80 poems @ at a rate of 4 ppm

8/8/2019 80 Poems @ at a rate of 4 ppm

http://slidepdf.com/reader/full/80-poems-at-a-rate-of-4-ppm 1/20

80 Poems@ at a rate of 4 ppm

Geof Huth “Reading” at the Unaliated Reading Series



80 Poems@ at a rate of 4 ppm

Geof Huth

“Reading”

(with NF Huth)

Unaliated Reading Series

Outpost 186Cambridge

Massachusetts

10 April 2010

3 pm



80 Poems@ a rate of 4 ppm

Geof Huth “Reading”

Front cover illustration: “Waxwords 01” Title page illustrations: “Waxwords 02, 03, and 04” Back cover illustration: “Waxwords 05”

pdqb

875 Central Parkway Schenectady, NY 12309 USA [email protected]

dbqp: visualizing poeticshttp://dbqp.blogspot.com

pdqb # 145



4 Pwoermds

tournicoquettish

absentaneity

demption

inuous



5 from Buckets of Riversfrom Tom Beckett

it isthehole thing

(hear)

(I see)

*

consciencenessof desireas praxis

praxismakesprefect

a ring of starlings

aroundthe memory

*

the profounddierence

betweena prayer anda prayer

the root of meis nd

from the Indo-European[fen(t)]meaning ght bog boundary

endand ending

*

the subject

is the articleupon which weattend

sometimesreferred to as

(t)he

what do you hear in a swallowedsyllable of her?



10 from Being and Beckett for Tom Beckett, poet

1

Changeless was the music he nally found.

2 Without knowing either language, he could recognize the subtledierences between Finnish and Estonian.

3Dying just before the text announced his death.

4 This compost, this life.

5

To understand a language is to understand how we think, how welive, how we judge, how we feel.

6From arbitrary signs, abstract representations of perceivable andunveriable fact.

7 The archival impulse to (merely) remain.

8 We are not the people who the people who stole us from ourselvesthought we were.

9 The word was “restorative,” not restorative.

10 This is note for your.



2 from beckettt 3 (working title)to Tom Beckett

When else could you have expected to’ve done What you imagined you had, except in the evening As the swallows came home, pouring down the funnel of Themselves into that gaping chimney, an abandonedMouth to the dead brown earth; except in the morning

When a sliver of sun rst slipped through your open window,First light then a gasp like waking or the wrench of apnea,

How you wake each night fty times, once for each year you’llDie in your life, and then the sheet curled tightly around Your neck to keep out your eye’s breath; except In the afternoon when the river slid away, a caravan of water Pushing everything down and everything out, and a singleHawk glided on an upswing current until its eyes told it

To drop onto the bloody body of a rabbit nibbling; except

Whenever you were asleep, dropping down a shaft and The grip you couldn’t make, pursued down a corridor to a Corridor to a way not out, and the rope around your neck,Or a tightening hand, as you almost made it around the corner,

And away into a marsh unnaturally warm with everything Rotting within it and falling away, until you almost remembered

You didn’t live in a dream; except when you were awake?



Where had it been that it was that it had happened, The last time you remember, I mean, when the water rose,

a bubbling Flower, from the oor, or from the drain wedged among

A quartet of tiles, and the light growing within the bubbles until The basement lled with water and sunlight, so much so that you

thought Yourself swimming in glass, the world melting merely placidly,

And everything, and even you, unaware that something had gone Wrong, because you were lled with the joy of oating, A lightness like a windborne seed, disengaged from direction,

an armada Of hat boxes bobbing with your head and opening

To reveal, emptiness, hatlessness, soggy crepe paper,One stued rhinoceros, orange, and all these little black oceans

Round as a plate?



