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| poem is on 16" by 8" sheets . . . |
The Occult
or
An Experimental Song
the magical connection
of integers
was
the musical connection
of integrities
the musical
necessity of integrity
the mathematical
dervish of pillows
the hopeful
will for discussion
the ape
no
apes
would discover
havent I
said it
all
be-
fuck
another cover
until we're
laughing
like
you
under
the covers
& we
don’t
know
we’re
blue
under the covers
& we're
talking
to
you
under the covers
indeed I
do
&
you
do
too
under the covers
& my
pencil
is
for
you
under the covers
& I
re
ject
ted
me
to
you
where they do lie there
in
their
bro
ken
down
chair
under the covers
&
she
told
me
I’m
a
spoon
under knee covers
&
the
moon
is
here
to
burn
under the covers
&
I
wish
I
had
a
loon
under the covers
when he
wasnt
in
the
room
he be so happy
&
I
sloped
unto
the
West
ever so lightly
that
I
meant
it
to
the
Left
ever so sprightly
&
spirited
did
dont
ever so tightly
that
I
picked
up
Clora's
soap
ever so lightly
&
I
threw
it
on
her
dope
ever dont fight me
till
I
prove
Im
not
a
fraid
please dont bite me
&
ac
cused
of
being
staid
so why indict me.
I’m
the
one
to
soap
yr
shade
if you allow it
to be
free
of
me
&
take
a
while
to
find
oh
uh
.
/4Dec74
Left margin is lower pitched, farther to the right, higher.
larry goodell / placitas, new mexico
/ scanned from original typed copy & (re)formatted close to original 15Jun2011
Writing is an act of life for a poet whose improvised airs are a page breath.
For me the words speak through pores.
INTRO
Writing is an act of life for a poet. His improvised airs are page breaths. It's not for me to know what not writing is since I'm always being written with. The pauses are that: pauses, and then I write, my right place and time only once for that esteemed occasion. What a relief to surprise myself – only the makeup of myself with all my severe limitations screens the joy.
Or perhaps makes me ordinary. A release into semi-guided fun of my own essential one and only tongue, wagging a new tune that goes till done and not to be mangled with rehashing but is the sacred text of my Goddamned condition. It's always a score a reading aloud at time of writing, a recital – no, a concert of words--hell no, sentences, scores, a going high, a take, a progression, an undulating song, with tips: they say performance. In front of an audience it repeats. And now a book.
The farther from the left margin a line or word begins the higher the pitch in delivery. The bigger the space inside a line, the slightly longer the pause. The word with a single underlined letter is emphatic of course. [I've changed most of these words to italics and eliminated underlining.] Line endings are a pause, however slight. And any directions, usually italicized, to the right of the poem is part of it: what needs to be done or donned, a fact arisen at the time of the poem-writing.
I am writing to get to a different place from where I began, where it feels better, some kind of musical word clarification through pun and performance of the airs laid down. Mysterious muse-ic cycle of the Earth, what little bit of it I know: think only of gifts someone might enjoy and even read aloud a time or two.
larry goodell / placitas, new mexico / for FIRECRACKER SOUP 2May89
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