All I want to do
is to go
back to
Pueblo
and let the wind blow
right through me
in the parking lot
by the Trailways Depot
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VANITAS : a journal of poetry, writings by artists, criticism, and essays. During its decade of intervention in the public realm, VANITAS came out quasi-annually, serving as a forum for international voices with an emphasis on coming to grips with current world situations. Each issue contained writings by artists whose primary modes were non-literary and featured the work of a visual artist. [www.vanitasmagazine.net]
For the seventh and final issue of VANITAS, we examine the idea of The Self. The work featured in issue 7 tests just how far the self can be stretched, partially as an exercise in self-expression, partially in search of what used to be called experience. Self, not so much in personae as in faces, in the sense the Mods used the term — referring to someone with style, perhaps within a culture of style, but an individual expression of that culture, or perhaps someone who can seemingly invent her own style, just standing there.
This issue features new work by Bruce Andrews, Mary Jo Bang, Anselm Berrigan, Steve Dickison, Danielle Dutton, Tonya Foster, John Godfrey, Robert Hunter, Paolo Javier, Ann Lauterbach, Kimberly Lyons, Dan Machlin, Gerard Malanga, Judith Malina, Filip Marinovich, Harry Matthews, Michael McClure, Anna Moschovakis, Stephen Motika, Jennifer Moxley, Michael Palmer, Aram Saroyan, Lewis Warsh, and many more. Featuring artwork by Diana Michener, Carol Szymanski, Gerard Malanga, Rudy Burckhardt, and Vivien Bittencourt.
4 comments:
This minim-poem from the minim-book A Short Guide to the High Plains reminds that brevity is the soul of widgets, so, to be brief, it is dedicated to the memory of Ed Dorn, who called it "beyond observation. When it gets down to the haunting necessities of the mind, 'All I want to do/ is to go/ back to/ Pueblo/ and let the wind blow/ right through me/ in the parking lot/ by the Trailways depot.' Beyond any explanation. A masterpiece of uncontrollable want."
The bus station was indeed windy that day. And is now long gone. The mementos though remain, thanks to the wonderful site Trailways Forever Memories, whence they come.
Tom, yes, this is amazing--the way those long o's roll through the poem. Reminds me of filling stations in the 70s in New Mexico and Colorado as a kid and the wild expanse of things, and hope, and dream--and this being all there is. The Hopper painting above reminds me what a great sense of American space (inner and outer) he had. Anyway, thanks--always good to return to these poems.
Dale,
Well, something definitely rolled though someone.
I was waiting to catch a bus from Pueblo to Albuquerque, that day, and the windswept Trailways Depot parking lot, where I loitered, had that cyclonic blow-through feeling with which, as a native of such spaces, you are doubtless familiar.
As to the Hopper space--I'm more and more seeing the inner. For sometime I've been annoying people by asking what they thought were the thoughts of the two girls having lunch in Chop Suey (!929).
edward hopper's women
Well, someone should have said that something rolled through (not "though") someone.
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