Hollo, Anselm Sojourner Microcosms: New and Selected Poems 1959-1977 Blue Wind Press, Berkeley, 1977, Wraps, , , ISBN 0912652381 , Very Good
286 pp. + index. Light bumps to corners. The line extending from top to bottom of cover, visible in photo, seems to be in the artwork and is not a crease in the cover. With a foreward by Robert Creeley and an afterword by Edward Dorn. Frontispiece full-page photo portrait of Hollo in b&w by Layle Silbert. Contents: Foreword by Robert Creeley; Author's Note; Maya: 1966-67; 1967-69; Sensation 27: 1969-72; Some Worlds: 1972-73; Black Book: 1971-74; The Anima Abstract 1975; Motes & Paramecia: Motes 1975-76, Paramecia 1967-1976; Lingering Tangos: 1976-77; Afterword by Edward Dorn; Other books by Anselm Hollo; index to titles and first lines. "his name is / polysyllabic chaos, chinese / in the lobby of administration / where i wait for you--from "waiting for you at Tousled State College.";"/imgs/000939.jpg;/imgs/000939b.jpg;
POE’S COTTAGE AT FORDHAM.
HERE lived the soul enchanted
By melody of song;
Here dwelt the spirit haunted
By a demoniac throng;
Here sang the lips elated;
Here grief and death were sated;
Here loved and here unmated
Was he, so frail, so strong.
Here wintry winds and cheerless
The dying firelight blew
While he whose song was peerless
Dreamed the drear midnight through,
And from dull embers chilling
Crept shadows darkly filling
The silent place, and thrilling
His fancy as they grew.
Here, with brow bared to heaven,
In starry night he stood,
With the lost star of seven
Feeling sad brotherhood.
Here in the sobbing showers
Of dark autumnal hours
He heard suspected powers
Shriek through the stormy wood.
From visions of Apollo
And of Astarte’s bliss,
He gazed into the hollow
And hopeless vale of Dis;
And though earth were surrounded
lily heaven, it still was mounded
With graves. His soul had sounded
The dolorous abyss.
Proud, mad, but not defiant,
He touched at heaven and bell.
Fate found a rare soul pliant
And rung her changes well.
Alternately his lyre,
Stranded with strings of fire,
Led earth’s most happy choir
Or flashed with Israfel.
No singer of old story
Luting accustomed lays,
No harper for new glory,
No mendicant for praise,
He struck high chords and splendid,
Wherein were fiercely blended
Tones that unfinished ended
With his unfinished days.
Here through this lowly portal,
Made sacred by his name,
Unheralded immortal
The mortal went and came.
And fate that then denied him,
And envy that decried him,
And malice that belied him,
Have cenotaphed his fame.