• Bodhisattvacharyavatara
    • Introduction
    • Chapter 1
    • Chapter 2
    • Chapter 3
    • Chapter 4
    • Chapter 5
    • Chapter 6
    • Chapter 7
    • Chapter 8
    • Chapter 9
    • Chapter 10
  • collected works
    • 25th August 1981 – count Up
    • askance From Hell
    • Batman
    • The Boats of Vallisneria by Michael J. Redford
    • Bob 1995-2012
    • Edward Hopper: Poems at an Exhibition
    • David Bowie Movements in Suite Major
    • Eglinton Hill
    • FLOORBOARDS
    • Granada
    • in and out / the Avebury stones / can’t seem to get / a signal …
    • Lapping Reflections [Deep Within Waters]
    • Miller’s Batman
    • mum
    • nan
    • Portsmouth – Southsea
    • Spring Warwick breezes / over Bacharach fieldwork and boroughs with / the occasional shift and chirp of David / in the pastel-long morning of the sixties
    • through the crash
  • index
    • #A-E see!
    • F–K, wha’ th’
    • L-P 33 1/3 rpm
    • Q-T pie
    • U-Z together forever
  • me
  • others
    • William Carlos Williams
  • poemics
  • poeviews
  • teaching matters
  • wormholes

mlewisredford

~ may the Supreme and Precious Jewel Bodhichitta take birth where it has not yet done so …

mlewisredford

Tag Archives: fingers

The Atlantic City Convention: 1. THE WAITRESS by William Carlos Williams

12 Friday Apr 2019

Posted by m lewis redford in poems

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1928, 6*, arms, Atlantic City, beauty, being, black, blue, candle, cheek, city, colour, communication, daisies, dress, ears, eyes, fingers, glass, green, grey, hair, hands, hips, knuckles, lips, looking, matches, mirror, mouth, movement, open, orange, others, portrait, poverty, red, reflection, ring, ruby, sea, seagull, silence, skin, sound, speech, temptation, thinking, walking, waves, white, William Carlos Williams, windows, woman, wrists, writing

                            1. THE WAITRESS

                No wit (and none needed) but
    the silence of her ways, grey eyes in
    a depth of black lashes–
    The eyes look and the look falls.

    There is no way, no way. So close
    one may feel the warmth of the cheek and yet there is
    no way.

    The benefits of poverty are a roughened skin
    of the hands, the broken
    knuckles, the stained wrists.

                Serious. Not as the others.
    All the rest are liars, all but you.
                                        Wait on us.
    Wait on us, the hair held back practically
    by a net, close behind the ears, at the sides of
    the head. But the eyes–
                            but the mouth, lightly (quickly)
    touched with rouge.

    The black dress makes the hair dark, strangely
    enough, and the white dress makes it light.
    There is a mole under the jaw, low under
    thr right ear–

                And what arms!

                                        The glassruby ring
    on the fourth finger of the left hand.

                                        –and the movements
under the scant dress as the weight of the tray
    makes the hips shift forward slightly in lifting
    and beginning to walk–

    The Nominating Committee presents the following
    resolutions, etc. etc. etc. All those
    in favor signify by saying, Aye. Contrariminded,
    No.
      Carried.
                And aye, and aye, and aye!

    And the way the bell-hop runs downstairs:
          ta tuck a
                ta tuck a
                      ta tuck a
                            ta tuck a
                                  ta tuck a
    and the gulls in the open window screaming over the slow
    break of the cold waves–

                O unlit candle with the soft white
    plume, Sunbeam Finest Safety Matches all together in
    a little box–

                And the reflections of both in
    the mirror and the reflection of the hand, writing
    writing–
                Speak to me of her!-

                –and nobody else and nothing else
    in the whole city, not an electric sign of shifting
    colors, fourfoot daisies and acanthus fronds going from
    red to orange, green to blue–forty feet across–

                                        Wait on us, wait
    on us with your momentary beauty to be enjoyed by
    none of us. Neither by you, certainly,
                                                nor by me.

