Sunday, September 27, 2020

HOLDING POWER [11-20]

11.
BETWEEN 'REAL' AND 'APPARENT'
[Stephen Ellis]
.
.
The main hope in
the literary arts is not
to turn up at any
.
time in the pages of
the history of it: Poetry
should remain unfinished
.
because of death in
feeling the finger of
your non-existent brother
.
reaching the incendiary
state of sheer appreciation
on reaching the summit
.
that is too high for
birds to be heard, and all
you have left is the mother-
.
of-pearl interior smoothness
of the inside of a snail -
where the vocables are
.
kept from the public except
when singing alone - along
with the interior colonoscopic
.
images Doctor Jeffrey Potter
made in attempting to determine
whether I have cancer. Original
.
occurances happen every day
in which love is a perpetual
form of uncompromising
.
Marxism trying to ally itself
with 'Oriental' authentricity
to guard against a particular
.
form of metaphysics of which
each individual is already
the center point. Bolshevism
.
simply missed the picture.
Originality within the supreme
accidentalism of daily
.
occurance has only to do with
knowing the altitude where
you and 'truth' conspire.
.
.
.
*

12.
‘The Flowering Flame of Flourishing’
[Gali-Dana Singer]
‘Just to think that the only way to temporal salvation
is not to let yourself to think,’
thought the Cockscomb flower,
using the loose analogy between
the cerebral convolutions and its own
peripheral routes of cognizance.
^
‘Problem solving can be that problematic, as you,
probably, know’, quickly added Celosia crestata
burning with secret desire to disclose
the origin of the genetic data stolen
long before the ancient Greeks
used to say κήλεος
^
Nothing is there when you look for it.
Stop looking and nothing will stop being there.
So close your eyes and wait for a kiss
coming for each three of them.
Nothing more, nothing less.
Nothing. Got it?


13.
ALL PERVASIVE
[Stephen Ellis]
.
.
'Deduced but not perceived'
but do they not work together.
always? A name is deduced
.
from the quality of a thing
that may yet have no existence
but a given name, how can
.
that be? Nature is a loose
adaptation of itself, as love
to a kiss and the reverse.
.
There are rivers that can flow
two ways at the same time.
From where I come from, we
.
call metaphor 'exact change.'
['projection cylindrique'] or
that it will happen again, many
.
times, as eternal flame felt
for as life, the pride of
a rooster's crown, or simply
.
feel it for what it is, in another
language, κήλεος, or Carthage
could be seen burning from
.
the mainland, just as 'Celosia
crestata's flames can be easily
seen on the other side of a
.
garden path. Always make
yourself obvious by hiding from
what is with no doubt inevitable.
.
An expedition requires no baggage
that you have to carry. It will
accumulate its own. Problem solved.
.
.
.
*
14.
MUCH OF A MUCHNESS
[Gali-Dana Singer]

Make yourself oblivious of the time
you are living through, living in the end times
is a too often reoccurring incident
to be much thought of. ‘You should
no more think of going to a dinner
without the knowledge of this art,
^
than you should think of going
without your shoes,’ state ‘The Laws
of Etiquette: Or, Short Rules and Reflections
for Conduct in Society’ (By Gentleman).
While the author, not given to displays
of emotion, yet giving too much thought
^
to a process of thinking, enters and leaves
a scene of unceasing action, bordering
unto the slapstick chaos, without as much
as a stime of a courteous smile or a gleam
of a gracious tear, like an unruly river,
flowing two ways concurrently
^
or even entering itself twice, time after time,
on the pretence of never being the same.
And so is love, gentle reader. Don’t call it
a metaphor, wait, don’t call it, it will come
uncalled and as inevitable as an internal rhyme
only can be in a free verse written by me.


15.
INTIMATE WORKS WITHIN WHICH TO DREAM.
[Stephen Ellis]
.
.
The claim of unceasing
coincidence is a coin that is
on either and/or both
.
sides, without value. The 'end
times' keep ending without
notice, aside from the usual
.
apocalyptic presumptions,
which etiquette says we should
never leave home without.
.
Time never ends, or there is
always time enough to fool
yourself into believing that
.
you have some control over
the energies that bring love
into being as a being that is
.
buoyed by its own beauty
with which it is anyway impossible
to interfere. George Gurdjieff.
.
once tried to triple-con me
for a five dollar cab ride in
Cairo, but the hotel manager
.
finally shoo'd him away. Magic,
like poetry, is best left for
those to whom it is disclosed
.
without help in reading the menu
we each are in the process of
writing. I feel no guilt for having
.
caused a scene in the lobby of
the Azjerbaijani Embassy. The only
method to have love disclosed
.
to you is in the language that runs
through your marrow like a river
that runs in all directions into you.
.
and becomes a wet marsh in which
wilds swans slowly wander, as if to say,
of love, only you will continue to be you.


