"The Wall" published by Hub Magazine

You can download it here. http://www.hubfiction.com/

Paul Continues with Poetry

Paul lit one cigarette off another, as rain rattled down the drains and into the gutters of the boulevard. A young woman on a red scooter, her dress soaked and plastered against her lithe frame passed by the window, and Paul smiled, remembering other women in the rain.

Then he thought: Gunter is late as usual.

He nodded at the waiter, standing in the door, watching the rain and the girl disappearing around the corner, to signal he would like another red wine, a pinot noir, his favorite.

Cold fall rain is bad for business, he thought, as he finished the last drop in his glass before the waiter returned, but good for thinking and remembering.

He reached for his fountain pen, the Pelikan he bought in a shop in the Marais in 1987, when he had just arrived from Vienna, before he met his wife, the French woman who left him for the Brit, and wrote these words--hard writing. That phrase sounded a bit perverse or pornographic, he thought, but it expressed the sentiment, the sentiment he wanted to talk about to Gunter. It was his new theory, this idea of hard writing, which meant simply a new way for him to write. Perhaps everyone wrote this way but it was new for him. In the past, in die Vergangenheit--German was slipping back into his vocabulary--he had written through emotion. Without her and her Parisian French, spoken incessantly, he was falling back on the other language, the intermediate language, not his die Muttersprache, not Romanian.

He lifted the nib and pressed it to the white, thick paper of the cahier, starting again. In the past (la passé), he had written spontaneously through emotion but now he would not let a poem go until he had subjected it to his hard writing. Hard writing required time and thought; time, thought, and discipline; time, thought, discipline, and a rigorous eye. Was there more to it?

After hard writing an editor, he reasoned, should shrug and just publish it because it defeated him with its shape and being. Maybe he should call it diamond writing. He touched the cap of the pen to his lower lip and tasted its gold and silver.

The waiter delivered another glass. He put down his pen and sipped the wine slowly, tasting the earth of the southwest, with its berries and ash, as the wet girl, with the long black hair, passed a second time. Was she lost or was he dreaming of Plymouth where the pilgrims sailed for Virginia to become Prospero's children? Or was she the mistress of Setebos, Venus'moonchild, and he the sound of thunder?

Bengy's Theme

he says
there is
no was
so being
that is
is
or never
was

"The City"

Hub Magazine has accepted the short story, The City, for publication. I will alert you to its appearance.

Cosmological Mythology

nothing
and then something--
maybe compacted energy
or a hydrogen cube--
explodes
and spews
outwards
toward being
that cannot be
but is

Kirkus Review of Keith Harvey's "Cave Gossip"

"A mild-mannered scholar confronts his woman problems by delving into the mythic landscape of the south of France in this searching psychological novel.

Karl Wisent, a 30-ish German man living in Paris in the early 1990s, is writing a book about Nietzsche, but his life couldn’t be more un-Nietzschean. He’s thoroughly under the thumb of domineering women, from the censorious nuns at the Catholic girls’ school where he teaches to his estranged wife Heike, who lives in Berlin and has denied him sex for years. He finally takes—or rather is taken by—a mistress, Hélène, who is firmly in charge in bed and out. She makes it clear that he’s just a “contingent lover” for once-a-week trysts to relieve the tedium of routine sex with her live-in boyfriend. Weighed down by feelings of passivity and alienation, Karl retreats to a chateau in the countryside near Avignon, where he’s surrounded by symbols of an older, more authentic way of life. He takes in Stone Age cave paintings, communes with a peasant family and helps out with farm chores at a local monastery. He’s soon swarmed by a cosmopolitan group of semi-invited houseguests, including Heike and her new boyfriend, and finds himself the odd man out in their sexual roundelay. But he does participate fully in the party’s endless informal symposium, which ranges across such brow-furrowing topics as Greek, Egyptian, Icelandic and Hebrew mythology, the evolution of consciousness, the immortality of the soul and the sublimated cannibalism rite we call Christianity. As Karl applies all this lore to his anguished psyche, the book sometimes reads like a cross between Joseph Campbell and Freud. (One bevy of latter-day maenads advises Karl to project “the spirit of the bull” if he wants to satisfy a woman.) But Harvey writes with a subtle, evocative realism that keeps the ruminations grounded in the characters and their everyday travails.

