More Animated Poetry

Animated poetry yesterday. More of it today. This time two pieces from Ronald Solano‘s Kinetic Type Project – featuring brief selections from two of Allen’s poems, “Night Gleam” and “My Sad Self”

“Night Gleam” – here’s the full poem:

“Over and over thru the dull material world the call is made/over and over thru the dull material world I make the call/ O English folk, in Sussex night, thru black breach tree branches/the full moon shone at 3AM, I stood in under wear on the lawn -/ I saw a mustached Englishman I loved, with athlete’s breast and farmer’s arms/I lay in bed that night   many loves beating in my heart/ sleepless hearing songs of generations electric returning intelligent memory/ to my frame, and so went to dwell again in my heart/and worship the Lovers there, love’s reachers, youths and poets who live forever/in the secret heart, in the dark night, in the full moon, year after year/over & over, thru the dull material world the calls made”.    July 16,1973 

And “My Sad Self” (for Frank O’Hara)

“Sometimes when my eyes are red/ I go up on top of the RCA Building/ and gaze at my world, Manhattan—/ my buildings, streets I’ve done feats in,/ lofts, beds, coldwater flats/—on Fifth Ave below which I also bear in mind,/ its ant cars, little yellow taxis, men/walking the size of specks of wool—/Panorama of the bridges, sunrise over Brooklyn machine,/ sun go down over New Jersey where I was born/& Paterson where I played with ants—/my later loves on 15th Street,/my greater loves of Lower East Side,/my once fabulous amours in the Bronx/  faraway—/paths crossing in these hidden streets,/my history summed up, my absences/   and ecstasies in Harlem—/ —sun shining down on all I own/ in one eyeblink to the horizon/ in my last eternity—/matter is water./   Sad,/I take the elevator and go/down/pondering,and walk on the pavements staring into all man’s/ plateglass, faces,/ questioning after who loves,/ and stop, bemused/ in front of an automobile shopwindow/standing lost in calm thought,/ traffic moving up & down 5th Avenue blocks behind me/ waiting for a moment when …/   Time to go home & cook supper & listen to/ the romantic war news on the radio/ … all movement stops/& I walk in the timeless sadness of existence,/ tenderness flowing thru the buildings,/my fingertips touching reality’s face,/ my own face streaked with tears in the mirror/ of some window—at dusk—/ where I have no desire—/ for bonbons—or to own the dresses or Japanese/   lampshades of intellection—/   Confused by the spectacle around me,/ Man struggling up the street/with packages, newspapers,/ties, beautiful suits/  toward his desire/ Man, woman, streaming over the pavements/ red lights clocking hurried watches &/   movements at the curb—/  And all these streets leading/so crosswise, honking, lengthily,/ by avenues/stalked by high buildings or crusted into slums/ thru such halting traffic/ screaming cars and engines/so painfully to this/countryside, this graveyard/ this stillness/on deathbed or mountain / once seen/never regained or desired/in the mind to come/where all Manhattan that I’ve seen must disappear” New York, October 1958

and here’s another one, this time, the complete poem, (from Nikolaus Lesnik, another talented graphic designer) – “Written In My Dream by William Carlos Williams”

“As is/your bearing/ a common/Truth/ Commonly known/as Desire/ No need/to dress/ it up/as beauty/ No need/to distort/ what’s not/standard/ to be understandable./ Pick your/nose/ eyes ears/tongue/ sex and/brain/ to show/the populace/ Take your/chances/ on/ your accuracy/ Listen/to yourself/ talk to/yourself/ and others/will also/ gladly/relieved/of the burden -/their own/ thought/and grief./What began/ as desire/ will end/ wiser.”

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