morning on the porch in the plastic dipper exact one-sixths striations (I found drawing) [sketch of ice surface pattern] parallel to pinna ribs. It wasn't possible to keep it, cold outside. - [journal] If I can get anything from this sense of technique shiftable diction music I already do but can it use more consciousness varying punctuation by the intimate rightness of interaction precisely how the line goes, how the word is, in its context, what has been done, what's possible now to do in the listening is the speaking work further - sense of everytime now / at the same time / as a gone to be known as unknown the tuning that brings sounds of words w inter w eet residua of sounds - readable Finnegan in the room behind the word at a distance gestures of sentences, work like overlapping planes a phonemic tune from side to side of the parchment write describing music and phanophoeia the movements - magike techne love needing to tell evoking attention a binding, a having to do with, that joins in likeness, in difference, and in modulation all the poem's materials, through which interactive web the syntactic movement flows, abandoning nothing techne is built into the computer : rational delight in procedure is really finally what that tension is what simply attention to exactly how
attention towards and how it leads into a particular world of attention - phanopoeia - known maximum of Chinese each --- gives prepositional or participial leverage to an unspecified verb - so the whole comes alive with urgency of implied making and doing by the steady local intensity of the writing
A sound that will last long enough for the succeeding sound to catch up, traverse, intersect it Precise adjustment of the intervals between disparate or recurrent themes or items or rhythms Thought of it as traveling rhythm going through points or barriers of pitch and pitch combinations - [daily record] 4 Will I learn something about the independence of these days. I'm with her, mind voice said your, pencil in books. It said your clearly, hand wrote her, clearly. ! Did it with jus du(dgment). To say at last what was the shame with JoAnn. Alright.
There seems to be nothing in him of the fright of it opening underneath. - [journal] thoacdien - where's the word from the way I don't believe anything can be resolved for instance my puzzle at M's reading, is she less intelligence, does that junk work as something I don't understand. but things can sometimes easily failure stories what it would be to move anyone setting something in order
is it needed for anything except to have a common work essays
-
divination by language if something knows, and puts that knowledge out hidden in discourse, then:
intuitions of future science set out in metaphor then the I that's around, remembering is the social and if I trade places, is the social still there remembering why do I want to know - to get the diviner without losing memory - done by exactitude? - great works 'they cause form to come into being'
the organization of forms: a much more creative and energetic
the decadence which is self admiration We keep our journals in public and when we go wrong we hear of it. faculty of the mediumistic artist is one of the parts
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