Supreme Librarians!!!

Most of you have probably gathered by now, if you’ve viewed some random posts of mine, that I am addicted to and dependent on libraries and the treasures they hold.  In the Fall, in fact, I will be entering the Master of Library Science degree program at Emporia State University in Emporia, KS.  The fearless director I will be studying under (Matt Upson) and collaborator have created a number of these fantastic little comic BOOKS praising libraries and librarians and guiding and enticing usage of them.  I’ve asked if I can share one here – please take some time to view it – it’s fantastic! (CLICK ON THE IMAGE FOR LINK!)

(see also: Matt Upson – Librarian)

Metaphors of Mind

Metaphors of Mind


I thought about the East like sunrise, or, the bright shadow of sun as it sets on the sea.  Opening out, up, growing wider from a perceptive center.


I thought of my own like a spider rushing to complete its web and attachments to structures while the prey already wriggles in its core.  Spinning quickly, creating patterns, finding foundations so one might approach, carefully, and engage.


And of the wise, “responding with the submissiveness of a mirror to a completely unthinkable array of things where there’s no space or time” (Arkadii Dragomoshchenko, Xenia).  “And which I can’t accept” (he adds immediately afterwords).


My wife like a field of slender grasses made out of senses waving in rain.  It touches everywhere and then is guided and drawn into the veins and roots in a natural process.


An ecstatic: the moon hovering above, without details, yet influencing tides.


Fundamentalists jackhammering surfaces to shape; drilling from the riggings a far cylindrical bore.


The verbavore – translating, translating, translating…signs, digits, numbers.


Intuitionists: winds situationally directed by unseen prompts or hidden obstacles.


Perhaps the thing itself – sensual and complex machine – absorbing, recording, repeating and combining – crafting temperaments at the switchboard?

N Filbert 2012


The Essence of Place

“To record the essence of a place, so that it can be inhabited by something outside itself, is to start a story.  This means searching for a language, one that we know intuitively but cannot spell out.”

-Lukas Felzmann, Landfall

“The time has come to talk of whatever we want”

-Arkadii Dragomoshchenko, Xenia

“the work drives beyond promise, craving and time”

-Louis Zukofsky, Prepositions

            Sometimes there were birds there.  They passed through in groups, in swoops.

I’ve seen people there too, but not swooping or grouping.  It just isn’t that kind of place.


It felt large and open yet cloistered, contained.  There were large trees all around and throughout.  Somehow it seemed level.

I don’t recall there being water, but I believe it staid nearby.  As if it were ready for when it was needed.

I’ve no memory of critters or pets, cycles or frogs.  Only birds that might swarm like the leaves filling trees as they swayed.

Oh my, but the blur!  The soft focus in apprehending!  It rocks and it waves, it flows through you while sitting, I say!

I wonder the eyelids of storms.  I leap lying down.  I silently sing out the shrieking of birds.  I love in this place.  As wild or as calm as is needed, a respondent surround.

When I’m here I try to tell you, by searching for words or the making of pictures.  That don’t capture.

Have you wandered here before?  To the essence of a place?

Please do tell me or show me what’s yours…


N Filbert 2012