-- from Blah Blah Blah
Carry Me Out
Carry me out
into the digital age
What would it do
to make me more pleasant
Everything is like new
A false note here and there
almost like floating
My heart is elsewhere
like a glove
The hands have something to say
It was worth the surprise on this planet
It was about life
It means so much, the final touch
I’m full of foolish song....
(click on pics to enlarge)
Is this happy or sad?
An old saxophone
Fine day for walking
Pebble in the stream
Pudgy little baby
Papa home soon
Blue of sky
Waving little hands around
Little hand waving
Mountain in mists
All day long
Stew cooking in the kitchen
Fine sprinkling in the air coming through
- from Things From the Air (1974}
— for Linda
What to do with this dusty jewel
Plumb the depths
My tears are gone
You're not alone
The pupil is not the master
This hot earth
"Just perfectly poised
Fulfilling every moment"
Lazily put to bed
Many tears have been shed through the years
Stronger than time
Tired and deaf
Suffering from life
A cruel jewel there
A turtle a rose
A hazy glow
A hole in our memories
Turning my life into one big black work of art
In forgiveness like the earth
It's in charity
My tears are gone
High above all time and space
from The Unknown Language (1968-70)
The Shadows More Than Vast
— after Reverdy
Neither them nor nothing himself
Walking among branches which shake down snow
One cannot find the number, the street, or the name
Blue rats cut the roofs at an angle
And straight lines trench the balconies
But the wall is listening to the door and the ramp
Which arrives on high very quickly without moving
The same movement we make to turn in the sense of smoke
Which deforms solid houses on the plan
And my sight falls from a height onto this city where all the streets hold the same meaning
The sky badly cracked pisses in the current
It is necessary to wait on everything
Like the point badly organized by the horizon
The animated clock attires a black bird which turns in the night
The snow passes a little and lower and a plane also supple
In the fog and a horse sauté noiselessly
And men hide in the beasts who observe the trees
Which are leaning on the same disunited stones
And then an enormous bird departs
Setting fire to the wind
And wounding some stars in her wings.
-- from NOVELTY CONTRACTS (2003-2007)
Join Me Here
All the sweetness of life is here
Island in the heart
Where they never part
You don’t want to be grateful
Too thin, too rich, too tight
It only feels that way in spots
Do you know me today
Now I’m broken
The core of that safety
Oh, blame me
Some days we’re talking
It’s the natural occurrence
As we fall in the water
Is there a problem here?
When does it become something you love?
Health is first
In the middle of my candor
Give a little nod...
-- from The Unknown Language (1968-70)
The Circus World
A man racing against a horse has no chance when
Broken glass moves
When hands move made from
The strings of a tent, which
Maximum in their crazed anger
"White horse, white horse!"
The young girl firing the gun at the moose
In the middle of the table in the glass flow
Had to gasp when her real glass tears began to flow.
The hat on the rack limply stood,
A lamp behind its back projecting "the
Hugging and kissing rain," then it had to stop and switch to
A road through the trees leading to
Its door. In the foam we saw the
American flag marching on its poor back. Slowly
A shaft of sunlight on the floor became
A stab from the fire — O crazy, it was
High above the ground! He said, "The name beside the wall will start walking to
Those lions in a ring who have started to walk to those Happy Fields once again."
Then a long walk started for
The dancing horses just when he began
Counting the men racing against the horses.
Why was I born? Why am I living?
Where am I headed? Who am I fooling?
Inside a cold and empty heart I dwell.
I can barely carry on.
But I don't want to leave it at that.
I have an idea! It's like a little dream of mine.
It's a dream that pervades the universe.
It just popped into my mind!
I want to think about it a while...
Please, I need some guidance.
What's painful to remember is hard to forget.
I'm being constricted by something.
Just when you think you're safe and secure
Trouble walks in the door.
"It's all right if my clothes aren't new if my heart is true."
Yes, I said that!
These are my belongings.
I try my best to succeed.
Call me. I'm listening.
Like a lone ghost I wave.