 

with love from Poems, 1928

 

 

————w(O)rmholes________________________________|—–

beauty & speech wormhole: ‘… and yet I think I am so modest: …’
being wormhole: so, how long is, a piece of string?
black wormhole: Impression of Winter: Carriage on a Country Road, 1872
blue & grey & writing wormhole: Hastings: neither all or nothing
city & William Carlos Williams wormhole: prose piece 2 from POEMS 1927 by William Carlos Williams
communication wormhole: agreed termination without prejudice
eyes wormhole: between
glass & red wormhole: travelling / back
green & woman wormhole: on facing the Have
hair wormhole: SPRING & LINES by William Carlos Williams
hands wormhole: THE LONELY STREET by William Carlos Williams
looking wormhole: waiting to be heard
mirror wormhole: What You Are by Roger McGough
mouth wormhole: glamour of saṃsāra
open wormhole: animus rises – powieview #37
orange & others & walking wormhole: Rain, Steam and Speed – the / Great Western Railway, 1844
reflection wormhole: I
sea & seagull & waves wormhole: Staffa Fingal’s Cave, 1832
silence & sound wormhole: Vue de Pontoise, 1873
thinking wormhole: there will be ovations
white wormhole: alabaster balustrade
windows wormhole: birth in the world

 

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pursued

09 Wednesday Jan 2019

Posted by m lewis redford in poems, poeviews

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1970, 2018, 5*, Batman, branches, cape, doors, fingers, growth, history, holding, land, legacy, opening, purpose, questioning, reaching, responsibility, shadow, society, warp, weft, white, wings

                the clench of cape
                into wing opens heavy doors

                into questioning
                that will be pursued despite

                occasion of legacy
                billowing in after-tow o’er

                hill and vale
                and where leafless branches

                reach, fixed
                in growth, it is fingers will

                pull beyond
                the furl and flack to present

                as white shadow
                in response

 

Detective Comics #403, September 1970, “You Die By Mourning” by Frank Robbins and Bob Brown

 

 

————w(O)rmholes________________________________|—–

Batman wormhole: ‘streetsigns …’
branches & history wormhole: The Boats of Vallisneria by Michael J. Redford – Trees
doors wormhole: A Solitude by Denise Levertov
shadow wormhole: on facing the Have
society wormhole: {reading right to left}
white wormhole: SPRING AND ALL XXII by William Carlos Williams

 

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so / do I keep on writing now I’ve retired, or … / Rumplestiltskin

18 Monday Jun 2018

Posted by m lewis redford in poems

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2017, 6*, consummation, discovery, fingers, gap, gold, grasshoppers, Have, life, light, mind, retirement, Rumplestiltkin, talking to myself, weaving, words, writing

                                                                so
                do I keep on writing now I’ve retired, or …
                                Rumplestiltskin

                                                oh,
                                I have a mind and
                                                oh,
                I can weave gold from any old fibre

                whether you give me your life or not – never
                                a consummation to be made,
                                                never a consummation to be had

                                but
                they have some charm
                                and they have some light
                                                to decipher

                                                makes them sparkle if I twinkle the words finely enough                
                                between the gaps
                fingers working like grasshoppers

 

 

 

————w(O)rmholes________________________________|—–

gold wormhole: mauve
Have & life wormhole: both modern and en-slaved / to life
light wormhole: chuckling
mind wormhole: all the low clouds keeping pace / through the train window, / always arriving, whether fast or / slow, but never actually moving
retirement & talking to myself & writing wormhole: letting them go
words wormhole: turned backs of saddened victory

 

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‘when travelling astrally …’

17 Saturday Mar 2018

Posted by m lewis redford in poems, poeviews

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1964, 2016, 5*, black, clouds, Dr Strange, facade, faces, fingers, purple, sky, Strange Tales, texture, time, travelling, walls, white, windows, world

                when travelling astrally the
                eloquent fingers navigate the
                world which is flat white or
                receding black where the only
                elapse are the hands of time
                and the turn of windows in
                the facades of 3rd dimension
                and gargoyle faces bystand
                on walls; light leans between
                struts and the clouds texture
                the sky like purple worms

 

from Strange Tales #121, ‘Witchcraft in the Wax Museum’, June 1964; Lee & Ditko

 

 

————w(O)rmholes________________________________|—–

black & Dr Strange & time & walls wormhole: coagulating
black & white wormhole: and ‘naerrgh’ a mention of a seagull’s call
clouds wormhole: The Boats of Vallisneria by Michael J. Redford – Making Hay
faces wormhole: turned backs of saddened victory
purple wormhole: with all love released
sky wormhole: between
travelling wormhole: travelling // arrival
windows & world wormhole: frame

 

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green and / luminant / to behold

