Chanson du temps opportun

Le Temps, de ses pipeaux, tire de clairs accords:
Bondissez au soleil, les ames et les corps;

Par les chemins poudreux et la verdure epaisse
Epuisez les plaisirs, c' est la seule sagesse;

Prenez-vous, quittez-vous, cherchez-vous tour a tour,
Il n'est rien de reel que Ie reve et l'amour.

Sur la terre indigente ou tant d'ombre s'eploie
Ayez souci d'un peu de justice et de joie;

Retenez, du savoir, ce qu'il faut au bonheur;
On est assez profond pour Ie jour ou l' on meurt.

Vivez; ayez l'amour, la colere et l'envie,
Pauvres etres vivants, il n'est rien que la vie!

Time pipes its chords: and you, bodies and souls,
Leap, in the sun, your lusty caprioles!

Song of the opportune moment

time, in its piping, tears from light accord:
bound to the sun, soul and body,

exhausting pleasure is the only sagacity
by the dusty path, in thick verdure:

take, leave, seek turn by turn;
there is nothing like dreams and love.

... tbc

La chambre, ou l'ete monotone
Confine les ors de sa gloire.

the room where summer's monotony
confines gold it its glory


I am a fan

6 April – Horace’s birthday … and just a little over
> 10 years since his passing.
> 6 April – Release of the latest issue (#34) of the music
> magazine “Waxpoetics”, which features a 10-page article
> on Horace and the Arkestra. Many pictures included.
> Then several events ….
> 12 April, 8pm – Extraordinary vocalist Dwight Trible’s
> annual Easter celebration at the Jazz Bakery in Culver City.
> 17 April, 8:30pm – at the World Stage – World Stage
> Stories featuring an interview with Alphonse Mouzon
> 19 April, 3pm – Benefit for ailing, great
> L.A./Arkestra/jazz (etc., etc.) pianist Nate Morgan at the
> Hollywood Studio Bar and Grill, 6122 Sunset, at Gower,
> across from CBS.
> 19 April, 7pm – at the Center for the Arts in Eagle
> Rock, 2225 Colorado Blvd. In Eagle Rock. Open Gate Theatre
> has started a new series called Flicked – showing old
> silent movies with new LIVE music. This month’s flick is
> “Metropolis” with improvisational music by Bill Casale,
> Alex Cline, Jeff Gauthier, Will Salmon & GE Stinson.
> 26 April, 8pm – at The Jazz Bakery Horace Tapscott
> Tribute concert by the Pan Afrikan Peoples Arkestra and the
> Great Voice of UGMAA. With the return of Ark bandleaders in
> the 1970s – Jesse Sharps and Fuasi Abdul-Khaliq – should
> be an amazing concert. More details will be provided in a
> subsequent e-mail.
> May 7-10 in Berlin Germany - Leimert Park: The Story of a
> Village in South Central Los Angeles is showing at the XXIV
> Black International Cinema!
> 23 May, 1pm - Many of you know Zan Zetina as the Director
> of Photography on Leimert Park documentary. But she is also
> a wonderful dancer and is now working with The Repertory
> Dance Theatre of Los Angeles ( www.therdtola.org )
> They are having a Praise Dance Fundraiser on May 23, 2009
> with the goal of raising $1000 to support their youth
> programs:
> When: May 23, 2009
> Time: 1PM - 3PM
> Location: Christ the Good Shepherd Episcopal Church, 3303
> W. Vernon Avenue, Los Angeles, CA 90035
> If you cannot attend, you can still make a donation! Just
> go to their website www.therdtola.org .
poetics, manifesto, or self justification?

if self justification addresses a gap between behaviour and belief, and poetry, the gap between already-expressed-in-language experience and personal experience (writ large), then it is not the poetics statement, but the poetry itself which is self justification

the poetics statement justifies the poetry: it is saying that there is no difference between behaviour (writings) and the author's intentions

the manifesto is stating those intentions or beliefs

however, writing/composing/dictating/ranting out the poetics statement or manifesto is also behaviour, so

and what about the reverse engineered statement?
by studying women's writing -- even reading it, using it-- are we perpetuating the mediocre

by "using" other work in some way, are we oly creating secondary works -- by using Shakespeare, Kathy Acker, etc. as examples?

what are we doing when we do a homolinguistic or homophoic or -- other translation? why?


20 Answers

the idea: to become, infinitive,
the idea unfolding on a page like a letter,
amessage written,
like one read, folded into body, into brain,

what is devoured, quickest;
candy, buildings, trucks....

our thoughts and surges want to push outward, enlarge,

or reduce
from moon
to sliver
on blade

or to imagine that
plus the simple leisure and fineness
attention finity not infinity
I have really mixed feelings about this, as I felt my phone sales experience was -- real -- not like dial-a-poem is to the time call or the weather call --
Twenty Questions


what on a page becomes fanciful
what, on a page,
where: mouth, brain

what on a page
where, when, hand
what on a page
where, word in head to hand again
when, hand to mouth
becomes fanciful?

why fancy
this sweet, when
emanations, effluvia oppress?
not purpose?

why full,
not perfectly empty, filling
or draining

can become, unfold?
can become what on what
on a page?

does it arrive (get ther) simply, and then don lipstick?
jig a sprightly step?
Dance hands?

Saucy in the ear
wild ear

and there is a place
for opening
a place for opening
what? too strange to have in the ear
(get out, get out, you ugly sport)

there's a place for pictures, on the wall, in books,
in cabinets, as files, or the report cards and transcripts of the former
Shah of Iran
family photos, tax returns, be they revelatory or dead paper specifically printed and free (by which I mean, without cost, by law, in the library, because that's where things that only cost .25 a day after two weeks are, although tax forms -- people with loud expensive red ink could write on that free paper -- our laws provide this pre-printed.... oh this is really boring)

strangely reveletory tax returns, why all those knickers, ha ha
coded files on obsolete backups, punch card, DAT, 9 inch disk, 5 1/2 floppy, 3 1/4 hard floppy (MAC compatible!), Zip!

ok this stinks, there are spaces and alignments


heaney, nobel speech, "We want the surprise to be transitive like the impatient thump which unexpectedly restores the picture to the television set, or the electric shock which sets the fibrillating heart back to its proper rhythm."

not intransitive (no object)
Janet Hamilton, from Poems And Essays (1863); from Poems of Purpose and Sketches in Prose of Scottish Peasant Life and Character in Auld Langsyne (1865); from Poems And Ballads (1868);

google books

(scottish dialect in print) awa'!

Ellen Johnston, from her Autobiography, Poems and Songs of Ellen Johnston, The Factory Girl (1867);

saddest preface by a "literary celebrity" thus far

Autobiography, Poems, and Songs By Ellen Johnston: "ELLEN JOHNSTON the Factory Girl has asked me to look over her verses This I have done with very considerable interest and pleasure She labours of course under great disadvantage but subtracting all the signs of imperfect education her rhymes are highly creditable to her heart and head too are written always with fluency and often with sweetness and I see have attracted the notice and the warm praise of many of her own class I hope she will be encouraged by this to cultivate her mind to read to correct the faults in her style arising from her limited opportunities and so doing she cannot fail to secure still increased respect and warmer patronage"
Mary Bryan, Sonnets and Metrical Tales, curiously not available

Mary Colling, Fables... in google books

Mary Hutton, cottage tales and poems in google books author of sheffield manor, etc.)

"On the occupation of Cracow"!

Autobiography of Mary Smith, School Mistress and Nonconformist
(and poet, author of several books) -- google books

Louisa A. Horsfield The Cottage Lyre (can't find online)

Ruth Wills Lays of Lowly Life (google books)

Lays of Lowly Life By Ruth Wills: "C"
Mary M. Colling


Fast fell the rain, the winds did roar;
Her wintry robe Creation wore,
When, fearless, from a frost-bound bed,
A snowdrop raised its little head.

An ivy, through the winter green,
Its unprotected state had seen
And, by mistaken produced moved,
The fearless flow'ret thus reproved:

''Tis great presumption this, I vow,
In such a tender flower as thou,
That thus thou seem'st to dare the blast,
When lofty elms e'en are laid waste.

'Take my advice, lie by awhile
Till Sol resumes his vernal smile;
Then beauty will bedeck the vales,
And whirlwinds sink to gentle gales.

