WAYLON WEARS A BLACK onesie with "sublime" silk-screened over his chest. Below the word a psychedelic image intensifies the romantic suggestion. Pink skin, chestnut-blond hair. His features are full lovely, fat cheeks and chest rhythmically pumping. There's a purple rhino, a yellow lion and a green turtle hanging over his head. A cat scratches the window on the porch, jasmine leaves trembling inside animated shadows. I'm reading a letter from Robert Creeley to Charles Olson. 1950. Here much of my thinking is magnified in the American vein. Creeley quotes O: "Wish that I cd document my own stand with this clarity. (Nostalgia). But at this point: these things come to method: granted the push to that, by way of the root." And he asks: "What is this abt. What wd you hit there." Again, answering for himself, Creeley comes back: "No. no such clarity. Rather: the oblique: afraid of conclusions: sounds: and the oddness." By way of the root—or by way of my black coarseness—that negative deposit beneath intent. Clarity, but also a method to relate the conflicting pulses of acceleration and accretion. Maybe method's not it either. The turning on toward achievement, no goal exact. What can be gained, you get by the radical will in step with the day. Behold the purple rhino as everything falls into place with it.
Posted by Dale at May 26, 2004 04:18 PM