Dear Friends
am resending this--with thanks to Allen Bramhall for kind words re the truly generous and very insightful review of the rubBEings book by Geog Huth at his blogspot entry for May 27
i apologize--i forwarded this before but didn't find out until later it didn't go through-
> >
> > I want to thank so very heartfeltly much Geof Huth for his review, and
> > also thank mIEKAL for his comment re the letter that is presented in it.
> >
> > I was deeply moved and completely astonished to find Geof's insights and
> > understandings and commentaries on the rubBeings--and them as fragmented
> > autobiography, flowing water cupped in hand and myself to be the dirtiest of
> > the dirty.
> >
> > I was reading the review and at one point thought, who is this person? I
> > would like to meet them and say--you are doing what i have dreamed of doing,
> > what i have felt and never found the way to say. Then i realized the person
> > is myself!
> >
> > Truly, "I is an other"--it is uncanny--to encounter oneself in another
> > guise-
> >
> > I deeply appreciate that Geof called what i do "ancient and childlike".
> > Ancient because Visual Poetry is even more ancient than we have a record of.
> > But where there were eyes to see and hands to move--sites/sights/cites to
> > make notations of--there was Visual Poetry.
> >
> > Childlike because in this case "even a child could do it"--for God's
> > sake--walking aorund everywhere with a crayon--( a bit like a sort of
> > reverse "Harold and the Purple Crayon" he draws what he wants--where i take
> > what i can find so to speak)--i have found myself not a few times standing
> > facing a wall in an alley--and thinking as i move the crayon--what have i
> > become?As Geof writes, there is no "progress"--it is indeed the flow of
> > time--does time count time?--and where would one "advance"?--or return
> > to?--when it has moved also--flowed--
> >
> > As Geof notes there is no "progress". Does time count time? And does
> > anything "advance" or "return"? It is flowing and all is moving, ever in
> > change.
> >
> > To present the present of the presence passing--"present" also being
> > "gift"--what is given there to find--is all--it is everything--one is
> > humbled and honored to be present within this that is--the rubBEings are in
> > a sense a notation and an erasure--one gives thanks--as simply as one
> > can--the rubBEings--and hopes that as much as possible the things found
> > "speak for themselves"--at some point they emerge in their own way--
> >
> > A person wrote to me that for her it brought to mind Gerard de Nerval in
> > AURELIA writing of something that is impossible: "you might as well expect
> > the ground to explain its own tracks." And that for her the rubBEings had
> > done just this. I was completely stunned by this--it is all that one could
> > hope for.
> >
> > (And also--AURELIA is one of my favorite books, and the first of my pieces
> > at the gallery of the durban segnini show is named "Aurelia"--these
> > connections themselves are straight out of the pages of AURELIA--as though
> > the book lives on through one to be continually found--that that that was
> > lost is found again--)
> >
> > Geof also notes that the impossible seems to be made possible. I do not
> > know how this is other than that i have a profound faith in the found. "It
> > is found again--what?/Eternity-"
> >
> > When one keeps moving, the hands and eyes working no matter what--no
> > matter what-- there is the found to be found--more at times than one could
> > ever hope or dream. And that is the impossible made possible.
