Thursday, September 01, 2005

Olson and the Motz

I am reading Charles Olson and Frances Boldereff--A Modern Correspondence. And I feel fucked with.

Maybe because I am reading letters--personal and private, or so they thought. But I like letters. Receiving them. Writing them. Reading them.

Or maybe because of reference to DHL, Shakespeare's "dryness," Blake, Joyce, Melville (he who started the conversation--Boldereff's reading of Call Me Ishmael), a little Whitman, some others--letters literary, literate. The coming back to DHL. Or the exuberance, a bit much, but exuberant.

There is passion. And person to person meetings are few, but relevant.

It adds up to a couple of lines. So far.

& i need no bait but you, lady!

Cancel blood

Fr unsought, add
And the eyes
which should burst
do not.

48. This emendation to the draft of the previous day appears in the poem as sent to Edward Dahlberg a few days later (see "Dura" in Collected Poems, p. 85).

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