Sunday, March 9, 2008

Practicing Worcester Logic

The people of Worcester begin with numbers. They begin. They speak in places called cathedral or hallway, and they write home. Home bellows in capitals, like this: HOME, because a place is there. HOME is a function of Worcester, but in a way related to the pressures of position and the dynamics of time. There is always time for HOMES.

• Lake Huron
• Lake Ontario
• Lake Michigan
• Lake Erie
• Lake Superior

Actually, Lake Ontario is Lake Omaha, and we have a little story, completing implication with a stroke. Listen, my friends. The winds were wild if not pleased, perhaps bringing a tornado to kill 94 people, all of whom significantly lost, we believe. Daniel Gookin petitioned to have the town's name officially changed from "Quinsigamond" to "Worcester." However, its inhabitants were still vulnerable to attack. History had already occurred, but it seems like more is available. It all comes HOME. The town was again abandoned by all its English inhabitants except for Diggory Sargent, who was later tomahawked.

Worcester by the shore of all those lakes, and memory, guarding stakes for future…

Ontology My Ass

Bibliography is the only real art / science. Facts in other fields are simply hollow. Good bibliography is an easy ticket to heaven. Possibly astronomy is as divine. Course the skies are simple things next to the world of books.

The winds of Worcester roar across every certitude. Charles Olson became a definition, with a cousin in the hills, a memory for instant deliberation, and a kind of posture that struck the rooftop of a now famous sky. Such wizardly recycling of condition inveighs against the easy Harvard process, so that Gloucester, 2 syllables, becomes a central point of trade and willingness. Winds blow from the east, to the point of bringing colonies of new suits to the forest grange. This is true. It is in books.

Books are in trouble, however. Elizabeth Bishop, the only American to win that prize. The then Frank O’Hara, first of Grafton, then a state to himself. A chuckle called Robert Benchley. An antiquarian society that outnumbered Harvard…

Let’s go back to the cosseting myth. A string becomes matter, unless someone is looking. Waves are particles until we expect as much. Later, that same day…

But another day, with this rhyme, and the festering examination of culture as concerned citizens dispute the relative functional necessity of other plans for the aforesaid landed state of prime living possibility.

Very seriously told me once that Bishop was a very good poet but 3rd rate at best, whereas Stanley Kunitz is for all time! Ha. Imagine! He's up in heaven right now, sitting next to Dante! Frank & Olson can't not be lost in that scheme of things.

The future, dated 17th century, is looking bright if not good. But the colonies continued to spread.