Often I Am Permitted to Return to a Meadow
as if it were a scene made-up by the mind,
that is not mine, but is a made place,
that is mine, it is so near to the heart,
an eternal pasture folded in all thought
so that there is a hall therein
that is a made place, created by light
wherefrom the shadows that are forms fall.
Wherefrom fall all architectures I am
I say are likenesses of the First Beloved
whose flowers are flames lit to the Lady.
She it is Queen Under The Hill
whose hosts are a disturbance of words within words
that is a field folded.
It is only a dream of the grass blowing
east against the source of the sun
in an hour before the sun's going down
whose secret we see in a children's game
of ring a round of roses told.
Often I am permitted to return to a meadow
as if it were a given property of the mind
that certain bounds hold against chaos,
that is a place of first permission,
everlasting omen of what is.
Tuesday, April 22, 2003
Nick, I just want to say that reading Theoretical Objects absolutely laid the groundwork for some of the thinking I'm now doing about poetry and careerism. I hope you'll recognize that the fundamental ambivalence that I spoke of then is still present, is still being worked through, in the most recent post; I think there's a lot of continuity between that post and yesterday's. I'm sorry you feel that I didn't give your book the breadth of consideration or the "permission" that it deserves. But I did and do take Theoretical Objects both seriously and lightly, as I think you intended, and I'm not done thinking about the questions it raises about writing and being a writer. It's a book I'll go back to. But this is a blog, not any paper of recordit's not paper at all, nor is it a literary magazine, nor am I in the business of writing reviews here. On the blog, I reserve the right to evolution, errancy, and self-contradiction, albeit within "certain bounds... against chaos" that are not always clear to me.
This is gonna be a loooooong post. What follows is a freely edited transcription of my notes from the Zukofsky/100 conference at Columbia t...
Midway through my life's journey comes a long moment of reflection and redefinition regarding poetics (this comes in place of the conver...
Thursday, September 29, 2011 Berlin. Fog of sleep deprivation coloring an otherwise perfect blue autumn day a sort of miasmic yellow i...
Elif Batuman has amplified her criticism of the discipline of creative writing (which I've written about before ) in a review-essay tha...
My title is taken from the comments stream of an article recently published by The Chronicle of Higher Education , David Alpaugh's "...
Trained it down to DePaul's Loop campus this morning to take part in a panel, "Why Writers Should Blog," alongside Tony Trigil...
Will be blogging more or less permanently now at http://www.joshua-corey.com/blog/ . Or follow me on Twitter: @joshcorey
In one week Lake Forest will hold its commencement and I'll take off my professor's hat for the summer. A few weeks later, in June, ...
Farewell, Barbara Guest .
That's one of my own lines. From an untitled (they're all untitled) severance song: After form fails a furling, reports dying away,...