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• Classic-Fiction

of the train eastbound

in the morning, in a

strange New England

of snow created by the

ice-cap of overcast

covering the Eastern

lake & seaboard —

like Greenland, from

the top of one of

its highest coastal

mountains seeing

below the enormity

of the continental

inland polar snow

field a thousand,

two thousand miles long —

a field of clouds,

no buttercups there;

a glacier of

fiery mad vapor

extending in the

air sea. Down

on the world Premier

Mossadegh cried.

Notre Dame, Terre

Haute, Africas

below. Unbelievable

endless solid floor

of clouds.

SOUNDS IN THE WOODS

Karagoo Karagin

criastoshe, gobu,

bois-cracke, trou-or,

boisvert, greenwoods

beezy skilliagoo

arrange-câssez,

cracké-vieu,

green-in buzz

bee grash —

Feenyonie

feenyom —

Demashtado

— — Greeazzh —

Grayrj —

Or — where a festive

fly makes a blade

of grass snap —

Or — Hurried ant

flies over a leaf —

Or — Deserted village

clearing of my sit

Or — I am dead

Or — I am dead

because everything

has already happened

I must go ahead

beyond this dead

to —

the ground

to —

the vast

to —

the moss of the

Babylon woodstump

to —

mysterious destruction

from —

blisters

bellies

stockings

fingers with hair

tans

sores

muddy shoes

Seulement pas, S.P. —

Aoo reu-reu-reu-

a bee —

The Woods Are Ave of Me

Ant town antics

Joan is dead

The flup fell down

I have an ant

criolling thru

the rot

stump

“Yey” voice

of human child

“oh! — ” Zzzz

Finally: -

Degradled fling lump

stick stump motion

bump in the brother

mump of —

skreeee — lump —

Terre vert —

sflux — seeee —

Spuliookatuk —

Speetee-vizit,

vizit (bird) —

Vush! the whole

forust! Zhaam

Sabaam Vom —

V-a-a-m —

R-a-o-o-l —

m-n-o-o-l-

z-oo — ZZAY —

Tickaluck — (Funny)

fiddledegree — R-R-

R-R-Rising vrez

Zung blump

dee-dooo-domm —

Deelia-hum —

Baralidoo —

Spitipit — spitipit —

Ahdeeriabum, ah

grey —

Vee!

Eee-lee-lee-

mosquilee —

Rong big bong

bee bong —

Atchap-pee

Atchap-pee

Skior! Viz!

Sit!

Deria-po-pa!

Hit-ta-

tzi-po-teel,

Te de li a bo —

Vit! chickalup!

Oooeeeuoom

Vazzh —

V-a-z-z

Flip flip flip flup

Bung ground terre

Doo-ri-oo-ri-oo-ra

Zee —

Krrrrrr — r-o-t

Crick

Fueet!?

Fueet!? _ _ _ _

Written in Easonburg

woods, at one point naked,

Sunday, Aug 10 1952

— The Sounds of the Woods

PARANOIA AND OIL

When Buz Sawyer

goes to South America

representing Americans

who only think in

terms of paranoia & oil.

— bkfast. in the

best hotel is only a

time to read the paper,

across the park it’s

empty & just a

paranoiac Indian

photographer — he

talks over the

phone with Mr Boss,

avoids women —

Woogh!

WATSONVILLE, CALIF.

Mechanized Saturday

night — the foggy

Watsonville Main Drag on

the Mexican side has

people on the sidewalks

milling but Mexican field

& section hands dismally

knowing they cant find

love till they return to

Mexico, just wander, &

mostly look into workclothes

stores (!) like I do and

a group of anxious Indians

finished with the beet

& lettuce season have

bought an enormous suitcase

at the Army Navy

store & are going home

to stern fathers

& good mothers who

have taught them

gentleness & the Virgin

Mother so they dont

clack around wise guys

like the Mexican American

Pachucos — but only

have great sad eyes

searching into the lost

blue eyes of America,

& in the “American”

part of the Main Drag

there are no people,

empty sidewalks, empty

pink neons for bars

(like Sunnyvale) just

cars in the street — a

mechanized Saturday,

with occupants who

look anxiously out for

companionship of Sat

nite mill crowds but

the steel of the

machines is walling them

off — argh!

Meanwhile I dig

the woman in her

sad furnished room above

Mex Mainstreet, her

little boy in window

looking out on the whiteness

& mystery of

Nov. 8, 1952 — & the

old wood building’s been

covered at front with

plaster — She’s in the

window in her pink

dress, radiant, transparent,

lost — I would be

great if I could just

sit in a panel truck

sketching