Wednesday, December 29, 2010

Lamentations Part II

Turning to the last date, 3/22/65 today, 1/8/67
 is not as many years away as I had imagined. Since this has been with me all this time I thought to add a note as I prepare to wrap it  - or them - for mailing.
My reading of the Diurnal(s) now is not that of the last days in Japan or aboard ship on a journey returning me, with wife and children born west of the sunset to the Midwest. Then when the Diurnal(s) were given me, I read seeking clues, means of understanding. The understanding , not of philosophy of thought, but of attitudes, human feelings of specific places, persons, events. And then the Diurnal(s) were put aside to be read no more until two days ago. And then are read a new - read as of Morning & Evening coming across, in fact, the opening of Morning & Evening. Said I cannot from memory record the Italian, which sound I can almost hear, resonant in its truth. So the Diurnal(s) read now in the light of the works, the poems and prose works -
But, echoing the personal reading of - how many years ago? reading in this hour also, I find myself having made a voyage and working now at a job, at a "company" - a university which the Governor refers to ages "one of the major industries of Ohio" where the student bookstore changes 300% profit on some supplies, and in a state where the Governor says "what's wrong with profit".
Unable to work, with a chest tight, with breathing labored - breathing as though under a weight on the chest - I find myself in a similar position with the man who brought me here a reflection of myself some years ago - So that in a sense I relive a reverse role(s) that life,or those lives lived entirely in that land wherein all is said to be released. More like the Noh in structure, however, and indeed the Noh did insight me here, on a western stage and those persons, Japanese and American, with whom my past life was linked, "returned" also, instilling here.
But now is time for work, for the past days have been good days. It is right that the Diurnal(s) return now, to you, Frank. It is their time.
To one who claims color blindness, can entrust my instill statements - for myself I confess a blindness in philosophy. I cannot claim to understand, am not trained to, have not the background nor the mind. Still it nourishes; and light reflect be light, enlightens. I ramble with wordings, sadly. But you, friend, have by now learned not to rely wholly on them. As if there is a color you do not see, I know you see, in what I do, so much else.
We have yet along journey. I read yesterday of Redon, who began painting at sixty.

Thursday, December 23, 2010


I hope 2010 was a good year for all.
May 2011 be filled with the love and happiness for everyone.
Happy New Year!

Wednesday, December 22, 2010

Frank and Cid - 1975

22nd December 1975

dear Frank,

               Still nothing on GIST (beyond a squib in a St Louis journal - which wd have no effect on anyone -
though it has warm intentions). Eventually there will be some notices - in the small mags. Surprisingly - however- the first report on sales (1st 3 months presumably) far exceeds my expectations: more than 1/3rd of the edition has been sold. If it could move at the same pace for the 1st year - it would be astonishing - but the initial flurry - I suspect - will be the bulk of it. (This holiday season - of course - may help a little.) In the face of such determined silence - it is certainly a notable feat. (It means - amongst other things - that your own work has become visible to a much larger audience than heretofore. Over 1100 copies involved.
               Since I've been given an advance and also purchased a large quantity myself - I'll receive very little income from the book (next fall) - but wd be more than content if the book cd go into a 2nd printing and/or paperback form.
               Your allusion to the "master" is understood - of course. I just received 22-23 from the publishers today and will be reading it later. More immediately moving to me a very self-effacing quiet meditation in prose - that has a lot of poetry in it - by Jaccottet.
               Reading Rimbaud's ILLUMINATIONS in our workshop has radically deepened my regard for him/his powers of vision. MYSTIQUE is a poem there that would approach you. And much else.
               He broke his back (leg/Heart) of course trying to make ends meet - devotedly. I know what it feels like and with you wish too for a little ease in that department. At any rate - warmth in a cold season - and poetry of  "this our art". Love always, Cid

Courtsey of Bob Arnold, Longhouse Publishers & Booksellers, Cid Corman's Estate

Dear Cid,
             I think it is true to say that both Dante and Rimbaud stand behind my Morning and Evening as form (altho the opening as figure has Wittgenstein, whom his work ultimately misunderstood, which his work ultimately shows: he who has eyes stands seriously before that augustimism mysta gogue laconically)
Rimbaud to me wrote the Book of Youth, that is, the New Life - that he did not go on to write his Comedy is one of the sorrows of modern letters, because he of all others had established the foundation - and yes! his eye is one of the finest most natural of our time... of course, I didn't draw form his rebellious side (Miller on that account did more harm for us here - "the Beats" more a wake phenomenon): his resolution of Baudelaire not something to be side-stepped: island-hopping le vous l'aucre! leads to Romantic Disillusionment (and are there not examples today of those poet who pose as materialists poking fun at Romanticism, and yet drawing all their strength and imaging from the I-Dwellers!?) for me Rimbaud is a far deeper philosophical spirit than Mallarme, that is to say, he never bought the Poe postulate which the line Baudelaire-Mallarme-Valery did (Oh! how one shudders under the ramification spicer-Zosky here!).. altho it is seemingly far-fetched there is harmony between Rimbaud (his works) and Wittgenstein (his Tractatus) who sees this! who dears see it!
so you see, the richest richness is the richness of implication which at its deepest is poverty of spirit: subtlety is fine, but over-subtlety is sophistry and of the nature of a tongue twisting glittery technique.
          That you say that there is a poem much else of Rimbaud that would approach me is indeed a high compliment and I thank you (who reads and writes any degree of understanding or vision today! so much to be reaped from my work, but it remains as if far under... Take care, Frank

Courtsey of The Lilly Library, Indiana University, Bloomington, Indiana.

Tuesday, December 21, 2010


in the midst of nature
one remains unobserved
the hidden
               the text
the dissolution
a falling away
before his very eyes

the poet

the master of veils
guards at the same time
the ultimate meaning
of his work

he gives battle
foils every key
the dragon rendered

the pure approach
the fourfold
in their gaze
they enter

never return

inward the eye
Eternity in view

less than dream

going on a ways
approaching water
objects now only

stepping beyond

ground non-existent

extinction complete

nameless formless

the god in wood
shedding light
the extent
the meadow

the adjacent
hill country
the manifestation
three lakes

three planes
springing from
mirrored in
the single eye

This edition consists of 250 copies designed by Cid Corman and printed by Genichido, Kyoto, Japan for The Elizabeth Press.

