for Ruth Bader Ginsberg I, the day, consist of treesAnd rivers that escape throughThe talons of alphabetizing owlsHunched for themselves—And poised like poetsOf senescence, and intemperance ,And death defying stealth:The holiness of lifeEncoded in a wing span.
A silverfish to the linoleum counter. Fritz wants to crush it. So ugly, poisonous. puissant. We trap it and put it in the pickle jar. Floating among pickles. who will make a hamburger first? GLop on a little ketchup, take a nice Juicy bite. You want some pie?
Explain this to me. Hamlet has been here for two months now, shuffling around in the gloomy recesses of Elsinore—dreaming of a giant wave in a sea of troubles—and now, all he wants to do is get the swords out and duel in the surf. It seems he’s been taking lessons— The better to smiteContinue reading “Silent Tsunami”
This is the longest piece I ever wrote. I published it on extrasimile in four parts. it also appeared (and still appears, though it difficult to find) on00 arduity.com. You will be forgiven if you don’t read it, but it is something of f an Ars Poetica for me. Donald HallContinue reading “Wallace Stevens: Adorning the Rock”
Horatio is braggadocio Personified. It’s hard to believe. One minute, he’s cool as a mule, The next it’s like he has invented silence— But it’s a good silence, a probing silence A void devoid of what Claudius needs— A good cheerleader. When All the King’s Men, Get together again to play the play, The MurderContinue reading “A Dumb Show”
Just as sleep can become a rock, only A jolly rogue can become a dream language large enough for what a nightmare stands for. For what are dreams if not the ground We stand and fight for, eh Horatio?\ And what a stone is, is what a rock can be When divided too many times—pebbles,Continue reading “This Jolly Rogue (A Dream Language)”
(in a) river of seas (in an) illogic of white waters So cold now (in a) simple C for smoke (in) me bubbles— a breviary of illness (it’s) seeds to me `
1. Like hunters shooting at stars too far from earth, the weariness of the spider is like a dying panther caught in a trap at the edge of the savanna as morning surrenders to the anger of the sun. 2. As you burn your brand into the vastness of the savanna. I will burn myContinue reading “The Weariness of the Spider”
A gravedigger need not be grave. Nor need He be alone. Horatio stood alone and grave; Hamlet had wanted him to ‘stay center stage,’ As he put it. ‘Sententious, stentorian And smiling.’ Elsinore was a war. Now he wanted more. ‘A play is the thing. To kill a king’. He wanted real proof before HeContinue reading “The Entire of Elsinore”