today is
cloudy
in several ways:
details of pain,
causes of shivering: but
this must be done:
it's fairly warm,
tho--speaking now
entirely of the weather:
may rain:
could turn cold
enough to snow again
(none of my business)
I saw the jay
before breakfast:
he looked a little
grimy, gray,
like old blue snow:
has had rough
times lately:
rough times is ordinary,
will not make
the news:
the sun, screened dim by
clouds, enters the room,
strikes my typewriter,
throws shadow on
the wall,
just touches
the flower-tip of a
crown-of-thorns branch:
ecology is my word: tag
me with that: come
in there:
you will find yourself
in a firmless country:
centers & peripheries
in motion,
organic,
interrelations!
that's the door: here's
the key: come in,
celebrant,
to one meaning
that totals my meanings:
the circular lichen
spotting the tree
trunk
is
like a moral order: there
is a center
where with threads the
lichen knits in, the
"holding-on" point
that gathers stability
from bark: and there
is
the outward multiplication
of forms (cells & patterns)
to an unprescribed
periphery
that marks the
moment-to-moment edge
of growth:
the cougar, big in
size & appetite,
ranges widely:
he won't turn
a square mile
into desert:
travels out into the
country of his sustenance,
incorporating herds of
deer
within his trails
and how thin
the tissue of his going
is! one month in
the northwest of his
range,
a month in valleys,
a month at
higher altitudes:
he's adapted to travel:
it's not in his
interest
to exhaust
the deer population, as
it's not our interest
to exhaust the host earth:
the predator
husbands his prey:
at the center,
the predatory gathering
of energy done,
the female drops her litter,
new seeds of possibility:
new animal-plants
to take root,
spread out the wide
thin tissue
of life:
tapestries! figures
overlapping:
at the dwindling of green
a percentage of
aphids begins to be
born with wings: time
to fly away &
make trials of new centers:
ecology out of balance
turns tilt into
direction:
when the milkweed
seed
rises into the wind
on down,
the soft beauty
means conquest:
let's establish ourselves,
send out our tokens:
as I am I
I will change you,
drop seeds of myself
in your ground:
watch out for me:
I mean to prevail:
you think of yourself:
I may welcome some
thought of yours: I
may give it ground:
or I may not yield
to it: I may find
it lacking,
not able to survive
my country,
& cast it out
as
already withered
in potentiality:
the plains Indians centered
their lives
on the chase: rooted in
a moving herd
of buffalo!
a center
stabilized
in instability:
or the reverse: the
barnacle
on a rock, stationary,
depends on the sea
to bring it food:
where is the center
that holds?
it was the Earth, became the sun, then
the center of our
galaxy (Sagittarius?)
then farther &
farther out:
no
imaginable center: except
the one
that lichen makes:
my other word is
provisional:
we'll talk about that
someday,
tho you may guess
the meanings from ecology:
don't establish the
boundaries
first,
the squares, triangles,
boxes
of preconceived
possibility,
and then
pour
life into them, trimming
off left-over edges,
ending potential:
let centers
proliferate
from
self-justifying motions!
the box can't bend
without breaking:
but the center-arising
form
adapts, tests the
peripheries, draws in,
finds a new factor,
utilizes a new method,
gains a new foothold,
responds to inner & outer
change:
A.R. Ammons
tape for the turn of the year
11 Dec: (Ammons)
they changed the forecast
today from
partly sunny to
mostly cloudy: not by
prophecy:
stuck their
heads out the window &
tho the instruments
didn't agree reduced
the gap between
prophecy & existent fact:
the direct
yields abundance, while
calculation
drags upon the event:
I beg that my eyes that are
open
be opened, that the
drives, motions,
intellections, symbologies
myths--lift,
expose me
to direct
sight: seeing, I
color, alter, hide, accent:
but what is there, naked
& nonhuman?
or here, deep &
terrifyingly human?
are we confined in an atom
with fiery nucleus? is
there too much room,
the ego under threat of
dispersion?
you--who are you? how do
I feel about you?
do I hate it that I love
to be tied to you by love?
untied, wd I be free
or lost?
but for
your own sake: who
are you?
can I help? is there any
thing I can do:
are things
working out
all right for you? what
are those black areas?
are they parts
of you that can't
fall into place,
come into light?
are they longings &
fears only dreams whisper?