> >
> > In the "Trance" poem for example--there is as Geof surmised--a plaque on
> > Prospect Street now by a parking lot-for a huge new construct of condos and
> > other things---on a bluff--looking out over Lake Michigan--there is a two
> > sided metal plaque just barely within my reach if i stretch as tall as i
> > can. There was a camp here during the American Civil War--7,000 troops
> > stationed--Lafayette i think (?) was the name of the camp, and not too many
> > blocks away is Lafayette Street. Lafayette, Indiana also happens to be where
> > i was born. On the other side of the road leading in to the parking lot--(i
> > once saw before it was built a deer there--staring at me for some time--then
> > going back amongt he trees--)--there is a sign perpindicular, with large
> > letterings----it says "Entrance"--the conjunction of these two signs--i
> > thought--of a sudden--TRANCE--the trance of the past standing there--like me
> > standing there in a sort of trance myself--that was there-real-the
> > camp---and the trance of the soldiers encamped--with the war going on, and
> > sititng there with them--even though not at the front--and the trance--that
> > is in a way war--a trance that comes over people--in which they commit acts
> > that outside of war they would never think themselves capable of. (and later
> > often deny--)
> >
> > What Geof writes is true--it is "Trance" that brings all these elements
> > together--(yet what kind of Trance--?)--and floats there, above, in a
> > trance--in trance--entrance--
> >
> > I deeply apprieciate what Geof notes,that these are part of the world (or
> > worlds)--the dirt in these dirtiest of the dirty--just the dirt of the
> > world--dirt we came form--and dirt return to--
> >
> > I can give an example here--of how the dirt is there --one works with
> > it--so the dirt remains there--speaking for itself--
> >
> > I was walking today near where i first made rubBEings and realized it is
> > pretty much exaclty six years now, living with them. Many things went into
> > making them and still do. Things in which i wanted to get away from
> > language. I love words but do not like language, language systems, language
> > games etc--they all impose on one. They begin to feel like prisons to me.
> > One wants the words themselves to expose--to open out--not to be imposed,
> > part of a system. Found words in the streets-(or found words when confined
> > inside as i later learned)---words--signs--particles of language--yet not
> > language itself--in the found--words are exposed--not imposed--RubBEings are
> > a way the words expose themselves. There is a profound belief in poetry to
> > emerge from chaos. It needs only to be found--trust in this--and the words
> > and poetry are everywhere all around one.
> >
> > I found a week ago a telephone pole--in an alley--i have walked who knows
> > how many times past this particular pole and not really let it speak,
> > sign--one day i did-a few days ago--then it rained--and had to wait until
> > today to go back--and it opened up with a myriad possiblities. As i moved my
> > hands and eyes along the wood of the battered and bruised and nailed in
> > pole--i found whole open areas with immense rubBEings--there--i knelt down
> > and began to work--and i found myself saying to the pole--You and i are
> > going to become old friends, we are. You can't help but laugh at yourself!
> > Why not talk to a telephone pole? I have had to speak to humans with not
> > half the character of this magnificent battered veteran of a thousand
> > weathers. As i worked more and more BEings emerged--moving upward--and then
> > looking up up ther ising length of the pole-Glory forth!--if i had the
> > equipment i could spend a happy fortnight or so working the extension of
> > this beat up wood--grained and knotted, nailed in, gouged, split open in
> > parts--worlds and words exposing themselves poetries calling--
> >
> > I showed Geof's review to a friend I was helping find some things on the
> > web. He has spent most of the last ten years in prison. He began to read the
> > first paragraph and turnde and said to me--Damn Dave, you must have all the
> > police all up all over you! Workin like that!
> >
> > Yes, sometimes the police do ask a lot of questions--but that is all.
> >
> > That is part of what makes the dirtiness--battered telephone poles--that
> > you can talk to--and they converse right along--the rubBEings--are this
> > conversation --with the found--
> >
> > and via being exposed--to quote Nerval--"the ground explains itself".
> >
> > Thank you so deeply much Geof--
> >
> >
> > ------------------------------
> > Get the NEW version of MSN Messenger - it's FREE!<http://g.msn.com/8HMAENUS/2752??PS=47575>
> >
> > S P I D E R T A N G L E Projects listed at:
> > http://www.spidertangle.net
> >
> >
> > ------------------------------
> > *Yahoo! Groups Links*
> >
> > - To visit your group on the web, go to:
> > http://groups.yahoo.com/group/spidertangle/
> > - To unsubscribe from this group, send an email to:
> > [EMAIL PROTECTED]<[EMAIL PROTECTED]>
> > - Your use of Yahoo! Groups is subject to the Yahoo! Terms of
> > Service <http://docs.yahoo.com/info/terms/>.
