Monday, November 11, 2002

FLOATING
Our canoe idles in the idling current
Of the tree and vine and rush enclosed
Backwater of a torpid midwestern stream;
Revolves slowly, and lodges in the glutted
Waterlilies. We are tired of paddling.
All afternoon we have climbed the weak current,
Up dim meanders, through woods and pastures,
Past muddy fords where the strong smell of cattle
Lay thick across the water; singing the songs
Of perfect, habitual motion; ski songs,

Nightherding songs, songs of the capstan walk,
The levee, and the roll of the voyageurs.
Tired of motion, of the rhythms of motion,
Tired of the sweet play of our interwoven strength,
We lie in each other's arms and let the palps
Of waterlily leaf and petal hold back
All motion in the heat thickened, drowsing air.
Sing to me softly, Westron Wynde, Ah the Syghes,
Mon coeur se recommend à vous, Phoebi Claro;
Sing the wandering erotic melodies
Of men and women gone seven hundred years,
Softly, your mouth close to my cheek.
Let our thighs lie entangled on the cushions,
Let your breasts in their thin cover
Hang pendant against my naked arms and throat;
Let your odorous hair fall across our eyes;
Kiss me with those subtle, melodic lips.
As I undress you, your pupils are black, wet,
Immense, and your skin ivory and humid.
Move softly, move hardly at all, part your thighs,
Take me slowly while our gnawing lips
Fumble against the humming blood in our throats.
Move softly, do not move at all, but hold me,
Deep, still, deep within you, while time slides away,
As the river slides beyond this lily bed,
And the thieving moments fuse and disappear
In our mortal, timeless flesh.

KENNETH REXROTH




The web works it's magic again. Yesterday I had never heard of Kenneth Rexroth, today I am engaged in a frantic search to find anything I can, by, or about him. He seems to be a bit of a neglected genius, in this house anyway; I am probably the only bloke in the world who has managed to remain ignorant of him. Lots of very good stuff here. Of course clicking around trying to find stuff has taken me to many wonderful places, including the site from which I nicked the above photograph. There are loads more there, all for sale too if you are not short of a bob or three.
Tomorrow, I shall go into work and tell the fuck faced cowbag to cool her brains.
Amazon will never go broke while I have web access.

Swearing Xylophone. Very sweary. Very childish. Very funny.

The nominations for the Radio 3 awards for world music are out. Biographies, links and some tracks from the artists are available on the radio 3 site.

J.K Galbraith on the perils and costs of empire. Scary.

Interview with the dude responsible for my fighting technique is unstoppable; my new filing technique is unstoppable and the imperious, majestic, get your war on.

Aphrodisiacs.
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