notes on my next book
People ask me what my book
is about
I say 'nothing' as
I call it 'broken/open'
that seemed to be
words for
the nothing I know
which goes out into
and is patterned in language
It will become a book
you can hold
and turn like a poem
a place to mark
something that can be
opened? Dissolved in doing?
I'm going with perception
which may be
'going on your nerve'
jumping in the midst
of the flow, experience
in language underway
But I have found I need
more tenderness
to pick up the pieces
everything is broken -
systems, gods, engines
now it's more fun
perhaps against method/perhaps no project
and going without
some 'reader' that's been made-up
feeling my way again
and the importance of wings
the lake, rock and sand
it all runs on the pink sexed skin
a landscape like sound
drips from my edges
asking questions
about how the pieces don’t fit
shards alter meanings
these shards are the parts
'poetry is too important to be left
to its own devices' (Charles Bernstein)
Are we at the end of
'the body' and 'nature'?
Is time disappearing into speed?
Awe is an engine
the particular
'a glitch in the system'?
Where are the new senses?
It is broken - it is open.
- based on some notes I used at a reading of poems from my next book, 10 July 2003, The Loft, UTS, Sydney. The proposed title is Broken Open. I interspersed some poems between these comments. Someone suggested the title was a bit hard. I think it's positive but everyone sees these things differently.
is about
I say 'nothing' as
I call it 'broken/open'
that seemed to be
words for
the nothing I know
which goes out into
and is patterned in language
It will become a book
you can hold
and turn like a poem
a place to mark
something that can be
opened? Dissolved in doing?
I'm going with perception
which may be
'going on your nerve'
jumping in the midst
of the flow, experience
in language underway
But I have found I need
more tenderness
to pick up the pieces
everything is broken -
systems, gods, engines
now it's more fun
perhaps against method/perhaps no project
and going without
some 'reader' that's been made-up
feeling my way again
and the importance of wings
the lake, rock and sand
it all runs on the pink sexed skin
a landscape like sound
drips from my edges
asking questions
about how the pieces don’t fit
shards alter meanings
these shards are the parts
'poetry is too important to be left
to its own devices' (Charles Bernstein)
Are we at the end of
'the body' and 'nature'?
Is time disappearing into speed?
Awe is an engine
the particular
'a glitch in the system'?
Where are the new senses?
It is broken - it is open.
- based on some notes I used at a reading of poems from my next book, 10 July 2003, The Loft, UTS, Sydney. The proposed title is Broken Open. I interspersed some poems between these comments. Someone suggested the title was a bit hard. I think it's positive but everyone sees these things differently.
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