The dog barks backyard and upstairs
the boy lives his way through again.
A rabbit underbrushes dew nibbled grass…(read more)
how many times have they flown
over the wall’s roof
– Basho (translated by Jane Reichold)
The absurd multimodal and synesthetic juxtapositions create an interesting image here: a fast food restaurant that serves sugary and fatty food as a symphony of flavors.
I found this multimedia poem March 18, 2016 at the Hailey Coffee Company in Hailey, ID about three blocks from where Ezra Pound was born at the juxtaposition of hearing Bob Marley’s “One Love” playing and these news stories in the Idaho Statesman: “U.S. to skip tests on key component of missile defense system,” “North Korea tests missile” and “Teen sexting prompts efforts to update laws.”
Today is Nov. 17, but one afternoon around Jan. 29, 1991, I first heard this poem in a general ed class as an undergraduate student at Arkansas Tech University. I left that classroom, on the second floor of Witherspoon Hall, changed. Here’s a quick reading and recording of this poem.
There was a child went forth every day;
And the first object he look’d upon, that object he became;
And that object became part of him for the day, or a certain part of the day, or for many years, or stretching cycles of years.
The early lilacs became part of this child,
And grass, and white and red morning-glories, and white and red clover, and the song of the phoebe-bird,
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I cut some roses from my garden, then went back in
and put them in a vase. I put the vase on the dining room
table and sat there staring at them for awhile. They were
yellow verging on orange with a red border. It was as though
they were in motion, some private sea with tiny waves swirling
about. Several dolphins were leaping under a clear, blue sky.
I saw a man on a raft in the distance, just a speck really,…
“The Raven Speaks” by James Tate from his collection of poems, “Return to the City of White Donkeys.” Read by Jeffery Oliver.
The desert in the morning glows with the radiant warmth of yesterday’s sun as if, when the world ends, this is the last place people will be alive. There’s a quiet in Rimrock unlike anywhere I’ve been. A breeze moves through the morning around 4:30am and dusts us with stories for the day while we sleep off the unfinished stories of yesterday.
– journal entry from July 28, 2015 while working on the film “Of Dust and Bones.”
In speaking of the Poetic Principle, I have no design to be either thorough or profound.
– Edgar Allan Poe [The Poetric Principle at Project Gutenberg]