POETIC STATEMENT

My Poetry aims to achieve three things -- manifestation of physical intention, description of the beautiful, the disrupting of consciousness through the vehicle of hysterical language which harkens to H.D.'s idea of "womb-vision." Through language that moves vertically, I describe dream after dream. By vertically, I mean that my words aim to disrupt the synthetic delivery toward death demiurge language we've been trained to hear in our heads. Linear narrativity shot to the wind. I am inspired by Julia Kristeva's idea of poetic language and how it is similar to William Blake's idea of Orc/Revolution. By this, I mean the genotext is language's underlying function / the phenotext is a structure / a serpent folding around the daughters of memory / the wicker men of scandanavia / they are beginning to form our notion of negativity / it gives a maiden to a husband / linguistics, semiotics, anthropology, psychoanalysis reveal the subject and his / ideological limits / freud notes that this founding break / of the symbolic order/ is born of Mortal Birth / Hegel nevertheless posits / the phenotext is one of algebra / to view texts as signifying practices -- / thought changed the infinite serpent / the Eternal Prophet was completed / a Human Illusion / the drives, which are energy charges as well as physical marks, articulate what we call a chora / energy is eternal delight...

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please visit my myspace music page, on which I will be posting my latest audio files. Such a spoken thing; such a sung thing. This is a work in progress.....

www.myspace.com/debrahmorkun

THESE MOTIONS DO NOT CREATE A STATIONARY SUN

I.

One shouldn’t forgive
the night for infuriating

the break of
day so much

that cyclones unravel
the nails on her dress

and prison guards
invent new ways

to hand over sensation –
our hand-woven gods

testimonialy barricade infants
from mothers, only

here, in this
time, the waxing

infatuation to pile
high the newspapers –

we skim over gossip
columns only to learn

our world suffers as
much as it recedes

we should suddenly
ask the stars if they mind

our gun-created
hallucinations

or if, at best,
the world can deliver

us from the indefinite isolation
prefigured by the way

words no longer
imply universals –

our language recedes
into ironclad landscape

under truck stop
diner signs, the

mentions of heroes. The passage
of a child into

gunman into liar
into holy, patriotic saint.


II.

This search for fig trees
amid the still life commotion

we draw you
into conversation

just long enough to understand
that your ideas are found

in the newer versions only –
we must close

our jewel-covered books
that teach the necessity

of revolutions and perpetuate
the idea that our motions

do not dispel the human urge
to become steel –

to stand proud
despite the tendency

to fall, to only marginally
affect the natural rhythms

like weather, the urge
for heavenly bodies to rotate,

get out of orbit, collide
with the gravitational

culminescence of will power
and unlocking

necessary to let loose
prison hesitations.


III.

For example, if the marriage
of Cicero and Ronald Reagan

inspires women pushing
strollers to humiliate

the clarity of news journals –
the heavens dismantle

their golden wilderness gods
who seek restive hunting grounds

if only creation could be
more like the brooding

dreams of sailors who
lost their way

despite marshland maps found
hanging off billboard

tapestries – buy, buy
what you have enough silver

dollar for – let
the display of amber

necklace and sackcloth
diminish under

golden lights.

BARBELLO

In the beginning, there was a sudden gasp of breath. The taxis continued to pick up strangers. There was a division in place names. Lofty skyscraper arms made a mess of garden sand.

On the first day, he planted his newborn baby in the soil. The second day, the newborn sprouted through the mud, its fresh face tarnished with neighborhood gossip. Bones collect at the edge of the sea. We trod the shore, searching for our fingertips and our lunar belts.

In the beginning, we felt like zombies after much rest. The second day, everyone looked like a film star. The inner skies opened parted mouths to whisper. The moisture of planets birthing smaller planets under the trees of larger planets.




Before skyscrapers, there was heat.
And in the gardens, moist air.
Before any of this, there was
the limited idea
of sentence



































We found hermit crabs fucking the clams until all the pearls loosened themselves
onto the ocean floor

We found entire beached whales pressing on the beaches until the indentation of their bodies created a snow angelic form


The name of the transcendent
remains hidden. The obvious
place to look for it is among
the vowels:

the rivalry between holly
and ivy –

murder, resurrection

the graveyard shifts
to reminisce

the cult of Mary Gipsy
came to England
by way of poor Spanish pilgrims –
palm branches in their hands
copies of apocryphal gospels
in their wallets
and Aphrodite’s scallop shells
stitched in their caps

numbers shift – even, odd

the feast began on the first new moon of the year –
memory tidal

Poetry, since it defies scientific analysis, must be rooted in some sort of magic, and magic is reputable. European poetic lore is, indeed, ultimately based on magical principles. Now it is only by rarity of spiritual progression that poets make their lives magically potent in the ancient sense.

he stabilized the calendar –
the lover told the liar to begin

the zodiac is believed to have originated
in babylonia from the tale of gilgamesh
killing of the bull
love-passage with the virgin
adventures with the two scorpion men
the deluge story
She suddenly spills
her mermaid cocktail
all over the bar floor

one of the cruelest aspects of conversation:
the back pedal

He loses touch with his more
practical wife, once his muse
in another room
he sits carving
the single poetic theme









In the beginning, we pricked our arms with mint leaves. Hospitals sank into lifeblood. She steadied the second hand. The womb around outside.

On the first day, bridesmaids felt each other up in dressing rooms. They necked in the bathrooms.

In the beginning, left turns to exits. Entrance ramps and stars. The lights turn red. The turnpike goes on endlessly. We return to our families.



the parted mouth
of the sky widens
releasing windy
vowel sounds