Larry Eigner (1927-1996)
Larry Eigner (1927-1996)
An online tribute edited by
Loss Pequeño Glazier

Thoughts on Eigner by...

Hank Lazer
Ron Silliman
Charles Bernstein
Douglas Messerli
Aldon L. Nielsen
Jerry Rothenberg
Jack Foley
Loss Pequeño Glazier
Photo credit: Kit Robinson
See also:
Larry Eigner Home Page
Four for Larry Eigner by Hank Lazer
What Do You Know: a Read on Larry Eigner, by Kit Robinson
February morning by Michael McClure

Date: Sun, 4 Feb 1996 13:02:13 CST6CDT
Reply-To: UB Poetics discussion group
From: Hank Lazer
Organization: The University of Alabama
Subject: Re: Larry Eigner

Poet Larry Eigner died last night of pneumonia and other complications. I will post additional obit/bio information in the next couple of days. Here, a few basics: born 1927, got cerebral palsy at birth, non-ambulatory, lived in Massachusetts until 1978, then Berkeley. First book published by Robert Creeley in 1953, over the past 35 years, Larry authored more than 40 books--some recent ones: Areas/Lights/Heights: Writings 1954-1989 (Roof, 1989); Windows Walls Yards Ways(Black Sparrow, 1994). Work appeared in Origin, The Black Mountain Review, L=A=N=G=U=A=G=E, and in Donald Allen's The New American Poetry. Important to many poets, among them Denise Levertov and Robert Duncan, and a good many on this Poetics List....

from Selected Poems (1971):

the knowledge of death, and now
  knowledge of the stars

     there is one end
                       and the endless

 Room at the center

   passage   /   in no time

  a rail  thickets   hills   grass

from Windows Walls Yard Ways (1994), last poem in the book:

                        September 16  92

so  years  been  passing

  the road quiet

        still often enough

           night and then day

             light up in the sky

              behind a towering tree

                    shadowed   dense

Date: Mon, 5 Feb 1996 03:36:26 -0800
From: Ron Silliman (rsillima@IX.NETCOM.COM)
Subject: Larry Eigner

When the University Art Museum celebrated Larry Eigner's work by posting "Again Dawn" in humongous letters on the outside of the museum and held the big reading with and for Larry, Kit Robinson and I did a session with an earnest interviewer on the university radio station. The interviewer wanted to make of the occasion an uplifting "my left foot" kind of tale, amazed that someone so afflicted with cerebral palsey could write poetry at all. But that of course was NOT the story. The story might have been this: that one of the great poets of the 20th century -- no further qualification needed -- happened to have had cerebral palsey.

One value of that exhibition at UCB was that those of us who were there had the opportunity to tell Larry just how much he meant to us all.

Like so many other readers, I had fallen entirely in love with Larry's poetry long before I had any understanding of how challenged he was by his own body. Even though David Gitin and others had tried to convey this to me years before and I had all the evidence of his letters beginning around 1969, back when I first wrote for some work for Tottel's, when Larry first moved to Berkeley in 1978 my immediate instinct was to call him on the phone! Over the years, as Larry's speech improved markedly by his exposure to so many different people in Berkeley (very different I gather from the isolation within his parents house in Swampscott for 51 years), and as I also learned to listen, I could and did have real conversations over the phone with him. And of course in person. It was great good luck that Larry's brother had settled in Berkeley.

Sun & Moon has a new book of Larry's forthcoming and there no doubt must be hundreds, perhaps thousands, of poems yet to be collected. Hopefully somebody (UC Press comes to mind as the logical place) will put together a collected, edited by Grenier. In addition to Eigner's own 40+ small press books, I would call people's attention to "Missing 'X'" by Barrett Watten (in Total Syntax) as a superb discussion of the dynamics of Larry's work.


Date: Wed, 7 Feb 1996 02:52:21
From: Ron Silliman (rsillima@IX.NETCOM.COM)
Subject: Re: Eigner

Re your: "Hearing his reading of the work gave me a new sense of his use of line break and space -- not sure I can explain it, but I think I had been reading over the line breaks too quickly before"

It takes some remembering, but I think it's probably easy to see those clusters of words about the page in such a way as to interpret them as airy, even wispy, and I think that's an error a lot of people do make in reading Eigner. The minute one realizes how fully he utilized his limited physical vocabularly in order simply to put word to page, the whole weight of movement shifts, and those poems never have that "light" feeling again. I cannot fathom exactly how strangers will read that work a century from now, but I assume it will be rather different.