02 Friday Feb 2018

Posted by m lewis redford in poems

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2012, 5*, balance, being, breakdown, coffee, communication, diagram, distance, ears, eyes, father, fingers, fracture, gardening, gathering, glass, green, holiday, home, listening, looking, luminous, people, school, service station, society, suit, summer, table, talking, terrace, thinking, thumb, woman, work

                                first day summer
                                holiday service station
                                100 miles away from
                                home thinking I
                                don’t fit in with the
                                way things
                                are played

                always looking
                                fractured
                                cracked
                                                from in at the side

                                green and
                                luminant
                                to behold

                                on the terrace
                                two businessmen sit
                                with ledgers coffees
                                the woman listening

                to one
                                                to the other

                                agreeing
                                the diagram
                                on the table

                                the elder sits back
                                dark suit large ear
                                plump throat tanned
                                skin upturned hand
                                emphasising gently
                                beside the diagram
                                thumb to fingers

                slightly gathering
                                like a father
                                                like a gardener

                                occasionally
                                talking with
                                still young
                                green eyes

 

 

 

————w(O)rmholes________________________________|—–

balance wormhole: ‘still …’
breakdown & society wormhole: after all
coffee & woman & work wormhole: Pilot 125 … // … being excursion in the interludes
communication wormhole: Infantino KO
eyes wormhole: two profiles
father wormhole: looking ahead
glass & people wormhole: the silent night of the Batman
green & looking & thinking wormhole: Batgirl –
holiday wormhole: when the rain has settled / the dust
listening wormhole: buttercups
school wormhole: step
table wormhole: immeasurable love
talking wormhole: and // do your ears burn red?

 

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river

26 Tuesday Dec 2017

Posted by m lewis redford in poems

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2015, 6*, being, eye, fingers, floodlights, green, Hulk, light, night, reality, river, silhouette, sky, skyline, wharehouse, wharf, windows

                while masts bob about
                the wharfs and warehouses

                fingers that could snap
                towers like cinder toffee

                hover like another reality
                while the left eye

                questions how it came
                to this – wh’, the skyline

                turns to silhouette, a
                thousand windows hold

                dusty light, beams arc
                the night sky but find

                nothing, overlooking the
                lonely promontory on the

                river

 

 

 

————w(O)rmholes________________________________|—–

being wormhole: looking back over the tack / and jibe of my life I / notice there is / a fetch // after all … / but certainly not / where I had planned / or where I thought / I’d been
green & light & night & river & sky & skyline & windows wormhole: the silent night of the Batman
reality wormhole: Jericho
silhouette wormhole: between

 

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woman / has worked in the gym / got a build

09 Saturday Sep 2017

Posted by m lewis redford in poems

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2014, 3*, allowing, chair, exercise, fingers, flying, forearm, hands, knuckle, letting go, playing, portrait, sitting, weight, woman

                                                    woman
                                has worked in the gym
                                   got a build

                                sits in the chair
                for a thousand miles slacked that ten thousand sit-ups allow
                                hands hold the tablet
                with strategic fingers relaxed
                                that the deadweight has been let go
                playing bejewelled deft as rounded knuckle and
                                veinéd forearm allow

 

 

 

————w(O)rmholes________________________________|—–

allowing wormhole: listen willya
hands wormhole: sleep now
letting go wormhole: forgotten anything
sitting wormhole: dear Lucy
woman wormhole: ‘someone …’

 

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Clea

15 Saturday Oct 2016

Posted by m lewis redford in poems, poeviews

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2016, 5*, brick, circle, claim, Clea, direction, Dormammu, Dr Strange, eyebrow, fingers, fire, gaze, head, identity, looking, morality, obligation, others, path, play, rhyme, self, space, spell, stars, thought

                                                              Clea

                     she is made of circles and stars
                     but gazes only from brick-lined

                     tunnels that hang in space – portals
                     of thought – then eyebrows frown

                     to look, and fingers splay in fanned
                     direction; she will dispel the tiresome

                     play of self and other – claim to
                     claim, rhyme to spell – and obliged

                     a morality to stand firm on its
                     own two feet, despite paths that

                     lead in ribbons and head of open fire

 

through the portals hung in space from Strange Tales #s 126 & 127, by Lee & Ditko

 

 

