Ruby Street

So that's it for August and 'the project'. Thanks to those that stopped by and left a comment (and those who visited by leaving other traces, I could feel the pixels rustlin'). This weekend (family duties) and next week (grand happenings, including weekend after) are absolutely chockers, and near impossible for anything outside the squares, the envelopes, the grids, the whatevers. If I get to watch the last ep of Dr Who (on tape), that'll be something, I tell ya. But I might still try to do my own rustling from time-to-time. Maybe.

I contemplate my modern soul not too much. There's something of steel in the sky and it bears down through clearances of blue. I’ve tried stepping into the same sea twice, or more, and nearly drowned in the shallows. The sand occupies me with its waywardness, its withholding of evidence, debrading millions of dead skeletons. The crust is temporary but the wind taps each wing of a high albatross. A headland is always that far, a lighthouse flashes with some ghost climbing. The rocky beach is littered with fur seals. Danger moves in their sleepy regard and their bloodied necks. I realise stepping here is wrong as well. But the wind is cold and sometimes that’s enough.

Each day is impossible as I fight with contours. My horizon breathes its narrow fog, as militaries hedgehop by day. Dusty trees tremble in darkness. Silver-plated clouds and tiny craters slip stones into my mouth. Here I wait for breaks at sea, cracks in holes made by language. I am a stone at the bottom where each word will be stolen. I could head for the pale yellow distance or die in repetition.

I've just come across Jeff Davis's blog called Natures, . I'm glad I did. I was actually tracking down some information on Thomas Meyer when it turned up. So, first of all, there's references to Meyer and to Creeley and others. There are some good considered things here including, for starters, an entry tackling poetry and music which, as a poet who makes much musical reference and with a concern for the sonics of poetry, I found useful - thinking in terms of sound forms and the lexical. I liked that 'natures' is the plural, rather than the grandiose Nature.

fragile tears or strong enough falling all that’s left the uncertain lengths there are possibles, rain on earth lacunae and lostness but are everywhere and to hear crackles of diodes think of a few recovered scraps ardent/ ears/ eyes the taste, skin some future time will think ? acts in time along with leaves - with a fragment from a fragment of Sappho

Yes, I know that was a bit of a flurry of words. But the idea of 'conditions' (aka The August Project) was to end up with 31 poems - not necessarily one written every day but one for every day. So they were all written this month and, no, those last ones weren't just written tonight. I extracted them from notebooks and recent drafts. I didn't post much last week as I was unwell, bit of spring flu. I saw the Al Gore movie tonight. That was a blow to the head. Not new, mind, but necessary.

The sting in light brings its news and warnings Faces circle a shining of dust Sleeping lightly the empty room is a never empty space The coin is tossed and it sings through the air