By the stream and under the trees, scattered are the
traces of the lost;
The sweet-scented grasses are growing thick–did he
find the way?
However remote over the hills and far away the beast
may wander,
His nose reaches the heavens and none can conceal it.
Daggers of moonlight
Murder the sheets
in the stink of a four dollar room
And Daddy’s gone a-hunting
for a dimebag of schoolboy
Tied up with a yellow balloon
So hush little baby
daddy must go
I’ll cover you up with a blanket of snow
By the time I make Jersey
you’ll be in heaven
In a pretty blue shoe box, I know
So sing a song […]
Here’s a small section from Steve McCaffery’s 1970-1975 “multi-panel language environment” entitled Carnival:
You can check out the fully assembled version of this panel, as well as the 1967-1970 panel, here.
Attempting to transcend the boundaries of concrete poetry, McCaffery claims that the panel approaches the sacred by virtue of its mandala-like qualities. Of course, in […]
