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By Jack Spicer

In 1965, whilst the poet Jack Spicer died on the age of 40, he left in the back of a trunkful of papers and manuscripts and some copies of the seven small books he had visible to press. A West Coast poet, his effect spanned the nationwide literary scene of the Nineteen Fifties and '60s, even though in lots of methods Spicer's leading edge writing ran counter to that of his contemporaries within the manhattan university and the West Coast Beat flow. Now, greater than 40 years later, Spicer's voice is extra compelling, insistent, and well timed than ever. in the course of his brief yet prolific existence, Spicer bothered the suggestions of translation, voice, and the act of poetic composition itself. My Vocabulary Did This to Me is a landmark booklet of this crucial poet's existence paintings, and contains poems that experience develop into more and more difficult to discover and plenty of released the following for the 1st time.

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No longer purely human cruelty, however the cruelty of shadows, the cruelty of spirits. Calamus is like ounces. One wishes, after one has left it, to discover a few magic belt to go its lethal wasteland, a few cat to attract one into its reflect. There Walt is, like a few nice seabird from the Emerald Palace, crying, “Calamus, Calamus. ” And there one is, on the different part of the wasteland, listening to Walt yet considering the fact that most unlikely shadow, these shimmering warmth waves around the sky. And one wishes no Virgil, yet an Alice, a Dorothy, a Washington horsecar conductor, to guide one throughout that cuntlike replicate, that cruelty. So whilst I dreamed of Calamus, as I frequently did while I touched you or placed my hand upon your hand, it was once now not as of a potential global, yet as a misplaced paradise. A land my father Adam drove me out of with the whip of shadow. within the final experience of the word—a fairy tale. that's what i believe approximately Calamus. that's what i feel approximately your damned Calamus. THE DAY 5 THOUSAND FISH DIED alongside THE CHARLES RIVER And whilst the fish are available in to die They slap their heads opposed to the rocks till they go with the flow Downstream on one useless eye. From rocks The Irish boys yell and throw rocks at them and beat them with their sticks. Gulls wheel within the high quality sky. Tall as an ogre God walks one of the rocks. His angels cry, “Yell and throw rocks at them and beat them with sticks! ” yet watch these upturned eyes That gleam like God’s personal candles within the sunlight. not anything merits to dwell. HIBERNATION—AFTER MORRIS GRAVES Deeper than sleep, yet in a room as slender The brain turns off its longings one after the other, we could attractive black hands snap the final one, eliminate the self and lie its physique down. the longer term chills the sky above the chamber. The previous gnaws during the earth under the mattress. yet the following the bare current lies as warmly as though it rested within the lap of God. ÉTERNUEMENT there's a appealing international in a bit girl’s physique. whilst I poke my arms into her i will see it. Or whilst the absurdity of the postman Or the snow that won’t remain nonetheless at the flooring Or the queers with painted noses that stroll jointly within the Bois Or the birds whilst I poke my arms into them i will see it while I poke my hands into them i will be able to see it. track FOR the nice mom One minute after middle of the night, Mrs. Doom From the center distance of one other room starts off to take the furnishings aside and shut the drawers, and slam the home windows close. She places away every one indignant, loving sight We left in the back of us or had heard or touched. She rolls the carpet up on which we danced Sweeps up the airborne dirt and dust, then sighs and snaps the sunshine. And if we sleep, she whispers around our beds And buzzes on the corners of our eyes Snipping each one dream with hungry murmuring. Oh, who may take this darkness for his bride? not anything is modified by means of her. All issues stay As attractive and offended as they have been. She basically wipes their shadows from our hearts, Shakes out her broom, and shuts the ultimate door. “The urban of Boston . . . ” the town of Boston is full of frogheaded flies and British policemen.

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