moonnoom

in sky, rising seaclock,
moon above and then below

a star that is not is a light that is not

moon mirrors light from sun
but moon with no relationship with sun

the eye brings them together because it cannot see

we cannot bring human into moon
but we can mirror moon in

we can give sky its space

portmanteau

breathlect, refleathe

which letters forgotton now none in the hearing for the speaking is the touching

turning not back or forward just a strange spinning we get nowhere but nowhere together

ampreath, brealify

collisions of words are collisions of worlds
                                                      the el threaded in or out, breathing in is remembering in the l

                a vigil for the l
a moment of silence for the l

any letter is any word is any world

              keep it close, pull heart in into it
                                         let loose the year because it could very well be week
                                         let loose the week because it could very well be day
                                         let loose the day because it could very well be hour
                                         let loose the hour because it is very much minute

     any letter is every moment

              and we are here together in anyevery letter

no calendar, no watch

                                                let these things go in the letter

                                                                  and converse con verse with verse within verse withinverse is auniverse a uni unit universe and an earth uniearth       and alongside is us not running to keep up but breathing breathing to remember that this is all we need to do to be on this verse, this verth, this universe, this earth

    which is some letter lost in among other letters l
                                we are at a loss for this letter as much as

                 let loose our lettering for love
                                                     of breath for breathing, let ting let terrrrriiinnnggg  leathing

          here
       ere
             hear
                  ere
  h               ear                                   t
                   year

for the niedecker in neidecker or neither

iwrites inideograms
blocker safeblocks
homesettlehome
mortar pistol
blockshot shot the block
club it for its clues
don't set don't sell
it's all pellmellhell

kurt schwitters ursonate

you cannot tell what is coming to the foreground and what is receding into the background

all is waste reserved preserved and then re-embraced or embraced as if for the first time, a patch of fabric can show traces of a forgotten personal history or a feather that is disintegrating

the rubbage builds up upon itself, creating its own history

"merz" = commerce = an intersection of public space, an overlapping

as viewers, we try to rescue the objects we see when we try to put them into context (and now i think about nick dorsky's films, andy goldsworthy, and anselm keifer)

the object pieces and sculptures appear to be mechanical waste, but when assembled, they become some unknown purpose. and so, the question appears-- does a gathering of objects give a purpose? if form, is there automatic purpose

pieces of humanity abandoned or orphaned bits given a temporary home, yet there is struggle to be recognized, heard here, at least at first, due to so much overlapping (or burial), and then perhaps also because of time which peels away at these pieces, causing some to pop forward

if you do not look closely enough, you will miss the nature, the traces of humanity-- here is a feather lingering in the darkness of color of muddled rubbage; do not mistake it for being trash or as pieces that have been purposely distorted like the painted piece of record (that incidentally also looks like a feather)

there are a lot of tickets here, giving you the right to traverse, to pass through, or passage when there is none allowed

how carefully did he choose to reveal his words? how many words are accidentally revealed over time?

he continued to attempt to bring words and images together just as he continued to bring paste and paint or to marry other materials together. how well did he know the materials? how well did he know the words?

ursonate, you are an extended sound poem that bridges literary, musical, and speech systems

henry cowell, you influenced john cage, and schwitters worked with you, too

"elements of poetry are letters, syllables, words, sentences. poetry arises from the interaction of these elements and plays sense against nonsense." -- k. s.

a book is one hand in the fire

hear now cecilia vicuna, zumbar, kon kon, remembering that all is interconnected
hear now etel adnan, in the heart of the heart of another country, william gass, city lights bookstore, when i shelved poets there like lorine neidecker (who's name was misspelled on her own headstone) and muriel rukeyser (who has an fbi file-- perhaps tipped off by paul zukofsky?) for the first time and true reading connections between poets and other artists and thinkers began to shake goldsworthy hands with the place that is material that is alight and sounded vicuna's hum or tongue within tongue for me. and now tracing back is hearing forward and nowness or scalapino's new time, for here we all are.
hear now kurt schwitters, ursonate sound poem to bridge literary, musical, and speech systems
hear now john cage, echolocation of the beating heart chamber
hear now silverfish banned bookstore in kuala lumpur, malaysia, seoul selection bookstore in seoul, south korea
hear now emily dickenson, transferral of a gardened self
hear now edmond jabes, the book that is our pain is our home and is nowhere
hear now susan sontag, regarding the pain of others
hear now henry david thoreau, faith in a seed
hear now mei-mei bursenbrugge
hear now susan howe
hear now alice notley
hear now bernadette mayer
hear now hear now hear now hear now now nownownow hearhearhearearearear new ear
now, come closer, a near ear nearer to our ear

fog isolates and wind incorporates
aloners inear

to the right, a moon in a morning sky

our turning sets it

on the horizon of an apartment building

in the middle, cloudless and a blueness dimmed by a leftness

of a settling storm front before a sun

our turning raises it

morning is set upon what lies behind

is what is unknown waste? if a book of words, known only to a few, waits, is it being forgotten, buried? does time make what little is known of something be less known until it recedes into the unknown altogether? if a book of words is buried by time is it waste? if a book of words is known by many is it merely appropriated? if something has been appropriated, has it been taken up, gathered, saved? if a book of words has been saved, was it in danger of being lost before? is a book of poetry appropriated waste?