Monthly Archives: June 2010

letter from paul celan to his wife gisèle

What can I offer you, my dear Gisèle?

Here is a poem written while thinking of you—here it is just as I wrote
it down, right off , in its first version, unaltered, unchanged.

Happy birthday!

Il y aura quelque chose, plus tard,
qui se remplit (se remplira) de toi
et se hisse(ra)
à (la hauteur d’) une bouche

De mon (Du milieu de) délire (ma folie)
volé(e) en éclats
je me dresse (m’érige)
et contemple ma main
qui trace
l’un, l’unique

[There will be something, later,
that brims full with you
and lifts up
toward a mouth

Out of a shardstrewn
I stand up
and look upon my hand,
how it draws the one
and only


summary of terms: tetracyclic palm under strawberry moon

With love we sleep, with doubt the vicious cycle turns, n’ burns

circle song

petitio principii: circulus in probando

a dicto secundum quid ad dictum simpliciter argumentum ad hominem argumentum ad populum argumentum ad verecundiam argumentum ad misericordiam argumentum ad ignorantiam non sequitor post hoc ergo propter hoc cum hoc ergo propter hoc plurium interrogationum

The Machinery: Pat Lowther

Writing is a kind of wrestling w/ the opacities of our own understanding, with the limits of the language we use. And like Jacob’s wrestling w/ the angel, it is done to win a blessing.” (Pat Lowther, unpublished essay, 1964/65)

This evening, I read three poems as part of the Dead Poets portion of the Tree Reading Series in Ottawa. I chose Lowther because rather than introducing a writer whose work has influenced my own, I preferred to engage with a writer whose work I knew only superficially. It seemed like a wonderful opportunity to engage w/ another Canadian writer. And I really did want to delve into Lowther’s work, what she produced and what affinities there were for me in my own writing.

I had lots to say in my little intro and there wasn’t enough time to say all of it, so maybe I’ll make a longer blog post about it this week. But for now, an excerpt of the last piece I read, part three of a three part poem:

3. The Machinery

The machinery is, in abstract, like a space wheel in orbit. Stately precise turning into and out of sunlight. If we were separate from it, it would seem lovely. We would breathe in delight seeing it in a movie.

The machine is, of course, a centrifuge. We’re locked on its outside walls by the magnetic soles of our feet, the veins branching downward. I think of a glass anatomical model of a man, with an erection.

As if the earth had gone transparent and its gross axis become visible, turning us. Like a drill-core spectrum, a blackened rainbow, the red orange yellow at the centre, coal pools, moving capillaries of water. The ends themselves hard glossy white, ice that never melts. The effortless spin of the thing generating so much brute power.

Sometimes I think I can see you across the curvature of the walls. We might reach out, try to touch.

But the machine holds us motionless. Our muscles flatten, our veins and arteries spread out like maps. We are splayed, pinned down on separate beds, in separate cities.

I’m turning downard into sleep. I will not dream of you. Slowly, slowly, it’s turning you toward your morning. You are beginning to remember me.

Part of part 3 of a prose-poem/essay in The Collected Works of Pat Lowther, edited by Christine Wiesenthal, New West: April 2010.


blind tooled green goatskin token/charm/amulet/talisman/touch piece with knotted hemp cord. 

found in a place of mysteries. well-worn centre. rubbed between fingers. awkwardly cut into bottom heavy circle. meaning: unknown: error: function unknown: correlate.

best guess?


etymology: mid-13c., from O.Fr. solstice, from L. solstitium “point at which the sun seems to stand still,” from sol “sun” + pp. stem of sistere “to come to a stop, make stand still”

to every purpose under heaven

lollai, lollai, litil child, thi fote is in the whele

Lollai, lollai, litil child, whi wepistou so sore?
Nedis mostou wepe, hit was iyarkid the yore
Euer to lib in sorow, and sich and mourne euere,
As thin eldren did er this while hi aliues wore.
Lollai, lollai, litil child, child lolai, lullow.
Into vncuth world incommen so ertow.
Bestis and thos foules, the fisses in the flode,
And euch schef aliues imakid of bone and blode,
Whan hi commith to the world hi doth ham silf sum gode;
Al bot the wrech brol that is of Adam is blode.
Lollai, lollai, litil child, to kar ertou bemette;
Thou nost noght this worldis wild before the is isette.
Child, if betidith that thou ssalt thriue and the,
Thench thou were ifostred vp thi moder kne.
Euer hab mund in thi hert of thos thinges thre:
Whan thou commist, whan thou art and what ssal com of the.
Lollai, lollai, litil child, child lollai, lollai,
With sorow thou com into this world, with sorow ssalt wend awai.
Ne tristou to this world, hit is thi ful vo.
The rich he makith pouer, the pore rich also;
Hit turneth wo to wel and ek wel to wo.
Ne trist no man to this world, whil hit turnith so.
Lollai, lollai, litil child, thi fote is in the whele.
Thou nost whoder turne to wo other wele.
Child, thou ert a pilgrim in wikidnis ibor,
Thou wandrest in this fals world, thou loke the bifor.
Deth ssal com with a blast vte of a well dim horre
Adam is kin dun to cast, him silf hath ido befor.
Lollai, lollai, litil child, so wo the worth Adam
In the lond of paradis, throgh wikidnes of Satan.
Child, thou nert a pilgrim bot an vncuthe gist,
Thi dawes beth itold, thi iurneis beth icast;
Whoder thou salt wend north or est,
Deth the sal betide with bitter bale in brest.
Lollai, lollai, litil child, this wo Adam the wroght,
Whan he of the appil ete and Eue hit him betacht.

(Before 1350 AD) Harley MS. 913 BL, London

cartwheel: 11

a baby is a very young child a bird got caught in my throat a broken fence a child is a newborn till a month old a baby until he or she is about three years old and a preschooler between 3 years old and school a fragment of your twinned state a human infant less than a month old is a neonate a mattress aflame singed a stethoscope under my ribs a term may be omitted from a well-known kenning: val-teigs Hildr, the full expression is implied here: a window

there were feet trophoblast chorionic villi gestational sac yolk sac fetal pole rant flickering  flat blade


watchful waiting: related terms include expectant management, active surveillance and masterly inactivity

witchwork devils brew blood vow lit zap monster
heavy burden of iron mezzo-soprano keen thick