I'm listening to Charles Reznikoff read, one of the sound files at Penn Sound (link to the right). he reads quickly, with great amusement. which is how I hear him as I have read him. I always felt I rushed as I read him, hopping along with the morsel-sized pieces, but in fact I was right on. he read aloud as fast as I read him to myself. zipping along with rustle of papers, often no pause whatsoever between pieces. it's a cinematic mode, energetic. the speed of his reading asks nothing of you, as in: please just regard these heartfelt words if you can hear at all, or let it all go. he trusts that you'll catch a glimpse. he rushes past the idea of drama, just wants the poem to live alive. god, I really love this. it's a shepherding, not a hypnotic act but a generosity. thank that deity that no photos of me with Rezzy or Creel exist, that I could fling onto this blog as some pious resumption of my poetic fervour. writers lived and live who just worked at it, sans photo op or whatever the engine is that trivializes the energy at that moment where the word is. one word, I mean, hopeful as any meaning. we're all nervous creatures seeking some complimenary flush. and what's lovely are the moments that ignore that. I also read/saw from the same source Creeley talk about Zukofsky. and it is lovely too. the conception of his comprising is a lasting offering. yes, there are many lovely poems with Creeley's name attached. here's someone who could be in that conversation of poetry at any time. there's a tired politic machination that I don't even want to get angry about, you fuckers know who you are. and poetry lives beyond. poetry is talking right thru, and it doesn't even care where you live.