1964

Tags

1964, 2014, 3*, boats, Burt Bacharach, Dionne Warwick, haiku, jumper, searching, wind

                1964

                                down by the fishing
                boats the wind still searches through
                     the aran jumper

 

simply and retrieved from reach out for me by Dionne Warwick & Burt Bacharach

 

 

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1964 Burt Bacharach, Dionne Warwick & wind wormhole: 1964
haiku[esque] wormhole: balance
searching wormhole: sleep now

 

1964

Tags

1964, 2014, 3*, autumn, Burt Bacharach, city, Dionne Warwick, footsteps, hill, morning, sun, walking, wind

                1964

                                        up
                     over the windy hill
                on the sunny morning in autumn
                          the city
                sunk lower with each
                                                   fresh
                                                          step

 

from the chips between walk on by by Dionne Warwick and Burt Bacharach

 

 

^{————w}(O)rmholes_________________________________|—–

1964 & morning wormhole: the skyline
autumn & city wormhole: the too big moon
Burt Bacharach & Dionne Warwick wormhole: 1967
sun wormhole: familiasyncopation
walking & wind wormhole: ‘field of corn …’

 

the skyline

Tags

1964, 2016, 7*, apricot, black, buildings, collosal, Dr Strange, fight, houses, light, Mordo, morning, pink, power, silence, sky, skyline, spell, Stan Lee, statement, Steve Ditko, Strange Tales, world

                the deepening spells must wait
                there is sky to conduct
                and arm to girth the world

                upon a pink apricot morning
                the silent tower was pierced
                oblivious to black boltage of strike;

                protagonist beget defence
                and they grew statemental
                and collosal to dolls’ houses

                they stood on silent levels
                inferred from clamoured storey
                until the light broke

                the skyline

 

from Strange Tales #125, October 1964, “Mordo Must Not Catch Me”, by Lee & Ditko

 

 

^{————w}(O)rmholes_________________________________|—–

apricot wormhole: 1959 –– MANHATTAN –– 2012
black & morning & pink & silence wormhole: Lapping Reflections [Deep Within Waters] – snow
buildings wormhole: passersby
Dr Strange wormhole: traffic lights and broad avenue
light wormhole: Prajnaparamita // Maitreya
power wormhole: poessay III: jijimuge
sky wormhole: woven-through
skyline wormhole: did I get old?
world wormhole: beepbeep

 

“The Lady from Nowhere”

Tags

1964, 2016, 5*, astral travel, being, cat, city, Dr Strange, faces, muse, mystery, night, Strange Tales, time, travelling, veil

                “The Lady from Nowhere”

                and then one night – lost
                above the 2D canyons – he

                rode the wisps downtown
                and found the girl with

                fishnet veil; she stands
                entranced, she sits entranced

                bidding all allure with
                shrouded presence through

                teetering stacks of time
                back to the cat-like face

 

from Strange Tales #124, September 1964, ‘The Lady from Nowhere’ by Stan Lee & Steve Ditko

 

 

^{————w}(O)rmholes_________________________________|—–

being wormhole: magnificent salad
cat wormhole: new garden
city & faces wormhole: was there a moon / on the alleyway wall / confused in front of / the city skyline?
Dr Strange wormhole: languidly close the portal
muse wormhole: Hurst Green
night wormhole: Lapping Reflections [Deep Within Waters] – moment
time wormhole: time
travelling wormhole: and here I am

 

languidly close the portal

Tags

1964, 2016, 5*, anemone, carpet, curtains, doing, Dr Strange, ellipsis, eyes, finding, Greenwich Village, light, pink, quiet, Sanctum Sanctorum, Stan Lee, Steve Ditko, Strange Tales, tree, window frame, windows

        the Eye in Greenwich Village
        casts elliptic light

        across drape and carpet
        striated by frame – but

        he finds what he needs
        under bough of quiet tree;

        in the hostel room, light
        was triangular and leaning

        but when came time to act,
        the sole witness, pink

        anemone in branching shrub,
        saw the beautiful eyes

        languidly close the portal

 

held within from Strange Tales #118 outwards, ‘The Possessed’, March 1964; Lee & Ditko

 

 

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carpet wormhole: carpet worn / to the backing – poewieview #30
curtains wormhole: Lapping Reflections [Deep Within Waters] – moment
doing wormhole: magnetic field
Dr Strange & windows wormhole: fresh destiny
eyes wormhole: The Boats of Vallisneria by Michael J Redford – Safe Home
light wormhole: the purple mist between
pink wormhole: coagulating

 

coagulating

Tags

1964, 2016, 5*, circulation, claim, Dr Strange, eyes, framing, pink, society, speech, Stan Lee, Steve Ditko, Strange Tales, streets, truth, walls

