Thursday, August 8, 2013

At the End of August, When All the Letters of the Alphabet Are Waiting

Periodic posting of the Blegxistential Anthem, summoned to spare me (and you) writing about it, plus three more songs for long quiet solo drives over beautiful mountains and a playlist from Prunella and a playlist from :-p and two poems, it's all I've got, it's the middle of fucking Blogust.


Weldon Kees

The day the fat woman
In the bright blue bathing suit
Walked into the water and died,
I thought about the human
Condition. Pieces of old fruit
Came in and were left by the tide.

What I thought about the human
Condition was this: old fruit
Comes in and is left, and dries
In the sun. Another fat woman
In a dull green bathing suit
Dives into the water and dies.
The pulmotors glisten. It is noon.

We dry and die in the sun
While the seascape arranges old fruit,
Coming in and the tide, glistening
At noon. A woman, moderately stout,
In a nondescript bathing suit,
Swims to a pier. A tall woman
Steps toward the sea. One thinks about the human
Condition. The tide goes in and goes out.


James Longenbach

At the end of August, when all
The letters of the alphabet are waiting,
You drop a teabag in a cup.
The same few letters making many different words,
The same words meaning different things.

Often you've rearranged them on the surface of the fridge.
Without the surface
They're repulsed by one another.

Here are the letters.
The tea is in your cup.

At the end of August, the mind
Is neither the pokeweed piercing the grass
Nor the grass itself.
As Tony Cook says in
The Biology of Terrestrial Mollusks

The right thing to do is nothing, the place
A place of concealment,
And the time as often as possible.


  1. more cats , after i typed in my last comment ..we went out for an evening of changing the signs around in the hood,climbing , making more fair ..of telling,of what this changing is , and many familiar now cats followed us about in this .. . chan ging .. . ( thoughts of davidly and bouf') / and as always ..en joying the mus ic zags mis ter j.

  2. of a comment that i just made to attt of his post that you link to here - 'of reasons for returning to the past ..of my listening to something of my christine fellows-paper anniversary 20o5 (that i mentioned last night on blackd's his comments , .. to help me to focus on remembering something that happened that year ..of how music,in song ,a more lingering scent .. of remembering, helps us to re trace / of another white river ont. tell , of where there is no shallow water "

  3. speaking of life, the human condition, and everything -

    The Guest House

    This being human is a guest house.
    Every morning a new arrival.

    A joy, a depression, a meanness,
    some momentary awareness comes
    as an unexpected visitor.

    Welcome and entertain them all!
    Even if they are a crowd of sorrows,
    who violently sweep your house
    empty of its furniture,
    still, treat each guest honorably.
    He may be clearing you out
    for some new delight.

    The dark thought, the shame, the malice.
    meet them at the door laughing and invite them in.

    Be grateful for whatever comes.
    because each has been sent
    as a guide from beyond.

    -- Jelaluddin Rumi,
    translation by Coleman Barks

  4. I must admit that Dr. mistah charley is growing on me.

    Plague of Blogusts!