from the new Doppelganger magazine's Big Trees in Seattle

"Hegel writes: "When we want to see an oak with all its vigour of trunk, its spreading branches, and mass of foliage, we are not satisfied to be shown an acorn instead. In the same way science, the crowning glory of a spiritual world, is not found complete in its initial stages. The beginning of the new spirit is the outcome of a widespread revolution in manifold forms of spiritual culture; it is the reward which comes after a chequered and devious course of development, and after much struggle and effort. It is a whole which, after running its course and laying bare all its content, returns again to itself ; it is the resultant abstract notion of the whole...""

 

mp3's, though probably not for long, of Laura Nyro live, Christmas 1970...


"I love my country as it dies
In war and pain before my eyes
I walk the streets where disrespect has been
The sins of politics, the politics of sin
The heartlessness that darkens my soul
On Christmas.
Red and silver on the leaves
Fallen white snow runs softly through the trees
Madonnas weep for wars of hell
They blow out the candles and haunt Noel
The missing love that rings through the work
On Christmas.
Black panther brothers bound in jail
Chicago seven and the justice scale
Homeless Indian on Manhattan Isle
All God's sons have gone to trial
And all God's love is out of style
On Christmas.
Now the time has come to fight
Laws of book of love burn bright
People you must win the day
America your dignity
For all the high court world to see
Christmas in my soul
Christmas in my soul
Christmas in my soul."


 

George Segal fans, Harold Pinter completists and 60's spy film fans should look out for the underrated 1966 Quiller Memorandum on TCM tomorrow...

 

(CR center, reading WCW on the bus in Brooklyn)

Charles Bernstein kindly informs us that
Charles Reznikoff's "Collected Poems" are back in print--


"Reznikoff's commitment, throughout his work, is to the neglected, the overlooked, the discounted, and the devalued, as exemplified by this poem (also from 1920):

Her work was to count linings---
the day's seconds in dozens. "

If you don't have it, run, don't walk, I say...

this otherwise admirable UK Follies Home Page doesn't mention the only one I've ever got to spend any time in, The Hermitage in Dunkeld, Perthshire, visited in 1992, which also has an Ossianic poet's damp hutch nearby. The Hermitage above naturally amplifies the waterfall sound from below for a quick submersion into the Sublime. The landscape/reading/picturesque connection so clear over there, whereas here you can never be sure...