                           both street and screen frame
                           all the truth we can but claim

                           we spell with claim, and elbow
                           and weave a cage of mallow

                           babble all sticky sweet to the
                           merest touch, coagulating

                           during years of circulation
                           into walls with frightened eyes

 

immerging (sic) from ‘The House of Shadows’ in Strange Tales #120, May 1964, by Lee & Ditko

 

 

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Dr Strange wormhole: the purple mist between
eyes & pink & streets wormhole: hello, luvvey, do you want a cup of tea?
society wormhole: gone black
speech wormhole: Lapping Reflections [Deep Within Waters] – mmpph’
walls wormhole: Doctor Strange III – the needs of billions

 

the purple mist between

Tags

1964, 2016, 5*, architecture, becoming, blindness, desire, Dr Strange, gods, identity, inside, light, lunge, middle way, mist, outside, pattern, power, purple, samsara, Sanctum Sanctorum, shadow, Stan Lee, Steve Ditko, Strange Tales, true nature, windows

                     outside and inside are merely
                     framed by the window and

                     the shadow; where shadow
                     is architectural and ornate,

                     there is the Sanctum Sanctorum;
                     on entering one becomes

                     the patterns of past shadows
                     alternately contrasted with

                     one’s own light, most know not
                     that they have entered already –

                     dim under their own
                     machinations; others take the

                     Bigger Picture and illuminate
                     their own self hideous to

                     their godly desire: both the
                     light and the dark will blind you,

                     tripping you to all manner
                     of lunge, there are few,

                     indeed, who will settle for
                     the purple mist between

 

contrasted out from within ‘Beyond the Purple Veil’ in Strange Tales #119, April 1964; written: Stan Lee; drawn: Steve Ditko

 

 

^{————w}(O)rmholes_________________________________|—–

black wormhole: El Palacio, 1946
Dr Strange wormhole: Doctor Strange III – the needs of billions
identity & light & mist wormhole: hello, luvvey, do you want a cup of tea?
power wormhole: lonely and free
purple wormhole: Lapping Reflections [Deep Within Waters] – moment
samsara wormhole: a crack of lightning / in the dark of night
shadow wormhole: weight of high sash windows – poewieview #33
windows wormhole: The Boats of Vallisneria by Michael J Redford – Simon Upon The Downs

 

1964

Tags

1964, 2014, Burt Bacharach, childhood, Dionne Warwick, eyes, hats, love, passing, people, society, true nature, weather

                                              1964

                                              … looking at the love
                                              in everyone’s eyes that
                                              they cannot see under their hats
                                and the weather

 

reach out for me, 1964, my darlings

 

 

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1964 & [Burt] Bacharach & Dionne Warwick wormhole: 1964
eyes wormhole: Lapping Reflections [Deep Within Waters] – the soft canticle of the gourds:
love wormhole: the coming of ‘The Boats of Vallisneria’ by Michael J. Redford
passing wormhole: tripping up to / London town
people & tired wormhole: tired
society wormhole: the policies came to nothing

 

1964

Tags

1960s, 1964, 2014, angel, archetypes, beauty, Burt Bacharach, Diane di Prima, Dionne Warwick, dream, emptiness, feeling, hair, humanity, identity, imagination, life, light, lightning, lime, Manhattan, morning, myth, reality, San Francisco, shadow, streets, table, tectonic plates, the Summer of Love, time, walking, years

 

 

 

                           1964

                           she stood up from the
                           lime-green tablecloth we bought and walked
                           down through the streets
                           between morning shadows …

 

you’ll never get to heaven (if you break my heart): Dionne Warwick, Burt Bacharach, Hal David; soon after I posted this I sat down and had lunch (sultanas and banana in porridge) and read the following passage which was so apropos that I just had to add it to this work; it is by Diane di Prima, “Recollections of My Life as a Woman”, the beginning of chapter 19 – I haven’t asked permission (don’t know how to), but I just wanted to share it, it’s brilliant:

Certain times, certain epochs, live on in the imagination as more than what they ‘actually’ were, and there is always a price to pay for them.   They are, if you look close, times when the boundary between mythology and everyday life is blurred.   The archetypes break out of prison, as it were, and by some collective consent we or many of us, simply choose a myth and live it, heedless of the restrictions of the so-called ‘real world’.   Or we are somehow chosen by the myth we were born to live.   Sometimes with deadly rapidity.

This meeting of world and myth is where we all thought we were going.   Where we thought we wanted to be; it was so beautiful.   Vivid, bright, and deadly, like some tropical flowers.   Not human.   Not cut to our measure.

But we – we couldn’t see that.   Thought we were gods …

‘The 60s’ are often referred to as such a time, though what is usually meant by the term is merely ‘The Summer of Love’ and its aftermath: 1967 and 68.   Tip of the iceburg, if you ask me.

