I received this transmission while walking on the beach of the rugged Central California coast in my daily ritual. I was performing a public ceremony, when I felt the sonic overture of the poem reaching up from something underneath. It felt like a signal. The title is a splice of lines from Ntozake Shange's play "Spell #7" and something else I cannot remember.
fahime ife on "i am like a radio, channel of my own" |
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"Dust to Dust: W. H. Auden"
"In the history of poetry, Auden is a figure of recovery. Amid the fragmentation wrought by early modernism, declared by its practitioners and enthusiasts to be permanent, Auden revived and updated the lyrical forms of the prewar era. In some sense, he succeeded D. H. Lawrence, whose novels and lyric poems insist on the possibility of ecstatic love, of rebirth."
viaCOMMONWEAL |
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What Sparks Poetry:
Heather Green on Language as Form
“In ‘Some Things I Said,’ David Ferry turns to his own work, his single-authored poems and translations, and draws forth a new poem in a new form, an elemental assemblage of fragments, lines sometimes presented almost exactly as they were in the source poem and other times altered.” |
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