Thursday, July 28, 2011

In Quo Solus est: to Frank from John Perlman

Courtesy from John Perlman. Thank you John.
A mix of your dad's many spiritual influences there. His sense of the political in that context. Important as gloss & as poetry.

Monday, July 25, 2011

Saturday, July 23, 2011

Letter from Robert Kelly to Frank, 7 April 77 in die Mandati

Dear Frank,
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

Letter to Frank from Robert Kelly, 1977

24 March 77

dear Frank,
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
le fiammette--

--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
intersectional plane.

  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

INTACT by Frank Samperi, 1979

This was a book that seems to have been written for John Perlman at the time.
Thank you John for sharing this book, "Intact" as part of your archive.

Wednesday, July 6, 2011

The ABCs of Robert Lax, 1999

The ABCs of Robert Lax, edited by David Miller and Nicholas Zurbrugg.

Seven Poems (for Robert Lax).
Frank Samperi

Who props me
come evening?
thus the age
the tide out
a person
stick and dog
no answer




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
the place-

so no light
to flower in-

but not void
my thought-

therefore light
to hide in-

in peace
at rest
in via

at peace
in rest
in medio

late turning
of leaves

the trees
a light      unto themselves

full moon reflection

of the curve
of the patio

full snow
in moonlight

Friday, July 1, 2011

Tabernacle by Cid Corman, 1980


For Frank
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-
Much love

Nothing more
than this. And
this enough.

But no one-
short of death-
admits it.

Locked in ourselves
hopelessly and
dreaming of hope

So many sills
gaping. We die
until we die.

Not silent-
night insects-
being born

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

away-feeling not
only a fool but
a gross intruder.

The first word
and the last
are to be

for we re-
main human.