> >
> >
>
>
>--
>Geof Huth
>dbqp
>875 Central Parkway
>Schenectady, NY 12309 USA
>http://dbqp.blogspot.com
> >
> > I want to thank so very heartfeltly much Geof Huth for his review, and
> > also thank mIEKAL for his comment re the letter that is presented in it.
> >
> > I was deeply moved and completely astonished to find Geof's insights and
> > understandings and commentaries on the rubBeings--and them as fragmented
> > autobiography, flowing water cupped in hand and myself to be the dirtiest of
> > the dirty.
> >
> > I was reading the review and at one point thought, who is this person? I
> > would like to meet them and say--you are doing what i have dreamed of doing,
> > what i have felt and never found the way to say. Then i realized the person
> > is myself!
> >
> > Truly, "I is an other"--it is uncanny--to encounter oneself in another
> > guise-
> >
> > I deeply appreciate that Geof called what i do "ancient and childlike".
> > Ancient because Visual Poetry is even more ancient than we have a record of.
> > But where there were eyes to see and hands to move--sites/sights/cites to
> > make notations of--there was Visual Poetry.
> >
> > Childlike because in this case "even a child could do it"--for God's
> > sake--walking aorund everywhere with a crayon--( a bit like a sort of
> > reverse "Harold and the Purple Crayon" he draws what he wants--where i take
> > what i can find so to speak)--i have found myself not a few times standing
> > facing a wall in an alley--and thinking as i move the crayon--what have i
> > become?As Geof writes, there is no "progress"--it is indeed the flow of
> > time--does time count time?--and where would one "advance"?--or return
> > to?--when it has moved also--flowed--
> >
> > As Geof notes there is no "progress". Does time count time? And does
> > anything "advance" or "return"? It is flowing and all is moving, ever in
> > change.
> >
> > To present the present of the presence passing--"present" also being
> > "gift"--what is given there to find--is all--it is everything--one is
> > humbled and honored to be present within this that is--the rubBEings are in
> > a sense a notation and an erasure--one gives thanks--as simply as one
> > can--the rubBEings--and hopes that as much as possible the things found
> > "speak for themselves"--at some point they emerge in their own way--
> >
> > A person wrote to me that for her it brought to mind Gerard de Nerval in
> > AURELIA writing of something that is impossible: "you might as well expect
> > the ground to explain its own tracks." And that for her the rubBEings had
> > done just this. I was completely stunned by this--it is all that one could
> > hope for.
> >
> > (And also--AURELIA is one of my favorite books, and the first of my pieces
> > at the gallery of the durban segnini show is named "Aurelia"--these
> > connections themselves are straight out of the pages of AURELIA--as though
> > the book lives on through one to be continually found--that that that was
> > lost is found again--)
> >
> > Geof also notes that the impossible seems to be made possible. I do not
> > know how this is other than that i have a profound faith in the found. "It
> > is found again--what?/Eternity-"
> >
> > When one keeps moving, the hands and eyes working no matter what--no
> > matter what-- there is the found to be found--more at times than one could
> > ever hope or dream. And that is the impossible made possible.
