The Circumscribed Generation (or) Love Song for Gino, Ken, Kell, Ann, etc.

                                                            alive in the wail

                                                  tangents given

                                                                        FUCK YR CIRCLE

                  (circle back to me)

                   con FURSHUN fessin I buv oo

                                                                                    pookyppopookee

                                            STOPPER

                                                                        & HE CDNT

                                     STOPPER

                                 (plug out the wrench)

                                                WENCH

                        !

                                    oldfashioned syndrome of loneliness

                              a bugger up the ass

                                                            Old

                 fortune

                        card up the

                                                                                     HEARING AID  ?

                                                             LISTEN TO MY QUESTION

                                                BLATWORT

                                                                     No

                                     Re

                                                Sent

                        Ment

                                       Only

                                                             o lover o o o

                 MEASLES

                                             COO/COO

                                                               AHI-AHI

                                                (Clear Yr Throat

                                    Drambuie

                                                    Cough Up Yr Honey

                        & Git DRUNK

                                                                        hi?

                                                                        hi?

                                                                        hi?

   I'm a slow phase locked in eternal union

                                                diga me

                                                                           toot?

                        Tootsie Hardon.

                                                                        Direct me

                                                Old-Fashioned Master

                                                                      I

                                                                 shd

                                                                           upstage you all the time  ?

  I'm hummm

ble

                        HERBERT      STOP PICKING YR TEETH

                                                               Mother

                                                            I doit

                                                                                    have

                                                any teeth      youve

                                                               sucked

                                                            them

                                                                            all

                                                                                      off!

                                                                                              PEESQUEEZE! !!!!!

                                                  Yr

                                                            lost

                                                little girl.

                                                              I

                                                            period

                                                                         come

                                                                                    back

                                                   again

                                                   period

                                                                          WE

                                                        I say from the self-circumscribed circle

                                                         old bandit in Wolf drag

                                                                                   WE

                                 codger drunk-dodger lickety split tap dancer

                                                                     & herbert fondler

                                                                                                          SINS-INSURED

                                                                                                  WE

                                                                                                           dig me

                                                                                    hard

                                                                                                     WE

                                                                                                  COME

                                                                                                           BACK

                                                     (ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-)

                                                                                         WE

                                                                              (dusty fingertips)

                                                                                              WE

                                                                                       COME

                                                                                                   BACK

                                                                                  TO

                                                                                                          LIFE!!!!!!!!!!!!

larry goodell / placitas, new Mexico / 18 April 1968

Three, for Judy Grahn, Ann Quin, Drum Hadley

In the Chamber of the Goddess to Nowhere

In the chamber of the Goddess to Nowhere

I was taught 3 things:

Don’t underestimate your ability to breathe.

It is not necessary for men to stamp out the earth.

You don’t have to do everything you want to do.

But you already know these things, she said,

when you have nowhere else to go and nothing makes sense

you can always come to me, said the Goddess of Nowhere.

/larry goodell / placitas, nm


Queenland

Imagination is smarter than your god

goddesses of the goddess of god, my secret benefactress
heritage line of feminine soul, sole creator of the
energy of man
how embarrassing to admit it for the masculine race
the race to dominance won & then possibly lost.
A lost face in the process of rebuilding
until all are truly equal, man woman child
animal plant kingdom, queenland.

/larry goodell / placitas, nm

( Hope )

the above from NB 68

all from Foxhole Prayers, poems 2009 / larry goodell / placitas, new mexico
these are for Judy Grahn, Drum Hadley, Ann Quin, AND Gino Sky . . . . 

A Direct Hit Not Aiming

Today

crappola ticky pot.

Today

pray question where am I

shorted out electrode

trod on lightly

lightening cut in half

tone-deaf

no

toad happy

yea!

 throw it all in a pot

 & stir it up

 I am-m-m a meditate

 a medical no

 a Mediterranean 

 meditate tones

 over my head

 all of comedy falls to the floor

 today I mediate

 between the warring factions

 I am the warring factions

 but instead of warring

 I do my media trope 

 where am I when the sunlight comes

 where am I

 not in bed

 the answer to both questions

 is the same

  I am that self-same thing

  I am trying not to get into the lotus position

  forever

  prana

  I’m full of it

  it charges through me

  like thunder cut in two

  since my warring self

  jumped on my opposing self

  & devoured it

  half of me is all I have

  the half of a clap of thunder

  claps the half of a bolt of lightening

  and becomes it

  blends into half its former self.

   I’m drawn in.

   Sitting on a futon

   Western fashion.

   I am out.

   Never part of anything

   totally

   pravana

   is another way to say

   om

   oh my

   oh why

   oh me

   oh my

   pranava Donna

   don’t

   intone

   don’t

   do anything

   the donut with the hole

   taken out

   it was never the donut to start with

   it was the filled hole filled,

   the empty left over

    I was the center of nothing

    I’m a stupid American

    who never fit in

    I don’t even like donuts.

    I like holes better.

    Holes

    I don’t have to eat

    they eat me.

    What’s left of me.

    I can’t be Eastern

    because I’m Western

    and the two they say

    never meet,

    and besides

    I’m half.