I love you the best
I know how:
encounter me with
belief:
are you getting yours?
getting & giving
yours, mine, & ours,
are we resolving most of
the areas, are we touching
on elation
enough?
do I love you mostly, or
the thought of us
together?
are you hoping that
giving will make up for
not getting? that wd
be the course of saints:
get, too: get it
from me: I have it
and having
it for you, I get mine:
who are you, deeper?
have I sounded you? was
that
bottom I struck? but oh
up in the heart & around
your breasts
and to speak of the deep
in your eyes, have
I come into your
measure? are
you getting yours? have
you been had?
You've had me: I float:
every cell
comes to this:
you are
beautiful: you are
just beautiful:
beautiful: thank you:
11:16 a.m: a blur of light
just came into
the room,
lived a few seconds, then
died away:
my crown-of-thorns,
waiting, got the benefit,
struck across the middle:
the instruments were
right in a way:
emphasis distinguishes
partly sunny from mostly
cloudy: if it don't
snow it's gonna miss
a good chancet: I'll
say that:
lagging behind the event:
running to catch up: to
be at the
crest's break, the
running crest,
event becoming word:
anti-art & non-classical:
in art, we do not run
to keep up with random
moments, we select
& create
the moment
occurring forever:
timelessness held
at the peak of time:
(just went to take a leak:
jay on the back lawn,
hopping, looking around,
turning leaves)
but this may turn back on
itself, motion by motion,
a continum, held in
timelessness
racing with time,,,,like
a napkin
burnt in the ashtray, red
beads, flameless, racing
around, splitting, dying,
turning fiber into ash:
held activity:
let's have faith to go
ahead & see if anything
will happen:
maybe the tape will run out:
(looks a long way off:
Muse! Muse! fiery
woman, what
you got to tell me?
tell me:
I feel weak so
much tape remains:
my back's getting sore:
I don't sleep good
with this going on--slept
pretty good last night:
woke up once
into a country of dreams:
wanted to remember them:
but mostly cloudy was
too bright, even,
for them: it was
a country, I think: great
many people: & no news
of my book at the pstffce
again this morn: so I
don't feel
strong about
things: I
need plenty of help:
the crusty world
takes no notice:
Muse, what must we
do to hit the top:
it'd better
be good: give a little,
will you, please?) (I'm
bushed:)
but you can do worse
than be a singer of verses:
(I'm the biggest
fool that ever was--
assertion's not the
way to the top, you're
a little round fool--
to follow you off into
these woods: who are you
anyhow? some kind of a
prickteaser?)
& so & so & so &
so & so
&
so & so & so & so so
(some kinuva sans merci?)
lunch: hot dogs and baked
beans again: swell:
2/23: 11 cents a can: cheap:
hotdogs run you around--
oh let's see:
this morning's coffee &
a chocolate fudge cookie:
maybe 30 cents altogether:
& all
that energy
turned into verse
will bring
you
about
four condemnations:
transformations!
metamorphoses!
mitachondria!
hell's bells!
how my back hurts: even
by concentrating, I can't
feel any presence
to my balls: missing:
wd it be masturbatory if
I if I
touched the area
briefly
just to make sure?
two cool tight weights!
thank you:
thank you very much:
if I had a flute: wdn't
if be fine
to see this long thin
poem
rise out of the waste-
basket:
the charmed erection,
stiffening, uncoiling?
anyways, that wastebasket
is coiled full: wonder if
I should stomp
in it?
