Self and reality. Symbol and language. Myth and image. Memory and consciousness.
Dream and unreality: locus communis.

Tuesday, November 9, 2010

132/365 - 136/365


09.19.10
In the oven, a chicken bakes, clicking and spitting in its own juices. The house is warm with scents of the food, left-over garlic and a basic litany of herbs.

Reading Mary Oliver, her early works. She has a profound way of making me pause between pages. One is forced to meditate on her work in a way that is not often evident with more contemporary writers. On the surface her words appear plain, minimalistic—but the verses carry a heft, as a stone…

A day to read poems
and then slowly fold up fresh
laundry in warm piles.

09.20.19
Boys with sticks poke at
a brown toad carcass left on
the side of the road.

09.21.10
State the obvious:
frustration of a blank page
and errands to run.

09.22.10
A moment clichéd:
the full moon descends over
the back garden wall.

09.23.10
She simply stands there.
In the middle of the road.
Watching cars speed by.

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