Life keeps hurtling forward, bursting forth. It’s spring in California, the jasmine’s come in and the streaky roses. It’s been raining hard all morning; just now it stopped abruptly. Lyn writes in My Life, “she observed that detail minutely, as if it were botanical. As if words could unite an ardent intellect with the external material world.” This is Lyn, vitally observing, drawing it all into relation, the mind and the world, botanical, passionate. Making words hold life, making words as life. “Such that art is inseparable from the search for reality,” she writes.
A poet starting with X
My modern American poetry site is set up alphabetically. I’ve never had a link under “x.” The spoken word poet (“I have been involved in what is now called spoken word since 1982”) Emily XYZ wrote to me suggesting that I correct this omission, and so I have.