The Songs I Do Not Know (1)

On By NW FilbertIn absence, awareness, being, change, creative writing, Experimenctes, Language, mystery, Poetry, Writing2 Comments

“Tell me the songs you don’t know.”

Dan Beachy-Quick, Of Silence and Song

“–knowledge is made by oblivion.”

Sir Thomas Browne, in B-Q, Silence & Song

clips, or snippets,

the known as partial

notes

signifying

the experienced

gesturing

hymning (nearly celebrating)

its reverse –

everything

unknown

i didn’t know

the sounds of

as they were

always changing –

ever never

.

so i made noise

my shapes

transparently novel (novice)

windows

framing, marking, visibling

all i do not know –

every word an icon

view-finding

all it’s not

.

Image

Sound

Landscape

Intention

Meaning

Clarity of

.

definition

None

.

thus every song i sing

i sing of what i do not know

or hear or dream or feel

i think

but do i tell of songs

i do not know

or sing not knowing?

.

would i recognize

unknown

song?

do i?

sing?

.

it’s hard to tell

meaningful questions

from questioned

meanings,

meaning

tones

notion

her eyes

the water

sky

adroit

wonder

or passion

.

not known

i sing.

10.21. Handwriting

On By NW FilbertIn absence, Experimenctes, Graphotos, Image, Journaling, Language, memory, Poetry, WritingLeave a comment

Language/Life

On By NW FilbertIn Art, awareness, being, Confusion, creative writing, Experimenctes, identity, Journaling, Language, life, Mapping, meaning, WritingLeave a comment

This is the same struggle – (LanguageLife)

this mis-match, trans-mesh, between media (their mediums)

.

A woman arrived – beautiful.

First thought: why isn’t language like her?

no – why isn’t language Her.

The difference. Media.

Eventually I felt this about music, painting, photography.

Eventually I felt this about perception, expression, myself.

.

i.e. Why isn’t one thing another to the same effect? Why doesn’t one temporally unified multiplicity (perception) correlate adequately in another?

.

My writing, these shapes, lines, movements, and possible sounds and touches and sayings are ever as real as hers, (equal), but not her (different) <in so many ways, sort of> <and not many ways, kind of>

.

There is animated material in motion with layers of perception – interpretation – impression / meanings. And here as well.

But they are not the same,

metaphorically, experientially, actually.

And they are.

(We are, species-level, carrying similar realities in similarly leaky containers).

And we aren’t.

  • Effect (1)
  • Affect (2)
  • Mode (0)
  • Artifice (N+1 / N-1)
  • Occurrence Happening Being (=)

We are.

And aren’t.

Same Difference

.

Language lives. is alive. is not life. is life.

As also language.

And not.

She and I are. And are modally identified. Materially.

And are categorically for many striations,

same.

And not.

Effect. Affect. Also same difference, everywhere within scales. Eventually, no difference?

Eventually…only same? In a thin layer, deep and thickly.

Undone. Coordinated.

Same difference.

eventuates:

AND – – – – OR – – – – NOT

(same differencings, as each require equal potentialities)

.

Endless.

This is a slippery slope of a flat plane.

.

Therefore I love the “Book of Idolatry,” “truth,” empirical methods! Same differences, endlessly, potential, infinite variation and similitude. Swerving curves of identity deranged.

Lo how the mirror distorts in its clarity.

The painting clarifying distorted.

Voila.

Another.

The same.

Again.

Differently.

.

One might suppose differing due to activity – close circle – if static could be posited or possible we’d see (as we are seen). But seeing is active. As is that seen.

therefore, indeterminate

that is, knowably unknowable

i.e. uncertain in its certainty

Voila!

What?

same difference

BEING

matters

a view from nowhere?

On By NW FilbertIn Alias Harlequin, awareness, Confusion, creative writing, Experimenctes, Language, Literature, Writing2 Comments

he can only be distracted by nothing (the reflection of everything), light uncontained or perceived, even though he cannot cease registering her flesh and its forms, thigh-lines, tone and texture, fluidity of folding and motion. Nothing refuses to contain it, and rather brings it back, and forth, or all at once space, always “this. this here. here.” Nothing missing mirror, his emptiness replete.

Bends and scent, nonsensed, indelible.

Him, there (here), composed observer, unable/disabling any view from nowhere. It is without a not…

our small lives are traversed by momentous movements, avalanches in the depths of the everyday

Knausgaard, Summer

How much longer still dreaming of a language

Not enslaved to words as it is today…

des forets, Poems of Samuel Wood

so we use words in order to go beyond words

Markides, Mountain of Silence

What constitutes unbounded in literature?

Knausgaard, My Struggle 6

…still she remains a remarkable beauty (how so easily contorted from inside?). If inner bodies resembled outer, how different life would be, observable reversed as well – cultural ugliness/fear/repulsion softens from inner loveliness, even as prettiness suffers its evils. That being said, the inner therefore rules the day for beauty, and earth must be divine.

Veins outstrip hand lotion. Wrinkles give the lie.

he depends on his non-mirror, and many come to light. Refractions, glints, unending activity – a world (or however you attempt to measure the imagined) exists as relation alone (all-one) – infinite interdependence ‘to be.’

slope, angle, apparent rest – the wrist, the knee, the curve to ankle, each knuckle and blade about the eye, how else to distinguish hair from head from air from skin from water – its relative.

all i do is sense and praise (that poorly) – relation, gratitude. Awareness – attention – all act. Calves, puppies, elbows, crooks – sway and struggle, chaos-strife, relations of same differences, now.

he calls out, a wave of vibrations; he smiles, a rippling fabric; looks (out or in at once) – “becoming” (some have spoken or written) – enacted, enbodied, at-once ‘taking place’ – now. Here it is, they are, him/her with in of. It goes. Nowhere but here (it comes in other words). his left, your right, his east, your west, up-down-other: relation. Occurs.

