Iris and Iris, 2 Poems from 1977



This little booklet, hand sewn with yellow thread and cover bordered in gold pencil, came from early August of 1977, year of the NYC 25 hour blackout, Jimmy Carter pardoning the Viet Nam draft dodgers and announcing we must do something to counteract our massive oil consumption, and the year the World Trade Center was finished . . .  larry goodell

     The following poem, also for the goddess Iris (and her equivalents), is read left to right first line, right to left second line and on back and forth. The arrows will clue you which lines are to be read backwards. You can see it also in this parcel of broadsides from the 70's: 6 Broadsides from the 70's from duende press

I R I S

 

"I prefer the unknown." 

Jack Spicer  

Iris I cant find out anything about you but I love you and am yr wings

out fish I all is gods the of messenger intertwine we and mine are you or

of this cavern. I prefer to be alone & with you lightly bearing the snake stick

hair of flowers the off headband the kissing other each up & around coil we

falling down I pick up and fall down in you touch air which is yr purity

race up light up lit particles out burst speckled rainbow the of rain

the sky to the other end of the world together forever doing good to each other

soft count that ways little the ,way the pointing goods delivering

in yr soft hair I love you till the rainbow plunges in dark count of

.together cave the into us forcing us against down bearing rocket the 

There is no other way but the way of the unknown as you came to me

hair and face my washing morning the in up sun prism the from blinding

and lift to do the day, that way I know. "You do your poems!" someone

tickling earth of ends the as true ,friend a was it and me at shouted

between the toes where shallow rivulets fall down between me and the nearest friend

intertwine we and fly and direct but ask not do dear true only my you

vines up each other to the bloom of the first sunflower turning red to attract the hummingbirds

up me holding ,voice no ,earth no ,spaceless being ways our in set are we

the airy innards spilled out in the lay of love, the old singer’s voice

around dancing and alone other each on back splashing ,cracking ,clacking

counterclockwise on toes tipping up and off the earth forever.

　

/6August77

larry goodell

this is a duende press tattered old manuscript broadside was resurrected february 2006 as part of 6 Broadsides from the 70's using Issuu & Scribd. larry Goodell

Walking Hawk

pot with poem in it -
mix up strips (lines) and read

. long hair is a scaffold for blowing out yr brains

. a Nixon nugget is a nuxin Nigget

. Survival is kitchen napkin

. they want the most violent image to tear their tissue paper

. revolution is a dragass minority in rear

. it defeats the purpose not to be named

. it pops into yr head

. do you want another he said pouring charcoal out the sewer

. I cocktailed inefficient Sunday     rock     rock

. nematode is no toes

. flash on cards

. a heap of Sundays

. on cards

. freeflowing Tuesdays jacks yr diamonds

. change attire    retire

. going out on Sunday

. sundancers

. keep in towards

. leaping hinges

. a jack in time multiplies the dime

. reaches on Sunday

. what you can’t reach on Monday

. it’s terrifying what language does to him

. I am used     ill-used

. leaping high in vineyards

. language to put in a pot

. take it out on Sunday     & leave it there

. a make to brace

. a challenge for Europe

. old electric dildo     catching a snooze

. I’ll never make you on Tuesday

. make you mind

. I am out on Tuesday

. tie it all together with a mop & sop

. how many wafers do you have in yr corn

. donuts        donuts

. in each case there was a case to shake

. other than that it was stone pussy

. jack off backwards

. I come first    then play all day

. that is    your ferris wheel rocking

. knocking them off

. sugar towards   Christian hippies   knock them off

. a meeting on Sundays

. knock them off

. a meeting on Tuesdays     time to get up

. don’t go out     go out

. time to get out

. whack a steward

. this is not the first time     the first time

. I never slept with you

. are you minding yr puddings & yr pants

. don’t breeze off     too soon.

. a jacket on Tuesday  

. a meeting on Tuesdays

. rock my wind pardner

. a hanging cob justifies the brain

. you get too much money     for what you do

. his peter was up higher than his salary

. I’m not going to be pleasant     pleasant

. I’m going to fill this soap notebook up

. wipe yr ears clean

. adjusted images     a deviled pig

. where it’s at was where it rot

. don’t look at it 2 ways     upside down

. pick it up & lay it down along the pot

. images on Tuesday    Monday’s Sunday

. I’m red    you’re dead

. she comes itching out of her period

. periodicity is a dish for a period

. get up & ejaculate the dawn

. a rooster is a quick pulling hen

. my sex is yr sex     disaster

. playing with the trucks

. he done fuck himself with rapid cleanser

. a solid formation on the cup

. a releasing thru

. he cd hear the fly buzzing after it was dead

. the fly wasnt dead

. take it out on time

. the precious nowhere escapes me

. the face of Cain is the ass of Able

. are you able Tuesday

. Aaron is Monday     Tuesday is Sunday

. all school functions are decrepit

. a school is a walking hawk

. the hawk that walks

. he realized he cd go on forever so he stopped

larry goodell / placitas, new mexico

This was written 18th August 1972, with procedure "pot with cards in it – shuffle & read." For now printing the poem double or triple spaced and then cutting each line out with a paper trimmer works fine. The pot I'm using here I unearthed out on Rio Grande Blvd. in North Valley of Albuquerque when I was living there & teaching at the Academy For Boys (Albuquerque Academy). . . 

Notebook #14, back cover. I had finished the "Staff" a poetry performance piece and/or serial poem, and herein started on the "Bowl of Ometeotl" . . . . 

a page from "Walking Hawk" which is also in this NB.

I find it interesting to look at the full-blown original writings of a poem (any poet's poem), the notebook, the papers, the surroundings, the time and place, the "3 dimensionality" of the poem in specifics . . . to get a sense of the context and gift-offering of the poem . . .

love to all,
larry