Wednesday, December 15, 2010

Lamentations Part 2


To engage contemporary Europeans and American thought in battle one must enter the city and take a stand for the sake of Love's revolution. This is to the point: Rimbaud is not revolutionary.
Made out first visit to Sanjusangendo - took in (that is as we moved along) the 1,000 Kannona & "the principal image" - plus its "subordinate" gods - an impressive sight: calm juxtaposed with aspectual "fierceness". Then we walked along Higashiyama - and some where past the street leading up to Senuji we found a bench in front of a bus stop: the three of us stopped to react and point ourselves toward the final light.

Feel more than ever the need to get back to America - nothing can be done here except to pro-pogandize for these - we've said this before, but as always the iteration won't hurt. If I could come away with some tools necessary for the argument then I should say the time was not wasted. Am I longing for Spring?
Because of the austerities one has set for himself, there is the temptation to fall back on the way of others - for example Baudelaire's etc. How easy it is to fall under the spell of the voice ( the material ideal: the states: nature as furnished by mentality whose presupposition in motion - that is when stripped of its virtual mask, matter as first principal comes thru) that draws one toward darkness.

My songs lament over the failure of individuation to come thru because of the ambiance that renders the will tortuous, therefore where is there a lack of fullness of experience? if one views from the "angle" of our present form of economy then he's always looking for the close up that is type rather then the ambiance that keeps individuation from coming thru. The Comedy is in the direction of the differential - therefore I don't go for that modernity that's of the image of a man's shadow lengthened on a slope in snow.

Sunday, December 12, 2010

My father's Library

My father's library went from NY city all the way to Sun City, Arizona when my parents moved.
My wish was to always have my father's library and to keep it intact.
When my mother finally sold the house in AZ and moved to NJ, I boxed as many books as I could to take back with me to California. Eric, my husband, built me a library so I could display these rare and eclectic collection of books that my father passionately gathered in his life time. My children will hopefully take care of them after I gone.

Thursday, December 9, 2010

Reading List - 10/14/77

Click on image to enlarge

My father created this Reading List for John Perlman in 1977.
He then resurrected it for my husband , Eric in the 1980's.
From Homer, Plato Aristotle, Virgil, Augustine to Aquinas, Dante, Shakespeare and Leopardi
it makes for quite a deeping knowledge for ones lifetime.

Wednesday, December 8, 2010

A Napkin Poem for Claudia

click on image to enlarge
My dad probably wrote this in the 1970's when I was in high school.

You were given a special outlook -
you don't have to follow it:

but you could hold on to it,
the way anything outgrown is held.

When I was in high school and college all I wanted to be was an artist and follow in the foot steps of my father. He was my inspiration to better my craft as an artist (painter) and follow the spiritual path.
I feel now I can continue that path knowing that I held onto his teachings.

Monday, December 6, 2010


After working in the prison yard, a man in his cell turns to his thoughts to hear deeply: God be praised!
Late at night, a man standing on a subway platform, the trees the homes everything beyond.
You move thru every place, and the feeling persists: some other place home - the memory a fall. But could this feeling be due to just being out of sorts? it has been experienced by others thruout history: it can't be just alienation: the man moves, the angel illuminates, the one the other harmonious, full common society the ground the Holy Spirit the foundation the Way toward final release.
We are now into the days (now) when to expect words from another can cause collapse if the words don't come. Some poets stay amidst nature because they feel - I guess - that to stay in the city is to be abstract: they - unknowingly, of course, falsify: in the country does not guaranty poetry; on the contrary, it is possible (to pay lip service) (to tip one's hat) to the natural sciences under such conditions, that is, the poetic activity there is referable to the position here in the sense that it is there in order to ease the city of its severity: consequently, poetry draws none of its force from either in city or in country. Imagery in toto is species in the Image.
What is better than what a thing is like - even tho what is can only be gotten at suggestively. The practicing of the art of poetry should be enough for the young, but it seems that (the competition competitiveness of situations) forces them to consider making it as the sole (stamp of victory approval). I guess all young poets go thru this: how many later are willing to die for it?

Saturday, December 4, 2010


If one denies most of the tenets of modern literature, then he's in no position to teach. How can I gather myself up? write of the deadness of my movements? I go to work - my return leaves me with no desire to write of a world that can be of no help to Humanity; and yet, my present movement says I must do just that.
It is true that my withdrawal from the literary world is complete,but withdrawal can only mean desire of fame (vanity) - writing is not pride: to write for Humanity God the Subject alters every sense of the writer as personality: therefore, it is not the writer's job to seek art the latest innovations of the day - the principles of the craft are perennial; he has ancient teachers, and with them he silently converses.
If they consider your cold remarks, the perennial rights your; near warm. Not every man should love your speech, nor is it just that such a unanimily exist, but there is Hod Who insights the vision - more enough for any man. A wandering seeking new speech entia mon sunt multiplicanda praeter necessitatem. It is best that my work remain unknown - the age continues the work of the last 600 years; who's the poet, then?
I'd like to write of friendship, but that's more memorial than actual fact; nevertheless, the memory of it mollifies walks otherwise hapless. Not much time for walks these days - the job tyrannical. It is not possible to teach the young poetry of their sense of (poetry) it is competitive. They seek judgements that have nothing to do with the art, that is, a man gains nothing from being told that his work is stronger than another's: but again, the eye wants no part of a teaching that has God as end, the audience is no sense identifying with a work, release necessarily telic. Here it comes clear: the teaching of poetry says just that we much be heirs of a view that impedes no sense - second that the wholeness of a work is equally given up: from these the audience is fulfilled, the sense the wholeness unimpeded. What happens when the age of false (propagandistic)? the artist must seek the truth doubly. You waste away for want of companions - those who visit you only wail upon a verification that is referable to themselves rather than the common that makes companions participants in the greater life. The rage is gone, but the ambiance remains the same.
What comes upon one that makes him (you) feel that everything has reached its peak, and that everything more to do is over and above! There is separation, and the terrible sorrow of the day reflects it makes us inwardly dual. Maybe this is the way it should be: the life empty for all purposes except the poetry that says God the vision everything lived thru not so bad after all: but this is true at the moment of writing; it has no meaning at the moment of living. Such a conflict can't be real; it must be imposed - from where? - the outside. Does (that this state not) exonerate the sufferer? Wait! don't work on the major poem until there is time - but suppose the time never comes? wait! if.....