An absorbing tale in which the quest for self-knowledge packs a lot of emotional resonance."

Being Finite

being finite
within the infinite

we fall
dissolve
and become
some
other thing

perhaps a grain
of sand
in an oyster's shell

or cellulose
in a blade
of grass

digested
by a snail

2010 Penguin/Amazon Breakthrough Novel Contest

My third novel Cave Gossip makes the first cut in the 2010 Penguin/Amazon Breakthrough Novel Contest.

Here is the pitch:

One summer night in Avignon in 1972, the notorious German writer Georg Löwe introduces twelve-year-old Karl Wisent to myth, magic, and treachery; and, from that day forward, he struggles to escape the ghosts, goddesses, and girlfriends that haunt him.

Cave Gossip is a love story, but only in the sense that Iris Murdoch’s The Severed Head, François Truffaut’s The Man who Loved Women, or Robertson Davies’ The Manticore is a love story. Think, then, of Iris Murdoch writing A Hero of a Thousand Faces or Joseph Campbell penning Women in Love.

The plot consists of five distinct parts: Karl, while on a summer vacation in Avignon in 1972, discovers his mother is having an affair and then meets the notorious German writer Georg Löwe, who tells him a ghost story and introduces him to the healing magic of myth and imagination; Karl in Paris in 1992 enters into an affair with the self-absorbed Hélène, who lives with Gaspard, an actor; Karl in the summer of 1993 once again at the house in the hills above Avignon hosts seven guests from around the world who chaotically shatter his world of myth and fantasy; in Nice, Karl reunites with Hélène, who is pregnant with his child and on the verge of marrying Gaspard, and then Karl encounters the nine mythic “mothers” who gather on the beach to set him straight; and finally Karl in Munich in 2009 prepares to meet his fifteen-year-old daughter for the first time.

Ultimately, Cave Gossip is a fable about myth that tells a tale of moral blindness, mother-love, misunderstanding, magic, poetry, and mankind’s inherent use of myth to understand everyday reality.

Cave Gossip should appeal to anyone interested in myth, poetry, psychology, individuation, religion, romance, and, ultimately, the question of being.

Floating Cinders

was it a dream
he dreamt
while the fire
crackled
and a barn
owl in the oak
cried thrice

or did she pass
into the night
while he watched
a red cinder
rise from the flames
and float
near the leaves
bruised and blue
from winter's ice

Beijing Poet

photograph by Philippe Orsetti 2009

the poet's porous poems
painted on Beijing cement
soon dry and disappear

calligraphy of ink
and water lasts
only as long

as the sun
allows
or a passing
pedestrian remembers

ultimately both fade
as the liquid dries

hànzì like all entities
is translucent
transparent and transitory

so it is
that we measure
being and its entities
by evaporation
and shiny stain

Birth of Dialectic

the primordial condition of Dasein
is to lose oneself in others
Heidegger


his green eyes
refract

her love
her angst
her desire

in reward
she offers
a nipple

he latches
and sucks
with greedy
lips

he is her object

an entity
she produced

he is a blank
slate
to paint

a surface
to reflect
her maternal light

like sunshine
off the moon

Desire among the Snails

the snail desires
the greenest leaf
of the reddest rose
of the backyard garden

however at dawn
he turns right
rather than left
and slides south
rather than north

until he reaches
the shadowed park
across the street
where he nibbles
light green leaves
of yellow peonies

no longer hungry
he sleeps
within the bed
of the rich loam
of the well-cared
for public garden

and dreams
of the greenest leaf
of the reddest rose

Toward an Alchemy of Hearing

I see the snail seeing

but I cannot hear its seeing

to understand
I dance the dance
of the shaman

I rattle the gourd
I chant in tongues

the snail-sight
becomes
snail-sound

logos ploughs up
primordial words

being reveals
itself

and we recite
and sing
the songs
of history
together

Rho Equals Mass over Volume

I could not abandon
the snail on the glass
or its image

I answered their demands

but now I seek a reprieve

because

their one soul
deepens widens
and reddens
like a peach

the subject
informs the object
and the object
nourishes the soul

weight mass
roundness
ripeness
swell within
the reflection

it is an event
within the finite
a moment of the infinite

they have become real
and material

they exist as an entity
within time
for our observation

they exist independent
of me

Idealismus, Emerson, and the Primordial Word

Emerson, in his essay "The Poet" said: "Language is a fossil poetry." The poet's role is to dig deep into the rock and "re-attach things to nature."

