Thursday, August 27, 2009

Fred Wah

from Breathing My Name With a Sigh
are origins magnetic lines across an ocean
migrations of genetic spume or holes, dark
mysteries within which I carry further into the World
through blond and blue-eyed progeny father’s fathers
clan-name Wah from Canton east across the bridges
still or could it all be lateral craving hinted
in the bioplasmic cloud of simple other organism
as close as out under the apple tree?
Does time stick to poetry? Time and place? Lines like windy afternoons in cities, swirling with the daily wash of print. Naive enough perhaps, I am wondering what places this or that poem in the 70s. How the bump and grind of other dialogs is unearthed in the sediment of words. And loving the idea of this early Fred Wah, his lyric voice stitching time, or at least, looking into the vortex:
lines co lure added up into placed
numbers games matrices objects such as trees
designs parents children thinking
all about it all the time you believe
it’s mother but you you’re the one
indexed here too thought up by living
at once feeling the ten commandments
part of the mountain or father caught
into the typology stuck with the gender
listed calendar birthday interstitched
I thought world and the beauty of language
as a system too to reinforce the continual
build-up and impression on the life of itself
so at any point it knows there are those three
as well as itself plus objects as voices
texture too fits in the right spot
You can find the entire poem online. And an essay by Shane Rhodes on the poem here.

I also love Wah's Pictograms from the Interior of BC. Gary Barwin recently posted on them.
Caloplaca is lichen, that yes, seem as though they might be able to bubble up off of rocks and lift into the air. How like an ocean floor earth can seem. Even dry as a bone up in the rockies or wet (or once was wet) on the west coast: everything clinging in the air and if you squint, mushrooms like jelly fish floating and silky in currents.

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