(To be continued - one of my father's notebooks - hand-written)

Friday, December 3, 2010

SAPPUNTA - Hawkhaven Press - 2004

una leggera brezza all about me,
especially my arms-
the branches outside my window
give way easily
and just as easily return-
the leaves mostly fully light,
their near companions hardly
shadow to them at all:
so there's not much trouble
in going
from splendore
to raggio
to luce

Monday, November 29, 2010

Lamantations Part 2

What is it you feel you're not getting? Put my two unpublished books in the "bottomest" draw of an otherwise unused desk. We're without sun again. I don't think I'll make it - something in the future will cast me down: there's distrust in the future because even now "I" grovel - I've gone thru so much which involves a denial of all that I do now.
I find myself performing the daily routines without much resistance or at least that's what I tell myself I do - forces that keep me wandering between this and that (no use to determine this and that any further - of what use can such a precision be?) have a way of moving the way the weather does: this comes to me while crossing a bridge mirrored in water mirroring a sky gathering about itself storm cloud.
We're trying out our new stove it sure makes for comfort: step into another room and you'll see how warm this one is.

There's no let up in this autumn all heaviness. When we were in S.F. I at least - despite my despair - had the hope that my trip to Japan would reap me something conducive toward survival in N.Y. - but here I've nothing to look forward to. From all this it would seem that my art must be necessity come to a stand still at an early age: that is, songs by themselves sing well but when seen all together they jar the nerves.
It came to me last night that the life lived is "nothing" if it's for the sake of inculcating propaganda: that is only that much which comes thru as use in salutary.

I will not propagandize for the foreign open market: that is to make songs "in praise: of the "levels" here is to do work for the Civil Rights Program "there" if you sing for children temples, etc. as a necessary out come of one's theory of "be where you are, you assume too much: that is how much is art, how much is missionary work must always touch the senses disharmoniously.
Again, the sun's here for awhile and then gone.

Looking at my baby girl and listening to Pergolesi: no better way to start a morning.
If I could somehow get myself back to reading then maybe recovery would be possible - I don't seem to enjoy much these days; perhaps it's due to the heaviness of this weather.
I've no wish to make songs now - there's no need to - all that I've made says no repetition is necessary.
One could comment at greater length on the last paragraph but another day.
Mostly clouds now - little blue and the songs of children from somewhere.

Tuesday, November 23, 2010

LETARGO - 1980

Published in 1980 by Station Hill Press by George and Susan Quasha.

soon the shoveling of snow
the memory thrown back
the boy passing
from house to house
no job
           but just before reaching home
already frostbitten

even when I go out
the pull toward the mind

snow is not just snow
or rather it is
but the shining thru
reveals its heritage

night comes and the soul rests
a place of forms, yes!
home, at last! a
dipping behind horizon

forest dweller
a mirror

snow rain fall
sun recovers day

the jar broken
at his feet

    the day'll come
when I'll sit on a bench
to look out to sea

the bright water    sky
conjoint dissolver
of the dispositive

Thanks George for publishing this wonderful book of gems from my father.

Wednesday, November 17, 2010

Lamantations Part II

Yesterday we went downtown to have Claudia baptized! Rent paid (and for that I'm grateful) but there isn't much left in my pocket to fall back on - such a tiresome struggle: this day to day living. Maybe the record of the writers of the last 100 years is a period of unemployment.
Despite the grayness of the day there's a glare along the outlines of the hills.

What are the difficulties? better to seek the sun of the late afternoon. A week ago much to say - today the speech stumbles.

Taking for granted a society not conducive toward the fulfillment of difference and that the psychological societal determinants then the "real" is defined by the ambiance: that is the comedic resolution would be in the dropping of the last mask.

My failure as a writer and as a person is no body's business any more.
"Some must due simply because of poverty." So tired today - fell asleep on the train - went out but it looks like we'll be here for another year. Impossible to think of ways of getting out; we're here as they say and so we'll have to make the best of it. True an injustice has been done to us but the knowledge won't right it. I worry about my future (no longer do I have just myself to account for; there's no one to turn to - the turn to the self is superfluous since the nature of its moment was always taken for granted (their self-reliance postulate can never be separated (in reality) from the open market).

I've made my third book of songs - shorter than the others but nevertheless complete. Just my luck not to have enough (better any) money to print em (that is , Of Light, too)
"the root is just what the leaf knows nothing about". Oh the third book of songs is called Branches.

If a man is free - love and friendship come easy.

Sunday, November 14, 2010

Letters to Cid


Dear Cid,
I am caught up in the studies - I want the depths - so in the morning I read (as close as I can) the Purgatory, and in the afternoon (as close as I can) the Upanishads. Strange while reading Vedantasara thoughts of the fourfold meaning came to me - I worry about the Supreme Identity, especially since it has been my conviction to for go the final identification - altho again it makes perfect sense as our august theory of knowledge- because for Aquinas also truth is primarily in the intellect, which carries with it the knower the known as identity.....
I'm learning many Sanskrit words and this pleases me, seeing many of the roots of our own thru others. And since I've read lots of Guenon I can't be unsold by Deussen, Muller, Colebooke (as it was years ago when I read Muller's translations you know as in Dante translations, essays ok but given modern scholarship they couldn't be superior to us).... which I like also is that a man need not do exercises be psyche to be spiritual  - the Sanskrit jivanmukta much like it seems to me the Pauline doctrine: said Christ has come all (in Christ?) line the spiritual life as spiritual men, not hankering after the second coming, except as final state, fullness of realization.
(many words are hard to read so the spelling is off, etc.)

