the book machine as body

as the body is disorganized with death, the dismembering of the poet is plain enough to see, sense. one two three, you're dead. as the doornail which killed Oedipus, or the sister of Orpheus, who's been forgotten, and not all the scholars in the world'l find her works. I brought this out in the paper you wrote about Hart Crane, the atavistic poet of the 1920's.

A nice phrase of Wilde whose grandson tells us 'confessed he lived in permanent fear of not being misunderstood.' A welcome relief to them that fear being misunderstood.

other places we carry the flag of sincerity _ how boring.
Yes, dear Aunt I was caned and whipped till I understood this.

Later reading becomes a pain . as it takes away the time
the time, always the time to write. Between the writing.

One does.

'tropes of form'

'tropes of form' indeed, and the high-minded trope of form relaxes your debt, willing or unwilling to hate the others, pretending you 'love' when in the agon there is only struggle.

he lectures over the hall, proscenium halting in his speech,
the glare down voice, stares us down, indeed,
where is thy sting, death, where? where is thy trope
oh form of failure and the faery down plate
rivering the .


Now wait,
we speak

of this "...their formal modes as well as their complex articulations of those modes are all in themselves subtle and powerful formal and metaphoric versions of more traditional ones. " Hollander.

In the seminar, trembling in the room, voices caught in the hour. after the motorcycle crashed, i went to seminar after seminar checking to see if my hearing was right.
It was , I heard Milton's angels roaring. But we speak silence, and not consent, nor assenting minds. These tropes and ratios hear the silence in the lines.