Date: Mon, 5 Feb 1996 14:26:18 -0500
From: Charles Bernstein (bernstei@UBVMS.CC.BUFFALO.EDU)
Subject: Larry Eiger (1927-1996) [long post]

I can't collect my thoughts any further, dwelling on the meanings of Larry Eigner's life, except to remember the time spent with him in conversation, or say the time Bob Grenier, Brian McInerney and I took him to the Museum of Natural History on his one trip to New York. As we came into the room with some of the largest dinosaurs, Larry pointed straight ahead and said "that's interesting". He wasn't pointing to a dinosaur skeleton, though, but to an old sign posted on the back wall; it _was_ interesting, in a style long banished (in exhibition halls now replaced). I think of that remark of Larry's as displaying how much he lived out his version of a democracy of particulars, as against the craving for highlights, for the heightened, that is as much a literacy aesthetic as a consumer imperative. For Eigner, this didn't mean a flattening of affect; on the contrary it meant a luminosity of every detail: the perceptual vividness that his work so uncannily concatenates. This acknowledgement of the daily, a series of remarks on the otherwise unremarkable, a sort of poetic alchemy that is not dissimilar to one strain of Jewish mysticism (a strain in which the mysticism dissolves into an active apprehension of the real), is an abiding model of and for a poetry where things as they are let to stand for themselves.

This poet of the ordinary lived an extraordinary life, as if the physical challenges he faced since birth were spun by poetic license into mental acrobatics. Larry Eigner is hero of our times. His will to think was unsuppressible. It was no ordinary privilege to have known him. I can't think of anyone I admired more.

I wrote this for an Eigner celebration at UC-Berkeley's University Art Museum in June 1993:


There is no writing I know as vivid as Larry Eigner's. He's invented, for poetry, something equivalent to three-dimensional photography: his works present a series of perceptions etched deep into the mind, where the mind is charted on a page and the page becomes a model of the thinking field. Perception and thought (words and things) are completely intertwined in Eigner's work, which brings to a visionary crescendo the exploration of the ordinary -- the transient flickerings of the everyday that otherwise pass more unnoticed than regarded, more dismissed than revered. In Eigner's poems, one "fragment" is rivetted to the next, so that one becomes, in reading this work, likewise riveted by the uncanny democracy of details, where attention is focussed unhesitatingly on each particular with equal weight, equal exhilaration. This is a poetics of "noticing things," where, as Eigner writes, "nothing is too dull" with "material (things, words) more and more dense around you." But equally, Eigner's is a poetics of coincidence, where "serendipity" (contingency) takes its rightful place as animating spirit, displacing the anthropocentric sentimentality of much of the verse of our time.


In 1988, Leslie Scalapino's O Books republished Eigner's "Anything on Its Side" in O One/An Anthology, for which I wrote this verse commentary:


_Anything on Its Side_ is placed, like

a volume in a tank of water, with utter

gravity against the next moment that occurs

in what is called time but for Eigner is always

spaced, for example on a page.  What

would it be to be grounded, to know

the ground under you by the weight

it pushes back with?  "Every atom of me

 . . . across distances."  No awful trembling

unto undecidability, everything founded in

its site, cleaves to what there is, to

what is there.  "_To be_ is involved

such words that hold / times in the mind":

a way, still, that a poem can enact its

own presence, with full measure of the

necessary determination to move from

anything to that which juts against it,

a conviction that life is made of (of)

just such leaps, the contingency of an eye

(aye, I) 'gainst a field of "r/oars" ("_suddenly_

a day").  Something like deep

focus, as if the poems had become

an organ, the sky bellows.  Step by

step, slowly turning.  Yet there is no

opening onto image here, no mime of

a rehearsal of a scene. Eigner's depth-of-

field _charges_ each page to _hold_ its own,

"to have things whole".  "to see / dark

the / invisible".  Perception all right,

but not sun-drenched barns: "fishmongers",

"pigment", "air".  If there's

narrative, it's narrative unhinged

of causal nexus, logical spools.  Each

line rivets its moment & moves on, like

angels on the head of a quill pin, nor

looks ahead nor back, but "bangs" indissoluble

at precise splice ("each fief") that

bodies the moment from one to next.  "to

negotiate the ocean drop by drop

if there were time".  In adjacency

is act-uality: "you thought it was

as it is".  Nuggets of sound carving

space.  "Motion" "motor" "process"

