This
calendar portrays America
from its mythic discoveries. The full title comes from one of the same name by
Sir Robert Gordon in 1625, an inducement to colonization, but the colonization
here is of “another world,” as Raleigh
muses. The musings and celebrations of St. Brendan, Erik the Red, Columbus, Sir
Walter Raleigh are not of colonies they will found but of the natural world they
love and betray. These primitive speakings comprise their dreams, sacrifices,
betrayals.
New ventures do not start in
January. The year begins in March. St. Brendan puts out to sea in a skin covered
boat, a curragh with paddles. There is a mist and an unclear call when it
assumes so much, but he follows the urge.
March is rose but April is red
for the blood of the Viking. Erik loses his son in the new world, the first to
come in the ages. April is daring, but temporary.
In May the gold sun raises
the plants; gold heat rises into nostrils. Red lanterns shining through the fog
are the first permanent settlement of
the European. But the natural rhythm is constant sun.
In these tokens are symbols
of larger loss, Raleigh
losses his son in Guiana, in June. It out weighs the nuggets. He goes back to England and is
hung.
July
and August are exempt from historical myth narrative The new creation mystically discerns in spiders, flies, sun, orphans,
snakes more than a physical world. Creatures with dithyrambs respond, caught in traps,
lose their skin, renew, repay. One glimpse per decade, century, flies, spiders,
children of some Orpheus.
Fall and winter oppose spring
and summer. The myth does not reestablish. The great year is broken in half to
the final decades of the twentieth century. These oppose the
preceding centuries, to introduce a millennium we think will never end. But the
millennium ends in September, fall and winter oppose spring and summer. If the
first six months speak from the natural, the second half is artificial, as if the last six decades of the 20th
century ending in the 1990’ s were an epiphany that reestablishes myth. The
last line, “love’s gone” is uttered by the amaranth of heaven.
There is a lot of sowing and
reaping. Erik the Red’s and Sir Walter Raleigh’s loss of sons grieve for all
sons lost in war planting. With the loss comes the new world imagination of everything
according to its kind. The voyage is as if St. Brendan undertook a heavenly
navigation of voyages and passage of the sun in response to the green world.
. 2.When I worried about the meaning of nonfiction, how to tell, to prevent fiction from creeping, that fiction was a nonfiction. You cannot say the opposite, that nonfiction is a fact. This weighs. Can a pseudonym be non, tired of the same image day to day? When we mirror shaving, a fiction, makeup, clothing all fictions, how do you know what you are writing? Does it call up and say: Fiction darling. Or do you decide?
I assume everybody is consumed with questions of art, line, rhythm, image, color, flow. I also ask the nature of sun, parabolas, a passionate clean strike of a ball, life on your toes.
When it comes necessary to know big things and small, that rich and poor are of their own and that that is the nature of knowing, which knowledge proceeds to loving, barrierlessness allowing, it sounds like a poem, space in the beginning and at end incompleteness complete with work achieves the gift.
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