When we were driving to Vermont a couple weeks ago I found, in the back of aaron's car a book called Night by Harold Brainerd Hersey, a book of poems with sinister looking, vaguely erotic art-nouveau illustrations by one Elliot Dold. Really the most interesting thing about the book is the illustrations, but reading the poems one realizes that, while dated and somewhat banal, they are not altogether terrible. They succeed in conveying a vague mood moreso than anything else. I've become a little obsessed with the text (have since procured my own copy), and I've decided to rework Hersey's poems (retaining the original titles), by rearranging the words. I am going to try to do one per day until I've gone through the whole text. I wish I could scan in the images, because the poems really interact with them; however, this would probably violate some sort of copyright (even though the book was published in the 40's). Perhaps I will incorporate the images into some sort of print rendering of the reworked poems when I am done. Anyway, the first:

CYCLE



Broken Of broken 

face like trembling a dove's



wing 	a wrinkled wing

Thy hands secrets 

hands of The



dawn forgotten body 	comes

The dove with Flies



stars disappear

stars are Discovering



Thy shadows are.



The 

light.



thy

moon



Where are thee

When falls the 



Listen?



I found

the away

& the I

& the have 



I & my mind is the