TOM CLARK: poetry (storm rolling in) | Joseph Ceravolo: Drunk on the Brain (Un Here)

9937: photo by Petros Kotzabasis, 27 May 2018

Untitled: photo by Sasikumar Ramachandran, 9 May 2018

9530: photo by Petros Kotzabasis, 15 May 2018

My work From Jan-July 17 | by nayeemsiddiquee

679 00323: photo by Sotiris Lamprou, 31 May 2018

Your life as a lens, searching

within that unending strangeness

that is the world -

a wave that crests and breaks

back - dispersal

an everyday falling apart

refraction

is light

transmission

what you were breaks

down and scatters

on the wind

DSC05892: photo by Sotiris Lamprou, 15 May 2018

A la espera del viento: photo by Leila Forés, 21 January 2018

Joseph Ceravolo: Drunk on the Brain

This is the top.
All around in a day
    of oxygen, real,
                 a room overlooking.
                Total light
                and promise
                          to understand your
      pains and suffering
             in the dark room
What is a wife? A woman.
            A hand. A leg.
                With Egyptian
            odors, lying on the bed.
Drunk, by soap
            on your hands.
                  Drunk on the brain.

It might be above the earth.

Joseph Ceravolo (1934-1988): Drunk on the Brain, from Millenium Dust (1982)

Débil fortaleza: photo by Leila Forés, 4 May 2018

Untitled | by Bastex - Unknown Street Photographer

Cracow, 2018: photo by Bastex - Unknown Street Photographer, 9 May 2018

Live in Shadow | by Bastex - Unknown Street Photographer

on the road again [Zarzuela de Jadraque, Castille la Mancha, Spain]: photo by Rafael Heredia, 12 May 2018

sacred: photo by Lieven Bellefroid, 24 April 2018

Come hither to go yonder: photo by Lieven Bellefroid, 28 May 2018

Late evening, Inn at Spanish Head, Lincoln City, Oregon | by Kalloosh

Restaurant, Beaverton, Oregon | by austin granger

Dusk in Bucktown, Chicago: photo by Kelly Pembleton, 5 August 2014

img471: photo by Sotiris Lamprou, 30 May 2018

on the road again [Castille and Leon, Spain]: photo by Rafael Heredia, 26 May 2018

DSC01126 | Paris: photo by Pierre Wayser, 15 December 2013

2 comments:

Mose233 June 2018 at 00:51
that unending strangeness
that is the world

We can all feel that fall from the crest now, everything unstitching itself. Beautiful poem, Tom
TC4 June 2018 at 12:33
Thank you, Duncan. I suspect it's in part an effect of the relative formality / severity of b&w that we are permitted to see something a bit closer to "things as they are", w/o the comforts of familiarity.

Of course the breaking back of the wave - of light, of water, of anything that has wave structure - is always reflected (as v refracted) in the structure of any verse that observes even the faintest memory of a left hand margin.

A wave is meant to lose itself (fall apart), then regather itself, to rise up again. Perhaps this unstitching we feel - felt here as well - is that of a new sort of dreamt physics, inert rather than dynamic, designed to maintain crests forever, a physics of impossible perfection, selfdriving cars and so on, conceptual, impossible, safe, clean, infinitely pragmatic in that way the deadest of "market-driven" concepts always seem to have, anymore.

TOM CLARK

Sunday, 3 June 2018

poetry (storm rolling in) | Joseph Ceravolo: Drunk on the Brain (Un Here) | "Your life as a lens..."

2 comments: