tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3407624264627208128.post5615903985024000707..comments2024-01-26T21:38:25.924-08:00Comments on Duane's PoeTree: Vernon Mooers writesDuanesPoeTreehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17053093400086634552noreply@blogger.comBlogger1125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3407624264627208128.post-9638020551887910902015-05-29T20:06:14.498-07:002015-05-29T20:06:14.498-07:00Vernon always writes in the quick stream-of-consci...Vernon always writes in the quick stream-of-consciousness manner of Frank O'Hara. There's very little evidence of reworking/revising. It's an automatic process of creation, much like the way the Beats claimed it should be done.<br />As a point of reference, here's an O'Hara poem, a bit longer than was usual for him:<br /><br />A STEP AWAY FROM THEM<br /><br /><br />It's my lunch hour, so I go<br />for a walk among the hum-colored<br />cabs. First, down the sidewalk<br />where laborers feed their dirty<br />glistening torsos sandwiches <br />and Coca-Cola, with yellow helmets<br />on. They protect them from falling<br />bricks, I guess. Then onto the<br />avenue where skirts are flipping<br />above heels and blow up over<br />grates. The sun is hot, but the<br />cabs stir up the air. I look<br />at bargains in wristwatches. There<br />are cats playing in sawdust.<br /> On<br />to Times Square, where the sign<br />blows smoke over my head, and higher<br />the waterfall pours lightly. A<br />Negro stands in a doorway with a<br />toothpick, languorously agitating.<br />A blonde chorus girl clicks: he<br />smiles and rubs his chin. Everything<br />suddenly honks: it is 12:40 of<br />a Thursday.<br /> Neon in daylight is a<br />great pleasure, as Edwin Denby would<br />write, as are light bulbs in daylight.<br />I stop for a cheeseburger at JULIET'S<br />CORNER. Giulietta Masina, wife of<br />Federico Fellini, è bell' attrice.<br />And chocolate malted. A lady in<br />foxes on such a day puts her poodle<br />in a cab.<br /> There are several Puerto<br />Ricans on the avenue today, which<br />makes it beautiful and warm. First<br />Bunny died, then John Latouche,<br />then Jackson Pollock. But is the<br />earth as full as life was full, of them?<br />And one has eaten and one walks,<br />past the magazines with nudes<br />and the posters for BULLFIGHT and<br />the Manhattan Storage Warehouse,<br />which they'll soon tear down. I<br />used to think they had the Armory<br />Show there.<br /> A glass of papaya juice<br />and back to work. My heart is in my<br />pocket, it is Poems by Pierre Reverdy.DuanesPoeTreehttps://www.blogger.com/profile/17053093400086634552noreply@blogger.com