Yesterday while reading about Jeff Nuttall 

I remembred /

 half the people I know are mad'

Adrian Mitchell


Brandenburg concertos i ve been listening  the first
time i heard them was in 1970 in the winter i guess
   on recordings  records real big plastic black records
   and now I listen to them i am elated  my spirit swells

 this is sensing god

  a divinity machine but alsoa  madness machine /   one has to tread carefully with this notion of divinity it's driven humanity mad...

if one is to create a  new humanity one has to weed out these old ideas.... easy to say not so easy to do . our bodies have memories that are thousands if not millions of years old... the dna the culurual memory everyone car ries

like a box inside their blues


______ more later



dream book(s) entry

Another time I am travelling back from a mysterious country. I do not know the language, the customs, nor can I be certain where it is. I am flying over the city a fine gale pushing me along . It's my astral projection body. I see lights over the tops of all the buildings: I wake up, I am in the Bronx visiting my girlfriend of the time. (Dream bk 2000)

Someone comes up to me when I'm in Dublin one night saying (nattering away very rapidly) well CLifford Duffy what on earth brings you here? I am dumbfounded, mouth agape I am speechless I get dizzy I feel the world spinning from under my feet!~ I wake up and realized I was on the boat-train heading back to the Continent. (Dream bk, 1993)





'  to bring thy summer out of winter '

                              John Donne 



__ chapter(ing)


Chapter One   __ No chapter designations/ call them Sections.

I was wandered around


  'half the people I know are mad'  (Adrian Mitchell)

  no one's having any illusions about your loyalty



person to person...


 the great bloody paradox is that it's cold right here and warm elsewhere   naturally it's like that 
   with pretty  much anything

    like a woman's ass or thighs right there 
                                     lips her eyes her thoughts
                                                      right here yet  so far 

                        not necessarily actual distance either
   thinking here of  those Russian neighbours last year the distance there was light years

     Station to Station

I'd like to make a trunk call operator

 did you say 
                  person to person sir?

Oh    A trunk call sir
      yes   yes 

 a trunk call that'd carry  me through the cables Marconi laid   

     Excuse me Sir where was you wanted to call?

  I said Marconi not macaroni     

 Pardon me, sir?

   Trunk and bunk and trunk and bunk to her vein pain rain train   handss  

 Le roi du coeur 




when I think of the telephones in my life    then the mobiles over the last few years

   and then, to my surprise and shock it turns out water-main burst in another part of the borough where I live. Saw it on the news and I felt compassion and worry  and concern for the residents and wondered how they are now. and the awful winter    it's battering the building buffeting wind around the couple of blocks near by up from the frozen tundra of a river    .

  and people romanticise nature    nature  my eye , as they say.

                   thank goodness it's heated here  but the memory of that lightening strike lingers      



A nd


....Shocking weather, mister,' he concluded, addressing the man behind the counter, who responded by nodding  his head several times, his countenance still distorted by the vacant grin. 'I suppose you think I shouldn't be complaining about fog with the brogue on me, but Irish mist is a different proposition entirely. You could stand a broomstick up in this stuff and it wouldn't fall down. Bad for business too, I suppose?'

  David Lodge, The British Museum is Falling Down 
   p 134.





_ hinterland

Winter I hate thee

A perfect world with no winter.

Winter I cannot stand you anylonger. Go winter, leave. Leave us.

 ________________________________   On the other hand   

 Blow blow thou winter wind thou art so unkind    as human ingratitude 


_____________| w r i t in g |

on writing



cold combat



Dante the Italian poet Mister Dante and the seven(th) muse

A caretaker field 

   he was a  caretaker poet

 what will happen to the world war about to end

As war is ending

each night earth there is less


a young becoming happens the kid wails out in Argentina

the birth of an idea a peace  of peace a meadow  of azaleas

of democracy round the earth   ___ at least  call it 'around '

   (the words making their  pass )

between the loves of love

People are rightly worried about a nuclear war__ so they think or imagine and there are those who want everyone worrying ....


it won't happen


anymore than the squares happen

It won't     happen   not here in this planet

A telescope to the future cures one's doubts

The other war going on daily the day to day matches the cold combats

the inability   giving   in to admit you're wrong

 and give this is the war making

the other aint gonna  happen

the molecules to the big stifling machines and the copy cats the robots doing what they're told

A man cannot compliment a woman she

 cannot compliment him she

seeks approbation repeating the same

cycle of starting and stopping throughout her life

this is no way to be neighbourly

the man alone labours on one day a river swallowing him

he's disappeared forever gone into a smoke flying up into the air


the sick ones come 'about power


Dante's Inferno


These are yet blacker spirits.  Various crimes
Have sunk them deeper in the dark abyss.
If thou so far descendest, thou mayst see them.