--from Popular Poems (1995-2005)
365 Little Prayers
(that anyone can say)
1. Where angels tread, we fear
2. Give us this day
3. When you really look back, you’ll see
4. The leaves bowed down
5. Do not waver
6. Nothing to do but pray
7. A lifetime religious experience
8. I may have a moment
9. Wandering with another
10. Everything could fail
11. A hole in the woods
12. Call and response
13. This is after the war...[more]
--from Another Life (2006-09)
Facts Keep Happening
You can’t satisfy everyone
Here’s the only whip
I wasn’t around anymore
An extremely scrupulous self-analysis
Just by being in that milieu
A place where there’s nothing to show
A mesmerizing dream
A house a neighborhood a town a city
Across the blue divide
A unique revolving stage
I’m never going to let you stop
I am coming towards you
Facts keep happening
There were many feelings
The rain comes by night
I’m not sure I care
Everything’s exactly as I want
There are no faraway things
My body wavers in the dream
There was a pause, then there was a noise
Everything is a beautiful compilation
Crackers on the floor
The languid liquid moves
He had a gargoyle for a face
It’s wonderful to control these things
A burst of shame
Things all look the same
In this university of life
Touch up the glow
I will arrange you
Welcome to reality
One parallel adjustment
And the real event begins
We don’t know what that is.
I’m glad I'm alive and you're not
I don’t like what I see
I want to tell the truth
I didn’t ever want to know a thing
How did it happen
Always inside of you
The magic of our art
Headlamps that rotate
Diamond of mist
This is the goal
Happiness is what I think of
Everything is directly
Stories unfold from every shop window
Above the laws of man
Imagine the feeling of floating waves
Twisting and shouting
When stopped for questioning, he could not be found
Everybody’s whistling a happy tune
Everything fell apart
My savior is my gun
Ties that bind
Are hard to unwind
An amazing piece of work
It will intensify the night
The danger of reality
I’ve just revealed to you my emotional underbelly
The last kiss I’ll ever know.
--from Stolen Poems
The Wings of the Dove
— from Henry James
Only to break down without an accident
The final, fatal sponge that I ask
He stood as one fast by the upstairs fire, in a whole dark December afternoon
Fell straight across the field
Like a lighted window at night
The crack of a great whip in the blue air
From the moment the picture loomed
They had pressed in that gaity an electric bell that had continued to sound
Vast, obscure, lurid
Like plashes of a slow, thick tide
That wears, that washes, that survives use, that resists familiarity
The various signs of a relation
Looking at the mysterious portrait through tears
Like fish in a crystal pool
Idle lads at games of ball, their cries mild in the thick air
So crystal clean, the great cup of attention you set on the table
An image of never going down
As sad as a winter dawn
It opened out as a dark, confused thing
The adventure of not stirring
In a wondrous silken web
The reflected light of the admirable city
Divided from it by so thin a partition
It should now be wholly left
So painfully astray, wandering in a desert in which there was nothing to nourish him
As even the great length of the table had not baffled
Say at once a balloon
Born to float in a sustaining air
It has been lifted off
Being here on the edge of a great darkness
The question of her friend's chemical change
This was always an incalculable light
For all that she must see swept away
Letting it go as deep as it will
It was like a clap of hands
This website is devoted to the advanced poetry, plays, prose and poetics of Peter Ramon – writings from 1966 to the present.
WHAT is Nupoetics? It's a different way of writing and reading. It involves the principal of forgetfulness. It's a technique of sampling and stealing. It combines choice with chance, method with madness. It allows for both. It's a kind of connection / disconnection therapy, a non-narrative / narrative that's an exercise for the mind. It's intentionally unintentional, self-consciously unself-conscious. It puts itself in the middle of extremes: sense and nonsense, abstraction and emotion, literality and metaphor. Nupoetics puts the reader in the driver's seat. That's to say, it asks the reader to figure it out. It's challenging play...
My father was born. Even as a child I saw the hypocrisy. We didn’t want to know. We had to get there early, adding to my boredom and resentment. “Let’s wait for her school bus.” I knew it was over then.
It is amazing how God can use evil. When the guard caught me I didn’t have any tears left. There are so many more wonderful things. I wanted to talk. I was desperately seeking. I nearly had a heart attack. I had told my mother not to come but she had insisted. One could almost say this rules out the possibility of reincarnation.
I see something far deeper. When my husband came home from work and my daughter from school, he shot me. My body started to freeze when I got off the bus. The next step for me I wrestled about. Whether to go in a plaintive voice every evening before I went to sleep. His eyes closed when he tripped. Released from a fear before being taken, it’s not even up to you... [more]
He was sitting in his pajamas and gazing at the appearance of an approaching tomorrow. The door had closed behind her. He leaned forward to catch what air there was. She told him she would remember the rose. He had noticed the impulse to flight and was not altogether displeased. He said something to himself softly. He was feeling a breeze coming from the river.
