13 MAR 06
You saw the field, the tree, the tunnels and the roots under the ground, the empty house, the fence. You had a good interpretation, I remember feeling it was good.
I laughed because I was surprised. Though it was sad, your story, and all about our parting. But nothing in your version said: "her tragic life."

(I died. I keep forgetting that.)
11 MAR 06

Beautiful and Free:
Online: Word For/Word #9.
I think this is an especially good issue (and not just because I have a couple of poems in it).
In print: Drill #7.
How can this work? A big magazine, thick with great poems and art and even a CD--free? I think Michael Slosek might be a saint of poetry. If you haven't already, write for your free copy of Drill 7 (while supply lasts!). Use the email address at the House Press site (housepress at gmail dot com). There are even a few copies of #6 left. The current issue of Drill is the final one, but Michael will be starting a new magazine with Luke Daly and Eric Unger--they hope to have their first issue out this fall.
9 MAR 06
Week 5, 14 sentences:
28 pages of reference to man. One might say: but the shape--but there is. With almost every stroke. Might as well be Magellan's ships.
We were 14 that summer. Said he had a long grey beard, like ZZ Top. Said he'd inherited 18 buildings, said he's probably worth about 100 million. Said he was walking down the street with a wrench in his hand. Do you see a face in that?
I am older than my father. Making art, being in love, having an abstract goal. A good dinner, a place to lie down. As we listen, to any other voice, my own chords carry me downriver. I don't remember you that well but my wife knows your name.
7 MAR 06
from Louise Bourgeois: Drawings & Observations
[click images for closer views]

Easton House, 1946
Well, this is an exact representation of the house in Connecticut that is still in the family. I think we were happy there. All the faces in the window are smiling. Later on I made that house in marble. I represented it many, many times, which was not necessary, since it is still there today.
. . . .

Untitled, 1940
. . . Here on the left is a figure lying down, who is either asleep or waiting for a mate. Nobody knows. . . You see the horse in the meadow. Nobody knows why he's there, what he's doing, why he's waiting. But he's peaceful. He's waiting for something: nobody knows what it is, but he has a right to wait. He has a right to exist.
. . . .

Femme maison, 1947
. . . she shows herself at the very moment that she thinks she's hiding.
. . . .

5 MAR 06

"There used to be ink...you could erase old writing with and... write something new at the same time..."

"I kept thinking and writing down the same thing..."
(Kings of the Road)
3 MAR 06
Week 4, 14 sentences:
To what extent is what we (choose to) talk about forming the rest of our lives? Still in the box. Willful backwardness. He has his head in the bag. It drips loudly.
People use old pictures because they still feel like that person inside. I learned a new word from Simon. "If you start talking, I'm leaving" and they both put on their coats.
Commitment to the work, and the place it comes from. The guys in produce, the women in the bakery department, the tall man in fish, the checkers, boys and girls who have to yell "Enter!" when they ring up alcohol because they aren't old enough to buy or sell it.
Past tense is a tell. All our games turn out to be "hit the deck" or "hit the road." Who am I if I don't call back? Low res carries the day.
1 MAR 06


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