From “The Horse, The Wheel, and Language” by David Anthony:"When describing an event or condition in Hopi you must use grammatical markers that specify whether you witnessed the event yourself, heard about it from someone else, or consider it to be an unchanging truth. Hopi speakers are forced by Hopi grammar to habitually frame all descriptions of reality in terms of the source and reliability of their information. The constant and automatic use of such categories generates habits in the perception and framing of the world that probably differ between people who use fundamentally different grammars."

From “The Horse, The Wheel, and Language” by David Anthony:

"When describing an event or condition in Hopi you must use grammatical markers that specify whether you witnessed the event yourself, heard about it from someone else, or consider it to be an unchanging truth. Hopi speakers are forced by Hopi grammar to habitually frame all descriptions of reality in terms of the source and reliability of their information. The constant and automatic use of such categories generates habits in the perception and framing of the world that probably differ between people who use fundamentally different grammars."

SENTENCE(S)
I bow in all your directions simultaneously like the sunWill respond more fully when the moon rises and I can read the book

SENTENCE(S)

I bow in all your directions simultaneously like the sun
Will respond more fully when the moon rises and I can read the book

Blast of Past: “1990” was my signature poem for that decade, you could say, & this audio version that’s surfaced must have been from right around the time it was written — interesting to see how the poem evolved into the print version in THE COLLECT CALL OF THE WILD. The performance style is also 100% rant. Make that 1000%!

MICROPHONE

Hear ye! Hear me!
(No way not to hear me)
Electric drill surge through the wax
Of your brain
A crow
Sits on your shoulder, Pirate
Whispering my poems
Don’t let this poem die here
Next line is silence

MICROPHONE

Hear ye! Hear me!

(No way not to hear me)

Electric drill surge through the wax

Of your brain

A crow

Sits on your shoulder, Pirate

Whispering my poems

Don’t let this poem die here

Next line is silence

On bedside table: Artists For Democracy: El Archivo de Cecilia Vicuñia. Even though I’ve known Cecilia, one of our truly great poets/performers/artists, for over 20 years, her early history as a radical in Chile has always seemed more myth than history. But here it is, beautifully documented, footnoted, Truth — how her book of love poems was banned and became a centerpiece for the revolution, how her art developed was part of actual demonstrations, how Cecilia remains a guerrilla poet of spirit, joy and wisdom, makes a compelling story.

On bedside table: Artists For Democracy: El Archivo de Cecilia Vicuñia. Even though I’ve known Cecilia, one of our truly great poets/performers/artists, for over 20 years, her early history as a radical in Chile has always seemed more myth than history. But here it is, beautifully documented, footnoted, Truth — how her book of love poems was banned and became a centerpiece for the revolution, how her art developed was part of actual demonstrations, how Cecilia remains a guerrilla poet of spirit, joy and wisdom, makes a compelling story.

2 or 3 nights runningyellow green dim tobacco shopt-shirts, rain, hairstair leads both waysarms inflect raking pullinglips to say linoleum deliriousnaked smoke the languageof kiss tear desire

2 or 3 nights running
yellow green dim tobacco shop
t-shirts, rain, hair
stair leads both ways
arms inflect raking pulling
lips to say linoleum delirious
naked smoke the language
of kiss tear desire