@kimdorman.bsky.social
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American poet residing in India / Corbel Stone Press
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kimdorman.bsky.social
circular reasoning — like the man who once told me “I need guns.” I asked “Why?” “To protect my guns.”
kimdorman.bsky.social
Mountains & Valleys

In stones, in clouds,
rounding a corner on
a train or bus . . .
kimdorman.bsky.social
For the sun has also a stem, on which it turns.

-Ronald Johnson
kimdorman.bsky.social
in the last field, where the deep eye
is altar,
a last stone
is stammering another.

-Gustaf Sobin
kimdorman.bsky.social
By the roadside the little tea-urns are set up; milk silently clothes the black idol; the sky enlarges the inescapable spell.

-Lewis Thompson,
Indian notebook, 1933-37
kimdorman.bsky.social
Earth a cinder cool to the touch

-Elizabeth Arnold
kimdorman.bsky.social
… having looked at (only) a small part
of existence during their lives, doomed
to perish swiftly like smoke they are
carried aloft and wafted away, believing
only that upon which as individuals
they chance to hit as they wander in
all directions …

-Empedocles
(tr, Kathleen Freeman)
Reposted
lattaj.bsky.social
Out of Juan José Saer’s unfinished La Grande: the phenomenology of apprehending the “uninterrupted flight” of the world. Memory (and reading, and writing) as “a series of disconnected and ecstatic fragments.” (Died in Paris 11 June 2005, leaving only title and first line of a projected 20 pp. coda.)
kimdorman.bsky.social
Nasturtiums lying on delicate lace. / Ivory rings set with sapphires. / Smell of black coal in the thicket of junipers. / Holes in quasars. / Aminos. / Raindrops.

-Michael McClure
kimdorman.bsky.social
The cold is a bond.

-Archelâus,
Physiologia
kimdorman.bsky.social
3.29 a.m. clear, cold … a wide halo around the moon … Orion overhead
kimdorman.bsky.social
The new morning, fresh and still, washed by last night’s wind and rain, all delicate blue and grey, complicated clouds. The river like frosted glass.

-Lewis Thompson,
Journals, 21.IV.45.
kimdorman.bsky.social
Does the Eagle know what is in the pit?
Or wilt thou go ask the Mole:
Can Wisdom be put in a silver rod?
Or Love in a golden bowl?

-William Blake
kimdorman.bsky.social
Mans perceptions are not bounded by organs of perception.

-William Blake
kimdorman.bsky.social
What steady eye outstares the sun?
That eye grows black with light:
Seer, seeing, visible made one,
Sleep wakes past day and night.

-Lewis Thompson
kimdorman.bsky.social
We give the name Iris
to the reflection
of the sun
on the clouds.
It is the sign of a storm,
for the water
which flows round
the cloud
produces wind
or forces out rain.

-Anaxagoras
kimdorman.bsky.social
A worm sliding with its soft body
through an open wound—
what does it know of this world?
What have I learned
of the poem that Tirumāl, in his guile,
utters to himself
through me?
Some would say it’s like
the clicks of a gecko,
as old as old can be.

-Nammālvār
(tr. David Shulman)
kimdorman.bsky.social
“algorithmically tuned confection” — perfect
kimdorman.bsky.social
🙏so few people know of them!