No else. No one. No thing. No where. Never. All depending, relating to this, us, that, here, now. Without which? Unknown, inconceivable, imperceptible, nonsensical…only possible.

Nocturne with a Line from Porchia

On By NW FilbertIn WritingLeave a comment

Nocturne with a Line from Porchia Everything is nothing, but afterwards. I rise and the moon disturbs the darkness, revealing symbols, a few stolen …

Nocturne with a Line from Porchia

Terrific post/re-post…feels like a birthday gift… & Porchia! thanks poet(s) – Okaji moved through Porchia – ah literature!

A Womb-bomb Psalm

On By NW FilbertIn Aging, being, existence, grief, life, PoetryLeave a comment

Blessed be the name of the Lord –

sweet carrier of the womb –

fiery cauldron,

cold and dark

within the pit.

.

Blessed womb-bomb,

threatening peril,

life-giving

horror of wonders –

inside

.

that terrible cave

in the belly

the heart, the brain

like a virus,

a cancer,

a seed –

.

herewith do we praise thee –

our lives

and surround –

impenetrable everywhere,

blessed immersion

and thundering calm

.

go forth

quiet conquer

of light

veiled in darkness –

a pit, a cave,

o glorious sky!

Quiet. Dampening.

On By NW FilbertIn awareness, being, creative writing, Experimenctes, fragments, hope, PoetryLeave a comment

so this is how you swim inward,

so this is how you flow outward,

so this is how you pray

Mary Oliver, Five A.M. Pinewoods

Rain, snow,

damper pedal.

softening…

slowing…

so that sound

may

rise –

Arise quiet sound –

its feel –

tonight, now,

then

a melancholy birth,

nostalgia and utopia

again, combined.

.

Sustain.

Cabin Letter, cloud fragment, Colorado, July

On By NW FilbertIn WritingLeave a comment

Dear – (names of loves, Colorado cloud formations)…

to follow scent and slope toward where words are to be tasted. Summer. Diction. Pronunciations of a walk, a caress, of noticing and discovery

.

Aspen, pine, columbine.

Grasses, marsh, and pebbles.

Sand and water.

Bodies in the world. Of.

Earthy heavens.

.

To lose reason and perception in being.

A sense of that. Sky. Fluid. Water flowing and founding, above and below.

I can still imagine desire,

after all.

.

Clouds never ceased converging and changing,

even when they weren’t.

Berry referred to this as “the space between the leaves”

“I,” for instance, mind or body both.

Clouding forms.

.

Smoke and drink still, even in absence of.

.

A carriage of conversation accompanying – in the form of silence, – inscriptions, all that is nonhuman, waiting for or presenting any of its forms.

Written language or music recordings, for instance: grasses and bushes, streamsongs and trees along with birds and stealthy deer.

All bodies of the world, in and with it, too.

Imagination.

Desire.

Making presence like a meal. A party. A walk, a hike, a bath, asleep.

If I named you to bring you near – what would you be? Who?

(shuffling the cards of names)

(faces all worn off)

A tiny pine responds, fake empire.

Eyes are everywhere, like leaves, like air molecules.

The spaces between.

.

I go out.

Asleep.

Nights are maps, are dreams.

Translations.

Cloud formations. Always.

“Russian blue.” Vodka. Confusion-in-fusion. Withness.

-to cease the spirit

Nothing beyond.

The mosquito, intravenous. To “draw” blood.

Spirits. (extraction versus infusion)

Extrusion. No medicine.

Aspen quiver, laboring breath. Alone. All becoming one.

What? Who?

(so much any named “you” as an “I”)

Caught in the trees, slipped in the stream. Thirsty.

Asleep again. Watching clouds.

Dear –

– you. fire. rain. bodies with and in and of the world. Here, not-here.

Results this letter. Address. Silently.

Solitude as a freedom to be alone, to become (how slowly?) all-one.

Alone there’s nothing there. Cloud fragments.

Sky rains its portions. With, in, of. Neither for nor against.

Perhaps awake now.

Air in, air out.

Changed

Is all I’ve learned to suffer.

Undergo.

Cloud formations

Storms. There is a darkness, a swelling uprising (not grand!) in me translating the transformation of Alone/All-one, a kind of grit and pollution I add.

Turbulence.

Bones. Rock. Stones

Desire

Imagination

Sky

the fluids

they conjoin.

Dear –

it began.

(it was left for the voices) – with/in/of.

Dear Marguerite, Helene, Clarice…

Hello, I am (not) alone. With/in/of the world. Neither for nor against.

Yet imagination and desire

cloud formations, I was expressing in

such great heights

Thank you reader…

On By NW FilbertIn Aging, change, Complexity, creative writing, Experimenctes, identity, memory, QuestionsLeave a comment

Again, that uncanny occurs. Someone stumbles upon some old composition or effort. Someone comments insightfully, provocatively, and I come into a new relation to what I had let into the world a decade ago. Thank you. Today, reviewing, I was struck by this piece from some other me some time past, and it felt resonant again, much later, as continuing me…

From my longer work, 2012, I, For Instants, (https://manoftheword.com/experimenctes/i-for-instants/), the brief section “I the Question”https://manoftheword.files.wordpress.com/2012/05/i-the-question.pdf

Again, thank you readers for bringing new readings…

I the QuestionDownload

Cabin Scribbles (July 2022)

On By NW FilbertIn Language, nature, notebooks, WritingLeave a comment

so language is an architecture for open?

–

they make their way to the mountain.

wait.

up there you make your way too,

waiting

.

i’m a man of too many words

but silent ones, written noise

i’m no good with others,

i always say too much