May 20, 2004

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:


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.



Where are thee
When falls the


I found
the away
& the I
& the have

I & my mind is the

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