I’m very honored and happy to be a part of this fine journal – “The Light Ekphrastic”!!
See my work and read many others HERE!
Thank you!
I’m very honored and happy to be a part of this fine journal – “The Light Ekphrastic”!!
See my work and read many others HERE!
Thank you!
August 14, 2012, the first day (DAY) of rain in Kansas that I am able to recall for a very long time. Not a passing windy thunderstorm, but a wet dripping sky holding temperatures in the 60s. A genuine “rainy day.”
We are home. Inhabiting a structure we have designed and filled up with ourselves, each one, and altogether. It’s been awhile.
For days we’ve struggled to catch up: reports, bills, groceries, supplies, dust, papers, books, photographs, laundry, enrollments, business, correspondence, maintenance, rest.
Organization as definition.
Definition as form, parameter, boundary.
Defining a space (reorganization) to find or enable content.
Rearranging contents to formulate new space.
Needing the space…drawing the blanks___________…to manipulate a safety, a breathing, an empty, to allow.
In chaos I write, as if pinning down terms could needle a swarm of locusts to a board for inquiry and examination.
In emptiness I build by finding blocks to set: my lover’s eyes, my children’s sounds and bodies and play, a coffee cup, clear desk, blank paper…then Jabes, Shklovsky, Wittgenstein, Blanchot. Wallace Stevens, Dragomoshchenko, Montale, Bakhtin.
Fencing a fallow field.
I check my pockets for seed.
I’ve been an astronaut.
I can’t remember rain.
I am what I am reported to have said. As are those around me, if only in our heads or dreams or passion or anger or fear.
Opening an old notebook I am stunned by a page lacquered in heavy charcoals and dark pastels. I make out in fierce giant letters “WE WILL DIE!”, then scribbled around it, hard to decipher in the noise of the marks, the names of each one in my family.
I think “so begin.”
Stop. Locate a space. Breathe. Then move.
Movement is beginning.
Connectives of meaning or purpose may follow the following of orders or order the following connections of meaning.
I begin with my body, following my fingers as they formulate form, defining the spaces with words…
“if the meaning-connexion can be set up before the order, then it can also be set up afterwords”

“each is no more or less than the words he is reported to have said”
-Richard Stamelman, of Edmond Jabes’ rabbis

