So it’s give or take, who keeps track, the anniversary of this blog, in which honour, here’s from the syllabus to The Art of Compost, the second coming of it.
SOME LIKEMINDED FOLK
Compost is a way of thinking about life and death and art and thought and act. Not a better way but a really quite interesting way. Also, there’s no such thing as compost theory, but if there were, here might be some thoughts of it.
Now I am terrified at the earth, it is that calm and patient,
It grows such sweet things out of such corruptions.
– Walt Whitman, “This Compost”
Beginning again and again is a natural thing even when there is a series.
– Gertrude Stein, “Composition as Explanation”
write carelessly so that nothing that is not green will survive
– William Carlos Williams, Paterson
Life is natural
in the evolution
– Lorine Niedecker, “Wintergreen Ridge”
It is only the midden heap, Beauty: shards,
scraps of leftover food, rottings,
where we read history, larvae of all dead things,
mixd seeds, waste, off-castings, despised
treasure, vegetable putrefactions
– Robert Duncan, “Nor is the Past Pure”
[You] can go by no track other than the one the poem under hand declares, for itself.
– Charles Olson, “Projective Verse”
After a long time of light, there began to be eyes, and light began looking with itself.
– Ronald Johnson, Ark
Poetry is biodegradable thought.
– Jed Rasula, This Compost
Hey try this out. Where you see “poem” or “poetry,” read “writing.” Does the thought hold?
Sorry for the gap between the posts folks. Rough couple of days in headache land. I have trouble turning off. End of the quarter, all ramped up, grading frenzy, plus madness with the student journal I advise, plus getting prepped for summer compost, and having got it all done, instead of relaxing into a week of sunfull ease – whump.
There I am in line at the Home Depot to pick up my new composter and the sparklies start, migraine’s coming, oh no. (Head, meet composter, headComposter, ha, ha.) Mostly through it now so I can get this bit posted but damn, the body, damn.
Some sympathy let’s for those medievals who reviled it and apotheosized the spirit. Yeah they leave us with a cruddy debit. But just think, boils, cramps, agues, rotten tooth roots, and what did they have to heal yehs? Leaves and leeches.