To begin ...

As the twentieth century fades out
the nineteenth begins
it is as if nothing happened
though those who lived it thought
that everything was happening
enough to name a world for & a time
to hold it in your hand
unlimited.......the last delusion
like the perfect mask of death

Friday, November 18, 2011

Reconfiguring Romanticism (51): Maggie O'Sullivan's John Clare, with accompanying note

[1]                                                           via John Clare (1793-1864)


                                                                             scalding of the Heart burred under
                                                                                   Green dark lay
                                                                                 of breast  &  lungs
                                                                          from which there  is  No  Other
                                                              water of  Endive,  eye gaping mint. 

                                            A chamber, churred pill seed/Wheat,
                                                                            it driveth inward bleeding
                                                                      Blue Marks by Blows,
                                                                              rib Jeeping Soil of it, laid open
                                                                                          a running
                                                                     of the head bringing thorough flesh
                                                                           upon quivering stalk.

                                                                             All of them.
                                                                    Spittle Singings of the Ear:

                                                                            Esteem it as

                                              Flag, Elding
                                                         slice of morning, closen
                                                Water that Cleanses & Cuts Common, Wild, upon the lip:

                                                                   deep colour very gently
                                                               Bellied, properly resembling
                                                         bold mattering/warm flight of the

[2]                                                    via John Clare (1793-1864)
Yellow Flag.  We Came By: black dog cupping arrow.
Much branched tie of the kidney:
Fool’s page, first upon
The Drake’s Flight, it riseth
Then.  Slipped                                                                                                                                                                                  Silk was that &                                                                                                                                                                                Shaded
            (of a sort fishes delighteth in)        
             & very many the thready headings
             were no less an inward honey
                          chosen always:
                    & the heart’s good flare
                         w/full stem,
                         w/Great Water
                                    crayon Bareth gypsies) – Lieth
                                                                     voilet’s Green
                                             divide &
                                        on wheaten wing Rare &
                           Graceful coming that way:
                               arc in the shell, Sea
                   Clacked Wing dulsing w/pewter-steal,
                                     & healed w/it.

                              (note to accompany my two Clare poems)

These two poems (via John Clare (1793-1864) (1) and (2) were made around the late 1970s/early 1980s in homage to Clare. They are included in ALTO (2009). John Clare was one of the poets I began reading in the early 1970s.
Of vital sustenance and continuing inspiration to me, are his unfettered, courageous uncompromiSingings.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

in my own practice of weaving or assembling, making or doing or unmaking language’s VISIBLE PHYSICAL mattering on the sight/sight of the salvaging body of the page in the ear on the tongue in composition - in performance ---
how to draw from silence --- breakings up and breakings apart within utterances  and hearings, deconstructing/re-constituting-as-(being)-heard --- this bodily work by which i breathe by – in process – in always searching for poetic form - No Twas No From The Although No Twas Of To No Seemed So Made Untill A Each Made I Sing I Seemed - & Beside & To & To The Each & She’d - - - in stuttering - - in pushing into not knowing --- i don’t know -
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

how to achieve by not achieving? how to make by not making?
it's all in that.
it's not the new.  it is what is yet not known,
thought, seen, touched but really what is not.
and that is. (Eva Hesse)                                                                                                                  
[Lucy Lippard, Eva Hesse (New York: New York UP, 1976) 165.]
Maggie O'Sullivan / November 2011

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