James Schuyler, ‘Salute’ (1960)

•December 16, 2014 • Leave a Comment

Past is past, and if one
remembers what one meant
to do and never did, is
not to have thought to do
enough? Like that gather-
ing of one of each I
planned, to gather one
of each kind of clover,
daisy, paintbrush that
grew in that field
the cabin stood in and
study them one afternoon
before they wilted. Past
is past. I salute
that various field.

Mixtape: Yours Not Yours

•September 23, 2014 • 1 Comment

Emmet Gowin, Edith. (1967)

Beshrew your eyes,
They have o’erlooked me and divided me.
One half of me is yours, the other half yours—
Mine own, I would say. But if mine, then yours,
And so all yours. Oh, these naughty times
Put bars between the owners and their rights!
And so, though yours, not yours. Prove it so,
Let fortune go to hell for it, not I.

The Merchant of Venice, 3.2.14-21

You’re the bravest girl I’ve ever met. Now stick it back in, it fell out.

—Freddie Quell, The Master (2012)

* * *

Click here to download Yours Not Yours, a loving mix! a loving mix!

[Alternate Link if file gets taken down. Mediafire is giving me major grief.]

Never have to say you’re sorry with other mixes herehereherehereherehere and here.

Full tracklist in the comments.

Photo Credit: Emmet Gowin. Edith. Chincoteague Island, Virginia. 1967.

Keith Douglas, ‘Simplify Me When I’m Dead’ (1944)

•September 7, 2014 • Leave a Comment

Keith Douglas

Remember me when I am dead
and simplify me when I’m dead.

As the processes of earth
strip off the colour and the skin
take the brown hair and blue eye

and leave me simpler than at birth
when hairless I came howling in
as the moon came in the cold sky.

Of my skeleton perhaps
so stripped, a learned man will say
‘He was of such a type and intelligence,’ no more.

Thus when in a year collapse
particular memories, you may
deduce, from the long pain I bore

the opinions I held, who was my foe
and what I left, even my appearance
but incidents will be no guide.

Time’s wrong-way telescope will show
a minute man ten years hence
and by distance simplified.

Through that lens see if I seem
substance or nothing: of the world
deserving mention or charitable oblivion

not by momentary spleen
or love into decision hurled
leisurely arrive at an opinion.

Remember me when I am dead
and simplify me when I’m dead.

Mixtape: Stone Gas Honey / Stone Gas Sessions

•December 27, 2013 • 1 Comment

Image

‘…and you can bet your last money, it’s all gonna be a stone gas, honey.’

Click here to download Stone Gas Honey, a soul mix.

Full track list in the comments.

Keep on trucking with the mixes hereherehereherehere and here.

Photo credit: Lorna Simpson, 1957-2009 Interiors (detail), 2009.

* * *

The Stone Gas Sessions

Stone Gas Sessions

02/05/14: 

After I posted Stone Gas Honey, I was left with an extended ‘outtakes’ playlist which I found myself listening to more than Stone Gas Honey itself, so I pared it down into another short mix.

Click here to download the Stone Gas Sessions

Alternative Link

Full track list in the comments.

Photo Credit: Lorna Simpson. Selected Multiples: Backdrops circa 1940s, 1998.

D.H. Lawrence, ‘Self-Pity’ (1929)

•October 7, 2013 • Leave a Comment

I never saw a wild thing
sorry for itself.
A small bird will drop frozen dead from a bough
without ever having felt sorry for itself.

Gyula Krúdy, ‘Sindbad’s Prayer’ (From The Adventures of Sindbad, 1944)

•March 7, 2013 • Leave a Comment

Lord, give me untroubled dreams and a quiet night. Stop my ears against words poured into it by women. Help me forget the scent of their hair, the strange lightning of their eyes, the taste of their hands and the moist kisses of their mouths. Lord, you are wise, advise me when they are lying, which is always. Remind me that the truth is something they never tell. That they never do love. Lord, up there, far beyond the tower, think occasionally of me, a poor, foolish man, admirer of women, who believes in their smiles, their kisses, their tickling and their blessed lies. Lord, let me be a flower in that garden where lonely women retreat in the knowledge that no one’s by. Let me be a lantern in the house of love where women mutter and babble and sigh the same old words. Let me be the handkerchief into which they weep their false tears. Lord, let me be just a gatepost ladies pass lightheartedly while clinging to the arms of their suitors. Lord protect me, never let me fall into the hands of women.

Translated by George Szirtes.

W.H. Auden, ‘The More Loving One’ (1957)

•March 1, 2013 • Leave a Comment

Looking up at the stars, I know quite well
That, for all they care, I can go to hell,
But on earth indifference is the least
We have to dread from man or beast.

How should we like it were stars to burn
With a passion for us we could not return?
If equal affection cannot be,
Let the more loving one be me.

Admirer as I think I am
Of stars that do not give a damn,
I cannot, now I see them, say
I missed one terribly all day.

Were all stars to disappear or die,
I should learn to look at an empty sky
And feel its total dark sublime,
Though this might take me a little time.

 
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