    I want what’s over there

    on the other side of the not-fenced-in

    place.

     But I am always here

     adhering to it:

     this “here” place.

     A medical nation

     Mediterranean

     meditating

     on not being

     Mediterranean

     in a terrain

     unfamiliar

     as unfamiliar

     as here is

     I bring my

     kundalini out

     by pouncing on what I

     haven’t got

     I haven’t got a face

     prana

     pranava.

     The teeny half-ass force

     I administer.

      I’m bigger than shit

      the half of me left

      insists.

      I’m outside something that’s disgusting

      plus being what’s disgusting.

      I transcend it.

      So I’m centered on being diffused.

      And there’s only

      half of me all scattered out

      left.

      Which is enough

      since it’s all I need

      and all I ever was.

      I was never

      my whole imagined self

      anyway.

      I am the young thing

      ha ha ha ha.

       I am the force within

       unleashed

       ha ha ha ha.

       The world does not revolve around

       me

       ha ha ha ha,

       I am revolving around with the world.

       The world, earth

       revolves me

       the world, earth

       involves me

       takes me with it

       in a fit of continuance

       thrusts me, unknowing

       most of the time

       along.

       They say,

       those who read their books to me,

       those voices that read along in my head

       when I read

       all my life.

       Half of my life passes before me

       as if a dream.

        Steaming

        hot cakes.

        Ha ha ha ha.

        Tonight

        a media trade off

        silence enters in

        what supposedly doesn’t exist

        gives quiet space

        to the entire history

        of football.

        Football conquers:

        I lost.

        I should have gone with the main force

        but I was too thin.

        They hit me and I fell down

        the last to arrive

        running around the football field.

        Or was I.

        Come to think of it

        I was never the last.

          I was always at least

          half there.

          I’m half the world

          this undying egotist in me

          my imagination

          stares

          back at me.

          that’s

          my real half self.

            Here I am having gone west

            in my family

            until I’m here.

            Done.

            Half baked.

            Turning outward

            I was going to say

            inward.

            Tonight

            I don’t fight it

            I massage my cramped lower legs

            and go back to bed

            learning to lift up

            from where I am

            without levitating

            which is disgusting anyway.

              I left up in the half of me

              which is all of me

              in my imagination

              anyway

              and go to bed

              ha ha ha ha

              go back to bed

              ha.

                  Hi prana

                  force that’s

                  chock full of it.

              Pranava

              om

              oh my.

              Ha ha ha ha

              ha ha ha ha

              tonight

              becomes tomorrow

              ha ha ha ha.

              Centered

              at heart half of it

              thunder claps lightning

              bolts thunder

              comes each one

              towards each other

              thunder

              lightning

              we could use some rain –

              without touching.

               They just

               bypass one another.

               The two halves of my imagination say

               which is half of me

               which is all of me

               left.

               The quality of the feeling lasts

               or the better half wins.

               The lightning just passes over

               the thunder

               this is my rain dance I can’t

               not being Indian

               do.

               I can’t do anything

               I’m just a stupid half-assed

               anglo

               angled toward voice.

               That’s not true

               my self-esteem

               steams over

               and says I conquer

               self-control

                I am

                self-control

                I fuse into one

                like a candle burning

                like nothing you’ve ever seen

                like a snow dance.

                I can dream can’t I?

                Cant.

                It.

                Chant by

                enhancing

                it.

                Snow

                blow

                cold

                meaning

                into

                close

                winter

                evening  .

                Moisture

                hangs down

                ready to drop.

                 Drip drop

                 the completed cliché says.

                 Snow drips into water

                 having first been rain.

                 Or was it mist.

                 I was mist.

                 Now look at me.

                 I’m human.

                 Half-human.

                 Watch out.

                 I might do it.

                 Don’t do it

                 my conscience says.

                 What is my conscience?

                 It’s my no-no self.

                 Outside my imagined self.

                 But my guardian angel

                 will protect me

                 ha ha ha ha.

                 Ha ha ha.

                 Throws me out of harm’s way

                 for another day.

                  Yes I do believe in you.

                  You who-who.

                  You who-who you.

                  You who, half who-who

                  are me.

                  My true half me

                  I am happy more or less

                  to be.

                  Or not to

                  bungle it up.

                  Bundle up

                  it’s winter.

                  And go to bed.

                  Get you out of my head.

                  There is nothing in my head.

                  Some one Eastern tells me

                  to be.

                  I can never be without the real

                  self I am.

                  So there.

                  Tonight

                  I am lucky

                  to be a part

                  of myself.

                   I am now

                   thoroughly happy

                   I am a part

                   of myself.

                   Finally

                   I do belong

                   to something.

                   Finally

                   I am that something

                   that something

                   that is such an

                   important part

                   of myself.

                   They don’t ever

                   want me to talk about

                   anything that has to do

                   with me.

                   So I won’t

                   I’ll show you.

                   I’m all out of myself.

                   I threw myself up

                   in the air

                   and was last seen

                   nowhere.

                   I am not there.

                   I am not there

                         are you happy?

                   Ha ha.

                   Ha ha ha ha ha ha.

                   Let it

                   rain snow.

