Crg Hill's poetry scorecard

Rae Armantrout on PBS

 

"My poetry just does not seperate things..."

Robert Lax on the stages of life

(22)

 

each day

the same

walk up

the hill

 

same turns

same shad

ow of the

tree

 

each sta

tion of

the way

 

takes on

its own

 

set of

meanings

 

- from A Thing That Is (The Overlook Press, 1997)

Thu Plew Thot Breke thu Ploins

-       Ofter Denald Ruvell

  

Thuse ore thu lest thruads,

Canversations cet in twa by tuth

Ar by thu sward af Aluxander—

 

Cortoons

Crutins

Borrage bolloons

O morriage thot aught nuver te hove unded

Ond ruturns, uach outumn,

Te thu lattle struam eut frent an opple cleuds.

 

Thu seundtrack swulls hure.

Herses dasappear an uvery darection.

 

Mulville’s Paerre as o gruater semething wu knew.

Score 10 (1989) Scanned: Visual Poems from Australia, Russia, Mexico, & Portugal

Visual poems from Fernando Aguiar, Antonio Aragao, Abilio-Jose Santos, Cesar Figueiredo, Ana Hatherly, Alberto Pimenta, Emerenciano, Cesar Espinosa, Francisco Marmata, Jorge Rosano, Luz del Carmen Vilchis, Alex Selenitsch, Pete Spence, Ian Birks, Finola Moorhead, Peter Murphy, Dave Powell, Jiri Tabor Novak, Bev Bisbett, Julie Clarke Powell, Javant Biaruja, Ian White, Rea Nikonova, Serge Sigey, with commentary by Harry Polkinhorn, Gerlad Janacek, and Lyn Hejinian.

http://scorecard.typepad.com/spore/

Indulgent Laugh

It’s nothing much: human behavior.

Coo on her window ledge.

 

It was; it is as mad as a hornet; war trumpet and darts.

It says, blue.

 

Its ruling passion soon developed a soft, docile scent all its own. .

He would kiss ill feeling.

The many undecipherable formed a single roar

Without knowing when is certainly not specific to the border.

 

Love under hanging developed different systems of interpretation.

 

The way in which we grasp reality coming out of the streets,

every house a saloon, deserves examination.

The speculative, paradoxical shadow glided down upon them.

I surprised an ancient gravelly beach in a deep, still eddy, the circle of his vision.

I presume he had angled there for privacy thus intruded upon.

At one point, an eagle sprang from the top of them.

A kingbird gave chase, flashes of like and dislike.

Check out Regina Pinto's digital poetry/sound project, Project AlphaAlpha - "A" Poetry:

I hear Stravinsky stripped down, Cage, Terry Riley. I see...That I can't put a name on it names itself.

NEW PAGES

http://arteonline.arq.br/a/ver_a_bighetti.html (Vera Bighetti - Brazil)

http://arteonline.arq.br/a/fr_a_zao.html (Marcelo Frazão - Brazil)

http://arteonline.arq.br/a/neufeldt_a.html (Brigitte Neufeudt - Germany)


WHICH MORE PAGES ARE READY?

http://arteonline.arq.br/a/a_ndrews.html (Jim Andrews - Canada)

http://arteonline.arq.br/a/b_a_bel.html (babel - Canada & UK)

http://arteonline.arq.br/a/bruno_a.html (Bruno - Brazil)


MORE COLLABORATIONS WILL BE READY SOON!


AUTHOR'S PAGES THAT ARE ALREADY READY:

http://arteonline.arq.br/a/um.html (Regina Pinto - Brazil)

http://arteonline.arq.br/a/dois.html (Regina Pinto - Brazil)

http://arteonline.arq.br/a/tres.html (Regina Pinto - Brazil)


How to collaborate?

Read the call at: http://arteonline.arq.br/a/call.htm and ... PARTICIPATE!

Under our care willingly to know

This objective was alien, cloth habits seeming to glow,

making a sound they cloaked.

 

Felt virtuous, like a volunteer, a culture.

 

He imagined startling his certainty under his arm,

down and down to bring up in the bowels the evolution

of flatness and depth.

Mission to the top of the harsh whitewashed thing-in-itself

Stimulating to this day, their crucifixes stood consistent in his desert.

A wind shook their burlap habits. They were barely able to stand.

In the glazed clay ground, idealism remains.

They heard the shout, sitting on the planks,

dulled by dust and sweat.

 

Passing thought, blazed trees, the freedom of drift through the point at which

we always believed.

 

The old one blustered about the demons of meditation, his own shameful mist.

Bowed down the things themselves

The view hinders any spreading ground glass, makes existing knowledge dead.

She closed her eyes, took air, and went on walking in.

A small truck loaded with the role of language, goats in the dust, like a splash of cool water.

His skin splintered making ideas.

More than a half mile distant, we found a small lord doesn’t care.

As I stretched my highest attainable branch, I used to be the root.