————w(O)rmholes________________________________|—–

Dr Strange wormhole: “The Lady from Nowhere”
identity wormhole: just one, open, nerve,
looking wormhole: let it all go
obligation wormhole: true nature
others wormhole: even / a second
path wormhole: Lapping Reflections [Deep Within Waters] – … as the new town marches in
play wormhole: Jericho
space wormhole: The Boats of Vallisneria by Michael J Redford – Simon Upon The Downs
thought wormhole: time

 

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[start where you are III] – delve

10 Sunday May 2015

Posted by m lewis redford in announcements

≈ 4 Comments

Tags

2014, being, books, breathing, compassion, detail, emptiness, eyebrow, eyes, faces, feet, fingers, green, hair, hills, identity, laptop, legs, letting go, Lewes, library, lime, looking, mouth, muse, phone, portrait, profile, reading, settling, sitting, sound, speech, stretch, sun, Sylvia Plath, table, talking to myself, thinking, time, travelling, windows, woman, world

                                prologue:

                                start where you are
                                envelopped in the world

                                so do I pry open the locale
                                to see how I am found

                                but careful not to crack the world
                                to see where I am located

                                … no, that’s not it

                                not prying open
                                but you don’t become stuck

                                in matter or location (and neither
                                become lost in daydream or script)

                                rather

                                you look where you are and
                                receive it with compassion and all the detail

                                flowing in without resistance and
                                whenever I evince judgement – ‘thinking’ –

                                let it sink back into view like
                                brushed paint onto a second coat

                                never located
                                always travelling

                                scene 1:

                                three women in the quieter
                                study area of the library

                                              delve

                                a cough when I sat to join the table
                                an ‘excuse me’ a look up a wink –
                                was that a wink? – she reads lime highlights
                                and Evian, arms crossed prop the book like
                                a lap top over the edge of the table
                                a book on museum ethics awaiting
                                her right eyebrow crooked naturally to read

                                unplugged, but she has a good hour
                                on the central table, she plinks and
                                brinks open and sits still as a hill range
                                receding only the corner of her mouth
                                and lip-emote and deft at the text
                                the clear green eyes flick and decide
                                at the corrections to be made

                                legs crossed ankle boots
                                foot pointing circling retrieving
                                boot cuffs clapping slightly behind
                                while reading, then stopped when editing
                                round chin profile, raggedy hair
                                spun in constant bun brow raise –
                                mess of poised fingers work the keyboard

                                interlude:

                                I delved awhile into ‘Stars Over
                                The Dordogne’ – falling
                                presentiment – and looked up

                                scene II:

                                my boot-circler was gone, just gone –
                                I didn’t see her leave – was she even there?

                                but the sun had moved window-
                                tinted across their faces

                                one had shiny hair and breathed
                                regularly head-collapsed

                                the other placed her book flat on the table
                                keep the sun off her face on her ponytail

                                scene III:

                                during ‘The Rival’ unplugged was called
                                she had to go to Nero’s to check her link

                                (library censorship – smirk in her lilt)
                                she stretched long and distant …

                                … then gathered and left

                                dénouement:

                                I wrote the scenes I checked the dictionaries
                                time to go, ‘oh’ she said tapping her phone

                                ‘time flies …’ I said, ‘yes, but I feel I haven’t
                                got anywhere’; ‘but you’ve been here all along;

                                all four of us’
                                I didn’t say …

 

already, there is a sequel in post-production, coming to a post near you soon: all the distance I have travelled!

 

 

————w(O)rmholes________________________________|—–

being & emptiness & identity & letting go wormhole: fall
books & travelling wormhole: Desolation Angels
breathing & settling wormhole: … back to the outbreath
compassion & faces & lime & speech wormhole: Brugges April 2015 – looking lost
eyes wormhole: gazing at the night / as my eyes passed the jagged hole / my head disappeared
feet & table wormhole: gold wedding band
green wormhole: “King …”
hair wormhole: sight / seeing
hills wormhole: the poppies / of van Gogh
Lewes wormhole: the Buddha head in an antique shop
looking & sitting & sound wormhole: prologue-ing
mouth wormhole: new year’s eve 2014; train up to London to / walk the bridges across the Thames, and / listen to the voices say it is, and was, like, / but get back home before the fireworks / obliterate it all in the emptying twilight
muse wormhole: oh,
reading & Sylvia Plath wormhole: on the raised patio reading Plath
sun & windows wormhole: heirloom – break / after heavy shower
talking to myself wormhole: really old
thinking wormhole: relapse
time wormhole: time proceeds
woman wormhole: End Israeli / Apartheid
world wormhole: mass

