The Occult (or An Experimental Song)

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

    I wrote the following note in the late 80's for Firecracker Soup (Cinco Puntos Press, El Paso), but it wasn't necessary to include it. (States something of the placing of my writing & placement on the page.)

    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