This Entry, not the Other

I can see that the 8 1/2 x 11 staple-bound format of the last book "not unlike" is not right and has been bothering me, preoccupying me, a misalignment wearing away at a tender spot. The dilemma is technical - 24 pages, where the printer requires 32 pages for perfect bound. So I will knock out 8 b/w drawings to intersperse among the text and issue a revision. I can see that fit.

I also have all recent writing and all older unpublished writing printed out. I hope to be able to assemble this into the beginning of a book at least, something I can write toward to complete and publish soon.

I hope to do all this and start on something fresh.

I am amazed at the depths of my dumbfoundedness at this technical glitch with "not unlike." I have been inwardly upset, insecure, unsure of myself, my writing - it has been eating away at me - as if I had committed some terrible crime. It's a self-published book, for goodness' sake. Well, it just shows you that where the margins are thin the room for error is virtually non-existent. If I say I have relatively complete control over this product (I have said that, and I do) - insofar as one has control over what one does - then I pay the price for incomplete or incorrect optings.

I will forgive myself these 40-off days of self-imposed misery. I will shrug off the sense that I am serving as the foil for some sort of cosmic joke on myself.

I will myself a happy Easter.

Blue when he says Form, and Form for Blue

Form appears to promote form, even formalism. This would be consistent with other experiences. Or form appears in lieu of other possible responses.

Mere form. Responsible form. Answering form. Solution form.

Can form solve anything? Well, it is a solving, a solution to a question. The pillar supports the roof. The roof secures the house. The house answers other houses in being a house, whereas a non-house might not answer. Or, it might. We need details.

Form is being, though the reverse is not necessarily true. Being is coming into, in, or falling away from form. Why do I write in form? I write in form to concede that reference point as a favor to the reader, and to give myself the option of coming into, being, or falling away. Do I believe in form? I believe in being (coming into, being in, falling away, re-forming, etc.).

I find that my mind and feelings move independently of opportunity or clear suggestions for profit or improvement. I am not a daisy, but I can relate. I am not the color blue, but I can see the point or points of blue, coming into, being in, and falling away.

One might think form = thought, but my poems are only sometimes thoughtful. I make a point of that. I have seen poets employ the block/box form to posit instances or expositions of the form of thoughtfulness. This is a common employment. I have done that, and I have done otherwise.

I do not believe that poetry is a reliable venue for thought. It is very reliable for the experience of thought, or the relation of a person in thought, or the spectacle of what thought might declare for itself independent (or successive to, sometimes amidst) the thought experience.

I am a classicist. I would know my tools and the land I work - my neighbors and the seasons; and I hope I attend to my family and their needs. I would live well and die well, with honor, leaving things better than they were or had I not been.

I am very out of touch, so I have on hand as a phantom business card this classic apology, that I do my best with what I know and understand. I examine my motives. I correct and fail and re-correct. I seek, arrive (perhaps) and am lost. I try again.

I have given up in many respects on my writing being interesting or useful. Perhaps this is my service, not to be relevant, or a threat to others, or a problem beyond being lost.

So, I do this, but I am not dependable for anything here, not really. It could change utterly, I suppose, or disappear. If it is useful, well, that's great. But the credit would go to whomever can make use of it. I am merely following the course of the logic I am capable of and my personal experience.

I am not a daisy, or the color blue. I am not even close.

One of those Block Poems too

 

 

So you make words. No you assemble.

You make choices. Choices are made.

This is an opportunity, or fallout.

You lie, you cheat; yes, I imitate.

So you copy. I fall in my own name.

You regret. I remember the process.

 

I am talking, nearer form. I am not

talking about you or myself. A line

drawn out of experience. The mental

aspect is important. Politics. When

I was younger, I was not here. This

was impossible to me. Inappropriate



Form in Love with Time

Exist in form and beware form. Form will not desert you. You will in a sense be equipped. And being equipped you will lose fear. And losing fear, you will lose reference points. And losing reference points, you will lose conversation. And losing conversation, you will lose relevance. And losing relevance, you may lose yourself.

And losing yourself, you may look about. And looking about, without relevance, without conversation, without reference points, and without fear, you may find love. You may find the divine. You may have no choice, for you exist in form. And one who exists in form as clearly trusts form.

And God is form in that, as God is God, form is form. Form is not form as God is God. No, the reverse is true.

Let's put it this way. Let me put it this way. Time and all it entails leads us to this one furthest point where you always have a choice. Beware form, as all your expectations are false, your suspicions correct, and your future, very possibly, perfect.