Welcome to NY

Welcome to NY

When I first moved to NY 

I was looking for a place to rent 

and picked up a Brooklyn Rail at a cafe. 

I opened it on the L Train 

and there was a poem by Cedar Sigo 

in which I recognized one of my own lines.

I shook my head and smiled. 

Cedar had "borrowed" one of my lines. 

It was a perfectly New York School thing to do. 

The line was perfect for the occasion too. 

"How beautifully the brakemen allow the blood through." 

I felt as if I had been given the key to the city.

Elephant-co-itus

Elephant-co-itus

In a dream a lonely elephant walks up to my bedroom window, sticks his head in and licks my crotch. Then he turns around and saunters away. What to make of that? Is it the elephant in the room? The thing I can't see? And if so what is that thing? It's too big and obvious to see. Though my mind was disgusted by the feel of the hot, wet, rough elephant tongue felt through my underwear, I was also aroused. The elephant was soulful, a deeper soul than myself. It was a deeper part of myself. The lonely elephant just wanting to connect. The big ugly thing. The cute sweet thing. Or maybe it was Ganesha licking my balls to remove an obstacle. The obstacle of sex. Or the obstacle of no sex. Both are a problem, sex and no sex.  Amma's elephant. Sending me a message. It feels like love kept real.

Blonde Nimbus

Blonde Nimbus

Last night went to see Blonde Redhead with Tyler
I was mourning the death of Bill Berkson
and didn't really want to go
Blonde Redhead though
Blonde spelled with an "e"
just like O'hara did it
Dylan too Tyler pointed out

And a major Blonde for O'hara
was Beautiful Bill Berkson -I'm trailing off-
but then in the car apropos of nothing
Tyler starts talking about the short story
by Kafka called Silence of the Sirens
wherein Odysseus instead of stopping up
the ears of his crew stops up his own
because silence is where the true music is

and I'm thinking of that Keats line
Heard Melodies Are Sweet
but Those Unheard Are Sweeter

That's what happens too
because we missed Blonde Redhead altogether
arrived just as the show was ending

I'm so glad we missed them
glad just then for all the concerts I've missed
 
Instead we go to a little bar called Sunny's
In the back room a band is playing
Hank Williams songs

Which is so much better

I could cry


 

On Jul 4, 2016, at 10:21 AM, Biglieri, Gregg A. <BIGLIEGA@BuffaloState.edu> wrote:

Adam--

I hadn't realized that you emailed this the day after Bill's death on 16 June. Then I heard from friend Kyle that Ted Greenwald passed on 17 June.

Sad week for poetry. I've been reading Ted's poems for an hour or so each day. It makes Common Sense. Clearview/LIE is a memory skater, skeeter bug,

water strider, not even stepping on but bending the surface of the water to get at the real depth that is the surface.

What we have learned to be about writing. 

You wait at art because something says to me

--mourning/morning

One dove

(who wrote the book on)

Doves

________________________________________

From: Adam DeGraff [copingsaw@gmail.com]

Sent: Friday, June 17, 2016 4:20 PM

To: Biglieri, Gregg A.

Subject: translation

Hey old young man,

Long time!

howbeit?

good to see you in the funny papers now and then.

was just reading your thing in Homage to BB, about Bill's homophonic translation of mine of yours. Do you still have his? Yours? I'd love to see them. Mine is in new book on Subpress, with a shout out to you in acknowledgments.

Ever and anon,

/)dam I)eGraff

<http://www.dnote.us>

No poem at all

Bill Berkson has died 

and suddenly his words are like light shining on stone, anywhere.

Silencing the sirens.

"Heard melodies are sweet, but unheard melodies are sweeter."

The sun steams and boggles the air, et voila, brooding nimbus.

Big ideas easy

Big ideas easy

Clean river 

Nature show

Peace club

Are you going to be okay?

This is me just begun

Monday hardcore money 

Tuesday cloud box 

Pay with card eyes

beyond kinder

greens

white

milk

Do the mashed potato

To try to inspire God 

Dump computer

Arm of the sea theater

Neuronic Coagulator

Both grandfathers'

bathroom ritual

There was an Omni 

potent on mission being

the one thing you would want 

to create one thing you couldn't now

and that is what happens 

when you live free will

Thread music self

April elephant pumpkin seeds

There is a way to go through the day 

without ever becoming angry

The way I look at bridges

Pink petal-strewn courts 

Telescoping

What's the point

Point is to look hard 

Jerk awake with adrenaline to write down

Trained self in dream to wake up 

and write down

Matter of micro moments

They took the highroad 

and now I feel doubly guilty

I blocked up traffic and nobody honked 

Tattooed man

Honeycomb Gospel

yardbirds leyenda

A man walks down the street with a t-shirt that says,

"Your weakness sickens me"

A man passes him walking the opposite way with a t-shirt that says,

"Your derision thrills me"

What should I do next?

"Clearly the music is more 

than can be imagined.

It can be heard."

- Phil Schaap 89.9

"There was a famous dancer, Ulanova, and she was asked what her dream would be and she answered, if I could dance for one minute...perfectly...that is all I would ever ask." Marlon Brando. 

What I do nearly every day, imperfectly.

It's one way us guys 

can take back the night

Subminimalism 

They moan I,

Says Simone white

"I was the fossilized lightening bolt..."

Stranger in Moscow

Velvet pizza underground

Atmos

Kava mugwort Damiana

Vape culture

Fog culture

more for moore

Here's the salient fact. I was sending a message to Thurston Moore, letting him know that I wanted to get my book Wherewithal to him, edited by Anselm Berrigan. What I really wanted was to ask him to help me with my Sound and Vision project, but since he doesn't know me from Adam, I thought I'd lead with the book. He said he'd be at Anselm's reading tonight and I could give it to him there. That's an interesting coincidence right there. And I'm going to throw in the fact that Thurston and Anselm read almost exactly in the same tone. Sometimes I think Thurston copped his style from Anselm, but I know it's probably mutually borrowed. But there's an unmistakable connection once you hear it. I told Thurston I couldn't make it, but would send one along. Then I said, "as an aside, if you have HBO watch Magnolia again. I just finished re-watching it right now, and so it is lying heavy on me, which is why I'm mentioning it. The different ways the catharsis happens for each character within a single song is genius. Cheers and keep up the good work." I felt a little odd about even saying that, not wanting to come across as overly eager to a superstar. Right as I had that thought the closing song of Magnolia began to play, "Save me," by Aimee Mann, and I heard the melodic opening strain of the Carpenter's song "Superstar" embedded in middle of the song. Crazy. Sweet touch. It's at 3:02:00. In my mind I immediately heard Thurston Moore's cover of that same song in my mind. It broke through the fourth dimension. And of course that movie is in part about infidelity, which Thurston is now famous for. And if he watches the movie again he may wonder why. And even the poem in the book dedicated to Thurston is secretly about infidelity. And he may wonder about that too. And my friend is going through a similar struggle, and we all do to some degree or other, and I'm trying to understand.

Sonnet Written On The Way to Hear Ron Padgett Read Translations of Apollinaire

Sonnet Written On The Way to Hear
Ron Padgett Read Translations of Apollinaire


The glass willow weeps light in the 7
stop where I walk in the footsteps of an
angel - so called - the pull of which I pull
back, an embrace, thank god, the pen full,
the phone off. The cadence is two-step,
and a line ten steps, five heart beats, makes up
one long breath, the time it takes for a thought,
.
Shakespeare could think in pentameter,
heartbeats for iambs, and it's why for
Wallace wrote verse while walking to work.
The body draws the poem, moving in an arc.