in & out: weaving in &
out: a
tapestry, looking for all
the world
as if it were alive:
(break we that watch up)
just took a ride out
to the refuge: 100,000
birds: mallards, grebes,
teals, herons, Canada
geese &
two excellent flyers
from which there is
no refuge:
one, the short-necked,
long-tailed red hawk: he
browses the marshes &
for the little bird,
little bird
he is carefully looking:
& way overhead, turning,
the quiet, black
vulture:
two avenues flesh
can take: the tight red
& the loose dark meat:
red ambulance
& black hearse,
brazen reminders: and the
birds fly among, regarding
& regardless:
the trash collectors came
while I was gone &
took the
week's waste away: we
are purged: even
a house has the incoming &
outgoing energies
& losses by which it
is maintained:
the garbage truck
says on the back
"We aim to serve,
not disturb":
sophisticated
assonance
& & & & & & &
intellections are
scaffolds, trellises
we wish some vine of
feeling would take to
& possess
completely:
spider build
a circle
hung in
the squares of: bird
light on & sing from
the top of:
we build them even
for the windsong's
tenuous life:
chance
a vine will ramble up it
busting into leaves & roses,
giving the robin a place
& making all the air
around
fragrant: we build these
structures because we
have hope, at least:
we're
flat & lifeless,
but these erections,
they have hollow spaces,
room: we mean
to change--that is,
a spouting is going
to go on: good, bad, &
indifferent are gonna
clutter up all around,
rise through the
lattices
of held space
and sing all
together, rose,
thorn,
smear of birdshit:
gonna rise
right up out of the
ground
where the dreams wait
and be red & gold
and laughing to beat the
band:
intellections are
bowls we hope to fill:
motions on the
prowl:
don't
cut them
down or bust them up so
the water spills
& the vine hunts
aimlessly over the ground:
do
not be impatient with us:
we're coming along &
meantime
entertain yourselves with
the dry beauty of our
joists & timbers, slats
& designs:
if nothing ever breaks
into leaf
still we
meant to encourage
the vine: we like
the call of the
robin & his early visit &
the color of his hen's
eggs &
the way he stands on the
lawn, erect--
dressed for a wedding:
intellections have a use,
don't think they don't:
if the vine couldn't
find a natural tree, what
would become of it? if
structure without life is
meaningless, so is
life without structure:
we're going to make a
dense, tangled trellis so
lovely & complicated that
every kind of variety will
find a place in it or on
it: you just be
surprised: &
forgive us:
who mean song
direct & fierce:
(this day
ended
in spite of all
mostly sunny)
a dark night of stars
ensuing:
help me:
I have this &
no other comfort:
the song,
the slight, inner
unmistakable song you
give me
and nothing else! what
are you,
some kind of strumpet?
will you pull out on me?
look: I have faith: I
have faith: come or go:
I'll always love you:
I have nothing else:
I have nothing else besides you:
will you tear me
to pieces? I'll go
on without you, until
you come again:
then
in the flare of song
we'll make a common flame:
if it ain't one fantasy
it's anothern: where
are you, reality?
come out of there:
you drift around in the
background, drooping
like a suckegg dog:
probably I'd like you
all right
if I could get up close
enough to know you:
are you pieces of things
not quite fastened?
what's your face like?
frowns &
bitters?
witchy?
scrawny?
warty?
withery?
maybe I've given you a
horrible mask
and behind that you're
beautiful: or
is this another dream,
reality's dream?
then, is reality to be
free of fantasies, those
I hang between us,
those I cast on you?
fact is, I'm having
this conversation with a
piece of paper!
and "you" are a figment
of imagination and "you"
have no mask
& if you did
no face
wd be behind it:
all this is just coming
out of my head:
the factory of fantasies:
some beautiful, some
terrifying,
some this, some that--but
all, paper & thin air!
a hundred dragons
and furies, satyrs &
centaurs--and one
Muse!
get food:
get water:
get sex:
bank account, nice car,
good address, retirement
plan, investment portfolio,
country-club membership,
monogrammed shirts, summer
home, cabin cruiser, big
living room (furnished
modern)
Money
Power
Food
Water
Sex--and who needs
paper conversations,
words revved up in a
fine motion and a headful
of dragons?
reality, I've got a feeling
you can be awful nice! but
if the only reality
I can get is a spare,
hard-bought one, why
turn on the fantasies and
let there be gorgeousness,
color & motion,
red & gold fabrics
and fine illusioning silks!
the man with bills to pay
dreams with a Muse!
reality is
knowing what you want
and how
to get it:
(A.R. Ammons)
This is an excerpt from the book Tape for the Turn of the Year
Context: He was typing on a roll of adding machine paper. It is a book length poem. He typed nearly daily until he ran out of tape. It was 1963.