 

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Jean Miller kissed Salinger

14 Tuesday Oct 2014

Posted by m lewis redford in poems

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'scape, 2014, 6*, blue, breeze, clouds, coffee, cream, curtains, doors, dress, evening, fingers, Gran Canaria, horizon, leaves, morning, open, palm tree, reading, Salinger, stopped, stucco, suddenly, summer, sun, talking to myself, taxi, terrace, time, writing

 

 

 

                                now let’s see
                those same leaves on the palm frond waving
                alternately like flippy fingers, same as this morning
                                have stopped
                                awhile

                                yes, and the
                light blue rough stucco wall dividing our terrace
                120 from 121 is lined cream coffee by the sun
                                twenty five
                                to nine and

                                the curtain
                by the open door hangs slightly billowing
                like the morning of the first dress of the summer
                                the day
                                I read

                that Jean Miller kissed Salinger in the taxi
                and continued after the sun dipped below the
                                cloudhorizon
                                suddenly

 

 

 

————w(O)rmholes________________________________|—–

blue & clouds wormhole: cloud
breeze & leaves wormhole: no hat
coffee wormhole: we’re born // to die
curtains wormhole: achieving good-enough living
doors wormhole: the Buddha head in an antique shop
evening wormhole: deeper
horizon wormhole: Batman#175
morning & sun & time wormhole: corroboration
open wormhole: oh-pen too
reading wormhole: letters to Mum V – carrying on in duty and love
talking to myself wormhole: extrapolates
writing wormhole: sunny morning

 

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… Mark; remember …

"... the impulse to keep to yourself what you have learned is not only shameful; it is destructive. Anything you do not give freely and abundantly becomes lost to you. You open your safe to find ashes." ~ Annie Dillard

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  • Bodhisattvacharyavatara
    • Chapter 1
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    • Chapter 4
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    • Chapter 7
    • Chapter 8
    • Chapter 9
    • Introduction
  • collected works
    • 25th August 1981 – count Up
    • askance From Hell
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    • Bob 1995-2012
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    • Eglinton Hill
    • FLOORBOARDS
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    • in and out / the Avebury stones / can’t seem to get / a signal …
    • Lapping Reflections [Deep Within Waters]
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    • Portsmouth – Southsea
    • Spring Warwick breezes / over Bacharach fieldwork and boroughs with / the occasional shift and chirp of David / in the pastel-long morning of the sixties
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recent leaks …

  • “…and may the great elements…”
  • paisley // implicitly
  • this pocketed being
  • the inevitable tock // when we close our eyes
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  • me
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  • YOUNG WOMAN AT A WINDOW by William Carlos Williams
  • 'in my car I pass...'
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category sky

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tag skyline

'scape 2* 3* 4* 5* 6* 7* 8* 20th century 1967 1979 1980 2008 2009 2010 2011 2012 2013 2014 2015 2016 2017 2018 2019 acceptance afternoon air Allen Ginsberg anxiety architecture arm in arm attention awareness Batman beach beauty bedroom being birds birdsong black blue Bodhisattvacharyavatara books Bowie branches breakdown breathing breeze brown Buddha buildings career Carol cars change child childhood children city clouds coffee shop colour combe end comics communication compassion compromise crane creativity curtains dancing dark death distraction divorce doing doors dream Dr Strange earth echo Edward Hopper Eglinton Hill emergence emptiness evening eyes faces family father feet field floorboards garden Genesta Road girl giving glass gold grass green grey growth haiku hair hands Have hedge hill hills history holiday hope horizon house houses identity kitchen leaf leaves lemon letting go life lifetimes light lime listening living London looking lost love management managerialism mauve meaning mind mist moon morning mother mouth movement Mum muse music night notice open openness orange others park passing pavement people performance management pink Plumstead poetry pointlessness politics portrait posture power practice professionalism purple purpose quiet rain reaching reading realisation reality red requires chewing river roads roof rooftops samsara sea searching seeing settling shadow shops silence silhouette silver sitting sky skyline sleep smell smile snow society sound space speech step stone streetlight streets sun sunlight superhero table talking talking to myself teaching teaching craft Thames thinking thought time train travelling trees true nature university voices walking walls water waves white William Carlos Williams wind windows wood Woolwich words work world writing years yellow zazen

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