                   Precipitate.

                   Meditate.

                   I will learn to do it

                   tho it means

                   stretching half-way round the world.

                    Drip drop

                    I’m gone

                    into my want.

                    I want cold.

                    I want winter

                    I want snowpack on the mountain.

                    I want people to go away.

                    They won’t.

                    But it might

                     storm

                     and sing.

                      I sing the blues

                      for the truth.

                       Is truth still beauty

                       beauty aloof?

                        Is truth forever

                        aloof?

                          Or does it light down

                          a bird

                           those cranes I saw

                           flying in formation

                            so close over me

                            in the bosque cottonwood grove

                             of the river of my life,

                             dividing me

                              two & two.

                              No,

                               in two.

                                In two

                                I am

                                 part of one.

                                 In tuned.

                                  Attained.

                                  A peaceful

                                   rain.

                                   The birds I remember

                                    migrating late in a warm winter

                                    keep on going

                                     as truthful as truth is.

                                     The idea on my brain.

                                      Gone away

                                      to come again.

                                       May pleasure be peace

                                       and beauty in the truth that we

                                        come back again

                                        to where I am no me.

                                         Just what I know

                                         stares me in the face.

                                          The face I don’t see

                                          unless reflected.

                                           All I see now is

                                           uncorrected.

                                            I see what I do

                                            and will be me

                                             till I’m through.

                                             I will be me

                                              until I’m through.

           

larry goodell / placitas, new mexico /16dec

from Beyond TV, poems 1995

photograph by lenore goodell

Poetry Guts

Speaking Chicken on Snake, colored pencil
drawing by Lenore Goodell ca 1973

Poetry is from the gut of the mind. larry goodell

*

Writing is never easy except when inspired. lg

*

The less poetry is concerned with the everyday existence and the rhythmic talents of a people, the less readable that poetry is likely to be. Louis Zukofsky

*

Form is never more than an extension of content. Robert Creeley

*

I think I could say what nobody thought. Gertrude Stein

*

No ideas but in things. Dr. William Carlos Williams

*

If poetry comes not as naturally as leaves to a tree it had better not come at all. John Keats

*

Poetry if anything gives us a sense of everything. Louis Zukofsky

*

Poetry convinces not be argument but by the form it creates to carry its content. Zukofsky

*

A simple order of speech is an asset in poetry. Zukofsky

*

Simplicity of utterance and song go together. Zukofsky

*

A lyric has to sing. A poem has to read. Sammy Cohn, lyricist

*

Performing is allowing your soul to dance through the instrument you're playing. Stevie Wonder

*

When I take a breath and start to move, I construct a sentence. It is what happens when I exhale. A 'sentence' is logical, it has integrity and consistency. It does something. Lee Connor, dancer & choreographer

*

These breaths, of course, can and should vary in duration, as they are not literally the length of one breath of the body at rest, but rather like a spoken sentence, with possibly a subclause or two; or, using another comparison, like a melodic line a flutist might play in one breath. Doris Humphrey, dancer & choreographer

*

Our religion is the poetry in which we believed. Santayana

*

"We are hamstrung by a fear of being miscellaneous. The book-trade, accursed of god, man and nature, makes no provision for any publication that is not one of a series; and masterwork is never one of a series, neither is vital invention. It has its place in the historic process, which is far from the same." from Ezra Pound's letter to John Crowe Ransom, 15Oct38

*

Language of poet(ry) often allies itself with song, not oratory. Louis Zukofsky, A Test Of Poetry, 1948 (but I can't now find this in "The Test of Poetry -- lg)

*

The complications of rhetorical ornament (similes, metaphors, conceits) in later times seem to have created a printed (and worse, a bookish) poetry written to be read silently rather than to be spoken or sung. Zukofsky

*

It is the hardest task for even great poets to limit the number of words used to maximum advantage. Zukofsky

*

Condensation is more than half of composition. The rest is proper breathing space, ease, grace. Zukofsky

*

As poetry, only objectified emotion endures. Zukofsky

*

I was already a convert to the Romantic spirit, and myth in that spirit is not only a story that expresses the soul but a story that awakens the soul to the real persons of its romance, in which the actual and the spiritual are revealed, one in the other. Robert Duncan, p42 The Truth & Life of Myth

*

Poetry must be as well written as prose. Ezra Pound, 1885-1972

*

Objectivity and again objectivity, and expression: no hindside-before-ness, no straddled adjectives (as "addled mosses dank"), no Tennysonianness of speech; nothing—nothing that you couldn't, in some circumstance, in the stress of some emotion, actually say. Letter to Harriet Monroe, Jan 1915, Ezra Pound

*

Literature is language charged with meaning. Ezra Pound, ABC of Reading, 1934

*

Literature is news that stays news. Pound

*

Poetry is the passionate pursuit of the real. larry goodell

*

It's impossible to write of what one has written or lived, except as the day is, out the window, now, explicit. Ken Irby

*

I'll publish right or wrong: F ools are my theme, let satire be my song. George Gordon, Lord Byron, 1788-1824

*

There ain't no answer. There ain't gonna be any answer. There never has been an answer. That's the answer. Gertrude Stein