Showing posts with label Joseph Tate. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Joseph Tate. Show all posts

23.8.26

Two Poems by Joseph Tate

Poetics

1.
 
Between here, as our Gunslinger says, and
formerly: asbestos gloved and took-en
 
by
 
"the mere rub-a-dub of the decasyll"
-“abon" as it were a—
 
Foot fault. 

Love.
 
 
2.
 
    (to remind myself)
 
“nope        
               heis wronf”
   
[signed in the plate] F. Chauveau (&Team),
inv. et fec.


3 & 5.

← Percent Sand —.

And: “The flowre hath α ι writ theron, which letters are of greef.”

In: “The flowre hath α ι writ theron, which letters are of greef.”

 
12A.

Brutality en pointe on a knuckle, a fingertip. 
Tethered to the field. 


12B.

Not a field.
The bony labyrinth / þe se of Occean, opening.



Lesson Plan(s)

    after M and D

The manifest figure & its receding ground—
his rumble, she called it, of apples.

A flag of the most softest of soft fossils,
the symbolic order encausted;
the velvet flop will punctum any Studium™.

Tooth into the true-blue bitter of the lemon, 
but gorge in the gleam of the pulp, trust its daylight.

This is a table, she said, fit for a storm.

24.6.26

Two Poems by Joseph Tate

Alfoxden, now

Wm. unable to go all the way.
The sea very black.

Triton, late,
mute at the conch.

Proteus, soon, stuck in perhaps,—
the eustatic rising. 


Enyalion, to the last

Not enough / Too much
in the business of your cabinet:
past-noon sleepings
& late nights
in soil more than sea.