By John Wieners
San Francisco 1958-9, prefaces via L Warsh & F Howe
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Extra resources for 707 Scott Street: The Journal of John Wieners (Sun & Moon Classics)
Nocturnal goals are misplaced, the acts we not stay go back to hang-out us in our goals. fifty six through sense/impulses fying me off her crescent on his breast. jogging over the land like arms beating out a rhythm I do not realize' pay attention. it truly is Morse code from the goddess, And jingle bells within the ju"gl.. Mambah. s7 Jaly zz And so now I sit down on my own in the home with the lighting on and alternatives up pace the tide does with the emerging of the waning/ moon. Lex Ba,xter beating his drums at the phonograph. and the z young children asleep at the porch the lady coated in blankets. evening I thinkwith wild cries and a cymbal clashes someplace within the jupgle. An uptown beat. pace. try and hold keep watch over of the pace, dont fy just like the night celebrity Venus from the ocean. off How purple she is this night Love descends at the land. The checklist ends. With no different phrases yet hers within the evening. tin cans take over this poem. A dermis stretched over bamboo blows out Cuban blues within the evening like Chicago. East within the urban I dont wanna pass not more. I wanta be unfastened because the breeze that blows the waves onto the shore. fifty eight July z3 He concept: What subsequent to do? He desired to remain in the home beside her, her spirit relocating via the rooms; the door used to be open to the porch and the waves have been there. The boy was once crying, quite whining within the subsequent room. He could cease. He used to be bored. He was once no longer stirred via the emerging of the waves. they might roar for aeons in this seashore after him. Who will be right here to listen to them. The boy were despatched outdoor. He got here again in sobbing to the rest room, and the gid was once sucking a honey dew melon. Motor boat roared within the bay. It used to be July and the puppy days. He inspiration what is a poet doing writing prose? the place are the phantoms he had referred to as down with evening. long past with the evening. Writing he knew was once an discomfort. From what resource it sprang he didn't understand. That the gods weren't with him now he knew. yet he felt that the recording of that truth used to be vital. The cqnng at the doorstep had started back. And the lady got here in calling: Mommy do you uant to determine a sailboat? | am a silent guy, he concept. How am i able to ever amuse a girl? Fill her lifestyles with a constitution that may aid her and prop her for the lifestyles they'd left jointly. The wind is a girl, he notion, yet he knew that used to be now not actual. And that this compulsive writing now not a effective act for the home. however the home is a girl, he inspiration and so he went open air. fifty nine He sat within the massive eco-friendly chair overlooking the ocean. He had replaced pens from a ball aspect one to a fountain. He had taken offhis blouse and there have been grapes in his l6ft hand. A computer whirred at the porch subsequent to theirs and the waves lapped on the pilings in the back of him. He ate a grape and spit the seed into the ocean, crushing it first by chance among his tooth. it truly is negative, he notion, to be a reporter of the moment. One needs to be there forever. He ate one other. there has been a hill in the back of the home, like a gargantuan dad or mum of the home. Its summit attaining a top precisely in entrance in their entrance door, which opened onto a boardwalk which ended in a bit of land now not wider than five toes which ran among the hill and sea, alongside that little bay of homes which she referred to as Cat Fisb Roru.