Yes! the daily  - years ago I wrote a long (600 pages) prose thing called Diurual (more inclusive than journal because the reach somewhat astral) - sold is to NYU - I don't even have a copy of it - should go over, try to get it typed up.
I've been feeling a little meloncholy these days - maybe I'm taking upon myself too many things - but after all I tell myself why am I here for except to realize as fully as I can intellectual life.

the daily given us
not astrap
seeing thru
as we do

I am greatly moved by the Sanskrit terms mahasamhitah (very much together) and susumna (very gracious) and feel that my work Quadrifaram bears kinship to themeanings signified. Makes us wonder: corroboration not at all that one-sided! Duns scotus comes to mind.... sed vutute intellectus agentis, qui est participatio lucis incretae, illustrantis super phantasmata, cognoscitur quidditas rec, et ex hoc habetur sincertas vera.
Hope to see Clayton the 15th he'll be here for NYU reading.
Sometimes I'm pretty much afraid to walk these city streets - maybe someday, God willing, I'll live near a stream....

Been reading many different things. Last year I studied the principles of astrology and I'm now convinced that Dante's astrology is superior to the whole lot of modern dabblers. A case in point, the extra-saturian planets are but an ad infinitum argument.

Thursday, November 11, 2010

Veterans Day - Nov 11, 2010

My father was in Korea in 1952 - 1954 - In his twenties. Private First Class was his rank. It was not a pleasant experience for him as he suffered a breakdown and was honorably discharged.
How many men suffered the same demise.
He received the National Defense Service Medal, for Good Conduct. He was to complete 8 years in the service. He never saw combat. Looks like he was discharged on Oct, 1955.

This publication is designed for the information of men and woman of the Armed Forces at the time of separation from active service as they face the problems of readjustment to civilian life. It does not have the force of law, but it explains the principal rights, benefits, and privileges to which veterans, their dependents, and their survivors may be entitled because of the veterans' service. It lists the governmental agencies that administer the benefits and directs attention to the principal private organizations that are authorized to assist veterans to avail themselves of the benefits.
I recommend that every person leaving the Services read this pamphlet carefully, at the time of separation, and retain it as a valuable source of information to which reference may be made as the occasion arises.

C.E. Wilson: Secretary of Defense

Hit 4,000 Page Views today, Nov 11, 2010

I am amazed and thrilled that all of the readers out there have made this blog possible with there interest in my father, Frank Samperi.
My father was a very humble man but even he wished recognition. This blog gives back to him the recognition that he was a great poet in the eyes of the world.

Thank you all,


Wednesday, November 10, 2010

My Father and his mom - 1930

I love this picture of my father and his mom. His mother died when he was just eleven years old of kidney failure. I remember my father said that his mother just wasted away, just skin and bones. Such a sad moment for him. The pain must have been extreme. His mother never married and he never knew his father.
But he found comfort in his books and his writing.

Sunday, November 7, 2010

Lamentations Part 2


Writing with the intention of implying a subject......"and of the moon seen while listening to the voices from the garden as undertones to the radio from the house in the wood and the traffic down the street". If one's thoughts don't come out as poetry then voice them as prose.
This is the 3rd day and still no sun - but that's ok with me - I'm sick and tired of this place - I want to get away from its hills. What's the good of presenting a solution that points in the direction of a darkness of no reflection when the impediments are the cause of the state of no reflection.

As I said yesterday I'd like to go home, not that there's anything there but that a birth place is in this case a reason for being away from here.
I think I've said this before but here goes! again: I'm certain my maturation is in a direction that sees its contemporaries as impediments  - that's "3/4" of their work approaches propaganda rather than use; therefore, it isn't an instance of intolerance to side-step them.

Our money's as short as it can get - think I'm going to have to yell for help again - sick of doing this, but no other way to get thru.

Claudia smiles more and more each day - Dolores gave her her bath a while ago (since our rooms are now cold as hell, we have to heat the kitchen by one of the burners - but in SF it wasn't much better) - she's now sleeping.

To find time to do anything these days is a marvel....The form of economy has succeeded in disuniting the bond of friendship - each person is drawn to the bog set up for him.
How desperate and lonely the way I take  - on one to talk to now, no one to acknowledge the common vision (and there is One Truth to be participated in according to one's difference this doesn't mean plurality of truth) but one's wife and child to be made a Holy Family but again it must be made in a way that all men may be able to go this way and not feel the strangeness of being an outsider. "they're denoted to a specialized poetry): and this unit shall save us. The desperateness and loneliness then must be in not being able yet to share this with others.

Tuesday, November 2, 2010

More Enteries

Better not to mention what happened yesterday - enough is said in saying "Better not to mention..."
It has always been my wish to remain aloof, but circumstances force me to become involved and yet the point is not "selling out the world", but when friendship and society are so only under the condition that deflect then one is not wrong to give assent to his proper movements (which considering the form of economy that is ours can only be seen in the abstract: that is we do not lie when we philosophizes quilt shall not accrue from "them".
The evenings are getting cooler; this does console me: soon the cicadas shall die away (an end of one season joined to the beginning of another) we make no sad song, only state we are closer to the end of our sojourn.
I have made so many errors in this writing - nor have I taken the trouble to conceal "these blemishes" it is better to let them show thru. After all, we do this diurnal for no one but dust - keeping "tabs" on oneself only to let go in the end. I don't think I said what I wanted to say.

It seems that the words come easier now than before - why? what constitutes a release? a baby.
Holding Claudia in my arms (in order to comfort her) I stood in front of the windows looking out on a workman putting "his day's final touches" to a wall. I am told one makes walsl in Japan to ward off typhoons, etc.

