Spot Check
Article by:
“Too many
… of the people I know about,
care about
are dying”
a
feeling
more than a thought
books of
last works,
books of late recognition
Jane Freilicher, Peter Campbell
no one
I know personally
—still,
I feel like an insect on a twig
floating down stream.
I check Slaven & Leadbitter: who’s
playing the piano
on these Nighthawk
recordings?
(Bob Call)
read Gig’s article
on
Vicki V
Nighthawk playing quietly
in the background
a CD
look at a map of Rome
gauging the parts I never went to
parts that join up as, at the time, I never knew they did
a detective novel, The Fatal Touch, has
me doing this
read Augie again
on Lee Harwood
— his Collected
on sale at work —
I should let the punters
have a go
but then it’s mine
or I
order another one
the guy who wrote Eternity
on Sydney
footpaths
when I was a kid
the shock they gave
of quiet wistfulness
& admonition,
& that they
made the day seem more vivid
historical
registered for a moment
in its meanness
its noise & beauty
the innocence of another
era
(the guy who used to wheel the coffin about
—‘out of Gogol’—
)
(the guy
with the Mexican hat & a (toy) horse around
his middle
—beaten up, they say
by the police
)
I screenprinted that word
“Eternity”
in gold leaf for its appearance in
Laurie’s poem
“Psychiatry is an evil & must be banned”
That guy.
( Beaten up, they say,
by the police )
Actually, I
have never been beaten up by the police —
& may not be, now, …
I suppose that is a hope
Probably a certainty.
Read Adorno again?
Sloterdijk?
Maybe too smart for me,
but sometimes very funny.
The moon is rising
Crying won’t help you
Actually,
the moon is long risen.
Cath & I
looked at it earlier, high, surrounded by
mist
a soft, dissolving look
a ball or shield
We check the house
Anna is interested in
Take it easy, baby
Maggie Campbell
The moon is rising, again.
Nighthawk Boogie
He played
at Muddy Waters’ first wedding
I was there
naturally.
And I knew Vicki,
a little
a share house with her
“The beautiful
trembling Irene
is taking another pill”
Gig quotes her.
And again
where Vicki has the city
“roaring
& sledging its iron name into the ground”
Actually (!)
‘At East Balmain’ is a terrific poem
more real
than anything I will ever write
I listen
to Robert Nighthawk again
Nighthawk Boogie.