"winds" "bells" "floating" "echoing"

"coursing" "falling" "roaming" "wading"

"spilling" "flying" "dazzling" "burning"

"unflagging" "blows" "stirs" "curves"

"spirals" "stagger" "dives" "slips"

"slicks" "shakes" "hums" "simmers"

"twist" "float" "flap" "dangle" "glitter"

"subside": "_imagine_ the extent" (a

geometry of ties that blind In music,

"the great sea orchestrated with men"--

"what's unseen" "what sound for our

ears").  What is "_displaced_" at each

juncture is the plenitude of eyes seeing

beyond sight, the replenishment of

occlusion's hold, storehouse of an

interior horizon s(t)olid as emplacement.

"What you / see you / settle / on"--

settlement, homestead in the moment's

whole, "such words that hold" nor need

an other embrace.  "your eyes open" "we

_see_ something to _say_ or / listen to".

Imagine the extent.

[--ch. bernstein]

From ???@??? Mon Feb 05 22:21:05 1996
From: Charles Bernstein (bernstei@UBVMS.CC.BUFFALO.EDU)
Subject: Larry Eigner (1927-1996)
To: Multiple recipients of list POETICS

One of the rituals of Jewish funerals is to rip a piece of clothing as an expression of grief. (This is more often done symbolically, by pinning a ripped piece of cloth to your jacket so as to avoid actual damage to your actual expensive tie.)

Anyway, I have too much experience turning around my errors, or having them turned on me.







Date: Tue, 6 Feb 1996 08:07:24
From: Douglas Messerli (djmess@SUNMOON.COM)
Subject: Larry Eigner: in memoriam

Two Eigner poems in memoriam of Larry:

This one was published in THE GERTRUDE STEIN AWARDS volume. Norma Cole reminded me its appropriateness:

n o  m o r e  p o e t r y !

                but the window

                          I suddenly shifted positon and

                                really have to go

          N o w  a g a i n

          Mountain ice

                on the rocky path
                with the knockout view
                                  ---I watch my step
                                        in time


 G o o d

     I've had the bagel and I've
                    eaten it too

FROM Eigner's forthcoming volume:  readiness / enough / depends / on

                 If life,
                                weren't so
                                           intersting, it,
                                                               would kill

Date: Tue, 6 Feb 1996 09:02:34
From: "Aldon L. Nielsen" (anielsen@ISC.SJSU.EDU)
Subject: Re: Eigner

One of the great surprises to me upon moving to the Bay area in '87 was hearing the conversations between Eigner and poet friends around town. I was never able to undersatnd Larry Eigner's speech, but poets who had gotten to know him carried on deeply interesting conversations with him, which I followed as best I could as if listening to one side of a phone conversation.

Which is by way of lead up to mention that at the conclusion of that tremendous tribute reading for Eigner at Berkeley, Eigner gave an extended reading himself. Hearing his reading of the work gave me a new sense of his use of line break and space -- not sure I can explain it, but I think I had been reading over the line breaks too quickly before....

Date: Wed, 7 Feb 1996 10:02:18 PST
From: Jerry Rothenberg (jrothenb@CARLA.UCSD.EDU)
Subject: Re: Eigner

The first Eigner recording that I can recall was published (as both cassette & reel-to-reel by S-Press (Germany) in 1975.
27poems are included, and the recording data (circumstances) read as follows:
Recorded by Michael Koehler at Swampscott, Mass., on July 1st and 11th, 1974.
I assume that this is now out of print, but who knows.

Jerome Rothenberg

Date: Tue, 06 Feb 1996 03:19:16 -0500
From: Jack Foley (
Subject: larry eigner

Dear Charles,

Thank you for your touching, eloquent remarks about Larry. As you suggested, I'll email my press release and also fax it to you.

I've been so busy, partly with trying to spread the news about Larry and partly with other things (had to record radio interviews with Adrienne Rich and Jerry Rothenberg), that I've been barely able to put my thoughts together. Larry had been in the hospital for a week before his death, comatose. This morning, quite early, both Michael McClure and my son Sean phoned me to tell me they'd heard of Larry's death and funeral arrangements on NPR. That was exactly the kind of thing Larry would do--phone me at an hour when no one else would phone me to tell about something he'd heard on the radio.

