Monday, 23 September 2013

After Kemeny

Buffalo Wings 2006 ~

Kemeny Babineau

   Let us get back to the beginning of history; a Viking ship
with sweeping lines  to withstand fury
flies over the waves to the land of flat stones and thick forests.

American Beech by AcrylicsMichelle, based on (1813)
( 1813 )

The British and Americans point long guns in The
Long Woods, perpendicular to the world, to the
trees all about, American Beech

• columnar
• trunks and limbs
• etching out
• at arms length

• a graphite sketch
• men in battle among trees, musket
• ball furrows in bark, seeding
• the heart’s darkness
• makes forays

• lead scribbles
• what was visible

• ‘ don’t
• draw their fire, ‘

• voices
• not getting far, an arm
• a leg and bits
• of head.

• everything in sections
• nothing whole
• some things over
• done, piece by
• piece falling
• in, drawn
• down

Chaos of trees at first, inscrutable
                                                  leaves obscure
                      what we left
                      behind the Rising

Now its life in the clearing
hair like wheat\ in ruffles of wind
downcast potato eyes
and ears of corn
that hear
their own thin rustling

                                  With the slow stitch
                                                                 of a split-
                   rail fence, we sow
                                        a quilt
                                                -ed field and wrap
                                                              tight fear in

from VDBWordlist

What do you want, how much
                   shall I give you
sinachkoo, to exorcise the devil
                   to make medicine
                   to heal
                   to ignite wood

It is burning
                   when shall you come back
                   I do not know
                                           in the spring
                   den soomer
                   den winter

Refreshing themselves on the ground floor patio with lemonade and ice as house sparrows ruck in the eaves and starlings dare to come near and nearer seeking crumbs, Minsk, her hair a graceful blue in the greening light of spring, confesses that ever since her husband Jarmanus had passed on she’d been bent on losing everything, was burning through their savings as if financial annihilation could atone for the fact she gotten to live while Jarmanus was gone. “But now, I don’t want to lose anymore… Casino Rama Damn Ya.”

“Hmmp” Mose sounds noncommittally, sensing an attempt to lure him in. Mose had never married, though he’d had various live-in partners from time to time, and he was ever wary of being tied down. Minsk could sense it, saw it in the withdrawing of his slight frame, the uneasy shift of his narrow ass in the plastic chair, but she figured on making him come around. Mose was thinking to leave then but something in her moon round face was drawing him in, it was easier somehow to relent.

Everything Was Extreme

Kemeny Babineau

Poetically as a youth I was everywhere, and nowhere. I was all emotion, inspiration and self-righteous indignation. I primarily used end rhyme and rhythms that shunted
jerkily along. Nothing I wrote then is of much interest to me now, but what I remember is writing them. It was the act that was important. The pure pleasure of it. Looking into the blue eyes of the
girl next to me in class I felt a yearning that spilled out as words. I am sure this is a common experience as poetry is the one art form most everyone tries their hand at, but to me, at the time, it
was a revelation. I was exuberant. I wanted to tell somebody how blue those eyes were. I wanted to tell her. There had been earlier sojourns into writing in pre-pubescent years, but when puberty took
hold of me I stopped. When I looked into those heavenly eyes though, it all returned in a rush. And after that I didn't stop. I began writing all the time, and rewriting and worrying over poems and
waiting for the urgency's return. I listened closely to song lyrics and began reading poetry. I discovered Leonard Cohen and read everything he wrote with little regard for comprehension. My
favourites were The Favourite Game and The Energy of Slaves. I tried to write like Leonard Cohen. I wanted to be a mystical love poet. Then I found Milton Acorn and I wanted to be a poet of the
people. I read Susan Musgrave and I wanted to die. I didn't read any more Musgrave for a long time.

"American Beech" was shared on the website WetCanvas, in the stream Art and Poetry, 2005, by 

Michelle Snively-Jefferies

vid 1 

  Published on Jan 8, 2013

From a poetry reading in Buffalo, NY in Feb 2006 with John Barlow and Rob Read. Reading recorded by Nick Schwartzmyer. Sound editing and soundscape by Rob Read.

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