Tuesday, July 5, 2011

The Disturbed Hiatus & The Hill (2 poems using the same object)

(Larry reading this poem which is fun to make & do: disk 18",  hole abt 7", put copy of poem & directions on back)

The Disturbed Hiatus

Right in the middle of everything he dropped everything         (drop & catch)
Until everything was the Sun turning around the Moon
And then the planets turning around the Sun
Until everything was everything again
And he picked it up and looked at it
It was a disturbed hiatus, a nervous pause               (shake it)
A vibration in space, a tingling in the fingertips
It was himself in the very middle of himself
His navel, a bagel, a doughnut, a hole                         (hold over mouth)
He played with himself there until he
Dropped it again                                                            (drop & catch)
And he rolled around it and expanded into space
On one side     and another.                       (hand on one side then another)
He was in the middle     he was in the middle            (hand framed thru hole)
He was in the middle     he was in the middle
Threatening to be connected again     that's why he was nervous   
                                                                           (stick  hand out thru hole, retract)
Threatening to be connected again     that's why he was nervous  
                                                                            (stick hand out thru hole, retract)
Threatening to be connected again.              (stick hand way out thru hole)

larry goodell / placitas, new mexico / mid 60's

simply part of the poem

poet's side with poem attached

on the wall is Bruce Lowney's lithograph of the hill we see out our north window

The Hill

the hill that comes up thru the Calendar     is the tip of me     rooting down
planting in the planning     the divisions of labor
how do I find the key to fit his pleasure     wanting more as
more sinks out under me     & the Hill in arch time     piñon     & juniper
rises thru the slow breakage of the crafty art scene    
                                                                   tearing those curtains down
exposing bare windows &     the apocryphal dawn     the hill behind the house
the house behind the man     the man behind the garden    
                                                                   the garden in the village
the hill behind the village     the morning that we share carrying off with the hill
the petroglyphs that climb the ridges of those hills     & meet where
the dawn vision meets with the clan     the eye where men meet    
                                                                   in ships from the mother ship
in stormings of the border     in blue space union    
                                                                   & fight die spill down washes all apart
& meets to come up with     the hill in rising morning    
                                                                   the man behind her wandering where
she gave us all the pleasure     to know in her stroke     cupped     hand is it    
                                                                   arm of God
covered with the fine hair where I see him stirring    
                                                                    larger than the life I live entering it
to come where I carrying her     float in the middle     the calendar surrounds &
turns from the hill down doorways     out the garden door     adobe
in & out her lock     pleasure & key     the hill goes knowing out the village     & me
the man in wide band follows out the messages     out of the book &
into her hand.

larry goodell / placitas, new mexico / Spring 1973 / from The Book of Ometeotl,
last performance book in the Ometeotl Trilogy . . .Bruce Lowney did this  lithograph
of the hill when he was living in Placitas . . . 


  1. You can't have a donut without the whole, or a doughnut without its circumference.

  2. without the hole there could be no connection so it's infinitely more useful than a flat disk, it do seem to me . . .