chris

Originally published in The Speed of Darkness (1968) 1 Whoever despises the clitoris despises the penis Whoever despises the penis despises the cunt Whoever despises the cunt despises the life of the child. Resurrection music,silence,and surf. 2 No longer speaking Listening with the whole body And with every drop of blood Overtaken by silence But this same silence is become speech With the speed of darkness. 3 Stilness during war, the lake. The unmoving spruces. Glints over the water. Faces, voices.You are far away. A tree that trembles. I am the tree that trembles and trembles. 4 After the lifting [...]

When you see a woman riding the air Well, you see a woman playing with fire, A woman made of storm and desire And she loves the whole damn zoo. But you can be sure, whatever I do, That I need my beer and bacon too. I wake every night at 4 A.M. And I tell my dreams to the man who is there, Dreams of animals not like him— A woman who rides on fire and air Loves to dream with the whole damn zoo. But I need my beer and bacon too. My dreams ride out from the [...]

Originally published in Beast in View (1944) Trapped, blinded, led; and in the end betrayed Daily by new betrayals as he stays Deep in his labyrinth, shaking and going mad, Betrayed. Betrayed. Raving, the beaten head Heavy with madness, he stands, half-dead and proud. No one again will ever see his pride. No one will find him by walking to him straight But must be led circuitously about, Calling to him and close and, losing the subtle thread, Lose him again; while he waits, brutalized By loneliness. Later, afraid Of his own suffering. At last, savage and made Ravenous, ready [...]

From "Letter to the Front"  Originally published in Beast in View (1944) To be a Jew in the twentieth century Is to be offered a gift. If you refuse, Wishing to be invisible, you choose Death of the spirit, the stone insanity. Accepting, take full life. Full agonies: Your evening deep in labyrinthine blood Of those who resist, fail, and resist; and God Reduced to a hostage among hostages. The gift is torment. Not alone the still Torture, isolation; or torture of the flesh. That may come also. But the accepting wish, The whole and fertile spirit as guarantee For [...]

Give them my regards when you go to the school reunion; and at the marriage-supper, say that I'm thinking of them. They'll remember my name; I went to the movies with that one, feeling the weight of their death where she sat at my elbow; she never said a word, but all of them were heard. All of them alike, expensive girls, the leaden friends: one used to play the piano, one of them once wrote a sonnet, one even seemed awakened enough to photograph wheatfields- the dull girls with the educated minds and technical passions- pure love was their [...]

Originally published in Con Spirito 2.1 (Nov. 1933), p. 2. Archives and Special Collections, Vassar College Library Dither and amble and twitter at the brink of time whispering fragments of a century sliding among a thousand ghosts of meaning nudging an emotion for the reason of a rhyme impaling logic’s strict velocity. Mr. Panfilo sits and grins absorbed beyond hope in his own grinning-- collapsing in attempts to make an end to his idea’s beginning. The hall is blanched, engrossed in a stupendous boredom. The audience crumbles in cerebral whoredom, devoted lustfully to a conceit’s expansion, to an obscure line’s [...]

Originally published in The Gates (1976) For John Cage It was like everything else, like everything-- nothing at all like what they say it is. The petals of iris were slightly cinnamon, a smooth beard in the mouth transforming to strong drink, light violet turning purple in the throat and flashed and went deep red burning and burning. Well, no, more an extreme warmth, but we thought of burning, we thought of poisons, we thought of the closing of the throat forever, of dying, of the end of song. We were doing it, you understand, for the first time. You [...]