UPDATE. Dumuzi has found a publisher! It’ll be a book in the world in the spring of 2020. I’m superstitious, so I’m waiting till I’ve signed a contract to make the details public. The book has also changed some – most of the visual poems are gone – so much of what you’ll read below is out of date. Revisions to this page coming soon.

Dumuzi is a poetry MS just done & looking for a home. Named for a Sumerian vegetation god whose myth is among my sources. A note once at the end – it’s fallen out of the MS but still serves – describes the project, joking only a little, as an experiment in Cubist interior journalism.

I mean journalism etymologically, the study of the day, the look of the day, dailiness. Too, most of its materials have passed at some point through my journal or mailbox or a friend’s mailbox. By interior I mean moving self-portraiture and by moving I simply mean in motion and by self I mean WTF. By Cubist I mean that as the newspaper coffee cup café table they sit on are seen from all vantages at once – multiple vantages, high and low, here and there, and explicit vantages multiply implicitly till the eye becomes space and space is given to see – so here, all moments of the myth are so at once, and the mind is time.

Heavy. Here’s Dumuzi feeding some sheep.

Dumuzi seal

It’s got poems made of words


Let no state be
enemy. Wet, dry, agon.
Work an inmost first
flower mutedly.

Wind blows light about
the life (hemlocks) from
which art is not apart

nor of a part. What a
rock thought to do
was rain and it

Deer come
out of th

and poems made of bar codes

Crossing the Bar

and aasemic poems too (what’re those? read here)

1. And their life

I tried a polyrhythmic syncopation among the different sorts of poem in it. Dropped that, and arranged them as if among different rooms in an archaeological dig

Dumuzi – sheepfold

Dropped that too. It’s been tricky, cuz I want the whole to feel as unrehearsed as a vacant lot gone to weeds in an ugly corner of New Jersey, and as shapely too, each note in its fated place, as a late Baroque symphony. What comes of taking Spring and All as your, not model, your own insight.

My Rubicon came when I saw the Inanna junk mail comic book bedded in it needed to be its own freestanding beastie. So I cut that out, and drew in a gross or so other poems, from a project about abandonment I’d abandoned. It held a still beating heart.

Here, pour t’amuse, “poor Tammuz,” a bit of they is, and it are.


Post Holes

Most of these posts speak of earlier drafts, in all their clumsiness.

They find – croppedDumuzi, the meta-poem
Table of contents of the finished MS

Scrap - Hells yeahHandwriting practice
An early try at aasemic writing on the photocopier

000_0570.jpgTrust yr boredom
On Kuan Yin & junk mail bricolage

Ardon Mordecai. TammuzDumuzi at an end
Announcing (three years early) that the MS is done

interstellarInterstellar Addendum
Science fiction and the mathematical sublime

The lovers - headerSad Inanna
Back when Inanna’s story was folded into Dumuzi’s

TerrorJunk mail bricolage II
On pareidolia and handwriting

Paperwhite 3Paperwhites, for Elise
The last poem

Her me - hdrJunk mail bricolage I
Missing my friend, getting that down in paper

Out of – featuredOut of Sumer,
The prose that became the base text for the aasemic pages


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