By Anne Waldman
A desirable new paintings from an the world over well known poet Acclaimed for her visionary, incantatory verse and her experimental ethos, Anne Waldman's most recent book-length poem is an allegory of a thorough spirit in lockdown, ruled through "Deciders" and "Imposters" who threaten the way forward for poetry and its archive. A doppelganger nightmare ensues: the imposter "Anne" is a succubus, and the unique Anne has to break loose from a metaphorical fortress of torture and mental domination. There are travels via Vedic cosmology and historical Japan ahead of answer on a treeless tundra, the place fragile lifestyles kinds fight to outlive. Waldman's oracular poem is a witty meditation on id robbery and a searing plea for the primacy of mind's eye and for collective sanity in our provocative but precarious time. Read more...
summary: a desirable new paintings from an across the world popular poet Acclaimed for her visionary, incantatory verse and her experimental ethos, Anne Waldman's most modern book-length poem is an allegory of a thorough spirit in lockdown, ruled via "Deciders" and "Imposters" who threaten the way forward for poetry and its archive. A doppelganger nightmare ensues: the imposter "Anne" is a succubus, and the unique Anne has to wreck loose from a metaphorical fort of torture and mental domination. There are travels via Vedic cosmology and old Japan sooner than answer on a treeless tundra, the place fragile lifestyles kinds fight to outlive. Waldman's oracular poem is a witty meditation on id robbery and a searing plea for the primacy of mind's eye and for collective sanity in our provocative but precarious time
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Extra resources for Gossamurmur
There was a moon hung low in the sky. I encountered the djinni of Djuna Barnes whom I had seen frequently in this place decades before, aging…. Djuna had morphed. She had crashed. She was restricted in her motion. Her eyes had the glow of smoldering cinders. The double is always present in our psyches. I follow her. What is hidden responding to what is revealed is the binary axis on which the investigation pivots. I hide behind the screen of my own investigation. Still longing for my shadowy, more flagrant, more casual other cause.
Of the music inside singing outside on sleeve of herself. She lacked confidence in the ability of logic to persuade others what was at risk. It was as if she was being drained by circumstances around her metabolism, the project she had worked on more than half a life, a moisopholon domos, a house of the muses, a community to house and sustain imagination was in jeopardy. It was a dark castle she inhabited now, surrounded by a forest of negative mind-sets. Eager to extract slices of intelligence, to dumb and numb the wild mind out of the guardians of Archive, wanting to cut up and trash the experience that voices now disembodied existed, haunting voices singing, sighing, imploring you to listen your way through consciousness.
I had anthropomorphic visions. I saw demons with metal mandible parts, I saw impostors everywhere that resembled the people I knew, but if you look more closely at her ring, that is not her gold ring; it is not a gold snake ring with ruby eyes…look more loosely at the stone around her neck; that is not her onyx, her face suddenly unglued, askew…that is not her eyebrow. I saw myself transformed and disembodied and disentangled, then reconstituted. I heard voices. I invented a new name for my publishing company: Sayonara.
Gossamurmur by Anne Waldman