marlene mountain
as is


1971 [after august]

we move
We move to a new land. The land seems to go up, never down. We move from a hot early summer. The buds here are just opening.

to the mountains
spring again


as of my life

paul, francine, jim
i only sent the 3 early haibun to you 3. not knowing what to make of them. francine expressed interest and how they were almost 30 years ago. jim wants to print 'hit smells right' in frogpond and now paul the 3 for web projects. i still don't know what to make of them. the above i typed from some scrap of paper on my son's apple 2c mid-to-late 80s. the move from southern georgia to the old hills. i haven't a clue what buds were just opening--if any. i was smitten with this place on first sight when the realtor brought us here. weeds knee-deep in the yard. i have a few pictures of the house unlived in for years. no water, a few electric outlets, no kitchen etc. 4 of the rooms 'paneled' straight from the saw mill. rough-cut oak, wormy chestnut. [a few years ago as i was sitting in the living room with company i noticed a vine of ivy--maybe 3 feet--had grown between 2 of these boards.] and it turned out the land in dispute. i've hung on to this place through many problems. still many problems. i've been getting web-ready a few 'as is' sequences from the same period [typed during the apple 2c days] that were better left untyped. i can hardly look at them. actually i've gotten the angry 80s pieces web-ready too. i peek at those through my fingers as one does a scary movie. i'm still pissed ['i think therefore i am pissed'] though i don't write as raw as i did. whew. a great deal of my anger was directed toward haiku. in an 'ongoing re-realization' that all art since the neolithic [paleoclay as i like to call that era] was determined by men. and that haiku was determined by what i considered an old [repressed and anti-female] culture. and which most americans/westerners were still--after the 70s haiku wars--trying to force [i think that's the right word] on all of us. it didn't set right with me. and before i knew it i had a bunch of awful-sounding sequences. well i gulp and continue with the 'back to/next' mechanics of web stuff. at the moment i'm confused about sharing such writing. any writing. dang it to writing anyway. dang it to content anyway. ['words words words corrupt my visual life'--something like that.] perhaps there's something to the repressed concept of haiku. anyway i seem to be going through another 'golly i didn't know i wrote that/shit did i write that' phase. thank you, my 3 friends, for listening. lovemm [from the warehouse] 12/31

in a cold room the 'as is' of my life

other-line haiku sequences
as is


into the mountains:
spring again

old mountain home--
tattered wallpaper
tobacco stains

peeling back
the cardboard insulation
recipes from '37

smells of paint and turpentine
outside: the pines

at creek's edge
a rusty stove

hoeing weeds
all day
all night the motion

puffing up the hill
unable to stop
going down

between the smokehouse
and chicken house:
a natural garden

for the trees, finding a hill
in each

all way up the hill
grabbing at things--
going down--the same

in the 'holler'
a few hours
of sun


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