Thursday, July 28, 2011
Monday, July 25, 2011
Saturday, July 23, 2011
Yes, towards a reading here, let us hope in the Fall.
That per se ipsum, being willing (as even in The Commedia) to be pleonastic, to be sure our
sleepy wits don't stray -
how be arrives in V.N. a percipient wakeful audience. How accurate that excess is -
it is well D is not one of those who whine about proportion; always, to look deeper, like
the snow-smitten farmer at The Canto's start.
Things fall from me, language, lives; remember nothing. Not servility but a weak, weakest, Saturius
(symbol, retrograde, symbols) it is the damon of by productivity (or if I believe by reistness my
prolixity) - I can remember nothing to the purpose I've ever spoken, so must engage the event
anew. I have no "Plattheit fur jeves Bedurtris like the ususe literatus.
(You speak of Origin, and I think of how purissant Cid's must be!)
To share with you - passing over the Berkshires on Tuesday towards Boston, the miles near Becket
brought us through a crystal forest, yellow of willow, red of alder, greens of the needle - trees all
sheathed in the morning's ice-storm. Thirty miles of such beauty! Ice, speaking like silicon
of time did not exist - fur of a past animal, hard pellage soft under fur: sable of the northern world.
My best to you and your work, be well.
I have heard Arturo B-M will play this year in New York. Do you know when?
(Very hard to read the letters that Robert wrote to Frank - I have scanned the letter so others may see each word) Thank you to Robert Kelly to give me permission to post these wonderful letters to Frank.
Friday, July 15, 2011
24 March 77
my last letter to you bogged down in an excited list of 40 signs (onpiata) all through my life gesturing
me towards Italian; bogged and never sent. But I went on to Him of Firenze, & worked all winter (early'76)
on the canzoniere till I had drafts of all of them in translation. (I had taken that risk angered & offended by what passed as translation, esp. Mendel baum's (ho -stamm, he) of the Francesca Canto.) Now imagine how pleased I am to have Alfa ed O in hand, the delight of reading a text that has the dexterity of verse & the matter of human intellectual discourse. It is very good of you to send it.
Last year I'd hoped to have you up to read at Bard, & I kept telephoning -
Let me know if that would suit you some time (I'm on leave this term & not much at the school).
I left a message once with one who answered -
How goes the Paradiso?
Anguri, & be well -
From ALPA ed O by Frank Samperi, 1976, printed in Kyoto, Japan
The key to an accurate translation
of the last of Par., XX is in the
balance between lo guizzo and
--exhaustion is on the side of achievement,
never on the side of inspiration...
--in life we're under the burden of
death, but in art we're in Spirit...
--only under the glorified body (thru Lumen Gloriae),
the advaitic is our art Eternal (whole)...
There is nothing more odious than
the modern doctrine of the coevality
of events taking place on a terrestrial
Unscrupulous tactics: play one hand
against the other because one hand
that isn't the other feeds the other.
The Commedia (Paradiso specifically)
is not one single image, in truth, it
is no image, because there is no final
Saturday, July 9, 2011
Wednesday, July 6, 2011
The ABCs of Robert Lax, edited by David Miller and Nicholas Zurbrugg.
Seven Poems (for Robert Lax).
Who props me
thus the age
the tide out
stick and dog
I saw the angel
behind the roses
in the garden
no one else
saw the wings
I am sure
the knowledge is there
I see you
you see me
Void of thought
so no light
to flower in-
but not void
to hide in-
a light unto themselves
full moon reflection
of the curve
of the patio
Friday, July 1, 2011
Not the former
I waiter, etc - but
what the printers
did. But there are
finally some alternatives
in the offering.
In any event-
the poetry comes-
than this. And
But no one-
short of death-
Locked in ourselves
dreaming of hope
So many sills
gaping. We die
until we die.
The bane of
and the point.
It could snow tonight.
If feels like it. You
have to listen close
to catch the sound of
that first flake. The new
nuance of silence.
Opening the door
onto the back porch
scaring a sparrow
only a fool but
a gross intruder.
The first word
and the last
are to be
for we re-