All men participate in the light of God according to their difference, not according to their rank, grade. Their is a resolution of the argument when all stresses of reflection and refractions, etc are at rest - the "clautas: of this thought is in proportion to Man's approach to a society conducive toward the fulfillment of difference: that is the vision of a differential world in a Comedy will not confuse "light's ghosts" with the "ultimate term of generation (whose participation is not of the nature of shadow).

Saturday, October 30, 2010

1960 - 1986

1. The Galley Sail Review (1960) No. 5 Winter 35 Cents. Featuring: William Carlos William, Louis Zukofsky, Gary Snyder, Robert Creeley, Michael McClure, Phillip Whalen, Frank Samperi....


the brindled


is stalking
the river-bank.

Say goodbye;
greet owl, yes!

of, if you can,
at the high all

ape Buddha.   Frank Samperi


A lake in the head
wherein they put a boat,
two trousered men
with four legs between them.

The women
go in swimming
in the nude.
They blossom into lewd.

That light shut off,
he rolls over
and under,
begins to smother.  Robert Creeley

2. Song Book (1960)
For Dolores

Nothing so good
as this thought
of green under light
wherein branch

over branch against
sun moves toward
its green under
a guise of light. Frank

3. Branches (1965)

A wind's in the persimmon tree-
Come under its rustling.

4. Of Light (1965)
To Aunt Fran + Aunt Yolie
With love, Frank

Cavalcando l'altr'ier per un cammino

Riding the other day along a road, thoughtful of this hateful journey, I found Love up a ways in shadows
in the tattered clothes of a pilgrim. He seemed wretched as if he'd lost lordship; and he came sighing, with head bowed - I guess, not to see people. When he saw me, he called out, and said: I come from a far place,
where by my power your heart was - now I bear it to serve a new pleasure." Then I took in effect his movements, and he vanished, but I cannot say.

5. Crystals - Caterpillar V (1967)

The new man is always the spiritual man. We, too, conceive of contemplation as the activity that is wholly compatible with His City; therefore, the act poverty that moves us in that direction is in no sense negative.
What we are trying to say is this: to live in God is to be contemplative.
It is wrong to think of contemplation as the opposite of activity: that is, contemplation is a prefiguration of the very activity that pertains to the Kingdom of Heaven. It is the State that fosters the idea that contemplation is passive, therefore, more in keeping with the man who doesn't work, or better who won't contribute to the give and take that is the market. From this it is just to ask: what is the meaning of the word activity when the State in Unity? it's obvious: exploitation.

6. The Triune (1969)

Spirit dream when least is flame
gathered to itself child
walked hills
knew memory
looked far
sought beloved
knew also wood
day everywhere
therefore equally
no rest
child lost
came to river
child gathered

7. The Bow Window - Origin Press (1986)
Nov 16, 1986

for Claudia

whose gift
stirs me

because holding on
goes along with the arc,

never losing sight
of the arc

the heart

love, Daddy

Thursday, October 21, 2010

Letters to Cid Corman


Dear Cid,
             We got a place on the Cape. We'll be leaving the 7th of August. My aunts, Dolores' mother are footing most of the bill, and I can't tell you how grateful I am for that. Yes, the children need to get out of this city. My aunts worry a great deal about the neighborhood, cautioning me always not to let the children out alone, which of course we wouldn't think of doing. If only in a year or two we could get away from the city - for good! how nice just to open the screen door, go to the yard - how nice evening time, sit on the porch, look up at the stars - not sentimental, just simply being human.
I feel now more than ever the solution of my last moments depends upon my getting away from the artificial. I see clearly the structures of The Prefiguration, The Triune (complete), and the final movement that resolves.
On my vacation I'll take only Dante, my only book - still feel the summation of my work lies with the Commedia.
Strange how one's poems group themselves only in the end to reappear continuously as complete structure - the crown the last effort toward a realization of good workmanship.
Take care, Frank

Dear Cid,
Strange that at Cape Cod one feels melancholic over the dying of summer, but here it's different: you can't wait for Autumn, winter we empty the streets, rid them of the stench the fifth the impossible oppressiveness. - wish there were some way for me and mine to stay away for a year at least -
This Autumn along with my Dante work - I intend to study seriously the Upanisahads, only with the Sankaracharya commentaries I was able to get a copy of his commentary of the Brahma-Sutra (a long work some 900 pages) - I remember they refer to him as the St. Thomas Aquinas of India.
Well I certainly look forward to reading your essay on The Prefiguration - you along with Will & Clayton are probably the only one who cares. I've given another manuscript to Eric - Quadrifarium (longer than Prefiguration - almost 300 pages) - hope things go well enough that he'll finally decide to do it.
Take care, Frank

Saturday, October 16, 2010

Cid Corman Part III

Please see the continuation of the Cid Corman Interview in NYC in 1991.
Click on the link below to view video on YouTube.

Courtsey of Bob Arnold, Longhouse Publishers & Booksellers, Cid Corman's Estate

Wednesday, October 13, 2010

A Marte

the sun goes
since the blind's closed
and bird shadow
but beyond

A Marte

A Marte

This image is very interesting.

A Marte

Various symbols of the planets convey a message in this poem. Can anyone shed some light on the meaning?
This book is very complex.

Tuesday, October 12, 2010

Lamentations Part II

What am I doing here? feel myself wasting away under a job that says I must give thought to poetry only when there's free time - why have I allowed myself to be drawn into another injurious open market? did I have a better choice back there?
Each day I learn a little more - but what constitutes this growth? just that today one's older than he was yesterday - only to discover that I'm still unemployed.
In denying the contemplative life we do so in order to get the whole population into the labor field and thereby "create" an industrial hierarchy that is we are used for the purpose of holding up those on top.

