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Pastimes : A Poetry Corner -- Ignore unavailable to you. Want to Upgrade?

To: Poet who wrote (934)	8/28/2004 1:26:53 PM
From: Volsi Mimir	Respond to of 1582

Dom Moraes wrote that poem -- I had dedicated that also to Mr. Ammons (gone in 2001) Read GARBAGE it is a great work of what our times are..... and well as Mr. Milosz. AN IMPROVISATION FOR ANGULAR MOMENTUM ~AR Ammons Walking is like imagination, a single step dissolves the circle into motion; the eye here and there rests on a leaf, gap, or ledge, everything flowing except where sight touches seen: stop, though, and reality snaps back in, locked hard, forms sharply themselves, bushbank, dentree, phoneline, definite, fixed, the self, too, then caught real, clouds and wind melting into their directions, breaking around and over, down and out, motions profound, alive, musical! Perhaps the death mother like the birth mother does not desert us but comes to tend and produce us, to make room for us and bear us tenderly, considerately, through the gates, to see us through, to ease our pains, quell our cries, to hover over and nestle us, to deliver us into the greatest, most enduring peace, all the way past the bother of recollection, beyond the finework of frailty, the mishmash house of the coming & going, creation's fringes, the eddies and curlicues Mr.Moreas (from India- educated in Great Britian) wrote his poems in the fifties and sixties and quit writing after that-- he had many poems deal with myths and illusions of fantasy-- some say religion (sacreligiously.) MY FRIENDS THE POET (1965) (By Loch Ness) My friend the poet fixes his blue eyes On the grey lake in which the frail rain falls. He cannot think why monsters do not rise, Roaring in joy, since it is he that calls. Miracles do not happen every day, I have informed him, hoping it was true: But his blue eyes stayed fixed upon the grey Lake, and he only answered that they do. Now at the junction for the south, nearby, The mauve industrialists invade the train My friend the poet left early today. Their haunches shake: their gluey mouths complain. They think him mad for standing in the rain Though he believes in monsters less than they.