16.
OLD HEBREW SIBYL 
EXHAUSTED BY THE MIGHTY SPIRIT OF THE LORD
[Gali-Dana Singer]
Wouldn't I like to tell myself a story?
But who will listen? I won’t.
Anyway the tale of the one-sided coin
was already told. The story
of the three-sided mirror
was filmed in the year 1927.
^
Then there is a romance of the Un-
sidedness, in which ‘an infinitely-sided 
polygon, for example, is no longer 
polygon at all – at the limit, 
it has attained coincidence 
or identity with a circle. 
^
It embraces the whole series 
of n-sided polygons precisely 
by being a non-sided polygon, 
a circle.’ That one still may be 
repeated with a certain flair
while each surcle of honeysuckle
^
forwards anew its sour sweet fragrance
and the crumbs of non-existence
fall unnoticed through its yellowed 
fingertips into the early greying air 
of the late September.
But why should I speak all?
 


17
A CYCLICAL VISITATION
[Stephen Ellis]
.
.
There is no 'was' in the measure,
for there is/was in or of no need
for any, but that had already grown
.
in place without need for template.
It is as simple as understanding of
'fire sticks' and about a 'central axis'
.
[about which I have some doubt]
although there is the issue of
the spinal column in its nobleness
.
and arete, that I suppose makes no
difference by way of being of the life
of a creature, as giving to gender its
.
status 'in the poetic' which holds on for
'dear life' by remaining in a lifetime
in an almost 'incestuous' position
.
in relationship with all that seems
more-ot-less colloquial and common
in its similar ecstasies. The part about
.
the liver is Promethean, and related
fire sticks are of little matter but to
build confidence that the 'skamba'
.
knows what it's doing as much as
natural growth cannot 'know' digressively
what it will be when 'ripe.' I'll let things
.
go obscure for a moment, not that he
wanted to be Jane Austen in particular,
but was thought by another to wish he
.
was 'the Mistress of Girton' or by his own
admission, or what the other guy said,
was, a lesbian and/or a schoolmarm,
.
just as the first blurted out in the open
air, that he would rather be a plant.
One probably gets a better education at
.
a girl's school, depending on what you
wish to be taught. The Skamba needs only
two lines from axial pole to pole, but
.
as the umbrella effect, the earth is seen
to billow out more fully with many. 'Agni'
is a flame with many petals, like love has.
.
There is no need to measure any growth in
any way but in the way it fulfills its own
terms, which are not for us to know, for
.
we ought not think in terms of the measure
of which the French Finance Minister said in
2008, that what can be measured can be
.
accomplished, after the fruit has already
been picked by the strange disposition
favoring 'aftermath.' Two plus two equals
.
'forget it.' A tangerine, peeled, reveals its own
ley lines, and its skamba or axis is opened as
you break the sections of it along its own
.
ley lines and simply consume the sweetness
as of love, whose juice runs always like
murmuring, out the sides of one's mouth.

18.
EMBARASSING QUESTIONS
[Gali-Dana Singer]
Is there a split somewhere, let us say,
between the phenomenon and the idea
in the fabric of dreams where the light 
can squeeze in in an undignified manner 
to enter solemnly the room of being 
behind the musty plush curtain of corporeality?
^
– Or was it positioned before? Like a spacious chamber 
placing itself with every possible comfort 
in front of the French fire screen
where two foam-white embroidered Pegasi 
romp on the shores of Perseus blue silk? 
Does it really matter? – Doesn’t 
^
the multitudinous dance of dust specks 
starts for a chance spectator only when it happens 
to be pierced by a lonely sun ray without 
so much as ‘May I come in?’ or ‘By your leave’?
When I will exit the scene, must it be changed?
Whose perceptions will determine that? Not mine.  
^
Then the wild guess: should not departure 
be the happiest not for those who’ll go willingly 
without a farewell glance, as I used to believe, 
but for those who’ll look back lovingly, 
deserting everything as faultlessly beautiful
as it was when they first become part of it?



