70. Enochian Translation #2

Enochian Translation #2

for Holly Pester1

Our lives are all lived out in this city now
everything here where we have made it thus be
what we must do is work together making it so much better
not richer nor fuller of the cunningest things

but need met for everyone truly &
with this city in quick moving balance with
the wider world it is all set within and
intercommensal with, now mutually sustains us

yes, welcome all my dear friends now
here our anthropocene third millennium
oh what a dream it was, some half-mad fantasy
in fact if anything’s different we all go

sometimes it tells us & sometimes demonstrates process
how life held in balance depends always on new things
constant creation recreation, fresh meaning dropping
sometimes springing as we misread, else here miswrite

we & this are all fragments or bubbles
inside we are empty & vanishing thru every slow day
light playing across & within us most beautiful
inside intermeshing contingency against what must be



1 “A poetry that allows for the noise of the system, or the scruff, to be the instigator of a work is surely intermedial – even if, in its eventual transmission, it is just voice and paper: systems that broadcast the voice and voice the broadcast.” Holly Pester, “New Definitions for Intermedia”, Journal of British and Irish Innovative Poetry Vol 3, No 2 (September 2011): Special Issue; The Greenwich Cross-Genre Festival (14-16 July 2010), p 94. Cf “As I worked through the text [Claude E. Shannon & Warren Weaver, The Mathematical Theory of Communication (Univ of Illinois Press, 1949)], I began to realise that ‘noise’ in a communications channel, whatever the intention of the originator, is something very like the artwork itself, introducing a high level of uncertainty and thus an extraordinary amount of information into the perception or reception of the work. Information is, of course, different from meaning (gibberish has a high information content), but it is the possibility that meaning(s) arrive in the clutter of uncertainties that makes things interesting.” Richard Deacon, “How I Learnt to See”, Tate Etc. 30 (Spring 2014), p 36

26. The Sudden Appearance of Foxes in the Darkness of Night Shocked Her Deeply

choose something horrible
must sit at the edges
are smeared with a past
filthy as cake
regretted w/ everything
don’t know what is
learn very slowly
to hide inside possessions
abase ourselves to power
dream of many things
that may not happen
don’t trust
or like this world
– how can we
change it?

A Dog:
doesn’t regret
knows what is
hacked off head
knows what is
yet still
abased to power

bubbles & flourishes
fuels & propels
gets caught up & sticks
– scratch off
w/ brambles

don’t realise
don’t clean
don’t hate
– where are we all
this early autumn sun?

The Stories:
scars & repetition
grand natural process
what comes after
unfilled voids appear
mean nothing
spore, bubble to flourish
tend into dreams
all about children
tell us
what action is
what words
can do
filling these voids

25. The Stories

We chose something horrible, of course – the stories
all the old scars that form our inheritance
and the yearly repetition of summer & then
what comes after

What comes before smeared all over us now
it’s a cruddy cake we do regret eating
a dog wouldn’t – but aren’t we lacking its sense
of what is?

Hate bubbles up like paint in the August sun
all the stuff we’d taken sticking to us now
the children don’t realise but it covers them

The stories mean nothing, are blossom sporing
yet again our dreams: canicide, revolution and
personal fulfilment. We ought to like the world & trust
wisely don’t