Robert D. Richardson in his new book--First We Read Then We Write--tells us that Emerson's method of archaeology devolves from first choosing the word and then constructing the sentence. In choosing the word, "a writer needs to get in as close as possible to the thing itself."

Emerson insisted that "words do not exist as things themselves, but stand for things which are finally more real than words." (Richardson 49)

This belief, of course, is a form of idealism; an idealism that flows from Plato through the German Idealists to Emerson.

In idealism ideas alone are real; man thinks the world; man is the center and nature is a form of dream or spirit of man. Emerson wrote: "the Universe is the externalization of the soul." When the poet writes he/she creates soul which gives birth to Nature.

My idea of the primordial word arises from my reading of Paul Celan and Martin Heidegger; however, of late, I have begun to see the skeleton of idealismus supporting their work and recognize it as fertile ground for my inquiry. Consequently, I am now studying the poet idealists to understand their thinking on the machination of the primordial word. The primordial word is a word that has become dead but through its use in its simplest form in a new way will somehow attach it to the original meaning. A dead word brought alive sometimes falls upon fertile soil (an ideal reader) and grows.

Alchemy of the Non-Ego

while reading Fichte


what does nature
promise the subjective
eye at the end

only earth gray
with desiccation

sour air
tarnished black

blazing fire
scorching being

and water
as thick
and turgid
as treacle

Foolish Snail

the snail that slides
across beveled glass
never suspected
the other

the object
of its gaze
was a reflection

instead it reflects
that the splendid
simulacrum
is a better snail

a luckier one

that dwells
in an alternate
world
of such sinister
sense
that each being
there

dines on tasty leaves

brandishes brave
shell of pink coral

and slogs
on sweet slime
that shines
silver
as it smooths
the roughest
road

Madness and Pretty Poetry

A few months ago, I posted a poem entitled "Pretty Poetry," which is my rejection of formal, academic poetry.

Several weeks after that posting, I was having a discussion with my poet friend, SarahA O'Leary, about writing under the spell of inspiration versus writing poetry in a concrete, academic way, in the way we studied poetry and read poetry. We both conceded that we were unimpressed with our pretty poetry, with our conscious poetry making; instead, we both like the poetry that comes from a certain madness, a fever of the brain that overwhelms us.

Recently, I was re-reading Plato's Phaedrus and I discovered this passage, which seems (aikos) to sum it up: "If anyone comes to the gates of poetry and expects to become an adequate poet by acquiring expert knowledge of the subject without the Muses' madness, he will fail, and his self-controlled verses will be eclipsed by the poetry of men who have been driven out of their minds." (245 a)

Quaternity in the Works of Dan Abnett

He is bounden to beleue in ye trinite. And ye felowe beleueth in a quaternitie: Sir Thomas More

Dan Abnett's "Blood Pact" is the twelfth novel in his Gaunt's Ghost series and, in my mind, his most intimate investigation into the psyche of Gaunt. For the nervous, superstitious, conspiratorial among you, let's add another "Double Eagle," to make the series contain thirteen.

So there are thirteen novels in the series to date. However, Mr. Abnett tends to write quaternities with a single over-arching arc, so that brings us to two completed quaternities, a trilogy, and two extras--"Blood Pact," and "Double Eagle." Of these two, one is hors série--"Double Eagle"--and the other, "Blood Pact" is the beginning of a new quarternity.

The last quaternity began with the novel,"Traitor General" and ended with "Only in Death." In "Traitor General" an Imperial General, who is condemned to death, is captured (rescued)by the Chaos equivalent of the Imperial Guard--the Blood Pact--and taken to the planet Gereon. Gaunt and a select team travel to Gereon to assassinate the general.

Gereon is one of Abnett's greatest creations. It is here that Abnett begins to show what happens to a planet that is conquered by Chaos. Of course, we have seen the images of conquered planets before through the battles but we have not seen the day-to-day existence of those who live under the rule of Chaos before nor have we seen the chain of command of Chaos or its administrative echelons to the degree that we now do.

In "Traitor General,' Abnett begins a descent into detail and world-building that he carries through to the last book in the quaternity--"Only in Death." The third quaternity now called the "The Lost," contains some of Abnett's best writing. Not only does he envision several remarkable worlds but he creates languages and cultures in way that would make Ursula K. LeGuin smile. He also begins to transform Gaunt.

To be true to the Aristotelian verities Gaunt must grow and change. In that Abnett has an almost limitless space in which to develop his story arc, the changes are slow. At book eleven, we reach the tale-tell sign of conversion--blindness. Book eleven is the pivot; the book of changes. The story must change and in "Blood Pact" it does.

"Blood Pact" is a different type of book than the others. Of course, it contains all the usual suspects; however, it is smaller in scope. This novel begins two years after the horrendous battles on Jago. The Ghosts are on Balhaut, an important location for Gaunt. This is where it all began, where things went bad for Gaunt. In fact, the people of Balhaut celebrate the bravery of the "dead" hero Gaunt. So, in effect, Gaunt is a ghost of sorts. Abnett is telling us that before "Blood Pact" Gaunt was a ghost, lost in the campaigns and blind to his greater role. Now, in this new quaternity, things are changing; Gaunt can see again; and, as is usually the case, in this most literary of tropes, Gaunt can see what other men cannot. He has a second sight. He sees the future and he sees into others.

The plot of "Blood Pact," revolves around a "pheguth," a traitor, just as "Traitor General" revolved around a "pheguth." This time, however, the "pheguth" is a member of the Blood Pact, and unlike Sturm, the traitor general, Mabbon is a good man or at least that is what we are told.

A Blood Pact unit, along with a warp witch, is sent to Balhaut, like Gaunt was sent to Gereon, to assassinate the pheguth. So the plot focuses on a battle between a small specialized force of Chaos assassins and Gaunt. Because the battle field is small and intimate, the novel feels different; and it is different in some fundamental ways. It does not have the sweeping battles of "The Lost Quaternity;" however, it does set the ground for the next arc and it continues to enflesh the series with new themes and revealed characteristics of the major characters. It also foreshadows the death of several characters and points to a Gaunt reborn with an enhanced reputation among his commanders.

The series has always been dialectical: good versus evil; light verses dark; twins--Rawne verses Gaunt; Blood Pact versus Ghosts--and Chaos versus Order. However, Abnett is the most material of the Black Library writer; he does not go easily into the horrible wastes of the warp. However, with Blood Pact he seems to be saying--all right--there is something supernatural out there and now I see it. With Maggs and his visions of the old Hagg and Gaunt's pre-conscious sight, Abnett is leaving his material universe and stepping over into the world of Chaos. Is he tainted or is he able to mediate between the forces of good and evil? And, of course, there is always that ultimate question: what is the good?

So, in conclusion, "Blood Pact," is an intimate transitional novel, focusing on Gaunt, his past, and his present. It also further develops the character and humanity of the forces of Chaos and through this enfleshment ennobles them to an extent not seen before in Abnett's work. This ennoblement then deepens the themes and enriches the texts that have preceded the novel. For instance, when we read "Double Eagle," and we read of the dog fights between the Blood Pact pilots and the Imperial pilots, we can now imagine them as corrupt but human, both brave and ruthless.

Idealismus in the Life of the Snail

the snail on the mirror
cannot say what the other
is nor can it explain
its presence in the glass

it can say though
what the other seems
to be and from that
it can spin a phantasy
around this other
snail's life

from the myth
we imagine
another world
where real snails
crawl beneath
fallen leaves
on the solid
ground of His garden
of ideal forms
and bodiless souls