> >
> > In the "Trance" poem for example--there is as Geof surmised--a plaque on
> > Prospect Street now by a parking lot-for a huge new construct of condos and
> > other things---on a bluff--looking out over Lake Michigan--there is a two
> > sided metal plaque just barely within my reach if i stretch as tall as i
> > can. There was a camp here during the American Civil War--7,000 troops
> > stationed--Lafayette i think (?) was the name of the camp, and not too many
> > blocks away is Lafayette Street. Lafayette, Indiana also happens to be where
> > i was born. On the other side of the road leading in to the parking lot--(i
> > once saw before it was built a deer there--staring at me for some time--then
> > going back amongt he trees--)--there is a sign perpindicular, with large
> > letterings----it says "Entrance"--the conjunction of these two signs--i
> > thought--of a sudden--TRANCE--the trance of the past standing there--like me
> > standing there in a sort of trance myself--that was there-real-the
> > camp---and the trance of the soldiers encamped--with the war going on, and
> > sititng there with them--even though not at the front--and the trance--that
> > is in a way war--a trance that comes over people--in which they commit acts
> > that outside of war they would never think themselves capable of. (and later
> > often deny--)
> >
> > What Geof writes is true--it is "Trance" that brings all these elements
> > together--(yet what kind of Trance--?)--and floats there, above, in a
> > trance--in trance--entrance--
> >
> > I deeply apprieciate what Geof notes,that these are part of the world (or
> > worlds)--the dirt in these dirtiest of the dirty--just the dirt of the
> > world--dirt we came form--and dirt return to--
> >
> > I can give an example here--of how the dirt is there --one works with
> > it--so the dirt remains there--speaking for itself--
> >
> > I was walking today near where i first made rubBEings and realized it is
> > pretty much exaclty six years now, living with them. Many things went into
> > making them and still do. Things in which i wanted to get away from
> > language. I love words but do not like language, language systems, language
> > games etc--they all impose on one. They begin to feel like prisons to me.
> > One wants the words themselves to expose--to open out--not to be imposed,
> > part of a system. Found words in the streets-(or found words when confined
> > inside as i later learned)---words--signs--particles of language--yet not
> > language itself--in the found--words are exposed--not imposed--RubBEings are
> > a way the words expose themselves. There is a profound belief in poetry to
> > emerge from chaos. It needs only to be found--trust in this--and the words
> > and poetry are everywhere all around one.
> >
> > I found a week ago a telephone pole--in an alley--i have walked who knows
> > how many times past this particular pole and not really let it speak,
> > sign--one day i did-a few days ago--then it rained--and had to wait until
> > today to go back--and it opened up with a myriad possiblities. As i moved my
> > hands and eyes along the wood of the battered and bruised and nailed in
> > pole--i found whole open areas with immense rubBEings--there--i knelt down
> > and began to work--and i found myself saying to the pole--You and i are
> > going to become old friends, we are. You can't help but laugh at yourself!
> > Why not talk to a telephone pole? I have had to speak to humans with not
> > half the character of this magnificent battered veteran of a thousand
> > weathers. As i worked more and more BEings emerged--moving upward--and then
> > looking up up ther ising length of the pole-Glory forth!--if i had the
> > equipment i could spend a happy fortnight or so working the extension of
> > this beat up wood--grained and knotted, nailed in, gouged, split open in
> > parts--worlds and words exposing themselves poetries calling--
> >
> > I showed Geof's review to a friend I was helping find some things on the
> > web. He has spent most of the last ten years in prison. He began to read the
> > first paragraph and turnde and said to me--Damn Dave, you must have all the
> > police all up all over you! Workin like that!
> >
> > Yes, sometimes the police do ask a lot of questions--but that is all.
> >
> > That is part of what makes the dirtiness--battered telephone poles--that
> > you can talk to--and they converse right along--the rubBEings--are this
> > conversation --with the found--
> >
> > and via being exposed--to quote Nerval--"the ground explains itself".
> >
> > Thank you so deeply much Geof--
> >
> >
> > ------------------------------
> > Get the NEW version of MSN Messenger - it's FREE!<http://g.msn.com/8HMAENUS/2752??PS=47575>
> >
> > S P I D E R T A N G L E Projects listed at:
> > http://www.spidertangle.net
> >
> >
> > ------------------------------
> > *Yahoo! Groups Links*
> >
> > - To visit your group on the web, go to:
> > http://groups.yahoo.com/group/spidertangle/
> > - To unsubscribe from this group, send an email to:
> > [EMAIL PROTECTED]<[EMAIL PROTECTED]>
> > - Your use of Yahoo! Groups is subject to the Yahoo! Terms of
> > Service <http://docs.yahoo.com/info/terms/>.
> >
> >
>
>
>--
>Geof Huth
>dbqp
>875 Central Parkway
>Schenectady, NY 12309 USA
>http://dbqp.blogspot.com
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