Through the open window floated a ghost of a smile. He was taking an entirely wrong course with her. Emptiness was written all over the house’s cheap front. He knocked and waited.
It was a fine old town, a town with a past. He had reached the phase of malady. There were many times his remarks possessed a certain involution. He sought desperately in his mind for knowledge of the subject. She strove to control the corners of her quivering mouth. He looked out on an all-enchanted garden. A desire to repossess took hold of him. A prankish fate interposed. It was the glance into a florist’s window that did it. He walked leisurely to it. A stream of persons whose handkerchiefs hung from their hands emerged into the hot sunlight. He made up his mind in an instant. At the next corner he took the right-hand turn without hesitation. He advanced to the fence. There was no light except for the radiance of the stars. She was already wavering along her entire line. A gentle smile hovered under his moustache. For his part, he couldn’t bear them. She bent to rescue a fallen clump. Her accent was delicious, soft and creamy like her cheeks... [more]
He made the halls ring with profanity. Wild with excitement, people traveled for miles on horseback. His avaricious neighbors were careful not to lay hands on anything belonging to him. To be frank, she looked like someone who could haunt a home.
They found to their horror several slain servants strewn about. Many investigators became reluctant to commit themselves. A noise in the aisle made her turn in time to see a box landing on the floor. It was almost a month of spine chilling and yet somehow enchanting days. Still, it could have done with a blanket of grass and some flowers. It sounded like a skeleton hand drumming on the panes of glass of a window.
She was a woman who declared herself too timid to drive a car. That night there was a terrible whining noise coming up through all the fireplaces. He was left hanging for forty-five minutes as a terrible example. He was too young to know he must hide. She stepped onto the balcony and said, “Shut up!”
He saw the small garage sway precariously. She restlessly waited for the rising tide that would snuff out the lives of everyone in the house. All during this time the chain moved up and down. “It was a loud laughter,” she reports, “and it had a hollow sound, and it couldn’t have come from any other place.” She didn’t lack for scores of friends. Then why this trial? They didn’t know the old superstitions, didn’t know they must be afraid.... [more]
A child’s plight should be voiced. Urinating and defecating in the playroom is prohibited. Sometimes children are afraid to make a choice because they have always been told what to do. The neurotic child discovers that his inner impulses may be discharged without dooming him. A vague limit contributes neither to security nor peace. Pugnacious children thrive on turmoil and tension. When this happens, it’s time to change techniques.
There is little benefit in allowing children to attack each other. The parents express in their tone words of rejection. They need to involve themselves in their children’s games without aimlessly repeating frustrations and deprivations encountered outside. The enchanting toys make it difficult for children to remain withdrawn. How quick they are to deny, disown and suppress them! He sees which members of the family are “accidentally” thrown out of the window. They are given a short explanation of how to use the play hour. Even one misfit in a group may create discord. A child does not enjoy such a privilege. A sensitive person understands the child’s feelings in a strange situation.
He was the meanest man he’d ever met. Such a judgment, however, would overlook the stress and pain of earlier years. In a thousand and one ways they victimize their playmates. It may take a few months before a small child can reach the top. That is, sublimations replace displacements... [more]
--from Bland Disasters (1993-2005)
Three Poems of His Madness
— after Hølderlin
1. A lively blue blossoms on the metal roof of the steeple. Swallows cry and hover above it and a roaring blue surrounds it. The sun gets hot over it, farmer of blue, and afterwards a silent wind opens the mouth of the weathercock. When anyone under the clock comes down the steps tripping, it is a still-life because when the figure detaches itself from the background, the truly heroic build of man is made known.
The window under the clock is a beautiful gate, namely a tone of night, of nature a wind or a gate just as these appear like trees of a wood. Right here after so much beauty in this diversity an earnest thought is stated. So the image is simple, so holy and simple it seems a sin to describe it. Heaven above the inner guts of the skin of the animal, the rich laden with ease have these, goodness and pleasure, while a man starves among the other men, starves while the open mouth of life shows itself to man and says, So will I let this be? Yes. So lies happiness in our hearts like rain remains, not missed unluckily, so with him is God.