some people have the tact of dinosaurs they come along pounding loud and 
  & leave trails of shit behind them

i've learned to jump out of the way   before the shit hits me

 their shit  as someone once said   maybe they think it doesn't smell
   but i can smell it from miles away

a delicate antennae   an antennae like me can't afford having dinosaurs like that around 


    and the poor dinosaur! always troubled with their own neurosis
                               and the decadence that goes with it
                                                                                 never getting anything done
   and there's different types too I suppose   
                                            let me think the flat-footed kind the big flubby kind who

bash you with their endless boring stories of failed love 

  but more later  i must anon  as night wills me to sing  and this bird's a twittering creature     



Re by spring water

  Th(a)t's  strange phrase  'hamstrung by lanes' ... starting your  text with    that peculiar phrase just by sound  than forgetting it and moving off   your hand pointing across Jeanne-Mance street .. it's almost a real street yet ...   .. into a memory  then intertwining that with your fiction and another's . the poet spies on his own self? an espionage of love . goes back.    but you even fool yourself as if.

 Ill be there if I can . No  matter . is it no matter that carries on.a  rain  

 by spring water


by spring water


 hamstrung by lanes and  tagging no one held back it was winter it was  and not a lot more than that it was trying to be good in the middle of   in the middle of what  in the midst as it was it was a middle of things   and
   the drun-drun-drun                                                                                   and the din
  between the flags waving of the paramount movement the colors of the sky blue as heaven and the lane
around the corner walking through and what's her name you can't remember her name she lived next to Bob Mellor who's disappeared for years now it was then she hemmed up to him wandering that sky of spring  you turned into the lane              David Yaeger  tall as a tree walking down 
    the speed-walks across the city we did those 

                        seventy-three seventy-four  was it ? the tibetan yoga walk 
 there'll be more as the pain comes   then Bonnie vanishing
    & others reappearing   in the 80's there a woman    Rachel   a woman   remember me?




re Flocky & Yearny


So tell all  who was Flocky first of all? was he the creation of Yearny's yearning or the Mona of Jill's becoming herself along the slave of other self? and was her own required becoming a mere trope of the guitared figure of speech? and speech its own sweet spoken rare conduit of the boxing betwixt friend and enemy?





you  knew  someone that's trapped in a ghost body    to define it  is one plug

 being free of it another 
  the two combined make a  fine trap that's poetry's the excuse for but you'd be

better off watching star trek

  of that which is so speakin

   or say  a pell-mell wheat moment  the molecular star-making


as the maximum anyone can get in giving is receiving & that's where you fail

   you fail to receive as your ideas keep you barricaded behind the supposed wall you think
no one sees  i saw it
i saw
  there's an old saw another person in that room shrinking because of it

  a middle age woman  medicated

a young man    hurt his driver who'd gotten him there free gone out of his way 

because of it
   all because you a re so beautiful

    yr partner is too it kills everyone

so take your beauty and go away

  & return when you're better and beautiful
 but not sick
beautiful but kind

 because  you're like someone else i know playing hard to get
yr shell 's made of peanut butter wrapped
 c crunchy shell like material

     is that called playing safe?

it's not your fault but not mine either
nor theirs

 that's for sure

it's nobody's fault because no one's perfect
but you gotta keep  trying 




what happened


  so what happened  in Ireland ~ i found our so~ and was he lovely as a cloud smattering the afternoon sky  the air filled like tundra with the marks of a rising sun?
~ indeed he was             that he was
   the wind beckons by that water
   lapping on the seashore



boldy bold


reading shakespeare's plays right thru  (after all of these years of being with him since  childhood)  in a  line of books one after the other with 'breaks' between                                                                    as i read other things..
  one thinks about  'for an intire' life

now that's a contradiction saying two things with one mouth reading 

 one brain going in two directions

besides which as I once told someone named John

I dont really read those books I just underline

                      yet with Wilhelmina a  Shakescenry you ode dont need to really as  it

           underlines itself

  but i dont pretend to read those books if I did i'd get nothing done at all

  basically iread them all before i was twenty all i needed to read and then a year or two till before 25

  i   read                                  french                      english       and all the others in-between

   that i need d   to do for any flamboyant   creating required after and after again

  for being after yourself is many to yourself before having to do what it's called to get a hold of the shores

          required if you follow my drift entirely leaning?


So I says to Flocky who thinks I was Yearny


I dont read at all


   You don't read?

Yearny:   I'm going to underline the telephone book, I mean the white pages right, the yellow pages


He says, Flocky does, pointing out my ahead of the time genius all farseeing before its time binoculars


   that is very cool       you are the cool playing between the classical and the improvisation of the piano sentence

  Ah I dont know if Flocky is dead but he sure  is not reaching around the corner. with any grace and gratitude all stuffed up the nose with smoking  t he greeny green a lifetime and more his mindymind's become a broken record recording his own   blue blue blues.



_________________ reverse


  i find it interesting that his (w.s.) plays were performed backwards..  as it written one year seen another .. performed in awake yet writ in sleep ..    per(s)hance(d) to wake (indefinite article) .. beside (all) others ..  and the Duchess of Malfi?  ..