(the Talmud refers to an Angel of Forgetfulness);
In most cultures, attitudes toward work are closely connected to conceptions of time.
The word that expresses best the most basic activity of [his] mind is calculation.
The veil through which he saw the world was not so much colored as calibrated.
Author Archives: d.perry
It was always those with little else to carry
who carried the songs
to Babylon,
to the Mississippi —
some of these last possessed less than nothing
did not own their own bodies
yet, three centuries later,
deep rhythms from Africa,
stowed in their hearts, their bones,
carry the world’s songs.
For those who left my county,
girls from Downings and the Rosses
who followed herring boats north to Shetland
gutting the sea’s silver as they went
or boys from Ranafast who took the Derry boat,
who slept over a rope in a bothy,
songs were their souls’ currency
the pure metal of their hearts,
to be exchanged for other gold,
other songs which rang out true and bright
when flung down
upon the deal boards of their days.
– Moya Cannon
On subject of gender, the Quakers had a saying: “In souls there is no sex.”
We must not say no to ourselves
When there is a greater deed to do,
If it is not imperative that we should.
We must not say can’t
But we never should really believe that we can’t
Whenever it is for our necessity good.
We must not synchronize with anything less than art-wise
dignity,
It is either that we are natural-constructive-achievers
Or something less than the natural self.
The rendezvous time is here
I see a prophesy:
Across the thunder bridge of time
We rush with lightnin’ feet
To join hands with those,
THE FRIENDS OF SKILL,
Who truly say and truly do.
-Sun Ra
Away Games
by David Berman
So often it’s the unhappy little sounds
city-dwellers make when they’re waiting in line
that sends half of a mind into these
green and black mountain towns
where it’s always January inside the furniture
and even the life of a mushroom
can be classified as a performance
to the steady minds that train in frozen parlors
until they’re finally able to recall
each momentary phase of a candleflame
as a distinct historical object.
Unlike the larger urban areas,
where saxophone solos appear
as often and unexpectedly
as the devil in Polish fiction,
and where one’s upstairs neighbor
may in fact publish a private newsletter
headlined “Fighting to Get Started Tonight About 8 PM”,
these little towns have no bothersome folklore,
no special customs, and no traditional songs,
unless you count
the creak of adjoining matter.
These are places where people treat each other with respect.
No one pressures anyone else to dance,
offers unwanted magazine tips
on caring for the swamp-flower of materialism
or tries to say hello to you
through a mouthful of blood.