Is the unknown God? Is the Overlord Himself in the sky? This is what I believe. Man maybe is. The whole of everything is pure poetry when men love the earth. But the reign of night shatters the night with the stars, which I know so well, as does every man, holy builders to God.... [more]
--from The Unknown Language (1968-70)
The French Support
The mass of green length was so beautiful
New descriptions were written else found.
The village animals' businesses died.
The forest chief's' encyclopedias were stressed by
The seeds of time.
Occupied people who court shock
Late enter Egypt,
The ideal of which alone makes them brilliant.
The shows of the sufferings of the worms collected nights
In a cave. Storms of revolting robberies
Suggested the styles of an unusual subject which bears
Like elements feeling cults that agents enslaved fatally
Engender in contrasting wolf readers
To turn matter into an ancient imitation
Of foreign mysticism that dreams wave
As the sole possible desire literature,
Strictly stretching into holes the sayings
Marvelous hope was nursed on as history's train,
With a sincere defense traveling to accused restaurants
That fashion had never stood against before
In the mind hero. "Early" never corresponds to the enchanting moonlight that shares
The mean experience of the masses of sensory lead.
-- from Novelty Contracts (2003-2007)
Fly and see that black sky
I felt I was touching the ground
I’m here with you again
The giants come forth
The sky darkens enough
Into my infinite past
We die trying
I still live
Age is not an airplane
Here’s my escape
Creating a warm, relaxing atmosphere
Time is against me
I alone have the key to saving our future
If nothing happens to me
I don’t want to proliferate that theme
I want my heart to keep trying
My heart is enough
Wag your body
It became obvious that he was unable to think... [more]
--from Bland Disasters
Journey to the Thing
You slip and slide
When you deride
The forces of nature
However to be
When the calm hits the storm
I’m getting pretty unhappy to be
The last point being
I make up my mind
Where there is a need
As the hours connect
Who would have thought
All is not doomed to fail
Something strategic about it
Enigmatic little comments
Are you mad or just insane?
He sits under a bare tree in a gloomy valley
Off he will go tomorrow
Will we count down the hours
Before he arrives
Before the end of days
I’m glad the principles still apply
An economic shoe
Here in the land of sunrise
They were concentrating on
An uncomprehending stare
For some people it’s a natural thing
Dogs will bark
Keep saying to yourself
When you’re sorry
How many people are in love
And what do they think
Of your story
It’s OK, it’s enough
At nightfall in a hot and dusty land
I don’t want to miss a day of fun
In mists of spring everything is beautiful and bright.
Can they hide the true, imperishable light?
I gaze on a geranium sweet
I hope someday to meet.
Beautiful bough with crimson stained
From my heart its coloring gains.
In the winter call
And warm rays will fall
On the snow and all.
The Exclusive Practice
That work is bad
That doesn't help.
-- from No Quarters
The Night Has Eyes
A seething madness rages inside
Another sordid affair
I won't hear a word
I always say the earth's like a human being
You find yourself with your leg under the mud
It seems to draw him somehow
Does no one know the path across?
I suppose I'm not the first visitor you've had here
Walking back the way she came
He's of no more use in the outside world
A little bit of fluff
He's almost human though, miss
She could have helped you if you'd only loved her
You're still buried alive
I'm flaying myself to be here like this
You mustn't be late. Goodnight.
This is a bad house
You look like someone who might listen
I'm like a dog that's whistled both ways
I've done everything I can and said all I could
I throw my noble robe about my shoulders
Something hidden and permanent recurring at certain intervals
I was beginning to feel my confidence creep back when it happened again
I came here and fooled the world
I dislike death
I want to be by myself
What is all this
Corny sunlight after the gloom
A town full of gorgeous beasts
I've got to hear everything I've heard
This is the path that goes across
The Long and Short
Who names the day
The music of life seems to be
Even a little bit helps
It’s as much of this as that
The long and short
Down the brains softly in the wind
To take that old book
From the shelf
The trouble descends the foot in my hair
The least little bit
Painted pictures of the desert that shine
A joy to be living a cloud some day
Valentines they can desire
The moon of beauty is right at hand
Don't let your fog blow away
Your lonely farm didn't need to ruin
We're rolling in
Or you can regress
I spent my whole time kissing
The food all in a slump
I wish I had a system to my heart and not my mind
The diamond misery I find
Cigars and the rent
Steaming in the name of the Lord
The sun blasted black
Life I know has torn
Your life, joy, and pain
But cattle are standing on my heart and eye
For in death I'm caressing you
Filled up with tea now to blend
Like a lap in her hand
Dusty boobs would really shame you now
Things will never be set
Who feels a thousand Chinamen
Spread the needles
For I found the golden wire
Did you catch the faces of those rolling in your garden
Falling when they ride
All the lonely feelings that return in misery
His fine and purple hands are bringing to his mama's breast in agony
Maybe I see myself among the clouds
The doctor's face that I call home
Watch her eyes dim confusion, not me
Statuary in high-heels.