 
19.
WHAT DOES A QUESTION ANSWER TO?
Stephen Ellis
.
Like a slip of the tongue
['belief' in the nature, of
understanding the question
.
as if on another 'archetypal
journey'], the fire chief dies
in the arms of the man who
.
owns the house he was watching
burn to the ground, for which
in steady answer to, is only
.
the unstable leap of the last flames
that finish the structure off. Fault
can never return to original habit,
.
just as 'cause' must always be
invented until another form of
trust arrives to take one to the next
.
'true thing,' as such, such as a real
apprehension of how loss steals
a new life, not from anything left
.
over, but from being left out
and refusing but to mourn but happily
with nothing but to what is no
.
longer present in the lie of having
no reason to live for exactly that.
No one needs to be obedient 
.
to trust: It can't be helped, loss
in life goes on forever, and isn't
that the point? One may in fact
.
grow weary in feeling this is
exactly what one doesn't want to
look at, yet being left feeling empty
.
is the exactitude through which 
corporeal love finds the dream
that is always waiting in bed for it.


20.
NO TITLE, BUT THE CRY OF SEAGULLS BEHIND YOUR WINDOW
[Gali-Dana Singer]
I remember everything
I do not remember anything
yet I remember this ‘nothing’
more precisely than snowflakes of wild garlic
more precisely than cherry earrings
more precisely than the letters ‘shin’ of their stalks
^
more precisely than not telling anyone about it
more precisely than soapy waves wash away
double names of two girls forgetting
in the white sand 
the hearts of three 
and all the words
^
Clam memories infer patterns
on slowly growing shells.
Lightning flashbacks repeat off-the-shelf samples
on rapidly growing shells.
Precisely as how the human brain projects
images of its own past into the future,
^
the mantle, sensing the history of mollusk’s thoughts,
extrapolates them to each new layer,
constituting the ornamental relief 
of the silently glowing shells.
As long as I refuse to close mollusk’s thoughts 
with inverted commas, 
^
my own recollections lock themselves out 
of their own case into the ocean of air, 
losing the keys somewhere 
in the approaching kindness of forgiving dark.
Whatever it was you wanted to ask me
may it be answered fully in its own time.
^
Whatever it was I wanted to ask you
may the answer come as a rescue
for a confused mind from a confused mind
or contrariwise.
Using the question mark inadvertently
may it never be turned against us.





Wednesday, September 09, 2020

HOLDING POWER [1-10]

[New On-Going Poetic Collaboration between Gali-Dana Singer and Stefan Ellis]

1.

HOLDING POWER
[Stephen Ellis]


.
I just sit here telling
myself all these stories
about the sun shining
.
[is the sun shining?]
I used to have a relative
or a neighbor in some
.
other place I may have
lived who told me that
the moon lived inside
.
the sun, and that the earth
lived inside the moon.
'But how can earth live
.
inside of moon - it's bigger.'
[Yes, that's why the earth
has inflationary money
.
problems, and why the moon
is so easily given to weeping.
Don't you have any 'moon money?'
.
See? Your eyes are already
filling with tears!] There are
a thousand stories in the veins
.
on the backs of my hands.
Human skins grows bluish
and translucent with age,
.
with a great luminous
golden light glowing just
underneath. Wealth =
.
Coffee. She, who I usually
call 'you' [and will shortly
again, after having a hiatus
.
like a quarter-note rest in
music] has rolled up
the moonlight, and has
.
put it in a kitchen cabinet
until dusk. We live to
see what is drawn to us,
.
and us to what. The body
is made from copiousness
of intuition. It's our duty
.
in earthly life to locate
the ['other elements'] that
go with the actual purpose
.
of the elements in our
own life thar are constituent
with the whole that is
.
kept perpetually unfinished,
in order to stabilize life's
changing condition. This
.
is what 'moon money' is for,
to deal with things directly
rather that with the assurance
.
of pretentious assurance. Nature
is the only being that can
prepare a feast by consuming it.



2.

AS DUSK DREW ON
[Gali-Dana Singer]



'By the way, what does 'neighbour' mean?'
asked the wall leaning rather heavily
on the air of an adjacent apartment.
What is all that talk about
loving thy neighbour as thyself?
Do one love oneself that sincerely?