He's been my friend for ten years--I'd see him once a week and hear from him on the phone quite often. Our birthdays were two days apart--we had a joint party once. He wrote a preface to my first book, LETTERS/LIGHTS--WORDS FOR ADELLE, the only preface he wrote to anyone's book. (Except for the few remarks he made at the beginning of Ron Silliman's CROW. I had asked Larry for a blurb. He responded with a preface.) My current book, EXILES, was at his bedside during the last conscious week of his life.

His voice on a message machine was something to hear. He once left a message on Michael McClure's machine. Michael couldn't make heads nor tails of it, but I was able to catch what Larry was saying. Larry was not easy to be friends with. The pattern tended to be for people to visit him for a while, make some effort to understand his speech, and then to drift away. I was able to stay friends partly because I didn't live with him and partly because I understood his speech as well as anyone. This was more something I willed than something I learned. I was running a poetry series in Berkeley and I admired Larry's work and wanted him to read in the series. Barry Watten gave me Larry's phone number, not his address, only his phone number. I've never known whether this was some sort of joke on Barry's part, since he certainly had his address as well as his phone number. I phoned and Larry answered, saying something like "UNGHHHHH." I had known that Larry was disabled but hadn't realized until that moment that the disability extended to his speech. I simply decided I would understand Larry. There is no other way to put it. By the time the conversation was over, Larry had given me his address and directions to his house, and we had agreed on a date when he was to read. Kathleen Frumkin told me later that she had been listening on an extension phone and had been ready to help me out if I needed it. She never said anything because I seemed to be managing. You write, "His will to think was unsuppressible." Yes, but so was his will to speak--to speak in any manner he could. You've been with Larry and know how he would talk all the time. "To break out with a man's cry," if I'm quoting correctly. His writing, with all its silences, necessarily partook of that urge towards talk. People complained of it--Bob and others accused him of "monologuing."
Yet there it was, at his very center, controlled in certain ways but in others not. Hard to think of him silent.

Here is the piece I wrote at the request of the Eigner family:

LARRY EIGNER: 1927-1996

Distinguished American poet and writer Lawrence Joel (Larry) Eigner died Saturday February 3rd of pneumonia at Alta Bates Hospital in Berkeley. Eigner was 68 and is survived by two brothers, Richard, who lives in Berkeley, and Joseph, who lives in Saint Louis, Missouri.

Born August 7, 1927, in Swampscott, Massachusetts, on the North Shore of Boston, Eigner got cerebral palsy as a result of a birth injury. Though he remained "non-ambulatory" throughout his life, he recalled that his mother, Bessie Eigner, encouraged him to develop a "work ethic," and his schooling was conducted at home through Swampscott High School. Later, seven correspondence courses from the University of Chicago gave him "a toe-hold of application and hope." Curiosity, he claimed, was always an important factor, "my eyes still big for my head, most things...always tantalizing beyond or almost beyond sight and hearing, out of reach."

In 1949 Eigner "bumped into [poet] Cid Corman reading Yeats, on the radio" and wrote a letter disagreeing with Corman's non-declamatory way of reciting. "This began a correspondence in which I got introduced to things, and the ice broke considerably." Donald Allen's landmark 1960 anthology, THE NEW AMERICAN POETRY, includes Eigner's exquisite, often enigmatic verse in the section devoted to "The Black Mountain Poets," a group of writers publishing in THE BLACK MOUNTAIN REVIEW, an experimental magazine printed by Black Mountain College in North Carolina. Many of these poets had also appeared in Corman's magazine, ORIGIN. Among the poets associated with this group were Charles Olson, Robert Duncan, Denise Levertov, and Robert Creeley, whose Divers Press published Eigner's first mature book, FROM THE SUSTAINING AIR, in 1953. After reading that book, William Carlos Williams remarked on Eigner's "perfect ear" and added, "It's strange how oldfashioned he makes much of the work of the past appear. But it is always so with every new and outstanding writer."

