By John Wieners
707 Scott highway, the magazine of John Wieners, dates from 1958-9, the years while Weiners used to be composing The resort Wentley Poems, in addition to a few of the nice lyrical poems incorporated in his chosen Poems. The magazine comprises types of a few of those poems in addition to others that experience by no means been released anyplace. "I needs to disregard find out how to write," he states at the starting web page. "I needs to unlearn what has been taught me." after which later, a section much less portentously: "I needs to find out how to not write. i need to watch with my five senses." Wieners was once twenty-four, nonetheless greedy for the ineffable "other" that will someway attach his a number of selves and provides his lifestyles that means, but he was once already absolutely shaped (in some ways) as a poet. The query used to be how to find the "other," tips to get there via invocation, intercourse, poetry, medications and magic.
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She thinks: can he read me on the beach at Wakiki like an open book a loafofbread and thou beside me singing butternut wine in the wilderness. A poemfor trapped things. Oh God what have you given me that a black butter& lives in this room. This morning with a blue fame burning this thing wings its way in. Wind shakes the edges of my yellow being. Gasping for breath. Living for the next instant. Climbing up the black border of the window. Why do you urant out. I sit in pain A red robe amid debris.
Motor boat roared in the bay. It was July and the dog days. He thought what's a poet doing writing prose? Where are the phantoms he had called down with night. Gone with the night. Writing he knew was an agony. From what source it sprang he did not know. That the gods were not with him now he knew. But he felt that the recording of that fact was important. The cqnng on the doorstep had begun again. And the girl came in calling: Mommy do you uant to see a sailboat? | am a silent man, he thought.
That no matter what Fresh water. New smoke over the washed face of the white square Fill itwith a shaking line. I do glass. Idoit with some measure of love and time. Take it easy qUOTE Temfo Duncan said over the heads of the audience. The black tree on the wall spreads its ominous form thru my brain. I am in no rush, not looking for the universe through binoculars, see the blonde girl bend over trvo Japanese dolls. Their black hair as straight and short as here. Their eyes roll and their arms and legs bend.