^

The window kept silent
looking through its own transparency.
The thin layer of dust only added some depth
to the introspection it was inclined to.
The nearest neighbour (isn’t it a tautology,
by the way?) sat outside just behind its closedness

^

braving +42 C and claimed again and again
his sacred right to the money spent
on some deserving political cause
which remained a mystery to those who
were intent on not listening
as were our window and our wall

^

‘All this is deeply perpendicular to me’,
thought the window and repeated with a certain
degree of pleasure ‘deeply perpendicular’
savouring the clumsy implausibility
of a literal translation from a language it knew
to another virtually unknown.



3.

GONE MENTAL
[Stephen Ellis]
.
.
Stack of plate glass
leaning against the wall
in which all that can be
.
seen is your own
reflection, and the reality
once seen before being
.
masked by what you'd
think would help you know
what's on the other side,
.
simply magnifies how
what is exactly the delusion
of what one expects to
.
see, like that transparency
has little to do with,
'the other side' - the vented
.
world of thwarted illusion
as the sole truth - [compare
vanishing points] contemporary
.
everywhere at once,
depending on where you stand
in both space, epoch
.
and psychological 'duration'
[or the story of the grammar
of what you told your mother
.
about what you did each
day when exported 'to
learn' about the delusion
.
that reality day by day was
coming to be], even as you
fall in place with what are
.
'brand new ruins' [intuition
of 'wholeness' at once, made
several weeks ago, to 'will
.
be useful' after we are
'absorbed in it' as the use
that will be manifested
.
as some other kind of
matter [glass is made from
sand, and what does
.
the word 'behold' mean when
you see your own reflection
where it is usually unexpected,
.
air also is a lens [is an individual
distinct from the present
moment?]. I lost what I
.
was about to say about madness,
['synchronicity'?], or there is
something innate throughout
.
the whole extent, [we're just too
dense] Medusa 'everywhere at once,'
encouraged to take a look at you.




4.

THE DATA AND DETRITUS OF THE PAST
[Gali-Dana Singer]


Entering closed door full blast
first thing in the morning
could not become more painful
whether it was made of glass or not
any door will suffer considerably
firmly believing it is nearing the end.

^

‘But fear not, o door, my master, nor be dismayed,
for behold, we will amalgamate like three death
sentences into an unabridged afterlife project,’
creaked one doorknob to another,
‘It merely seems to be about emotions.
How real are our emotions, anyway?’




5.
.
SHEET LIGHTING.
[Stephen Ellis]
.
.
A human does not inherit
the context of her being,
which is the androgynous
.
talent of realizing she is
[or you are] of indifference
between partially correct
.
identifications of an almost
endless variety of substances.
[Yeah, you got that right], I want
.
nothing to do with 'existentialism'
unless it is the bell that ends
the school day, so you can return
.
to the clavicular octave of
the endless awakening of your
love, the animals of which
.
slip away into the weather in
which they become the substance
of constant change, yet faithful
.
to every somatic twitch which
your diet comprises, when you
consume and begin again
.
the absurd evidence of your own
neglected hunger. Poetry is 'like'
the womb from which the silk-
.
wrapped storied bones of those
who still know what to make of
words, is born. It feels impossible
.
that the golden rise of sunlight
above your neighbors' rooftops
and the somewhat local hills
.
could by late afternoon be worth
only two bucks a share. Is it proper
to broker a bet against your own
.
investing client, that will guarantee
they'll lose? But 'to lose' means nothing
beyond understanding the story.
.
It is what just this morning, Gali-Dana
told me that Pushkin said poetry was:
A composition that combines your
.
very [un]real and fully imagined gender
with elegance and grace, and gives you
pride and the embarrassment of having
.
told the truth of silliness so clearly,
that everyone is forced to laugh at your
telling a joke, impossible to be funny.
.
.
.

*

6.

KICKED OUT OF SINGING CLASS
[Gali-Dana Singer]


The blackboard was definitely brown,
but the chalk was whiter than white, so the opposition
as seen from the outside of the memory cube
could be described as nearing the absolute
regardless of the time lapsed before discovery
of misstatement or omission.

^

Still a female blackbird being the colour
of burnt umber is supposed to be called
a blackbird as if it were a blackberry yet unripe.
The lamentable lack of precision in notes
of time and place could be forgiven in case
of a new learner of the language of signs,

^

but not forgotten, though not for the want
of trying. The simple sub-song of pain
cannot be easily dismissed as 'a practice’
for not knowing any better. Trying as this can be
it is worth the effort if you do it right,
my dear, as told the dawn to the dusk

^

leaving the realms of twilight behind
the closed eyes. The winged nonsense
promises us a wholeness of flight
and keeps the promise faithfully forever,
the hardest part is to remember
to hold on and to give in to its bribery.



