Sunday, July 1, 1979

TILLING THE FIELD Michael Dow workshop

DRAFT (don't know if I ever typed this one up)

The moon is almost fitful tonight.
A train whistles and moans
midway between night and morning
Cylindrical wheels resonate,
a throbbing echo and clatter.
The ticking of the clock echoes
the throbbing train, and the heart.
Systolic/diastolic. Open & closed.
There is a storm gathering 
in the direction of her eyes.

A line should be the length of a row.
It's the breath feeling, 
a staccato furrow of assonance 
dissonance and consonants.
The break in the link 
the breath and the line 
is a unit of breath.

Maybe we should go back,
chant in the rhythm of the hunt,
chant in the rhythm of plowing.
A line runs the length of a row.
To make a verse is to turn back on itself
and go against the direction of the row.
Go against the direction of the chant
boustrophedon, as the plowman walks.
There is a gathering storm.

July 1, 1979 Michael Dow workshop
minor rev. 11/2/2015 (mostly consolidated line breaks)

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