I Want You To Hear A New

So Much Destruction In Modern War Takes Place Miles And Miles Away From The Source Of The Destruction, The Human Being Who Has Caused It.

What A View, I Said Again. The River Was Blank And Mindless With Beauty. It Was The Most Glorious Thing I Have Ever Seen. But It Was Not Seeing, Really. For Once It Was Not Just Seeing. It Was Beholding. I Beheld The River In Its Icy Pit Of Brightness, In Its Far-below Sound And Indifference, In Its Large Coil And Tiny Points And Flashes Of The Moon, In Its Long Sinuous Form, In Its Uncomprehending Consequence.

I Want You To Hear A New Version Of Dueling Banjos. Anyone Else Is Welcome.

I Think Ginsberg Has Done More Harm To The Craft That I Honor And Live By Than Anybody Else By Reducing It To A Kind Of Mean That Enables The Most Dubious Practitioners To Claim They Are Poets Because They Think, If The Kind Of Thing Ginsberg Does Is Poetry, I Can Do That.

Yet Technique Matters, Even So. God Uses It, For A Buffalo Is Not A Leopard.