19 Dec (Ammons) (from Tape for the Turn of the Year) (1963)
this ole world could be
one
if it wusn't
for hate
bustin it apart,
keeps
crackin it
into little pieces:
love, I mean, could
rise up there love
and make all the
children dance
shaking breasts & hips,
pelvis
shooting in & out
and all kine of sanging
going on:
summer coming back just
like it hadn't been
nowhere:
and the bees
bumbling
in the hollyhocks:
calves kicking up their
heels &
the spring roosters
crashing into crows:
in Praxagora"s perfect
world, tho,
the maiden could be had
only after the hag
was served:
and what would we do with
our hate?
turning hate outward, we
keep dense & pure
our inward love:
can we incorporate our
enemies?
can we maintain a high
degree of difference
within unity's cluster?
give room, latitude, widen
the band
of acceptance: we live
in strictures of hate
& suspicion, intolerance
& doubt:
absorb the margins:
enlarge the range:
give life room:
(A.R. Ammons)
18 Dec (Ammons) (from Tape for the Turn of the Year)
today
broke as if under water:
horizons & dome diffused
with completely increased cloudiness:
a set of four thumb-size
birds
flicker in the sumac
grove:
the sun's a sliver bead
behind the clouds:
flurries expected:
Christmas trees come
stout, stubby, tall, lean,
bunchy, lopsided, scrawny--
besides the kinds--cedar,
pine, fir:
my wife & I diverge
at scrawny-bunchy: she
likes bunchy ones (even a
little stubby): I like
scrawny, open trees:
like to get inside the
tree
and hang it full of
ornaments:
I
don't
like
those bunchy ones that
thurst you out, accept only
peripheral trim:
chacun a chacun, tho: that
is, the devil with it:
husband & wife hold
each other off
by digging
chasms of difference:
then they have a hell of a
time bridging them: it's
important that a male be
different from a female--
the greater the difference
the higher the charge--
but if the
difference gets too wide,
the two halves
drift off into alienations:
ever noticed how
dark it is
inside those bunchy trees?
they hover-in the
dark, withholding, secret,
mysterious:
what? have a system of
darkness
standing in the living
room, recalcitrant,
impenetrable? the devil
take it!
--or--
I cd think of it as
protected darkness,
boundaried by
ornament & light:
maybe that's a deeper
response
than my fully exhausted
open tree:
everybody to his own taste,
said the old man as
he kissed the cow: (and
every little bit helps,
said the old lady as
she peed in the ocean)
10:29 a.m: the bead's done:
12:48 pm: everything white:
3:20 pm: still snowing: I
went to the
cleaner's, egg-lady's
& mailbox & just got in:
trucks are whirling red
gravel over the roads:
the snow is holding,
packing down: tires aren't
breaking through:
the children, let out of
school, run testing
mounds that look all
snow but are only surfaced,
scraping up handfuls--
not yet enough
snow for
huge
crunchy handfuls--
muffled, the highway's
stopped burning:
9:41 pm: we've just come
in from being out:
it's a wicked white
icy night:
cars slipping, wheels
spinning: bushes
sparkle in the headlights:
imagine being out
for a night
restless & wakeful with
cold, some child
coughing--or crying
with fever:
who are we
on this globe?
how & at what cost
have we survived?
deer & birds:
are they cold?
maybe one way of
coming home is
into silence,
restfulness from words,
freedom from the mill
that grinds
reality into sound:
why do I need to throw
this structure
against the flow
which I cannot stop?
is there something
unyielding in me that
can't accept
the passing away of days
and birds
flowers & leaves?
it's always never return
for them:
that way, day by day, for
me & you:
acquiescence, acceptance:
the silent passage into
the stream, going along,
not holding back:
I try to transfigure these
days
so you'll want to keep
them:
come back to them: from
where?
from the running honey
of reality & life?
come back:
I hold these days aloft,
empty boxes
you can exist in: but
when you live in them
you hurry out of your own
life:
if my meaning is
to befriend you,
must I turn you
away?
I stop to fasten, and
currents
swirl around, over
me, wearing my
structures away, teaching
me not to grasp, not to
try to keep:
why does a man sit alone
and question
the answerless air where
no blood stirs
and no lips move?
this love, fashioned
into acts,
might bring a lonely
person
purpose enough:
what's the nature
of this carrying-on?
generations to come: are
they more precious,
estimable, than these
that are?
can a lip quiever with
more need
then than now?
I have a notion to be
wordless, but
active with immediate
deed, open
with the glance of my
need, direct,
humble in my going,
glad
as the thoughtless are:
are we creators in fact
or collectors of relics:
do we make grow
or cast into stone?
(A.R. Ammons)
(1963)
a slice of ammons
…
notice how
some nights the stars
are raw & brand new?
make you feel
slightly
uneasy?
it’s the size
& distance
unwinds you,
pulls you out
attenuating you
into
nothingness
till you grasp
around
at star-straws:
…
— A snippet from “Tape for the Turn of the Year” —
master bias leaning 