Courtesy of The Fales Library, Special Collections, New York University

Thursday, October 7, 2010

Interview with Cid Corman Part II

I have posted the video on YouTube so everyone can see more.
Courtsey of Bob Arnold, Longhouse Publishers & Booksellers, Cid Corman's Estate

Wednesday, October 6, 2010


For me it's all a question of this: to master a body of historical data, and then to marshall it against a background everywhere suffused thru with "memory's ease is in the gradual decentralization of grades".
I must make the journey myself - also a guide is needed for me too; at least until the time when the impediments are stilled and the movement can be straight and each movement of the long song should be no longer than 150 lines: that is it should move from a 120 to 150 (this is not a law to be enforced what in trying to be stressed is that the song should not run so long that it can't be sung) - the form of each movement depends upon this: adjectionally unknown " that is if we begin in mind this: ....necessary and contingent are consequent upon being as such...

Back home after a morning of teaching and part of an afternoon of talk - does it do any good to speak of one's deepest ideas? after a while it seems as if we're talking to woods and cliffs rather than to a man: in one's leave talking echo's his ambiance.
Glad to-night's my last teaching chore there (better to keep it that impersonal) so out of the way, and the students don't seem to be too interested - not wholly their fault. They've been ill-trained for many years.
This month has been difficult, but tempered in that I've been away from the reportorial one - and that's much to be thankful for!
The carpenters continue to work on the house across the way: their sound along with the cicadas constitutes the afternoon's.
"God's on my conscience, not the diabolical distorter's of the Roman universal.
A day of blind alleys - running up to illusions only to find out they're a way of knocking you down.
Sometimes it's good for us to sit in the dark - to ponder? yes, in that we look toward the hills.
Claudia's blossoming each day should go downtown to morrow to get some film (right to have it recorded we've no camera - it's been given to us for a short time: good for now; maybe later on I'll have enough money to buy one - true they're of no interest when you're alone and me during our childless years were too poor to afford other things let alone a camera, but now the new live relation demands a movement from us that can leave no passage thru life unrecorded - we're eager to hold the memory!) retain each image before it slips away.
I'm at peace here as long as I'm not pressured by "the reportorial one" and the ambiance which he represents.
Again there's no argument with this land - true, the easy it's cultivated can deflect the movement of the will toward the Gift, but as before we take the factor into account and slip by.
The sun's out - obviously due to Claudia's feeding. She's one month old today.

Saturday, October 2, 2010

Interview with Cid Corman - 1991


Cid Corman vists America and reads at the Symposium on American Poetry at The Cooper Union Foundation Building. (Recorded by my husband, Eric Warren)

Wednesday, September 29, 2010

a Marte 208 pages

cheap gauzy curtain                                                    
drawn to the side
slightly drawn window                                          
showing pine                                                                        
the supper within                                                       plain                                                                                     
the last cottage                                                

the sign covered                                              
in something

I am dying today                                              
not tomorrow                                                   
my dying day                                                   
the television                                                        
in the livingroom                                                
the other room                                                  
on no one
is from

but it is
the sons of men
who betray them
spiegazione orale

 if the 3 vol. work etc. is
 essentially Thomistic Dantesque
 consequentially Franciscan

     then it is also

Vedantic Nohic
 consequentially Buddhistic
sed secundum quid


the ones filii heber
who are true readers
of the Book
are readers
of the inner bark
of the tree

(The last large book my father wrote and one that was never published.)

Monday, September 27, 2010


- Today Sun. August 2nd at 10:00 AM our baby girl's cry reached air - thanks be to God for such a beautiful gift. There's much to do for me now - no amount of social inaccuracy can disturb me: it's beside the point.
Claudia came earlier than we expected- her weight 6lbs they said the before her time accounts for the little weight. Dolores my beloved, may all the angels praise you for the labor that was yours. -

I'd like to go with my wife and child to a wood - with the condition that never once would we look back to see if they've caught sight of us. The intense degrees of rudeness that one has to put up with in his life would be enough to bow a soul for life, but the movement outside makes it seem as if he were whole when a truth the integument lies: he's in tears all the times.

There is failure in all of us: shall I keep on writing?

Oh, yes! I made a mistake about the time of Claudia's birth - found out for certain it was 10:42 am Anyway, she's still a before-noon baby.
The mornings and nights are getting cooler, but the afternoon's remain as hot as ever.
I do not know where any of this will take me: beginning and end are caught in the now that is contingent?

What am I doing here? feel myself wasting away under a job that says I must give thought to poetry only when there's free time - why have I allowed myself to be drawn into another injurious open market?
did I have a better choice back there?
Each day I learn a little more - but what constitutes this growth? Just that today one's older than he was yesterday - only to discover that I'm still unemployed.
In denying the contemplative life we do so in order to get the whole population into the labor field and thereby "create" an industrial hierarchy that is we are used for the purpose of holding up those on top.

To keep on writing out the diurnal only to put it aside - forever -

I wish these last moments of summer would pass away. As a child I loved winter: why? as a boy I continued in this love - again why? in my late twenties I went out to spring and summer; now in my early thirties I long for winter stirring because of the approach of spring better: I long for winter (that in those final moments of winter) ready to give way to spring - if one knew the why of the child's ache, one wouldn't have too much trouble in surmising the grown man's ache for past time; but unfortunately there are some circumstances which upon investigation reap only unknowns - by way of parenthesis, happiness is an equal brated state, it is not an acquiescence to the conditions at large that is to say, fulfillment of difference is not a condition of the material ideal. - It's indeed unusual to find myself in memory as the little boy in mackinaw and cap playing in the snow a little before 5 on a day when all its grayness seemed gathered about the heart: that is to find it cropping up so often. Is it possible that each time my responsibilities become too burdensome, an image of that forlorn little boy in the snow appears?

Thursday, September 23, 2010

Cid Corman's Review on The Prefiguration

Click on images to enlarge.
From the Chicago Review a copy through Steven Fama.
Thank you Steven.

