detail of untitled - Lakota Sandoe
The Nature of Nature
Our AutumnCover
"Dead Juniper"
A woodcut by Patrick Dengate
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The Autumn 08 Issue
The Nature of Nature
Volume 3 Issue 3
The Autumn Interview
Talking with Malidoma Patrice Somé
“Ritual, Remembeing & Healing”
New Fiction: from Sushma Joshi "Rain"
Encounters at the End of the World
by Teresa Podlesney
"Transformed" by Jim Rousmaniere
Mountains and Waters Sutra
by Dogen Zenji
Poetry from: Leah Meryl Harmon, Eric Trethewey, T.S. Eliot, Tim Mayo, Charles Wright, Jay Parini, Michael Blumenthal
"Initiation: Remembering One’s Purpose" Malidoma Patrice Somé
Read the
John Nirenberg Interview:
gypsies
Victim of Society- George Grosz
Art © Estate of George Grosz/Licensed by VAGA, New York, NY
Flambeaux
-Peter Simoneaux
The mud does not burn the river
runs away in the night. The bank does not move.
The water stays in its appointed place and is large
and Brown and eats the levee grain by grain.
The streets are dark and settle inch by inch.
The night is brown and does not move.
The music is dark and vanishes around the corners.
People are in the doors and the windows and are changed
second by second. The moon is in the sky and stays in its
appointed place. The river flows toward the gulf
minute by minute.
The people are drunk on the river and fill the streets.
The air is small and changes breath by breath.
The dawn stays in its appointed place.
The minutes are thick and vanish around the corners.
The maskers are dark and settle inch by inch.
The moon runs away in the night.
The blood stays within the veins.
The music is dark and flows toward the heart second
by second. The wind blows warm within the brain
and is transformed tissue by tissue. The night is red.
The people are thick and disappear around the corners.
The river carries the maskers away minute by minute.
CRR SRING EVENT!
Photos!
Bread & Puppet at The Transparent Spectacle
Hampshire College Red Barn
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A Window with a View
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Autumn 08 The Nature of Nature
Winter 08: The Moon: Maddness and Inspiration
Spring 09 Wealth: The Rich and The Poor
Summer 09 The Wheel of Change
The Second Coming
William Butler Yeats
TURNING and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.
Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again; but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?
Interview with Dennis Kucinich
“War in not inevitable. Peace is inevitable but it’s going to take work.”
Go to the interview
From the Spring 06 Issue
T: A culture can evolve no faster than its language evolves. Language actually defines the frontier of the knowable. I take the language issue very seriously. I see us as being imprisoned within the limitations of our language. You can’t plan social strategy that you can’t talk about. You can’t build a work of art that you can’t describe somehow. So the goal is always to push language to its outermost limits and then beyond that. Wittgenstein said that “the appetition of language was for the unspeakable”. Not to be content with it or to contemplate it, but to take the unspeakable and speak it and thereby extend the frontiers of language.
From the Fall 06 Issue
Jules Laforgue lived fast for only 27 years. As a major influence for American poets such as T.S. Elliot, Ezra Pound, and Hart Crane, LaForgue took his own ethnographic tack by challenging the French language through the use of coarse colloquialism, startling rhymes, and pungent, mostly ironic neologisms. His poetry traverses the centuries and his vision captures the dream. (KTM)
CARNIVAL NIGHT
Paris steps on the gas.
The clock rings like bells On the hour.
Sing! Dance! Life is short,
All is vain -- and up there, see, the moon dreams
As cold as the time when man didn’t exist.
Ah! What banal fate! In a flash and then it’s gone,
We delude infinity by Truth, by Love;
We go until the earth in its tower Splits through the clouds without a trace. Awaken to the echo of all these cries, these tears,
These fanfares of conceit we ‘name’
History: Babylon , Memphis, Benones,
Thebes, Rome -- Ruins that the wind scatters with flowers, today.
And me, how many days are left for me to live?
I beat the earth, and cry and tremble
In front of golden centuries that never slept
In this nothingness without heart -- of which not one
God can bring! And here, in the peaceful night,
I listen, A step resounds, a melancholy song, and a beast of labor,
Dead drunk, returns from the festival
Retiring at random to some squalid heap.
Oh! Life is too sad, incredibly sad!
I’ve always sobbed for the Festivals down here:
“Vanity, vanity, all isn’t vanity!” Then I think:
but where are the psalmist’s ashes?
Jules Laforgue Translation c. 1975 by Kate Tarlow Morgan
Perspective
When
we approached
Red Tail hawks migrating
dralas drifting
over stony hills
long enough in fact
that myth seems to issue
from crack, crevass,
and cave
rewriting histories
strangers abandoning relics,
war and armaments
along the roads we no longer
used
Two Shaddhus in Uttra-Kashi
