The Day of Many Daisies, Muses and Ribbons
Daisy could be anything, from the American Dream to the poetic Muse. But sometimes it is the typos on your worst poem, and that makes it the best.
The still picture through the window of a good day is: I couldn’t get my hands off the pen. That is a bad metaphor, by the way. But at least I’m writing my fingers out.
I’ve been obsessed with the Culture, Time and Language interrelations and the book that was supposed to be finished by now, The Genesis of Language, is there, still, through the windows of perception (sorry, Blake). I thought I could share my daisies of today with you.
Poem LXXXIV
The pondering on words, beautiful and ugly, and their true meaning
For a long time I’ve been writing beautiful words For a long long time I’ve been pol -ish -ing* The Words But words only have meaning when you live them A word by a word has no true meaning And it is the hardest for me To admit It There wasn’t écrit in Art Deco I hate how the Universe works And how it uses me And then leaves me, without an answer Usurping all my creation Perhaps the Adam analogy makes sense And it is a terrible thing to conclure (concur?) I digress I go on without a clue For a long time, I have been creating words And the reason why, my reasoning, my reason d’être Is this meaning lacked by the simple act Of choosing the words there are To express things that we Are afraid to express express is such a quick thing a paranym to its other half I have no much more today with these words I have already taken that express train To madness, and the manly nature of the Universe is why I exist outside of time and I am the one to play this game right I too have an other half, she is the one that fought the tale And turned the snake into a snail whose demise was A diagram and some numb numbers * the poll that wasn't exactly made of choices it was made of actions happening at this moment now or around this moment now Collective — this moment now twice
Poem LXXXV
Muses from the classes I teach while writing poetry in the halls of my mind
Act: teaching basic grammar Go to — a place Go for — what the place offers Go on (carry on) — journey/holiday/strike Go + verb (-ing) — sport/shopping I went loving I went to his love and made it mine I went for love and darkness I went on top of him, to the top of the Empyrean, forget the life I could be his wife Italicised apparatus past We needed no prepositions But English Language likes to play with circumstances on its basic instincts On — turn on, everything is on
Poem LXXXVI
J.P said ‘drama is prose’ when I apologised for being a drama queen about the poems in Portuguese I don’t want to want to write
Drama is prose I don’t write prose And prose is not even One of the arts someone made me think Poetry wasn’t either But the fact that I’m no good painter Or that the still life I paint is dead Might only be by my lover’s (past) being no muse No man can evaluate the muse, let alone im person ate It
Lastly, my position in the Universe, your position in the Universe and everything else’s position in the Universe:
Thank you for making my position a possibility
Where are you?
I’m here
When are you?
I’m here
But this one won’t make it any further than a tweet.
Thank you for reading!
Love,
A