- from The Ends of Thought (1997-2004)
Life Is a Dream
-from Another Life (2007-09)
I’m thinking about it.
I’ve hidden a wad.
I’m moving up.
I’ll negotiate it with you.
And then in the end
Everything is a book.
To take to dinner freedom’s power
Reverse your thinking.
You’re a one-man spectacle.
Do you think I want to be you?
I want to think about you
In the factory of fire.
I’m voting above.
I looked down and there he was.
Dead men are heavy with broken hearts.
It’s just an empty photograph.
I will ascend to the highest level.
An outstanding scope of pain.
I’ll get there entirely here...
--from Revolving Poems (1967)
--from No Quarters (1980-89)
In My Attitude
A hardening attitude
Sometimes a better relationship.
We're getting the attitude here.
We're not picking a fight with anybody.
It was so neat and tidy
That it hurts my attitude.
My attitude is yours.
To consider the situation very seriously
When love comes right through
Practical, modern, with a human touch
Don't be put off
By the attitude.
Nobody seems to care
Couldn't make you love me
Couldn't give you oil
Too much for me
Like tortured notes.
Don't let my tears fall in vain
Change your attitude!
I don't know what to do
My heart is aflame
One more time
In my attitude.
--from Novelty Contracts (2003-2007)
In general, to specify a proposition without dependence on circumstances of utterance, we put for the ‘p’ of [p] an eternal sentence; a sentence whose truth-value stays fixed through time and from speaker to speaker.
— W.V.O. Quine, Word and Object, p. 192
O, life without death
A deep down secret
The moving mind
You can’t just start at the end
I’m not empty anymore
One thing is another
You are not to grieve
I’m burning up in here
My body feels the pain
I share your pleasure
Please don’t sink
Into a pond of despond
I am not in a position to understand
A funny position like yours
My Life On Earth
O bleed to death and never speak
Wings through the window
Your pity lives when it should be dead...
A Heart in Practice
Change from sadness to joy
The first moments of meditation
His tears fall in the dust
Here's a phonograph of this photograph
Misery in everything
He got weak because he was strong
Sensitive and crazy
Sin comes from cities
Love walks in and out
I always know everything
The man of words
A constant fine powder of dust
Penetrate to the heart of the matter
Proceed in the face of sorrow
Eight hours of sleep
Without a peep
--from Things from the Air
— from Karel Capek
Get away from it!
The finest — what does it need?
In anything, in a garage
A terrible almost hopeless task
In lethargy a scrap of paper
Wherever my eye alights
--from The Ends of Thought
Everything has a house
Where we live in the same dreams together
I don’t want to make things worse
It’s becoming clearer
Whose dream is you
I have uncovered disturbing problems
Children, I’m burning...
-- from Blah Blah Blah
Come and Think
Come and think
Maybe we’ll know in a heartbeat
You may ask yourself where’s my movement
A broken pipe could make anyone come to a stop
My job is a little different from yours
I passed over the light a couple of times
No one is ready
See your last breath
An impossible place on earth
We’ve just begun to bleed together
The watery wave
Everybody has struck a nerve
Are you trying to make me miserable
I took it from you
Thousands of others
Guess till the last second
Bring on the pain
It doesn’t surprise me
I just want to keep up some memories
Everybody is doing it...
We can’t move by day so we’ve got to move by night
Escape to the Stars
Great American Backrace
Buried within these walls were haunting memories
We’re both afraid of the same thing
There’s something like a fog
Embers bursting into flame
I must say hello as if we’ve never parted
I can see stories beyond your life
Things that put a kick into life!
A painted backdrop of an English cottage standing in a lonely field
Return or not, just like glue
It was terrible waiting
when you were gone
Don't ever leave me
now that your here
I can't fool my heart
Wake from dreaming
What’s the feeling
In every heartbeat
I feel weak
I’m asking you to know about these things
Why should I believe in you
Make things last
I ride the spur
When the evening comes we smile
Something else has been revealed to me