Monday, 24 April 2017

Key poem in Frostenson's latest collection

The word’s formulae

I collect rows, I collect sticks, I collect leaves and words
I separate chaff, and sow

In the word language are lag and lug
This is cognisable. E n c o u n t e r  would be the word
Somewhat monotonous and contrary

To derive
etymology is no philosophy, but diverts, diversifies – is amusing

The paths of ants resemble the urge

To write is not to play but pretty close, a playful thought –
writing. Ergo
To turn on the spot, to swing around, stand on one’s head
one’s forehead earthwards

Stand in the word-lair. Teem on the earth

Root and sniff among words
Drive game out into the light!
Pull up and suckle the consonant root

Poem, as if the word is wrenched half-way. Broken mid-line
That’s not how it should sound. Take forward and
Take to you

Line, the longing to run alongside. Just be carried along
Resistance likewise. Articulate, unruly language

Latin –

Oh how I wish I knew Latin. The most physical of languages
The most tangible. Rods, bars, workings. A box of

Teach me to employ fewer words. Teach me to use the plough
teach me to deploy
the harrow I speak about

– It is a spike harrow, to be precise.
– Fine, we like to be precise. (words from an unknown film)

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