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« Punana Leo, Language Nest [by Bob Holman] | Main | Man-Made - On Fitness & Writing [by Jess Smith] »

January 21, 2015


Love the theft Bob, somewhat easy to think of you as a red dragon. I know no Weslsh at all, so have little that I can add in that consideration. I must say that I do like your bashing of Amerian Imperialism

I must say that I like your story of immersion in this,language, and your finding this purpose for your life! --what is a life without purpose, Me. B --and you've found and were found by such an amazing purpose system. You're well ahead of most of us unable,to travel and track down and do our parts to make sure we attempt to minimize losses of things more valuable than what we seem to praise --through our actions-- imperialists that we all become (at least sometimes). You wear all of your hats well, I must say, and I'm surprised with just his many hats you're able to wear on your big head full of big dreams --hope that your dreams become even bigger! --for what good is a dream that can be managed and contained? --you, sir, have freed the dream, and given it the space it needs! --thanks you for all you do! Fan #1 Thylias

Really like/inspired/lifted/fired by this:

surrounded by a language that had taught me important truths that would infuse the whole film. And my life.

"Important truths! --truths are always important! --even when they hurt! --so nice to live a life infused! --you're so very lucky there! I think that all lives are infused,with something, but too often, in our imperialist ways, not the things that ultimately matter, your grounding is so often remarkable to me, one who entertains what is always --as it should be -- out of reach; I impose "cosmic meanings, and identifies, purposes on everything I can --never mind their tethers to the earth --finding examples of the universe and its connections in, for instance, synapses of the brain, constellations in the big head of big dreams of yours --I can see the universe in that teacup being drunk from those at tables in your poetry club in big heads full of big dreams, swelling with even bigger dreams whenever they can...

What a mission you have! Saw you driving that van in your film that I encourage everyone to watch! Fan #1 is working hard, even if you didn't know that.

hmm --still thinking about implications of this: "Baby baby the only way to stop this poem is to kiss kiss
Where each kiss becomes a word in Welsh
In My Big Head of Dreams"

--what a grand finale, and I so appreciate the more than apt analogy with your relationship with Welsh being a lot like having a lover: I was going to say something like that, but nearly as eloquently --you love Welsh and from your descriptions, Welsh is also trying to love you --as best as Welsh can. "Essence" of humanity! --yes; you have to give everything, and there's always more, and it's never enough! --but isn't that a point if giving to something that is an "essence"? --how to really be an essence if there were ever enough! Why give anything, why try anymore if there's completion, no "more", that is?

My Dear Bob! --a very purpose of "limited forking" is making such connections, growing them, cultivating them, somehow never overcoming "more" --which must always be there in unreachable forms, as we seem to get closer, "more" constantly grows, and it isn't the same more we pursue, but we're always in pursuit! ALWAYS!

As usual Mr. B, I need to think further --in my pursuit of "best" ways to comment on "pursuit" of what already is,growing into so much "more" in my head, swelling --as best as it can-- to accommodate some of a "more" of these growing and swirling "more" of ideas in a single head. Thank you again. Fan #1 will return to comment further. She has to, for she is "more" than what she's already stated. "More" later.,

I really like this, Bob, "current job is translating episodes of “Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles” into Welsh"
--are you a fan of the "Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles" --haven't watched them in years, you know, but I was attracted by the "mutancy" of course, as you can imagine. Used to buy action figures for my older son who wasn't very happy with the birth of my younger son, so greeted him by jabbing his eye with Raphael's (I believe it was) plastic arm.... No Welsh for this jabbing, but I did come close to using more colorful language --didn't have a map of more for poetry for it. I stole some of Galway Kinnell's lines, about the bud --wanted the in one of my own poems, so that I could have those lines whenever I wanted them --my theft wasn't as grand as yours, you can read about my theft in my essay "Contemplating the Theft of the Sow" (Location of "The Extraordinaty Hoof" and "Contemplating the Theft of the Sow": Hope you like them. I was never that good at stealing --maybe there's still time. We'll see. Incorporated the pilfered lines in my poam: Deirdre in Kinnell's 'Saint Francis and the Sow' with the Aid of France Bourely's 'Micronautics': Also the Culture of Epistle" in Tokyo Butter --think that this link to that poam may still be active (my apologies if it's not):

oops, Bob, here's the corrected first link: link to essays by Thylias Moss:
“The Extraordinary Hoof” and “Contemlating the Theft of the Sow"

Must say that I like this: current job is translating episodes of “Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles” into Welsh." --I haven't watched the "Teenage Mutant NinjaTurtles" in quite sometime; Do you watch this Bob? --not sure how many translations there are. Used to buy the figures for my son; first thing my older son did (wasn't too happy with the birth of my younger son) was jab the new baby in the eye with Raphael's plastic arm --no lasting damage, but I came close to using your more colorful language (at best, I'll use it during sex; haven't developed a knack for other usage). I was schooled quite well by my evangelical mother, and I'm certainly no spring chicken!

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I left it
on when I
left the house
for the pleasure
of coming back
ten hours later
to the greatness
of Teddy Wilson
"After You've Gone"
on the piano
in the corner
of the bedroom
as I enter
in the dark

from New and Selected Poems by David Lehman


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