'Let not the storms display their power
On such a weak, unsheltered flower.'
So prudence may presumption chide,
But thus the fearless flower replied:

'I know not what my fate may be
You shall not raise distrust in me;
Learn, this suggestion makes me bold:
"The hand which form'd can well uphold."

'Why I am here - I give the reason -
I come at my appointed season;
And though I am but weak and small,
I'll never shrink from Nature's call.'


Three Turkies once, ambitious grown,
Went travelling where they were not known;
And each, in hopes to be admired,
His tail with peacock's plums attired.
While thus their journey they pursued,
Their borrow'd beauties oft they view'd;
But lo! by chance, to their regret,
They soon a neighbouring Gander met,
The latter, although much surprise,
His neighbours quickly recognised:
"My friends," said he, "how strange the sight,
Your tails are grown so fine since night!"
The Turkies each assumed an air:
One said, "You don't know who we are;
And 'tis beneath us, when we wander,
To claim acquaintance with a Gander."
The Gander answer'd, "Though you're cross,
And I am really at a loss
What names to call you, now you roam,
I'm sure you're Turkies when at home."

Charlotte Richardson

Poems Written on Different Occasions (google books)
Ludolph, long poem, canto 1 (google books)





On Della's banks, where soft and slow

The silent stream majestic glides, Or, rushing to the vale below,

Luxuriant pours its foaming tides, Through leafy grove or vernal plain,

And, in a thousand winding rills,
Refreshes all the rich domain

That skirts Morena's sloping hills ;—
At closing eve—that peaceful hour
When on Morena's ancient tow'r
The parting sunbeams faintly gleam,
And through the lofty turret stream—
Two youthful maidens lov'd to stray,
To mark the soft declining ray—

To list the distant waterfall,
The pensive ring-dove's frequent call—
To point where, sedgy reeds among,
The bending willow graceful hung ;
Or wander through the forest wild,
Where Nature's simpler beauties smil'd.
But chief it was their choice to tread
Where Della's peaceful hamlet spread ;
Its modest cot, its lowly farm,
Adorn'd with every rural charm.
Embowered in shelt'ring groves it lay,
Unpierc'd by summer's scorching ray,
By wintry blast or vapour chill,
That wraps in clouds the dusky hill.
Here first were heard the warbler's strains,
Spring's earliest beauties grac'd the plains;
And here, the blossom'd boughs among,
The cuckoo first began her song.


In sooth it was a lovely place ; So sweet, that should the pilgrim trace With wearied step the neighbouring moor— The rugged steep, the beaten shore—

And, winding down the woody dale,
Descend to this delightful vale—
He 'd think Elysium bloom'd around,
And dream in this enchanted ground
To rest in peace—his wand'rings o'er—
And seek the toilsome world no more :
Save that behind yon sacred grove
(As if to lift the soul above)
He sees the village steeple rise,
Serenely pointing to the skies ;
While moss-grown tombs and cypress shade
Pourtray the mansions of the dead,
And, as they meet the traveler's eyes,
Proclaim " this is not Paradise!"

Dear was the scene, but dearer far
To young Alberto's fervent heart

The gentle maids who wander'd there,
And form'd its loveliest, sweetest, part.

Soft bloom'd the rose on Ina's cheeks,
As Love had plac'd it there by stealth;

Florilda's wore the glow that speaks
Of joyous innocence and health.


Mary Robonson at Celebration of women writers
Laetitia Pilkington - her memoirs seem to have been already republished so often that no one's made them available free, poems interspersed or extracted -- dunno about ones she sold to others
two by ann candler, and a link to the book

THRICE happy Maid! the awful scene is o'er;
And transitory ills are now no more:
To realms of bliss thy gentle spirit flies,
The cumbrous day in peaceful slumber lies.
No more, sweet Maid! wilt thou have cause to weep,
Nor grief with thee her midnight vigils keep.
By sickness worn, bow'd early to the tomb,
A fading flow'ret, wither'd in its bloom.
When death beheld thee youthful, fair, and good,
Then half disarm'd, irresolute he stood,
With seeming pity oft thy form survey'd,
No sudden change, no rapid strides he made;
Solemn and slow, protracted long the hour,
And long restrain'd his all subduing pow'r;
The stroke decisive, ling'ring, he deferr'd,
Yet ever found thee watching and prepar'd.
Myriads of bright immortals round thee wait,
And watch the moment that decides thy fate:
Behold, 'tis past:--thy tears are wip'd away:--
The gloom of night produces endless day.