7.
.
CONSERVATOR OF AIMLESS EVALUATION
[Stephen Ellis]
.
.
Air is of double issue, perhaps
more, in being as breath in lungs,
or free in atmosphere that moves
.
as it likes. 'Singing' has to do
with attempting to determine
which of the words you know
.
how to pronounce, and maybe
even know the meaning of, are
words that goddesses and gods
.
routinely say. The so-called Word
of God is an open question. That
is my interpretation of being spoken
.
to by a crow perched up in branches
of a decaying apple tree. I was never
thrown out of singing class for having
.
little opportunity to be in a situation
in which anyone was allowed to sing,
so I became a double issue Persephone
.
and kept my song in a quart-sized
Ball jar, like what we used to trap
fire-flies in order to reap their light
.
and begin to understand what 'death'
is when the lights go out. Fire
coagulates as it is turned into 'soul.'
.
and becomes as fluid as the tears from
which I hide under the table in order
not to have to do battle with the emotions
.
of who I could never be, safe as milk in
the world in which I let imagination wash
my feet with dew from a weeping willow.
.
.
.

*

8.

NOTHING MATTERS AND DON'T ASK ME WHY
[Gali-Dana Singer]


‘How many trees weep for our pleasure?’,
once the Earth surprised the Air with a question.
Cedar, Birch, Maple, Thuja,
Juniper, Larch, Spruce, Cypress,
Pine, Sycamore and giant Sequoia,
Chestnut, Beech, Elm, Mulberry, Rowan,

^

Fig, Pear, Apricot, Cherry,
Silver Linden and Golden Willow,
Salix babylonica, remembering Zion,
Desert False Indigo, Weeping Katsura,
Weeping White Quebracho,
are not their tears enough

^

filling rivers, lakes and small ponds
with reflections of immense skies
wilfully broken into ripples of laughter?
There was nothing questionable
about the Word of God at that time
of universal doubt and confusion,

^

so the Air just smiled upon the Earth
and kept smiling and smiling,
while the Earth continued to take selfies
as obsessively as would a mere sightseer.
Their watering eyes overflowed with tears
while the Fire consumed all fears and terrors.



9.

A LIFE OF CRIME.
[Stephen Ellis]
.
.
The marrow of my bones
is made of husks of Jersey
black beetles revealed
.
during an autopsy when
I was still alive but asleep.
They enter through the feet
.
of unregistered financial
agents while on the moon
looking for moon money to
.
invest, but are instead
capitalized as their leg
marrow is consumed in
.
the process of the beetles
dying of starvation when all of
the marrow is consumed.
.
This is the real explanation
for the world financial disasters
of 2008, for the beetles' souls are
.
transmigrated to species disorder
so that the carriers of their
corpses grow two sets of wings
.
that are hidden in the armpit
of the Gulf of Iskenderun [if you
remember the taffy pulling
.
machines behind plate glass
on the boardwalk in Atlantic
City], for the beetles died on
.
your marrow by way of setting
an ambush for the approaching
Persian fleet for which I am
.
the boy running naked through
Lebanese marijuana fields so that
as the pollen sticks to my sweat
.
I come closer to being baited
for an enterprise for which I carry
the dead alive in the bag hanging
.
in Typhon's Coycian Cave that holds
Zeus' 'neurological potentia' until
Hermes decides the coast is clear
.
and steals it back and hides it in
the totality of what the Trojans never
realized they had been hit by.



10.

WAITING FOR DREAM MASTER TO FIX THE PROBLEM


Running for dear life on the same spot forever
watching how nothing changes, not even the leopard
of the ladies’ fashion, unrefined as it seems
and yet everlasting in its own extinction, so
couldn’t be rightly claimed by vulgarity as its own,
isn’t as agonising as another nightmare

^

that one of being late meeting mother and/or grandfather
parting with whom you succeeded to execute just partly
letting them to continue the process ad infinitum
carrying it through the nights of forensics and frenzy.
Do you truly believe that you can escape the beheading?
Having nine heads did not help much the Lernaean Hydra.


(To be continued)