In the Night, Among the Lost

This spring I have the good fortune to be working with Jennifer Koe (of Quirk’n It – http://giddysap.wordpress.com/) on a photo/poem project. Over the next few weeks poems I have constructed that don’t quite fit the theme or plan of the project I’ll be posting on Spoondeep. This is one such poem.

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In the Night, Among the Lost


I sleep.
It fractures.
Visited, as if through a window,
stained and partitioned.
If I reach it will shatter.
There is only – no breathing – to wait.

.
I sleep,
they murmur.
I am alone.
As if dreams were enclosures
or blanketing veils,
wrapped to the earth.

.
I sleep –
to endure.
He comes, she comes, or it,
I am upbraided
by my past and failure.
The night is dark and full of stars
they say.

.
I sleep,
perchancing to dream,
a further remove and immersion
among what is lost and forbidden,
the distance between
you and me.

N Filbert 2013

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In praise of versatility

People seem to blog for very many reasons.  For all who follow or glance at The Daily Post blog with its tips and hints and prompts it is clear that some use these community-spaces for singular aspects of their lives (say to showcase or try out their poetry or paintings, photography or thoughts); others to engage in philosophical dialogues or take culture’s pulse; other’s as a form of public journaling, travel albums and so on.  And then there are those that swirl round a broad flux of themes and forms, artefacts and issues.  A versatile blog can be hard to come by, as, unless fueled by a collaborating group, most blogs sprout from individual minds and lives.  Yet we are socially-constructed beings.  A species made up out of context and interrelation.  Versatility is inherent in our adapting and survival.  All that to say that I am honored to have been chosen by maxadaland blog to receive the:

award.

Much thanks.  Sometimes I think we can feel pretty vorticed in our own imaginations…the paradigms and preformulating grids our experience passes through can start seeming quite idiosyncratic and even incommunicable.  Like a catch in an audio file, skipping and repeating such small fragments of possibility – like solipsistic feedback loops – and one can wonder whether interaction / intersubjectivity / reciprocation / communication is happening or not.  If we are hearing, being heard.

One thing I greatly appreciate for my life about having taken the leap of tending to and creating a blog is the daily (or almost) wander through the “Reader” feature of WordPress.  Artists, writers, commentators, philosophers, dramatists and encyclopedic representations of images, texts and audio from all around the world, out of every imaginable cognitive perspective drift past us, triggering synapses and volting neurons in places forgotten or buzzing dormant throughout our bodies.  It presents the wonderful possibility of contrast and integration, stimulae to creation and juxtapositions fundamental to our growth as organisms.  I thank you all for that.

Below, please find a few blogs I follow that in themselves seem to offer worlds of variety – of voices, of inputs and outputs, of interests and concerns – blogs I find that continuously spur new connections, unknown avenues, concepts or artefacts I otherwise would have perhaps never engaged.  Thank you to all – and it is taken for granted that we all know this worldwideweb is full of such spaces, ever only incorrect finger-splotches away.

for starters….

THANKS TO ALL!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RE4ce4mexrU

Set Screens

for Friday Fictioneers, March 15, 2013.

Copyright - Lora Mitchell

With age I come to see more clearly, through glaucoma and the cataracts.  Each layer beamed away, burning holes in cloudy veils.  Colors hardly remembered, bright edges that the world lends.  All that glitters can’t be told.  Even my hearing improves, as if long years of practice had taught me how to listen.  The paper of my skin whispers pages’ sound.  Dying’s process of deletion, dropping memories like scales.  Surgery after surgical procedure – removing the lens, installing; expanding tubes, constricting; bypassing and shunting – internal edits increasing my awareness that I’ve no idea how deep my set screens go.  I am yet to see this world, through the versions that I’ve filmed.

N Filbert 2013

Situating Language

“ultimately all the meaning of all words is derived from bodily experience”

-Bronislaw Malinowski-

(from The Problem of Meaning in Primitive Languages)

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RESPOND

kudos to my wonderful wife! great show

I certainly COULD NOT say (if “say” it is) better. Thank you Simon.

simonhlilly's avatarsimonhlilly

SUCH SLIDINGS

Such things (percepts, perceptions) often flow by us unnoticed. Our primary influences, the objects that create us into a subject….

It still happens regularly.
Listening now to an old song I knew then, the words, so familiar, intergrown as barbed wire into a tree, unpeel in clarity and reveal completely new words, new meanings. Of course that is what the lyrics are, clear, logical, making sense, making story. So why the mishearing for so long? We mis-hear more , much more than we mis-see. We misconceive more than each of these-(the bending of light to catch the whole within the goldfish bowl of brain).

Words never were single things but woven strings of shining diaphenous vapours. Put sound to lined squiggle, equations of broken down breath, equally spaced, segregated, punctuated, coralled, from left to right, or right to left, or down, or up. Do that and will ambiguity…

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The Direction of Dreams

a la Friday Fictioneers – everybody should give it a go!  Thank you Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for keeping us prompted…

copyright - Jennifer Pendergast

The Direction of Dreams

My son says he always dreams the same house, strangely enough.  Except with a spiral staircase.  The cartoon girl runs jerkily past.  Perhaps she trips, perhaps there’s a dog in the way, perhaps a lady walking with a stroller.  He doesn’t know the house, he says, but it’s always the same house.  With a spiral staircase, but not a cartoon girl.  I know she’s running though, in fits and starts, with urgency.  Something depends on her speed.  There’s a trying to get somewhere, in any direction.  And direction needs a context.  Something about dreams, spirals and speed.

N Filbert 2013

Sure it runs!

I wasn’t sure I had it in me this week, concocting something from a picture, worth a 100 words (you should try – visit Friday Fictioneers), but I battered and welded something together in the nick of time.   For what it’s worth –

Copyright - Beth Carter

We sang when we made it.  We laughed and we drank and we sang.  So many said that it couldn’t be done.  Not by philosophers.  But why not?  Sappy, crappy and happy we sang.  And we drank.  Marty stole the carts, Jerry supplied the pictures to spur us along – as if they were sure to result.  Trey provided visors and sunglasses, given the absence of roof.  We swore we’d take it 10,000 miles.  10,000 miles a year.  We ditched our courses, thirsty for reasons.

Of course it runs!  Look close – you can tell where it’s been.  Take it further.

What I Was Meaning To…

“Abandoned Writing Projects” by R. M. Berry, from: