Place (by the water) book (a novel translation of
another larger) so Hesiod parodied somewhere place as a
zero something outside the walls like in I, Danny the King
who one serves or Queen not so feminist outpouring of the
soul’s vivid mind (perhaps out of that idea of a “soul” I feel
like Buddha running from “consciousness”) across the river
from here across the gutter is a support for language not
unlike Kiyooka in Japan yearly now space rented in an
emptying out of all the other spaces à la James Joyce going
to get in my mind all he needs to continue with or the voice
people from Québec Cedar map boat w/ motor on hearing
and the Delphi poem could be a bounce off the walls
probably a tying to the whole picturness goes on between
the two moons woven at least tied up against the current



“E” not quite there in Delphi’s mind slope except for
the eggplant but on the périphérique the traffic is
something else not unlike the quick movement of the small
bug attracted to the light at the edges of the papers under
the desk lamp. Now it’s raining, finally, after three weeks of
heat. Moths and what we call cedar bugs get in their last
licks. Hermes comes into the room as a stunned silence in
the middle of the yak-yak din, a borderline coyote too
excited by the lushness of the minutiae to pee on the post.
This means time and space don’t really matter, viz. Canada,
Cambodia, Canaan, et al



Called “fat bits” and it breaks up size into the
labyrinth. Goes inside the larger to really show the
invisibility of the city as only virtual; what remains are real
streets and buildings. According to Homer this change in
the condition of experience corresponds to Blake’s beach.
Heaven. Sand. Could this be the shouldering of the world?
The specific seems to operate in this, as you say,
abandoned way. But to have daughters makes me wish,
naturally, for the right kind of jar, like the sack of winds
Aeolus gave to Odysseus. Gingerly



Pausanias is the traveller but yr the journeyer and
maybe that’s why you cry at night for love. Compadres of
the open road. Purest nakedness. Purest silence. Kerényi
says “The gorges over which [you might pass] can be the
abysses of unbelievable love affairs …” Not to mention the
deep valleys carved out by the rapids of the Selemnos river,
which these days is avoided by even the tourists. Some path
of sighing and the sacred, some f-stop toward (or away
from) memory. Or did you forget you tied your sandals
with a double knot


72 Addendum

Forgot nothing but remember the future when the
owl’s hood will be cerulean and with a full tank your dog
team will break through those icy stars at the top of the stairs
sky deep and astonishing alongside the red Harley sacred to
Athena how the things have all added up packed in the boot
including that sentence you wrote in the dust on the police
car hood here the aperture is a pure drive along the river in
the moonlight [you might pass] simplicity the only bird’s eye
of poetry step on it the high beam’s still hoping you’ll
remember the way home



Maybe the reverse is just the reflective ritualing of
the prop, old twin-twisted kerykeion to be leaned on. Any
way think of the Chinese dog days and how hot health can
get under this hound of heaven. Also, you’d probably get
that mirror effect walking up the hill straight from
Pausanias’s “scattered Greece under Roman rule” simply
because the Romans omitted the phoneme schwa or diluted
it. Thus the Socrates ticket as a lasting embrace of those
pine thickets on that shapely walk up the hillside could only
mean the sacred fork or dish used to lift the lonely bull and
later fish



But Hermes really didn’t give a shit as the patron of
lottery looted the Apolline bank and simply rattled the
mantic dice not very apropos that lump of marble lint
plopped there on that hillside to convince us of the right
answers to our questions yet I’ve noticed how the wrong
ones hang around to stress the absolute equality of real
unknowing the late afternoon air and the dust settling onto
Delphi’s trees and cafes stills the spring cool and refreshing
to the tongue thoughts seemed silent feathered and those
birds (could they be crows) overhead looked harmless in
the light of such hillsides now who can fall or get flung
over the cliff for




All of these pieces are from Fred Wah’s Music at the Heart of Thinking: Improvisations 1-170, forthcoming from Talonbooks, Fall 2020.

Fred Wah’s “72” and “72 Addendum” previously appeared in our 2018 series, “Car Poems for Robert Kroetsch,” published in Politics/Letters.org