FANTASTIC INTERVIEW / INTRODUCTION WITH HOLLY SUZANNE!!!
(click on image to view)
CONGRATS DEAR PARTNER!
GREAT JOB AND GREAT WORK!
Okay, it really isn’t my preference to clutter you with personal information / process…but the month of July turning into August has been something of a whirlwind of large changes for our family. Traveling for three weeks and all the saturation that implies (very GOOD – but overwhelming for one like me who likes to control the pace and type and style and content of input 🙂 )…now registering everyone for school, gathering supplies, moving into new vocations or returning to vocation outside of our home studio…enduring a home burglary in which one of our children was assaulted and some irreplaceable valuables stolen…you get the picture. After spending most of yesterday trying to “touch base” with our home and our lives, I found a few moments personally directed. What I encountered felt like a Void. The last I’d recorded in my reading list journal was July 8. The last I’d written in my private journal was July 6. I couldn’t remember the projects I’d been in the midst of when we took to the mountains, the road, the lakes, the cabins. I was bewildered. I drew a blank…some empty fullness…and here is what tumbled out:
Drawing a Blank _________________ …
So that after long whiles, some sometimes, nothing
nothing left or right remembers stirs reminds
conjures therefore a kind of empty fullness emptied
of what seems everything but is nothing for we feel
pretty certain (what is called “knowledge”
i.e. “belief”) that nothing empties, nothing
moving nowhere neither expanding nor
retracting, not replete or depletable,
so to say a blank is begin, as you see it
__________________________ …
indicates (is a kind of sign) indexes you
elsewhere toward or away, that is, movement
what we might apply another sort of signifier
otherwise (a.k.a) simply known as “blank”
becomes arbitrarily a point of action (more
accurately a line) trail train of efforts
here, like god, as I understand the term,
to name without knowing or under-
standing: “begin.”
__________________________ …
empty trajectory boundary border
line emptied of nothing (not possible)
remains only to be filled with doing
which I’m doing, once a word like “god”
enters as a placeholder, rhythmic beat,
disregulating reorganizer that empty
fullness reveals itself full indeed
by which I mean synonyms collect
(as I experience them) through action
upon within the emptied track
(emptied of nothing, nonsensical)
or trace, that is, “god” =
_______________________ …
metamorphosing in my apparatus I
once perceived as empty, better
said “lost” or “chaos-crossed”
too full in a way to recognize it-
self until such a thud as god
should stir the matter like a magnet
drawing unto after it syllable
after syllable sounds sounding as
“death” as “human” what resounds
in my cranium with deity, but death
of which or both at once, such
emptied fullness I think, led by
__________________________ …
because I’d though how much humans
were like god in their deaths and invention
death like a horse dragging a sledge
without sleds grinding splinters shafts
“substances” to naught, limbs undone
what we thought were wholes – holes
skull shrinking withered of hopes
and fears, identity’s loss, how
death depurposes unknowns…all
the strenuous loves and desperate
frights I gave names and space and
time during life that were not
anything actual only possibilities
but words worries made them seem
death immediately deletes leaving
______________________ …
like character or personality, what
is memorable or terrifying even
unimaginable things we imagined
treating, relating to, engaged as
real entities death erased, again
the emptying, of nothing, no thing
to be rid of but a sound, a rhythm
a term – god, human, death –
superadditives, ideas, beliefs, myths
theories without basis no matter
observation perception interpretation
super-imposed on
________________________ …
emptied of nothing as nothing being
undiminishable death demons-
trates depurposing de constructions
we attribute fully to emptiness
what is unknown its own sort
of impossible excepting conjecture
consideration deleted at death
by death what life had spent
on deities and persons, ideas or myths
where nothing was, actually empty
but for matter beneath and slowly
ground back down toward away
emptying the nothing to fullness
_____________________ …
drawing a blank
N Filbert 2012
shuffling through my papers and bags from the “vacation”-ing, I found these pages…uncertain what more to do with them…
The Advance
In the looping that making is
swing back
tie around
and move forward,
if you make it through
you will stretch toward
if not
you will bunch up
stopped and
knotted,
held
somehow in a form;
The passing through –
the trick of things –
like camels
and eyes of needles
or coyotes
tricking their prey –
Not always,
but sometimes,
it works.
More prevalently
we create bonds
that only loosen
when undone
or serve
to strangle
Neither / nor
Either / or
a kind of be / have
if you will
you will feel
that you won’t
but no matter
Letters are made
for the unconscious
something akin to
shorthand,
symbols,
drawing
from metaphorical wells
their multi-meanings,
depending on
what’s growing there.
Here.
Now.
For instance
finding what you’ve put away
if not uncovered,
comes in snippets.
Like remembering
we advance
in casting back and forth
across a scene –
it’s only details
attention finds
and alters
with the looking
like a spy
proffers suspicion
or a guru
marking growth
it’s in our nature –
though we cannot know that –
in our nature too
the combination:
imagination
and desire,
a synonym
for knowledge
if we “get it.”
I don’t get it,
I be / have
and therefore lose
much of what I had coming
Alas, but it is day
and meaning rises
first one thing
and then another
by my measure,
inaccurately
distinct
and untoward;
we have our myths –
our dreams and visions –
our feeble truths
for what they’re worth,
a clumsy journeying
toward
death
when be and have
are one (none)
N Filbert 2012
Life is a Blur
July…wha-? whe-?
I’m usually a fairly meticulous and ritualized journal-keeper…for the month of July 2012 I have ONE entry!
Like that. Colorado…Missouri…enrolled and entering a first week of Master of Library & Information Sciences programs…
kids heading back to 1st grade / 3rd grade / freshman in HS! / JUNIOR in HS! –
wha-? whe-?
I’m honestly working
at something
creatively
(I remember)
when I find it
it will appear
WordPress dynamos
I catch what I can!
with kiddos at Branson and Table Rock Lake
Home from vacating for a couple days. Free-write 100 words prompted by photo as follows (thanks to Friday Fictioneers / Madison Woods instigations/inspirations. Please join)

The trouble is corrosive. Is rank. I do not say what you think I say. I do not say what you say I say. I hear you wrong. Rot. You love taking pictures of ruins. I love the effects of rust. On iron. On rock. The meal of erosion is slow. Don’t yell. Things erase when we turn our heads. Eyes such enormous editors. My ears confuse wind with anger. What you think is running water is something else. Is sobbing. Are tears. Words are constructed of contexts. Are hints and withers. What accrues is corrosive. Is gentle. Is fierce.
N Filbert 2012
Posting an ongoing project, a long(ish) poem(-tic) reflexive effort to at least hear myself if not understand.
The Engineer of Himself
The Engineer of Himself: A Poem
“Thinking is willing you are wild
to the weave not to material itself”
Susan Howe
“a new music of verse stretching out into the future…”
William Carlos Williams on Louis Zukofsky
I.
I have tried to tell this story time and time again.
I’ve set out to tell this story.
This one story. This one, apparently, mine.
This story takes all of my life, as do all of the stories that go deep in the mines.
Mole’s holes without boundaries – forward and back equal speed – ever the hunting, never the full.
We develop our routes in this way.
Creating patterns.
We forget so many channels and tunnels and homes.
Will I ever find the subject
When asked what I am writing? Continue reading “Collecting Fragments : The Engineer of Himself”
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