WEBVTT

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So it's going much
quicker than I thought.

00:00:03.840 --> 00:00:06.660 align:middle line:90%
So I'll try one more new one.

00:00:06.660 --> 00:00:09.060 align:middle line:90%
It's a little gnarlier.

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It's called "Hypostasis
and New Year."

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[SIGHS]

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"For why am I afraid to sing
the fundamental shape of awe.

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Should I now begin to
sing the silvered back

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of the winter willow spear,
the sparkling agate blue?

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Would this blade
and this sky free me

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to speak intransitive lack--

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the vowels themselves free?

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Of what am I afraid?

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Of what lies in
back of me of day?

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These stars scattered as far as
an I. What world and wherefore

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will it shake free?

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Why now in the mind
of an afternoon

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is a daisy for a while,
flagrant, and alive?

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But what of night, of
hours' unpredicated bad luck

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and the rot inside it
clings to, fathomless

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on the far side in winter dark?

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Oh shadow world when
a thing comes back,

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comes back unseen but felt and
no longer itself, what then?

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What silver world
mirrors tarnished lenses?

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What fortune?

00:01:19.230 --> 00:01:20.790 align:middle line:90%
What fate?

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And the forms not themselves,
but only itself the sky

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by water in wind shaken.

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I am born in silver dark.

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Of what am I to see these
things between myself

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and nothing, between the
curtain and the stain,

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between the hypostatic scenes
of breathing and becoming

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the thing I see?

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Are they not the same?

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Things don't look so
good on the street

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today beside the tower
rusting in a broken lot.

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One is a condition.

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The other-- mystery.

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Even this afternoon, light
so kind and nourishing,

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a towering absence,
vibrating air, shake.

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And I see pots from old shake.

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And I see cities anew shake.

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And I see robes shake.

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I see desert shake.

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I see the farthing in us all.

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The ghost of day,
the day inside night,

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and sight decaying as
tones decay and border air.

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The old songs and the
present wind I sing and say,

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I love the unknown
sound in a word.

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Mother, where from
did you leave me

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on the sleeve of a dying
word, of impish laughter

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in the midst my joy?

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I compel and confess open for my
cracked tinge picture doubled.

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I can't remember now if I
made a pact with the devil

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when I was young,
when I was high.

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On a sidewalk I hear,
"buy a sweatshirt,"

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and think, buy a shirt
from the sweat of children.

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Hell, I'm just taking a
walk in the sun in a poem.

00:03:05.220 --> 00:03:09.870 align:middle line:84%
And this sound, that one,
caught in the most recent coup.

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Told you it was gnarly.

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[LAUGHING]

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It's hard to read.

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All right.

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