Saturday, September 18, 2010

Frank Samperi Quadrifarium

Paradiso Canto Primo

La Commedia es Forma Eterna—no arte medieval; por tanto, cualquier evaluación crítica está fuera de lugar, porque la crítica es una orientación cuyo criterio no es la liberación sino el retorno, esto es, la peregrinación es retorno pero un retorno que de ninguna manera es un aspecto de la reducción, lo que quiere decir que cualquier hombre que se aproxime a la Commedia debería aproximarse a ella humildemente, buscando adquirir esa pureza necesaria para un movimiento cuya resolución es todo lo que antes fue, es decir, el Convivio no es negación ma maggiormente giovare per questa quella.

Maraviglia sarebbe in te, se, privo
 d’impedimento, giù ti fossi assiso,

com’a terra quïete in foco vivo.

Invocación que precede el tema en una parte più e meno altrove—el recuerdo incapaz de proseguir más allá, es decir, la visión totalmente satisfecha, el lenguaje, medio para un fin, que inevitablemente se vuelve sobre sí mismo. Invocado Apolo, el Poeta revela el virgiliano all’ultimo lavoro, siendo la implicación Beatriz como guía, que resuelve el deseo épico, la canzone justificada, la metáfora prosódica de la terza rima Dal centro al cerchio, e sì dal cerchio al centro: por tanto, los cimientos paradisíacos, la proyección es el futuro, otros poetas que se mueven similarmente, relacionan, complementan.—Beatriz gira a la izquierda, mira hacia el sol: la mirada más fija que la de un águila—el Poeta, peregrino que desea el retorno, refleja la mirada, coligiendo de ella una transformación oltre nostr’uso. Tu non se’ in terra…; el tema più e meno atraído, esto es, natural, sensible, volitivo, que revela lo contemplativo, lo activo in ’l ciel sempre quïeto ne qual si volge quel c’ha maggior fretta; lo literal como aspecto de lo espiritual, no un aspecto el espíritu, el Espíritu Santo el espíritu una identificación. Puesto que la creación se inclina hacia Dios, y la materia otorgada disposta e apparecchiata, la revelación es la metáfora: la forma y la materia de creación en perfecta aquiescencia, es decir, desde el punto de vista del artista, el universo no es un impedimento.

Friday, September 17, 2010

Senno Frank Samperi from Dante's Inferno


It was wonderful to work with Alec on this dedication to my father.

Click on image to enlarge.

Wednesday, September 15, 2010

Morning & Evening

sobre                  On
un                         a
puente                bridge

tras                     behind
las                         branches
ramas                  an

un                       angel-
ángel                     a
un                       memory

del                      of
mar                       sea
un                       a

anhelo                longing
del                        for
hogar                 home

esparcidos          scattered
por                      by
la                        the

danza                  dance

A poem from the Morning & Evening in The Prefiguration, 1971 -
This poem comes to you translated by Mario Dominguez Parra

Saturday, September 11, 2010

Lamentations Part 2

4/6/64 - The Voyage to Japan.

A sea voyage: we're supposed to get under way at 9 pm, it it now 4:30 pm. Standing at port-hole looking out on tractors, etc, this class 3 cargo liner's teleology I am moved to turn my direction toward a troop ship (?) that dominates the right: the water's present movement is quiet, which sort of ease's even the objects most conducive toward rendering the will tortuous.
The time for getting under way has now been extended to 10 - Dolores is resting: we shall go out on deck - on out coats of course - to see the shore slowly pulling away from the ship -
Not good to make any comments for the quality of objects confronting us - the high seas should be one site vast enough to take the stress all responses. The simplicity one must at all times cultivate, so that every action humanely moved is in the blood because of a tender predisposition.
Even this writing can evince a similar structure - for instance, sitting in the lounge a picture-window holding in its defining lines a number of freight trains next the sea against mist coming from the mountains as back ground for the freight trains, one is led to pay least attention to the words around him, for the vision tends to hold where as the noise is a source of unrest: to whom?
to what? no answer for what is at bottom a line of vision. I do have some fears that this voyage is purpose may end in despair, but they are probably due to the same quality of unrest that is consequent upon noise. What has caused me to use noise as a choice metaphor? no doubt about it: the ship is at all times humming (below breathing?) the life is in the breath!
The sky passed out under the Golden Gate Bridge - we could hardly say our feeling was one of awe: it was too dark! The sea comes to my imagination in the form of a ceaseless churning of tar -
and the land falling off its sides is the piteous mask of the apparential.

(First published in the Italian Americana Volume XXI Summer 2003 - Edited by John Martone)

Thursday, September 9, 2010

Click on image to enlarge.

To Frank and Dolores and Claudia Catherine
With love Louis Zukofsky 9/10/64.

Dear Frank
Felicities - we're glad all went well. Blessings etc
One of the quotations I value most in Bottom is from Chekhov - "when I philosophize I lye terribly". Enough said if you want melody to survive. Your near distance friend can't afford free bottoms for the poor, but consoles himself found objects are lighter- and the less weight one carries the better. Free hugs all around, etc. Louis

Wednesday, September 8, 2010

Louis Zukofsky - Found Objects.

A signed copy from Louis to Frank 1964.


It is good to end the volume on my beloved Dolores' birthday - true all day it has rained, but the light alone has its own way of brightening up. To continue where I left off may be the stress that next volume must resolve; however,
this much is certain: a new cadence must be heard as complement to this. The garden I've wandered thru has I hope left some fragrance of itself in my words - the light falling by degrees until all is shadows till retained by the memory
(it's revivifies) and the eyes rapt over love stare only at the sky's clearest blue.

