Tom Raworth's Blues

Does the poem bypass the Organization of Meaning? Swiftly,
in the second line, comes “introspection” – which is the idea
of an entered mind, apparently. An inner-ear speleologist.
At a cursory glance it resembles Henry James’ rug
thrown over a garble of mis-penned verbiage. Then
there’s the sinister windmill burning outside the window.
Quixotes in toy fire trucks weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!
Primitive as these literal pleasures are they’re no mind-readers.
Hiding the not-yet-perished cell-motes in a jar, in a drawer,
on the off-chance. Not all keep their ugly lexicons stashed.
In the meantime one travelled – a summary of forceful
quizzical luddites, senescent out of boredom. Money-curse
not diversified refusal. A difficult adagio. Bert Brecht also died,
decrying the Organization Man’s flagrantly hacked sub-ego.
It keeps things afloat that don’t exist. Or they do
but underwhelm initially like the opposite of hypochondria.
Consolation was missionary grift.




[ Louis Armand is the author of the novels The Combinations (2016), Cairo (2014), and Breakfast at Midnight (2012). In addition, he has published several recent collections of poetry – including East Broadway Rundown (2015) & The Rube Goldberg Variations (2015) – & is the author of Videology (2015) & The Organ-Grinder’s Monkey: Culture after the Avantgarde (2013). He lives in Prague.]

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