History Before Was Brunch Ever - Poem by Warren Falcon
For Workers everywhere, bricks, straw, verse.
The breast naturally of Woman is bread before
there was bread, the child the loaf swelling in
Her arms to farm & from such frame a world.
Thus Labor. Bread is History.
Child's toil, unspoiled, forms a culture beast,
he crawls forth, makes bread of soil native &
other, a Mother culture all & still, everywhere.
- Diogenes Teufelsdröckh, from 'Immigrants Exile, Labor, Drive Or Will, And The Lady Mother - A Malafiction'
History before was brunch ever in the world.
Sunday. St. Marks & 1st Avenue. Red, red Simone,
doors open to sun and saunter, the wander, now
'arm in arm they goes' just past the corner where
was found Berryman abandoned, run over, bleeding
ink into the avenue's black page, a then-new copy,
heavy, of Zukofsky ('Z') 'A' already lost, me, in the
reading but gladly Berryman on my lap, no, knee/
kneel, rather, while reading 'Z' evoke old ward Jews,
Italians, horse-drawn venders, runners about with
carts heaving, vegetable griefs returned to church
to synagogue dark alley dead ends where what is
left out of grief is carved into bricks with knives
(O what is the name, lost perhaps, of
he who once sharpened all our knives?) :
THIS OUR LIFE
SOME FEW RETURN
THE NATURE OF A CITY
IS TO CONTINUALLY
Zuke** saw said feigned
old tongue which is an
old seeing, shaping art
or 'newed it up' out with
forth- for hind- or other-
see heat lightning
sunder into new sight
some his this rendering
into each individual eye
ear whatever century's
'...words earth-saving history
not to deny the gifts
of time where those who
never met together may hear
this other time sound one.'
to sounding stringe.. Won by
his song: O framar of
the starry circle, Who, lening
to the last grounstone..the
great heauen gidest..stable erthe
do steady..As stured sea
turnes up..ye hardnid snowy
ball by cold By feruent
heate of sonne resolues..sees,
What wer, what be, what
shall bifall..how found knowe
Suche forme..wiche knowes not
shape? As oft the running
stile In sea paper leue,
Some printed lettars..marke haue
none at all..But a
passion..sturs The myndz forse
while body liues, What light
the yees..bit, Or sound
'The sestina, then, the repeated end words
Of the lines' winding around themselves,
Since continuous in the Head, whatever has been read,
whatever is heard,
whatever is seen
Perhaps goes back cropping up again with
Inevitable recurrence again in the blood
Where the spaces of verse are not visual
But a movement,
With vision in the lines merely a movement...'
To reach that age,
for a time
**'Zuke' for Zukofsky
Poet's Notes about The Poem
Poioumenon (plural: poioumena; from Ancient Greek: ποιούμενον, 'product') is a term coined by Alastair Fowler to refer to a specific type of metafiction in which the story is about the process of creation. According to Fowler, 'the poioumenon is calculated to offer opportunities to explore the boundaries of fiction and reality—the limits of narrative truth.' In many cases, the book will be about the process of creating the book or includes a central metaphor for this process. Common examples of this are Thomas Carlyle's Sartor Resartus, and Laurence Sterne's Tristram Shandy, which is about the narrator's frustrated attempt to tell his own story. A significant postmodern example is Vladimir Nabokov's Pale Fire, in which the narrator, Kinbote, claims he is writing an analysis of John Shade's long poem 'Pale Fire', but the narrative of the relationship between Shade and Kinbote is presented in what is ostensibly the footnotes to the poem. Similarly, the self-conscious narrator in Salman Rushdie's Midnight's Children parallels the creation of his book to the creation of chutney and the creation of independent India. Other postmodern examples of poioumena include Samuel Beckett's trilogy (Molloy, Malone Dies and The Unnamable): Doris Lessing's The Golden Notebook; John Fowles's Mantissa; William Golding's Paper Men; and Gilbert Sorrentino's Mulligan Stew.
All of the above information is directly from wikipedia.com
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