Showing posts from November, 2012

More Words from Don Paterson

The male genitals are worn externally as evolution in the process of expelling them from the body.  Another million years and they'll be stored in a drawer.

No, you confuse having entertained my idea with having merely read it; hence the ease of your dismissal.  

Never let the gesture drown the sign.

Writing is really like trying to hit one tossed stone with another; the consonants are the stones, the vowels their velocity.

Milorad Pavic

Nightfall is not mere failure of daylight.

 - Robert Graves

 From the NYT:

 The Many Maladies of the Literati


More about Syntax:


The years shall run like rabbits

November Knows

Because rhythm has direct access to the unconscious, because it can hypnotize us, enter our bodies, and make us move, it is a power.  And power is political.  - Robert Hass

Alcohol Inks on Yupo

Tree of Pear

Even miracles take a little time

Miraculously, I have completed the text, as well as the illustrations, for the upcoming children's book. It will appear in early January.

One of my images has been used to promote an upcoming show at The Raw Canvas and Tattoo Studio.  I was rather pleased with the end result:

"When Auden saw proofs of one of his poems he found that the printer had saddled him with "and the ports have names for the sea" when what he had written was "and the poets have names for the sea."  He decided to stick with the misprint..."

- Clive James

This little passage in this month's "Poetry" had me chuckling to myself.   Some months ago an editor sent proofs of a poem of mine entitled "Upon Reaching the Cloistered Sage".  The proofs contained the title: "Upon Reaching the Cloistered Stage."  I paused a moment, then wrote the editor, saying:  "The proofs look perfect, thanks."

More recently, proofs arrived of a poem entitled "To the Couple in the Garden".   Strangely, the proofs read:" To the Couple in the Garden Spigot."


I believe it was Oscar Wilde who said, A poet can survive anything but a misprint.

Unless it's a good one.

The temple on the avenue
where brown stones and du…