, ,


The rules are:

1. Thank and link back to the person who awarded you
2. Nominate fifteen bloggers for the Award – link to their site (and notify them)
3. State seven things about yourself

                                                                      ~~~ “O” ~~~

1. Tazein gets up every morning and showers in … awards!   She is inundated with them at the moment (have a look at her site).   She has bestowed one of them on me, which is very sweet of her.

2. I would consider a versatile blogger one who plays with the endless diversity of being in all the forms it comes in.   It is not necessarily a blogger who treats of a wide range of topics.   Here are my nominations; I am not sure I will get to fifteen of them:

Daphne Ogyen
Jessica leBaron
miriam louisa
not all the English drink tea
emina redzic

3. Acceptance Speech (including – possibly – seven things about myself, or at least my writing; or not)

I think there is a symbiotic connection between writing and being.   By themselves, writing is just reporting and being is unnoticed.   When writing and being come together there is … breathing.   And poetry.   There is a marvellous alchemy that takes place when the word is invoked on the [inner or outer] breath, whether it is written or sung ‘makes no difference; the word coagulates the reality like a culture in yogurt (‘in the beginning was the word …’); to be ‘inspired’ – etymologically – is to breathe in the smoke of the offerings to gods; I started writing when JD Salinger offered me a blooming bunch of parentheses, when Steve Englehart included me as integral to the climax of Dr Strange #9 (Aug 1975), when Basho’s frog jumped into the old pond, when Allen Ginsberg showed me what it meant to be angel-headed in utter candour; these eminences showed me that there was an immanence in words which I could explore … which I could be; later (… rather, eventually) I began to sit and found that the being that I sought to am [sic] was the very words I wrote to see               sometimes, when it came together (when it stayed on the spot and I didn’t blow it all by trying too hard to write).   Therefore the practice of poetry is neither to report, nor to forget, but to create reality aware-ingly.   Not egomaniacally (which is impossibly omnipotent) and neither psychotically (a box trapped by its own six walls) but aware-ingly – the centre-less play, endlessly (here it comes …) VERSATILE, between the mind and the endless void of potential it finds itself in.   This is a theme I am fascinated with and have collected a lot of the more ostensible pieces together: writing and being



being wormhole: nightmare
writing wormhole: preoccupied