Eigner's many books, all of them published through small presses, include: ON MY EYES (1960, edited by Denise Levertov); ANOTHER TIME IN FRAGMENTS (1967); SELECTED POEMS (1972, edited by Samuel Charters and Andrea Wyatt); THINGS STIRRING TOGETHER OR FAR AWAY (1974); COUNTRY / HARBOR / QUIET / ACT / AROUND (1978, selected prose edited by Barrett Watten), and WATERS / PLACES / A TIME (edited by Robert Grenier, the book was co-winner of the San Francisco State Poetry Award in 1983). AREAS LIGHTS HEIGHTS, SELECTED WRITINGS 1954-1989, edited by Benjamin Friedlander, appeared from Roof Books in 1989. Eigner's current book of poetry, again edited by Grenier, WINDOWS WALLS YARD WAYS, appeared in 1994 from Black Sparrow Press, publisher of many of his titles. Another volume of poetry edited by Grenier, READINESS / ENOUGH / DEPENDS / ON, is forthcoming from Sun & Moon Press. In 1967 Toad Press published a second, expanded edition of FROM THE SUSTAINING AIR, and in 1988 The Coincidence Press reprinted the original edition. Ron Silliman's 1986 anthology of L=A=N=G=U=A=G=E poetry, IN THE AMERICAN TREE, was dedicated to Larry Eigner. A short "Autobiography" is forthcoming from Gale Research, Inc. in Detroit. In Eigner's poems, themes of ecology and explorations of his Jewish heritage exist side by side with the most advanced experimental techniques and deep, deceptively simple, sensuous evocations of the world around him. "Parodying Socrates a little," he wrote, "you might say I know enough to feel naive."

In August, 1978, a few months after his father's death, Eigner relocated to Berkeley, CA, where his brother Richard was residing and where he lived till his death. Many young poets visited him there, and he carried on an active correspondence with poets throughout the world. The door to his home was frequently unlocked. As a regular at Jack Foley's Larry Blake's reading series in Berkeley, Eigner became a familiar figure to the Bay Area poetry scene. Despite the difficulty many people had in understanding his speech, he gave many readings of his poetry, often in the company of Foley.

Eigner was also something of a media figure. In 1973, Leonard Henny and Jan Boon made GETTING IT TOGETHER, a documentary film about Eigner with poetry readings by Allen Ginsberg. In August, 1994, Foley broadcast an hour-long interview with Eigner on KPFA radio. THE UNITED STATES OF POETRY, a forthcoming series made for public television by Bob Holman, has a segment featuring Eigner. In the summer of 1993, at the suggestion of Berkeley poet Lyn Hejinian, the UC Berkeley University Art Museum paid tribute to Eigner with a special MATRIX exhibition. His poem, "again dawn," from ANOTHER TIME IN FRAGMENTS, was inscribed on the building's facade. A special poetry reading at which Eigner appeared was held to commemorate the event. Eigner's last public appearance was at a tribute to Gertrude Stein which Hejinian presented at New College of California in November, 1995.

Eigner's innovative poetry was widely admired by poets of very different persuasions. The poets to whom he returned again and again were Hart Crane, William Carlos Williams, and Charles Olson. Denise Levertov wrote, "More than almost any poet I can think of, he demands a suppleness, an imaginative agility, a willingness and ability to leap with him from image to image...." Robert Duncan asserted that Eigner had produced "a new development of Williams's line: his phrasings are not broken off in an abrupt juncture but hover, having a margin of their own--stanzaic phrasings--suspended in their own time within the time of the poem."

Funeral services will take place on Tuesday, at 2 p.m., at The Rolling Hills Memorial Park (Tel Shalom section), Richmond, Interstate 80 at Hilltop Drive. Eigner's family requests that the public and freinds not send flowers. A contribution can be made in Larry Eigner's name to

1929 Martin Luther King Jr. Way
Berkeley, CA 94704.


Date: Sun, 18 Feb 1996 20:12:53 -0500
From: Loss Glazier (lolpoet@acsu.Buffalo.EDU)
Subject: Some Thoughts on Eigner [long post]

Loss Pequeño Glazier


For Larry Eigner

walls, soundless, are stable, allow the application of pressure as swallows reflect sound

where you think of what a wall is. How it reflects. How its position swounds an acoustic

however auditory acrostic of stunned steps from the straits of its audiational vista

bay is a bowl the geographic sun room's horticulture not hormuz how zounds leads

is the wall that stands outside which sends windows sounds "The Music, The Rooms"

in "silence silence silence silence sound" where sound only capable amid the profusion

of wounds. Silence marks the beat, its time, makes sounds possible within the noise

of whitespace caterwauling when insisted marking to side is what words spark remark

