January 31-February 6, 2005: Nancy Graham and Richard O’Connell

Nancy Graham and Richard O’Connell

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Bio (auto)

Nancy Graham lives with her family in Kingston, New York Her poetry has been published in Chronogram, and her animations, produced in collaboration with her husband Henry Lowengard, have been exhibited at Deep Listening Space in Kingston.

The following work is Copyright © 2005, and owned by Nancy Graham and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author.

Three Somniloquies (edited sleeptalk recorded while reading at bedtime) Uprooted (Based on an excerpt from Strangely Like War: The Global Assault on Forests, by Derrick Jensen and George Draffan) The forests of the world are hated Cut, toasted,  most of that in the past country Mothers spun despicable weavings off of the trees, kept secluded in the women’s network Females of the world are in bad shape About three quarters of the world’s spoken guidance has been cut Much of what remains is in three natives,  speaking in Russian Almost three quarters of the males have been cut, most of that in the past agenda The forests of the world are in lost luggage, awkwardly at times,  and it doesn’t seem to stop them from falling The forests are in deep magic Each is floating .floating above the world of water, about three quarters of the world’s grief. Motionless Childhood “Through dreams, the various dwelling places in our lives copenetrate.” ——–-Gaston Bachelard, The Poetics of Space Copenetrate sounds like not a very nice term So could be just that they merged nicely The serious dwelling place seems more like a dormitory The way the kids crawl on the furniture,  I’m glad we didn’t get new stuff After we’re in the new house, or settled and fancy, we travel to the land of Motionless Childhood,  abandoned every step of the way Can we go now? Motionless the way all Immemorial things are, I take off my glasses, like Mom would What would you like to do now? We could part, we could just cut loose, travel to the land of Childhood, motionless the way little tiny hands can’t seem to get mittens on there and keep them on, and they destroy things, of course Look behind you, it’s snowing! Throughout the region, the various dwelling places in me and above us retain the structure of former days, the treasures of human days They crick from people too, century to century. Wandering “As I walked through the wilderness of this world, I lighted on a certain place where was a den, and laid me down in that place to sleep, and as I slept, I dreamed a dream.” ————John Bunyan, The Pilgrim’s Progress, 1678 As I walked through the wilderness of errands, I lighted on a certain police place, and behold, I saw a man I figured man was a certain place where he was a dream, and laid me down in that place to study and behold, and if I slept,  I dreamed a dreamier dream The events now contain the first hang glider’s soar I came from New York, lighting on certain police I made it look that sympathetic,  or not sympathetic I was wondering if you knew how tall you are Let’s see,  we’re gonna measure As I waltzed through the auditorium,  I lightened loads of fear at times I came on a certain place where was a dark date, and a lump above, and Lucas found a nightmare I can barely look at him now As I walked through the university, I lighted like a shimmer Should you hear them storming up the coast, shimmer Know, I did my part And as I slept,  I dreamed no more.

Canada Snaps Ottawa   The heavy brick calm capital/ invaded by light/ rouging cornices/ crumbling facades/ and shining/ twice-scrubbed streets in slant sun/ the Rideau bubbling/   glad to be rid of its jacket of ice   Churchill   In the big green & white Bay Company store (where eskimos buy cameras for furs) I saw my first Arctic wolf stuffed snarling at the door Toronto   No corner so cold on the bung        as that blast       to the ass       at Bloor & Young   Sudbury   Like the moon and the old miner standing in chill outside the CN train (jabbing the prong of a beercan  opener in my chest) “Women don’t like me As a rule They just don ‘t Like Me” Hudson Bay   Jade water so still you can’t tell the shore from the bay (only blind by the chill      Montreal   The French North Pole summer climb to the cool green up Mt Royal imperial dime views for the head grazing blue granite haze sparkling cream dome geodesic cone of movielot Expo   Below the real show rubberwheeled hearsed trains sliding down computerized tile digits drop mosaiced in dream glimpsed under glass rock boutiques fluorescent girls locked underground for the cold eventual world       Niagara   A sign -PLEASE DO NOT FEED THE FALLS-