Poems, notes, and drawings by William MichaelianBlog and archive, 2008-2018, 3,990 entriesMain website: william-michaelian.com
Words as bones, William. Wonderful. Bones last longest of all body parts besides the hair and the teeth, and so despite the absence of meaning and articulation in this death poem. something will long remain.
Words and bones are both skeletal and you are made up of both of these. The words you have written will leave but a shade of who you were in life, as will your bones be but a shade of who you have become in death...stay with us for a very long time so we can enjoy the flesh and blood, the personality, of the living William.
I dig this very much William!! :)This is not dead,this is alive as my heart is beating now,listening to the rhythm of the bones whispering ....***************************may my heart always be openmay my heart always be open to littlebirds who are the secrets of livingwhatever they sing is better than to knowand if men should not hear them men are oldmay my mind stroll about hungryand fearless and thirsty and suppleand even if it's sunday may i be wrongfor whenever men are right they are not youngand may myself do nothing usefullyand love yourself so more than trulythere's never been quite such a fool who could failpulling all the sky over him with one smile ee cummingsAleksandra
Elisabeth, Janice, and Aleksandra — thanks for digging! Frankly, I hope the words outlast the bones. But if they don’t, at least we can say they brought us together this fine day.Janice, although we never know what lies in store, I’ll do my best to hang around.Aleksandra of the whispering bones, thank you for this cummings poem!
I always find the brevity of your words, of your writing, to rather emotionally breath-taking. Nice effect with this one.
Good poem. I suspect though there will be even more words coming forth, discovered, or invented by others for you after the very sad unfortunate day.
Poetry from the marrow.
Gray, thanks. I appreciate that.Thanks, Anthony. Could be. With any luck, I’ll be the one typing them in the basement.Lorenzo: also from the morrow. Thanks.
no shades of meaningand no need for articulation evenas the sheer presence of your boneswill speak all.and so i wonder, william, on why the words now? sometimes it seems as though my mind almost understands that there is no need for articulation now, as life itself speaks all. but yet there is still that umph that drives us to draw it out.we'll be quiet one day. and for now, we create.xoerin
Erin, we are of life, and everything that is in life is in us. Life speaks all, through all. One breath, one song, myriad voices.No need, perhaps. But an undeniable urge. And what is life, if not the urge to express the wonder that it is?
Bones! Yes, your words the skeleton of your sinew, liquid, instinct, dreams....your knowing and unknowing, shaping, holding. Your words as they endure long after flesh is gone.
Yes.... Thank you, Annie.
Wonderful! Brings to mind Ferlinghetti's little poem:Passing strange mountains & dropping pine needles in an envelope I send you some of my bones
Thanks, Joe! I remember that one. Love it.
two points fer yuh:1. Natalie Goldberg has a neat book called: Writing Down the Bones2. the first pre-Chinese writing was on bones I think that it was called "bone script" or "bone writing"3. dig the title of my web site: BARE BONES BONZE... well, so much for WHAT I know!I'll come again when I have less time and even less words to say it with
Thanks, Ed. Hey, I couldn’t ask for more!
Wow, I like this one... I am currently working in the same direction...
Thanks, DK. Nice to see you again, along the way....
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