Page 26
The task perform'd, the glorious prize is won,
The heav'nly host appears and guides thee on,
Presents thee spotless at the throne of grace,
Where thou behold'st thy maker face to face.
Thy shining robes in graceful order flow,
A never fading crown adorns thy brow;
Millions of winged seraphs, gather round:
Their golden harps thro' heav'n's wide portals sound,
While songs of thanks and praise united join:
O, bliss supreme!--their happy state is thine.
Thy well spent life, thy truth and innocence,
Faith bids us hope, has gain'd its recompence.
Instructed early on thy God to wait,
Adore his name, his wisdom venerate;
To gain instruction from the moral page,
And shun the follies of the present age;
With care avoid whate'er might taint the mind,
Corrupt the heart and leave a sting behind;
Inform'd where hidden danger lurking lay,
And how with safety to pursue thy way;
With guide marks set, that pointed out the road,
Life's mazy path securely hast thou trod:
Thy growing virtues mark'd thy years increase,
And crown'd thy days with happiness and peace:
Serene thou saw'st this hour approaching nigh,
Instructed how to live, and how to die.

Page [27]

Addressed to a Young Lady on her Marriage.
"BRIGHT was the day, and warm the noon tide beam,*
"When wand'ring, to divert a leisure hour,
"A village maid, who loiter'd near the stream,
"Met her fair friend beneath an alder bow'r.

"There, on the verdant turf at ease reclin'd,
"They heard the soft'ned peal pass sweeping bye,
"Borne on the bosom of the summer wind,
"With many a mingled note of rural joy.

"The sprightly viol sounding in the shade,
"Responsive footsteps, shouts of loud applause,
"And mirth re-echo'd from the lowland glade:
"When thus the village maid enquir'd the cause."


What pleasing sounds are these I hear?
What joy those strains impart!
They breath enchantment o'er my ear,
And rapture o'er my heart.

Page 28


When sounds like these such news repeat,
Such blest events proclaim,
Each breast, like thine, with joy must beat
And hail the voice of fame.


What fav'rite has the goddess found
To share her pageant car,
That airy regions echo round
And answer from afar?


Not envy sure can make you blind
To praise which merit warms:
What imperfection can you find
In JULIA'S matchless charms?


JULIA ! that name I must revere:
But say, what honour new?
Or why did fame so long defer
To pay the tribute due?


Hold, Laura; fame did, long ago,
Her matchless worth proclaim;
A blest occasion offers now
To speak her praise again.

Page 29


Say what can fortune offer more?
What greater bliss prepare?
Wit, sense, and beauty, wealth and pow'r,
Already crown the fair.


Kind heav'n, indulgent, now prepares
Her goodness to repay,
And fame, in these glad sounds, declares,


Say, is the youth who claims her care
Of known approved worth?
His merits equal to the fair,
Her equal too in birth?


A youth in whose descent we trace
High honor's just renown,
The offspring of an ancient race,
His worth their glory's crown.


Long may they live in blessed ease,
Untemper'd with alloy,
And tread the flow'ry paths of peace
With never ceasing joy.

Page 30


Receive, kind Heav'n, my ardent pray'rs,
May they unrivall'd prove!
May each domestic bliss be theirs,
The fruits of peace and love!


Each rising morn that wish renew,
Each heart repeat the same,
And speak the praises justly due
To JULIA'S dear lov'd name.
* The three first stanzas of this Poem were supplied by a Friend of the Author.

letters from brussels, Mrs. rthur Thorold, a combo of flower book and travelogue
@ google books

Letters from Brussels, in the summer of 1835 By Anne Laura Thorold: "Perhaps he was not very blooming "
add to british poets most US english majors would know, Thomas Hardy

his "Concerning Agnes" reminded me

Agnes Grove, travel writer

look at those subscribers! Mrs. Mary YOUNG Sewell, poems of 1803, found by accident

looking for the poems of travel writer mrs mary boddington, already discovered:

