This was heartening, Alun. Scavengers and truants are of the same matrilineal line I believe. It is hard to find your way to the seabeds at night in search of pearl if you can't slip the sentries and the fence. Truancy is the school for such ways, I imagine.
Last night I was reading a Mandelstam piece where he names the elements of being wild in the world, uncaged by the enemy is it was for him. He counts them out as the right to breathe, and open doors and to vow that life will go on and the humanity, as a judge, will judge the judges. I felt that same countdown in that quote of Jay Griffith's you kindly bring out from your pocket: The right to wear feathers, to drink stars, and to ask for the moon. Such translation. Such echo.
Osip goes on to say that if his enemies did take hold of him that against such un-mooned darkness, (did the Reich not place at the center of their "Grail Castle" a black sun) that he would word up what he was free to word, that with his featherless body gathering momentum like a bell in corner of that ominous dark he would yoke ten oxen to his voice and moving his animal-hands through the night like a plough, fall like a storm upon the earth.
Many nights now are moonless here and there. But I hear the hoof press of oxen all around, in your post above just yesterday. Salut the Truant and the waxing Silver in the sky.
Thank you for these words. I realise that I have been hiding myself away for too long. Time for me to wander off, back out into the fields and the streets with an open heart.
This was heartening, Alun. Scavengers and truants are of the same matrilineal line I believe. It is hard to find your way to the seabeds at night in search of pearl if you can't slip the sentries and the fence. Truancy is the school for such ways, I imagine.
Last night I was reading a Mandelstam piece where he names the elements of being wild in the world, uncaged by the enemy is it was for him. He counts them out as the right to breathe, and open doors and to vow that life will go on and the humanity, as a judge, will judge the judges. I felt that same countdown in that quote of Jay Griffith's you kindly bring out from your pocket: The right to wear feathers, to drink stars, and to ask for the moon. Such translation. Such echo.
Osip goes on to say that if his enemies did take hold of him that against such un-mooned darkness, (did the Reich not place at the center of their "Grail Castle" a black sun) that he would word up what he was free to word, that with his featherless body gathering momentum like a bell in corner of that ominous dark he would yoke ten oxen to his voice and moving his animal-hands through the night like a plough, fall like a storm upon the earth.
Many nights now are moonless here and there. But I hear the hoof press of oxen all around, in your post above just yesterday. Salut the Truant and the waxing Silver in the sky.
Thank you for these words. I realise that I have been hiding myself away for too long. Time for me to wander off, back out into the fields and the streets with an open heart.
Thank you so much Bob. Looking forward .Cheers.
The outside looking out, the truant art, thank you for these things... good to hear you speaking this x