And then the day was the colour of resistance, a blue or yellow, perhaps, or could green entail such logic? The pull nonetheless is towards an ocean of understanding, tho that might be a lake in the middle of a car on the highway going away. Where would people go, if Worcester wasn’t home? They would go to the blue of the sun on a generous morning, or to the green of the sky, when the birds flake out, or to the yellow of the sea, when it is time. This is so obvious, required, a practice, a home, yet the standards of such revival—fitting resistance itself with new document forms—favours a town. That town can be ours. Worcester, where Charles Olson saw the sea.
Walking is not walking if Gertrude chooses not to walk. The premise: Gertrude Stein is not walking. She may be on a boat, not walking, crossing the wide ocean sea. Leaving inevitable France but not walking. Dramatic but not walking. Sentenced but not walking. There were days of walking but not this day. Reading or just looking but not walking.There were sentences full of walking but not walking. Talking maybe but not walking in or out. A time lived and walking was done then if not now. It was a doing and it was a done. Not forgetting Alice who may have had walking done or even doing. The annals say Leo Stein walked along, up to and including the degree of not walking, along. Those flower names walked along, Matisse, Picasso, Laurencin, in varieties. An adding war or two closed or opened anything jump. Apollinaire in the historical. Languages of shapes and sizes bounding for just the time and a little beyond. And that was the how sentence. In that time but also forward until readi...
Comments
I love the poems of yours that I've read online. Would you like to trade books? Let me know.
tongblissATsbcglobalDOTnet
Best --
Joseph Massey