Lee O'Brien - Reading/Writing the Forgotten: The Poetry of Mary Boddington - Victorian Poetry 41:4 Victorian Poetry 41.4 (2003) 473-481 Reading/Writing the Forgotten: The Poetry of Mary Boddington Lee O'brien For if it is rash to walk into a lion's den unarmed, rash to navigate the Atlantic in a rowing boat, rash to stand on one foot on the top of St Paul's, it is still more rash to go home alone with a poet. ---Virginia Woolf, Orlando I first encountered the work of forgotten women poets when, as research assistant to Virginia Blain in 1994, I sat down in front of a microfiche reader to prepare reports on the dazzling, and somewhat daunting, number of writers sitting quietly in bright red boxes on the shelves of Fisher Library in the University of Sydney, Australia. Anyone who has done it can attest to the fact that reading poetry on microfiche is not the most alluring of reading scenes, but even in that unsympathetic environment the power of these women's words was compelling; they have haunted me ever since. The historical irony of the situation was not lost on me: a technical, electronic revolution the Victorians set in motion, but did not foresee, has fetched them -- all of them, it seems, who put pen to paper -- from the bowels of the British Library to hurl them half way across the world so that people like me, who have never polluted the shades of reading rooms in the northern hemisphere, can read them without so much as a grain of dust or...


quoted from mulitple maryfestos

1) Multiply origins

2) Neutralise techniques

so this is interesting, to make techniques "neither", undegendered (but not by spaying!), intransitive

3) Accept interferences
4) Confuse genres
5) Valorize polyphonies
6) Exacabate paradoxes
7) Excavate voids
8) Condense givens
9) Love mannerisms
10) Dissociate significations

maybe do this -- still trying to get started -- turning to margery kempe and julian of norwich
from Eric Scovel

This project began as a simple experiment. The chosen text had no particular
significance to me at the time, nor had I even read Heart of Darkness when I
started; I chose it primarily out of its central place in the Western canon. Working
through these early attempts at using the Gnoetry 0.2 program, I found that,
curiously, this text yielded more consistently engaging results than others. Also, as
the series progressed it became increasingly serious and historically aware, turning
from expressions of personal failure in love to postcolonial scenes of violence and
sexual domination.
My choice of a loose sonnet form—fourteen line poems of (usually) between
7 and 11 syllables per line—was due mostly to the discovery that the variety of
regenerated output increased at this syllabic range. I cannot ignore, though, the
influence that such classic sonnet sequences as John Donne’s Holy Sonnets and
Ted Berrigan’s The Sonnets had upon the user-side half of this collaboration. I
became more and more pleased with the shapeliness of the form and the sense of
wholeness that it brought to even the most erratically assembled lines.
I do not think that this work has avoided what Slavoj ˇ Ziˇzek has called, referring
to the schizoid extremes ofWestern fantasies of the Other, “the split attitude of the
West itself, combining violent penetration and respectful sacralization.” However,
I hope that it succeeds in capturing and exposing this failure of the Western
imagination rather than merely perpetuating it. The series is at its core intensely
concerned with love, failure to understand and, ultimately, reconciliation—with
how this might happen on the personal level as well between fallen empires, their
former colonies, and those ghosts of the past that still haunt us all.

from Yedda Morrison

This work imagines a wood/world prior to, and free from, imperial intervention.
In the case of the photograph, by physically removing the original image’s “subject;” the hunters, I attempt to
unearth a forest subsumed by the narratives of colonialism. In reading a traditional image or text through this lens,
I’m trying to animate or bring into focus that which has been rendered scenic, passive or ornamental. By refusing to
exist merely as backdrop on which the human performs, “Pre-Colonial Forest in Fog” asserts a certain subjectivity of
its own. The irony is, of course, that the forest in the original image is itself a fabrication, completely constructed by
William Notman and his assistants in studio. Rather than undercutting the presumed authenticity of the image, this
seeming contradiction points to the recurrent essentializing mythology of wilderness itself as a lost purity. My decision
to also remove the First Nation’s guide was a complicated one. But hold your hand up to the original image, block out
all but this man. What is left is his defeated form, isolated, condensed to stereotype, and surely included to reinforce
the authenticity of the white narrative. To my mind he finds greater agency in the private workings of the woods,
complicated and active beyond the cameraman’s gaze.