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Showing posts from January, 2012

Two Tim Murphy Poems

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Red State Reveille
Daybreak. A youth at Fargo's Jiffy Lube reloads his grease gun with an oil-stained tube, prints out the service records on my truck, changes three filters fouled with gunk or muck, rotates the tires and drains the filthy oil, tops up my fluds. Happy with his toil, grinning broadly, he send me on my way, in time for Mass. God bless the USA.








The Reading
Some owlets eye me from a scrub oak tree. They're fledged and glass me with their yellow eyes, and not a one will fly off in surprise, their wing tips rounded, flying silently, because I bear a gun, because I'm me.
These are Bob Clawson's kids in Acton, Mass., and they are unpersuadable by Frost, their fathers absent and their bearings lost, and God excuses kids like these from class. What shall I say to owlets as I pass ?

-from Mortal Stakes/Faint Thunder, Dakota Institute

A class I'll be teaching in February:
Synergistic Visions
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Even in Kyotohearing the cuckoo's cryI long for Kyoto.
- Basho







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Another interview I did with Bob King of the CPC:
CPC interview

Louise Bogan

A Tale
This youth too long has heard the break
Of waters in a land of change.
He goes to see what suns can make
From soil more indurate and strange.

He cuts what holds his days together
And shuts him in, as lock on lock:
The arrowed vane announcing weather,
The tripping racket of a clock;

Seeking, I think, a light that waits
Still as a lamp upon a shelf, --
A land with hills like rocky gates
Where no sea leaps upon itself.

But he will find that nothing dares
To be enduring, save where, south
Of hidden deserts, torn fire glares
On beauty with a rusted mouth, --

Where something dreadful and another
Look quietly upon each other.



Jack Mueller, a Glimpse, on 3 x 5 cards

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Alcohol Ink on Yupo, with Buson

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This cold winter night,
that old wooden-head buddha
would make a nice fire.





Dreaming Poppies in January

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Hold Your Ideas Lightly

Without wild places I would have little to say.
- Peter Anderson
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An idea is a feat of association, and the height of it is a good metaphor.
- Frost

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Plato asserted that there is a realm of Forms or Ideas which exist apart from the one who may have thought of these ideas. Material things are then transient reflections or instantiations of unchanging ideas. Consequently, Plato considered that knowledge of material things is not really knowledge; real knowledge can only be had of unchanging ideas.
Of Plato I draw no conclusions, but If indeed Idea and ideas or as old as the wind, they seem to move among us not just on the the back of the wind, but also on the soles of the feet, the tip of the tongue, the misplaced thing, and also in dream.



Lost and Found, Hermes Trismegistus

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In Classical Greece the lucky find is a 'hermaione' which means a gift of Hermes.





Of course the sudden loss -- of a thought, or a memory, or an object, is also attributed to Hermes.








As well as the crossroads, the unknown, initiation, tricksterism, poetry, magic, alchemy, mercury, departure and passage.








Alcohol Inks on Yupo

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