If we would agree that the passage of time presents itself as equal-in-weight to the proto-gyrations of thought, we might get somewhere. Ever more I lose faith in thought, in the from-here-to-there. Which is not say that I have lost faith in thinking. Thinking is thought in time and therefore - doubles - its value. Thought is thinking have thought itself out. Thinking may or may not lead to thought.
What could be clearer?
As a boy of 20 or so (20. Ha! What the heck is 20?) I read a good deal of philosophy. That is, what energy I did not expend on sex, drinking, music, and various angers and/or allowances, I allotted to works of literature. We are all alike in this. And also in this, that from out of youth, while I altered this or that behavior, I retained a tendency to view "serious" reading (or study. study. study.) of philosophy as something somehow inviolate; in this realm of serious work my impressions at 20 sufficed for decades. Well yes they were reinforced in my 30's at U. Penn by the deconstructionists, etc. But, not just "serious" philosophy, but anything one might hope to be taken seriously was to be read....seriously.
What a canard! You know, I will not even look up "canard" - I am positive that I have that usage right.
But this is the point. I am now reading St. Augustine's Confessions (Augustine of Hippo, as I recall, to all the non-Catholics out there), and I am content to read as I am, as who I am reading. I am confident that I can read, picking my way through the garden. I get somewhere, to be sure. I am not lost. I am under no threat. I am not failing. I am reading.
So, to form.
I returned to addressing issues of form in this blog outright a couple months ago, and since then - having agreed with myself to make that address - I can see that I have relaxed my interior rules of address.
No, that's not quite it.
Form, being everywhere, is here. Here, as I sit in the North Bar (I love the North Bar) writing, or at home editing (I love our house!). It is in the social, the political, as it is thought, argued, loved and lived. I have no purpose in reversing this plain emotive-geographic fact. I can't establish rules. I have no rules to establish. I do not have the authority. To be plain I have no authority, period, but that's for another blog. I am administrator to a Facebook Group for Concrete Formalist Poetry, where numerous individuals post visual/poetic images, and so, that is what is happening there, and I am grateful for it, and I love it - and, I get it, as far as I get anything.
I am like you. I try to do the right thing. That's all it is. Am I helping in some way by providing a page that serves for others to do what they see as the right thing? If I am, I am very fortunate, not because of the seriousness of my process or procedures, but because of what others feel free to make of it.