"on the walls" sustain. On both sides, whether the push outside punctuates birds

its conscious present of paper cosmos whether "times advance" ie tides, ties, pools

or manmade poles, pinpoints, power ... "with desperate ease" sees color's infrared

light also from a punctuation of circling, "the food, the power" inside its simple strait

plunge which is the food and the powder, torpid "tropic" for fleck, as light is a speck

or inspect how birds themselves circle before blunting, plunging, plageant "pinpoint"

"how distance is to some birds" simply said how IS distance to some? Is any distance

possible when circling--no distance--leads to food? The answer that such distance is the

"pinpoint"--the sun point, the pole from perspective of bird's sky view, "back up" its cries

"the meaning of change" is in a change of rooms. This is information itself, which room

and which side is outside (or "so the words go up/ into thin air" how "the parlor" pauses

"the speaking" only existing against the parlor and MADE POSSIBLE by a physical pause

as this pause leads to "room". Room for pause and the pause which makes room

place once inside. There windowed against the spoken pause musical parlor under skies

skies hold mutable pause midwing "birds pass the window" pause "the curves together")

sound only plays against its instrument (forgotten) "on the screen" "the clock shakes out"

as is player piano--a scroll of white of "silence silence silence silence sound" where sound

only capable amid the profusion of wounds--the punctuations as punctures the scroll

makes room for. The player piano is an instrument forgotten of silence which produces

sound song written as if through a wall which pauses sense of sound. Elsewise

a vase for precarious things "a live broadcast" indeed when marks behind screen

which mars sounds themselves how ... circling ... how silence is to some birds.

It takes some remembering, but I think it's probably easy to see those
clusters of words about the page in such a way as to interpret them as
airy, even wispy, and I think that's an error a lot of people do make (rs)
"wampum gulls broke shells" determine rhythm insist sound defines--beyond walls

"directed" how to eyes, Africa, dogs, hair bleach, and scurvy roll off five such beats

between pivots that pinpoint bikes sea sights voyage the studio that spins dark strife

how did those gulls break shells? as "they might" dive "headlong into" spells? how

is wampum also shells and broke also without wampum but moreso there are not

things here: the currency of the letter in stuttering conjunction of zounds ("wonder

and astonishment") and swounds (wound + swoons)--falling from the sky, mating--

in the hand but distant "how distance is to some birds" is "the dim expanding miles"

see sea saw as white white white white light holds steady "they might drive headlong"

as headlights hound the wall of sight:

                        a steady white light

                             they might drive headlong into

                                the mist like a magnet

                             blows     lost bearings


                             belows     of hearings

... as if the poems had become

 an organ, the sky bellows. (cb)

The magnet is a pivot and the pivot is the space on the wall its attractive drawn

magnetism as physical as the pull between 'they might drive like a magnet' and

'the mist blows like a magnet'. The pull creates the space which is the magnet that

"blows lost bearings" next, of course rest. Sounds come from rests which next

"nest in fisherman's pocket"--nets contains the same letters as nest--as nets which

sent tens the magnet of a pocket. An afterword note describes Pokagan the note itself

as much SHAPE as lexical value. As words, trace of magnet drawn across glass, scores

flight of pigeons across "nuggets of sound carving space" (cb) storm cravin place

how the birds sound there--in is in all cases sound there "commingling", mix of

"geometry of ties that blind in music" (cb) "What sound for our ears"

sleigh of ear bells and thundering of encroaching charm. The birds as charm of

sound's astonished sense fluttering "all about me; gently" an onset as extinct

however never more vivid than in Pokagan's description--brought even more

to vivacity against a wall, with the screen and its "live performance" which is less

                                pivot          spun

                              sERK Life



                        *headlights, sights, "a steady white light"
how you would "carefully concealed them under my blanket" why and what is the

blanket? Simply the silence that makes sound possible only as an outline in its furls.

Words are present passing as they did "like a cloud through the branches of the high

trees"--the driving "headlong into / the mist"--that is this blanketing action where a

plane lengthens through fog / or cloud bends away / the curves together--thelargest

or smallest action may have immense MASS though it's not a mass dependent on size or

bulk but a mass which takes its form from its immediate position in a spectrum of activity

where pages ARE on the page, where places are, or objects are inside a plane or outside.

Whether circling, plunging--but always dependent on its relation. Indeed, where is the bird

when it is raining? Just as what is a sound without a wall, window, or objects for its

reflection? Its sounding without mass but there..."a bird / depending on the weather"