1 from beckettt 4 (working title)towards Tom Beckett

It

To wonder the it

Still spreading out

Denotations

At a rapidly expanding speed

To wonder about it And what it is

It rains

It seemsIt feels likeIt’s

The wonder of it And ing

Parcel and passel A mass and amast Plunder and wonder

It waits

As we wait for it As we must also wait

For it to mean And make And make a meaning of Or out of



It is an expansionOf our thought

About it itself

It is not thereIt is always here

(Taps a nger Against his head)

It is not there

For there is no it That rainsOr snowsOr comes downOtherwiseOut of the sky

We are surroundedBy nothing Except everything

Which extends outwardFrom usIn waves of wavering

From each of us

In overlapping waves

And we are The point at which

It starts



20 from atwhich

300. If in it it is it, it is.

301. dreamt (DreamMountain)

302. nest or nets

303. conceal, congeal

304. harbor (to keep, safe) and “or” [as opposed to, thumbing (sp)] ‘harbour’ (ours, belonging to, in keeping with, protector of): silence, water

305. a/grainst (the)

306. litself

307. upset, the(e) throe pillow

308. tepid fringes of the water

309. aeioulian hrps

310. the dimming room tableand the candle guttering out

311. the narrow sparrow holes inthe bluestone wall encompass worlds

312. whether to clamor or

clamber, the “for” overcoming the “over”

313. the car, the ear

314. car-shattering, ear-shatter-ing

315. d’mm’d

316. to hurtle and the hurdle

317. the queueue to the Q

318. precision enginerring

319. c-l-r-l-ss



25 from all Klimt with violets

[Heare beginneth “all Klimt with violets,” a book of tiny electronic poems w/ a title given by Ronald Johnson to Guy Davenport one

ne day]

@annahendrick shade and what frightens us within it, a tiny pieceof ourselves

@amycsc wrung and wrong, and the lighter sound of ringing in our heads

@OliviaDresher prying the word out of the cracks in the oor, but it slips away

@alienated vaguely wavy

@NickKristof the evidence of dierence in the sweep of a hair o a

face

@nokturnoorg this is the beginning of night, this is the opening of memory, this is the beauty of seeing

@drunken_boat O, loss and emptiness from loss, the grave view from the hillside damp from afternoon rain

[joncone] my window is open and the train comes in, my window isopen and the rain comes in, my window is open and the pain comesin

[joncone] it winds o the lake, shing line, cloud trails, the sinuousair itself

[joncone] one neon eon ago

[oed] Reection of light, the light reected, or supposed to bereected, the act of bending or turning the mind (back) upon a subject



[other poets] the rules against want, the rules against now, the rulesagainst words, the rules against sound, the rules against this

[spontaneous song] I can’t see tomorrow, where is me

[ftbd] You are naturally egregious and self-important; you will exert all your energies toward making them real.

@MargaretAtwood madly gardening, stu and coming, thick coldmud of spring, the barely yawn of warmth

[jon cone] these are your words and your joy, don’t bury them for growing, spread them like weed

[spontaneous] just an oracle, truthsayer, naysayer, the briar and thebrayer

[spontaneous] I work in a factory of ction, every day we create a

new world and sail away from our families towards it

[jon cone] cobble exists not for the benet of stone, an improvisedlife, the rough inconsistencies over time

[jon cone] marginalia: a panamanaman hat, an ararat cat, a hazard’ssat

[jon cone] lust, the heart, and last but not lasting, nal, and theshape around which you might shape and hammer a life

[spintaneous] You are fat, yet tend towards bulimia, you have vengers in your left hand and you don’t know why.

[spontaneous] what mess of children lies ahead? what kind of placeis this?

@OliviaDresher the vale of shards where every word was born

@paulodtoledo unsteady, we writhe through it, leaving a trail



5 from This, Thine Earth: Selections from a Year

March 27

spection, nor putable, andhere, now; today; not this, thine earth

March 28

ceive yourselves!able thema wilderness of graves

wave wide

March 29

over the seemingly immeasurablenicance

March 30

tain gladness

our forlorn hoursunto us desolate,and lo!brings out their fragrancy

March 31

—it may be the—aye, even in that —it may be the—no—even the comfort man against every agony



5 from Waxwords

- 1 -

- 5 -

- 2 -

- 4 -

- 3 - - 3 -



p d

q b

80 poems @ at a rate of 4 ppm

Documents