02-27-2022, 03:21 AM
This, like everything with me, is part of a series in a book. It was called Opal, and I wrote it in spring of 2007.
I've since reworked some of the poems and have them saved as standalone ones.
There was a theme of reincarnation. Opal reflecting many colors. Many individual lives.
There was a series of bodies, Groucho Marx's strong wit mixed with the idea of going senile, such a mind losing its wit, was a theme in the book.
I used years, and ideas of the wiccan and other things' idea of Summerland, the place the soul rests before reincarnation, to finding fitting Figures to compare and be the new lives of. I had Groucho leave his body and inhabit Philip Dick, as explanation of Dick's "madness" at that time. So I have Philip Dick possessed by Groucho Marx poems. Finding synchronicities in their lives and works, and weaving a poetic texture out of it all.
I was born to the day that, according to the numbers I was using, someone would be reincarnated as Philip Dick, based on the day he died.
So then I begin speaking as myself, having come aware of all the former lives I've had.
I don't know if that sounds interesting to others. But it did to me at the time. And I went full into it.
And Dick's obsession with his twin sister added to my recurring theme of the love of one's Double.
I'm giving so much supplement paragraphs on my poems lately, because I've been weaving these things together for so long, standalone poems are going to make less and less sense.
In my mythos, all possible contexts overlap. Hells, oblivions, limbos.
I've not yet got around to conjuring a Heaven into my writing. All Heavens, as they do, turn out to be mirages of ideals. At least thus far.
The year after this book Opal, I was in New York, and there from that comes the series of misadventuring events that led to the Holy Guardian Angel of later writing coming to uncannily resemble a certain Emily, I've mentioned ad nauseum elsewhere. An Em-ulator, an actress, a Double.
Like James Merrill at his oujia board, I'm weaving a sensible poetics out of all this personal, abstruse material.
I'm burning myself out, hurrying with all this stuff. One never knows when I will be reincarnated as the great-great grandchild of a woman I currently love. That would complicate matters more, I'd say.
And you can imagine those stanzas with the voice of Groucho Marx on the Dick Cavett show in the '70s, speaking with great love and solemnity about his brothers.
I've since reworked some of the poems and have them saved as standalone ones.
There was a theme of reincarnation. Opal reflecting many colors. Many individual lives.
There was a series of bodies, Groucho Marx's strong wit mixed with the idea of going senile, such a mind losing its wit, was a theme in the book.
I used years, and ideas of the wiccan and other things' idea of Summerland, the place the soul rests before reincarnation, to finding fitting Figures to compare and be the new lives of. I had Groucho leave his body and inhabit Philip Dick, as explanation of Dick's "madness" at that time. So I have Philip Dick possessed by Groucho Marx poems. Finding synchronicities in their lives and works, and weaving a poetic texture out of it all.
I was born to the day that, according to the numbers I was using, someone would be reincarnated as Philip Dick, based on the day he died.
So then I begin speaking as myself, having come aware of all the former lives I've had.
I don't know if that sounds interesting to others. But it did to me at the time. And I went full into it.
And Dick's obsession with his twin sister added to my recurring theme of the love of one's Double.
I'm giving so much supplement paragraphs on my poems lately, because I've been weaving these things together for so long, standalone poems are going to make less and less sense.
In my mythos, all possible contexts overlap. Hells, oblivions, limbos.
I've not yet got around to conjuring a Heaven into my writing. All Heavens, as they do, turn out to be mirages of ideals. At least thus far.
The year after this book Opal, I was in New York, and there from that comes the series of misadventuring events that led to the Holy Guardian Angel of later writing coming to uncannily resemble a certain Emily, I've mentioned ad nauseum elsewhere. An Em-ulator, an actress, a Double.
Like James Merrill at his oujia board, I'm weaving a sensible poetics out of all this personal, abstruse material.
I'm burning myself out, hurrying with all this stuff. One never knows when I will be reincarnated as the great-great grandchild of a woman I currently love. That would complicate matters more, I'd say.
And you can imagine those stanzas with the voice of Groucho Marx on the Dick Cavett show in the '70s, speaking with great love and solemnity about his brothers.