Thursday, December 20, 2007

a shaman's critique of pure poetry

they don’t shapeshift enough. becoming something other. than themselves.
they don’t take the world’s shapes, become the world. beasts. radiance. allness.
they spend too much time in their heads. they invent instead of report.
they try to make the world conform to the shapes of their words, rather than words to world.
they play with their toys, their tools, their ways of spinning their voices.
they don’t spend enough time voiceless, obscure, half-buried in else. just seeing.

instead. invite. steadfast becoming. something other than.
arches filled with sand skin abraded half-buried skin red and raw eyes closed open arch
fill waterwave enter slosh through vessel channel avenue drown bury in sand scrape raw rocks tan

other. besides.

chest sunk in sandstone breathing with calcified seas anemones tendrils awhirl skipjack leap
lungs of giant trilobites before disappear ear to the slate stone chimes

going to step outside skin take on form of skin outside stone take on stone skin form take on
to green algae rockgripping coat close shales to slab of ancient seafloor spreading veined serpentine
black peridotite alchemically greened by intrusive seawater slip into the rock cracks
spread hands arms naked self sex breath into rock transformed green life white arterial intrusion

and back to self. and breath out. and back to worldself. and breath. back to self.
spirit self beside into other. interweaving of stone skin bone brain shale sex oceanwet blood.
ocean water the alchemical same electrolyte balance as blood. we circulate remnant oceans. within.


begin with losing the self. carry nothing extra. no thoughtbaggages. no wrinkles. in time.
less to loss self lose to losing self lost left unlost unfettered left behind no wake
astrolabe of the sea. pine overlooking wet cliff. bathed bright. heron's eye. raven dreamstone.

come back to center and extent.

returned self opening eyes. blaze of sun wind wave breeze glare off sea.
opening eyes caked with dried. salt sea taste of blood sweat seawater.

and only then to make a poem.




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Anonymous Anonymous said...

this stuff is cool!

7:05 PM  
Blogger Art Durkee said...


10:27 PM  
Anonymous jinksy said...


How pleased I was to come across this word - I recognise the feeling...

4:16 AM  
Blogger Art Durkee said...

Thanks. :)

9:11 PM  

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