Courtsey of The Fales Library, Special Collections, New York University

My mom's passing one year ago 9/9/2009

Dolores Samperi -1929 - 2009

now I make
my songs
for you-
I don't need
a window
at least
not the one
seeing you
and Claudia
as branch
over water
at the foot
of a hill
in morning
(From The Prefiguration)

Monday, September 6, 2010

Letters to Cid Corman


Dear Cid,

Well, I've reached bottom - I've lost another job but this time Welfare has me - What can I do?
4 years ago I was bringing in $36 a week - should've been on Welfare then, but no! I'm breaking under all this financial stress - yet I've continued to write - just finished a little prose work
(30 pages) Anti-Hero.... but I'm burdening you with my troubles -


I have a strong desire to know, but it is now certain that I'll never know the name of my father. I've never condemned my mother and father - true The Trinity is full enough to take the place of dead parents but I've always seen them as justified lovers despite conventions. I must be improving: years ago the circumstances of my birth could only be whispered. -


Well, I finally came up with a title for the 110 page book: Quadrifarium.
I'm grateful to you for allowing correspondence to take place: your letters are looked for here. You are obviously a man who holds no grudges.
Will wrote me that he's going to send The Prefiguration to Sackheim - hope Sackheim likes the work: I need a publication that'll show me to advantage. Space is important in my work: that is, I've wondered why this preoccupation with each poem a page to itself: does it stem from my fear of crowds? Also, the packed, condensed line (I understand Chinese, Japanese lines similar - of course, also, Virgil, Dante)...


You've, made me very happy - I've longed to see Morning & Evening printed since '66 - now it's done - I see it better now. Thank you for your concerned interest.


I can't believe you're writing an "essay" on The Prefiguration. Only last year I was pronounced a nervous wreck, and now this year a book and your kindness an essay.
The richness of The Prefiguration is implicit - proper names are kept at a minimum: Augustine is a figure, altho never mentioned by name: even so, simplicity is pursued as a desired end and complexity is rejected as confusion; therefore, the book is in opposition to the modern spirit, but is not out to eradicate it. -

Courtsey of The Lilly Library, Indiana University, Bloomington, Indiana.

Friday, September 3, 2010

Back in my college days at SUNY Purchase I studied fine art and printing making.
One of my favorite was lithography - SUNY Purchase had a large number of lime stones for lithography.
The physicality of the printing process was accelerating and I remember many late nights in the print shop experimenting with this wonderful medium called lithography.


50 copies signed by Frank Samperi and Will Petersen.
Click on image to enlarge.

Morning & Evening - 1967

Morning & Evening - 1967

for Aunt Fran and Aunt Yolie
to repay
but the revelation
the debt

Love Frankie

Tuesday, August 31, 2010


Click on image to enlarge.


Published by Hawkhaven Press, San Francisco in 2004.
Printed, designed and bound by William Cirocco.
William Cirocco's works include works by Robert Lax, David Miller, Frank Samperi and Thomas A. Clark.

Sunday, August 29, 2010

Wednesday, August 25, 2010

Click on image to enlarge.

Poem - pages 97 - 99

Click on image to enlarge.


Taken from Caterpillar 8/9 - "A Gathering of the Tribes"

Frank Samperi: Anamesis.

Tuesday, August 24, 2010


Received a letter from Will - he seems unduly concerned with the persistency of rain in Japan
(that is, he seems to attribute his despair to rain (his scapegoat?): is there a more hidden cause of his malaise? which is the phenomenal cause, the internal or the external? - I am composing for him a "tragicomic" Ballad not anything, "in the last analysis" for future generations, just something for a friend (no use to "harp" on this inherent antilogy - just something personally given - not for public use).
Ballad for Poor Folk
There is a man
whose name's Knarf
(Who'd, by the way,
Never be seen in June

Without a scarf);
He trudges, it seems
all day thru puddles
of rose petals
Mumbling to himself
What's the season?
Thus he fares, mooning
About, and missing

His meals: but when
The amethyst-saffron
Carpet of evening
'S laid out,

Then he bucks up
And goes to a hill,
Where, amid hungry
Children and animal

Wails he suddenly
Falls to his knees
And prays to become
Ascent of memory.

Friday, August 20, 2010

Jacket Magazine - Jamie Towsend

J. Townsend
Spiritual Man, Modern Man:
The Poetics of Frank Samperi

First Light

In the face of shifting contemporary concerns, political, social, ontological, the concept of creative writing as a sacramental act is challenging one; challenging in the sense that the definition of individuality is refigured to encompass both the singular and the plural; the conception of self gains and loses in equal measure.

Please click on the link below to read more..

Jacket Magazine

Tuesday, August 17, 2010

June 6, 1963

Why aren't we convinced by Marx's argument?
I think it is simply a case of fatuous lunk-headedness to rest our position in that its basis is material - e.g. while the increment of injustice is greater than ever (which ain't no lie, for as Marx said: the more the accumulation of capital increases the greater is the "creation" of the proletariat - his exact words are: accumulation of capital is, therefore, increase of the proletariat - therefore; a more agonizing whip for the realization of "Surplus-value") we ponder the true or falseness of the mind is conceived eternal only is so far as the body is conceived under a form of eternality.

Courtsey of The Fales Library, Special Collections, New York University.

Sunday, August 15, 2010

Arturo Benedetti Michelangeli

My father's favorite pianist. We listened to him all through our child hood.

If my father had not been a poet he would have been a pianist or an opera singer.
There are times when as an artist we truly are the instrument of God. Michelangeli was that instrument.
Classical music was in the background always as David and I grew up on the lower east side with all the noise of the city. Inside the romantic sounds surrounding our walls gave us the feeling of a safe haven. CW.

Sunday, August 8, 2010

1950 - 1952

My father in uniform in 1950 with his grandmother, aunts and uncle. His aunt to the right, Aunt Yolie took care of him when his mother passed when he was just 11 years of age.
I am not sure where this was taken but probably in Long Island.
Dad looks so happy. CW

Wednesday, August 4, 2010

The first poem of Song Book

This is one of my favorite poems!

Song Book (1960)

A poem to his beloved wife, Dolores.

June 5, 1963

Dolores said Song Book aught to be re-printed, this time in a more sure manner - that is do away with the delicate print. There is something to her wish.
To-day, after 3 yrs, I received $7.50 for 6 copies of my Song Book. Yes! my first payment. I think one could "justifiably" rant against the system that categorizes the artist as a producer of non-use values as well as the system that categorizes "him" as a producer of use-values - that is, gives this epoch, "both" can't - their lie of course which isn't necessary - help cozening "him".

Courtesy of The Fales Library, Special Collections, New York University.