For me most of the 1960s, and on to about 1976, was a time bathed in the mythic.   It was a time when the archetypes stalked the streets of Manhattan, numinous and often deadly.   When angels, incubi, and other dreams of what could be settled in your hair and refused to be brushed aside.   When we see the creatures that lived in the fog worlds of San Francisco as casually as you see your corner grocery.

                                                      .

We had struggled so long and so furiously to find, reach into, the world of our feelings, our secret knowledges, and intuitions, and it was as if Something had caught us up, caught the hand we had slipped through the gap, and that Something was now pulling us in.   Pulling us under.   For as certainly as we knew that behind the facades our parents had lived there was the world of human feeling, behind that world was yet another that sought to claim us.   What I have called the World of Archetypes.   Inexorable bundles of soul purpose, often wearing human or humanoid form, sometimes walking among us.   Without conscience and without regret.   And so beautiful!

As I can tell you now, behind the Archetypes are vast impersonal patterns or textures of energies we might call Orisha.   Or Yidam.

And behind that, perhaps the Void dances, not black, cold, or empty as we have believed, but dancing with light, sheet lightnings spread as a series of surfaces over nothing.   And moving faster than the eye can register.   Even the eye of the mind.

Our downfall was – it was so beautiful.   For us, who had replaced religion, family, society, ethics with Beauty, who saw ourselves as in the service of Beauty, no warnings were understood, no traps anticipated.   To go down in the servive of That – that was the ultimate grace.

But archetypes have their own drama: a vast uncharted cycle of Comedia dell’Arte, which they play out through us, without our informed concent.   And with, ultimate, no concern for human purpose.

And it is not without reason that we have been handed by the science of our time the image, the fact or metaphor, of tectonic plates.   Earth continents floating on a core of molten magma.   As we ourselves float, melting a little, changing shape.   Bumping against each other, lifted by, dependent on, in total chemical exchange with, the molten soul stuff I have here called Archetypes.   That seeks to brek through to the surface wherever the plates are thin.

The plates were very thin in 1964.

 

 

^{————w}(O)rmholes_________________________________|—–

1964 wormhole: sixty four sixty five – poewieview #1
beauty wormhole: [s]
[Burt] Bacharach wormhole: 1963
Dionne Warwick wormhole: nothing to write
dream wormhole: dream career // groggy
emptiness & walking wormhole: and that’s where I are
hair wormhole: Shonagh – poewieview #17
identity wormhole: rhymed
Manhattan wormhole: 1959 –– MANHATTAN –– 2012
life wormhole: mauve
light wormhole: don’t look / at her eyes – poewieview #18
lightning wormhole: first Spring storm
lime wormhole: thick thick fog
morning wormhole: hinged – From Hell ch. V
reality wormhole: top table
shadow wormhole: up on the hill
streets wormhole: tabla
table wormhole: Soir Bleu, 1914
time wormhole: a theremin note – poewieview #21
years wormhole: the sounds of 1969 // [would have] seemed that way – poewieview #13

 

sixty four sixty five – poewieview #1

Tags

1964, 1965, 2016, Bowie, brick, cafe, closed, evening, eyes, future, green, identity, naïveté, office, rain, roads, self, streetlight, streets, time, walking, white, wind, windows

                     sixty four sixty five

                     cutting off windy street
                     down the side-road past
                     the café now closed in

                     the evening night under
                     whitewashed windows
                     out from under the rain

                     and street light where
                     bricks turn seaweed-
                     green, is an office

                     which we all don’t
                     know about; well, I’m
                     gonna make it by my

                     selves strolling up
                     strolling down or
                     standing there making

                     a fool out of me over
                     street corners the next
                     day, with new eyes and

                     boots

 

… OK, maybe NOT every single piece of work, then; well not until he hits his stride and I hit mine; this is – believe it or not – from Bowie’s first cluster of works: Liza Jane, 1964; Louie Louie Go Home, 1964; I Pity the Fool, 1965; Take My Tip, 1965, only one of which was actually written by him; they’re all in there somewhere fore-striding the next day …

 

Read the collected movements in David Bowie: Movements in Suite Major

 

^{————w}(O)rmholes_________________________________|—–

1964 wormhole: 1964
Bowie wormhole: Poewieviews
evening wormhole: Hotel Room, 1931
eyes wormhole: David Bowie – Iris
green wormhole: “walking …”
identity & rain & streetlight & streets & time & wind wormhole: finding my own true nature – Plumstead, Woolwich, 190915
naïveté wormhole: relapse
roads wormhole: portrait: / two pigeons
walking wormhole: walking through Lewes
white wormhole: 1967
windows wormhole: the open window