CHEERFUL NOISE as in a poem

Today's poem Today INFRA·STRUCTURE by Katy Lewis Hood & Maria Sledmere arrived at me. Very experimental. from mast by Katy Lewis Hood after Hemali Bhuta’s Speed Breakers (2012) ‘Matter is pitiful; form is terrible; in the sculptural work, negation is luminous and contingent.’ —Lisa Robertson, ‘7.5 minute talk for Eva Hesse’ (2010) ‘But say you, surely there is nothing easier than to imagine trees…’ —George Berkeley, A Treatise Concerning the Principles of Human Knowledge (1710) i. about (her) disposition folded outwards “without walls towards unseen walls, was a start. enclosed, the body fits the space like drystone, each shift in weight tests sites for adjacency, or closeness to the body leaning the body resting on itself parallel to vertical only of trees, spirit level just off, o/w cube. she, she, and she (and). the place of meeting the sloping ground, where...

Today's poem It's a mother's confession. Here, the sin of Christianity and another. Magi by Brenda Shaughnessy If only you’d been a better mother. How could I have been a better mother? I would have needed a better self, and that is a gift I never received. So you’re saying it’s someone else’s fault? The gift of having had a better mother myself, my own mother having had a better mother herself. The gift that keeps on not being given. Who was supposed to give it? How am I supposed to know? Well, how am I supposed to live? I suppose you must live as if you had been given better to live with. Comb your hair, for instance. I cut off my hair, to sell for the money to buy you what you wanted. I wanted nothing but your happiness. I can’t give you that! What would Jesus do? He had a weird mother too . . . Use the myrrh, the frankincense, as if it were given unconditionally, your birthright. It’s a riddle. All gifts are a riddle, all lives are in the middle of mother-lives. But it’...

Today's poem Doris' pamphlet Humour in Verse

Today's poem Recently I have worked with a New Zealander who came to Japan from Taihape in the North Island. One of my favorites is knocking on the door of foreigner's stories, ancestors with curiosity. When he talked about his town, I viewed, zoomed up Google Map. I had traveled to New Zealand a long time ago, and can't forget there had been various races in Auckland. There, I had felt the place had been in neither North America nor Europe by seeing faces of not-only Maori but also Polynesia, Melanesia, and Micronesia.  Further, he explained the living places of his family members such as Napier and Mount Maunganui. He planned to invite his Japanese colleagues to his flat for breakfast with bacon egg and hash browns. I suggested to him that, unfortunately, it was difficult to find a Co-op supermarket selling  frozen hash browns near his residence on the outskirts of Tokyo, for many Japanese people don't have a habit of eating it for breakfast. Now it's under COVID-...

Today's poem Last Thursday I bumpted into Tod Papageorge's poem 'Untitled' in his collection Passing Through Eden . His poem snips the gleaming moment of Central Park. I found it in Alec Soth's Blog, too. Soth's blog is full of terrifying tales. Please chew Papageorge's poem and Soth's Blog! Untitled (from a notebook dated 1978) by Tod Papageorge Mid-spring, mid-morning – into the park and downtown through the shimmering air, each flush and pulse of light flashing quicksilver through a net of dust, leaf and pollen. Step by step, a camera hanging from my neck beats my heart. Green like the incontrovertible season, I move through the high, untended, tow-tipped grass, supplicant, trainee, hunter, mule, out here to photograph, to call this intoxication to account and press these lawns and palings into pictures (from Alec Soth's Blog:  https://bit.ly/2W3VKD4  ) Tod Papageorge's photos:  https://mo.ma/3noSDBX Soth's introduction of books:  https:/...