- 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;
from A Time of Gifts
No janitor was about. A young Benedictine, finding me loitering in the gatehouse, took me in tow, and as we crossed the first great courtyard, I knew I was in luck. He spoke beautiful French; he was learned and amusing and the ideal cicerone for all that lay ahead.Partick Leigh Fermor
Afterwards, it was in confused musical terms that the stages of our progress strung themselves together in my memory. This is how they resound there still. Overtures and preludes followed each other as courtyard opened on courtyard. Ascending staircases unfolded as vaingloriously as pavanes. Cloisters developed with the complexity of double, triple, and quadruple fugues. The suites of state apartments concatenated with the variety, the mood and décor of symphonic movements. Among the receding infinity of gold bindings in the library, the polished reflections, the galleries and the terrestrial and celestial globes gleaming in the radiance of their flared embrasures, music, again, seemed to intervene. A magnificent and measured polyphony crept in one’s ears. It was accompanied by woodwinds at first, then, at shortening intervals, by violins and violas and ’cellos and then double basses while a sudden scroll-work of flutes unfurled in mid-air; to be joined at last by a muted fanfare from the ceiling, until everything vibrated with a controlled and pervading splendour. Beyond it, in the church, a dome crowned the void. Light spread in the painted hollows and joined the indirect glow from the ovals and the lunettes and the windows of the rotunda. Galleries and scalloped baldachinos and tiered cornices rose to meet it; and the soft light, falling on the fluted pilasters and circles of gold spokes, and on the obelisks wreathed with their sculpted clouds, suffused the honeycomb side-chapels and then united in a still and universal radiance. Music might just have fallen silent; unless it were about to begin. In the imagination, instruments assembled—unseen cymbals just ajar that would collide with a resonance no more strident than a whisper; drums an inch below their padded sticks with palms ready to muffle them; oboes slanting, their reeds mute for a moment more; brass and woodwind waiting; fingers stretched motionless across wires of a harp and fifty invisible bows poised in the air above fifty invisible sets of strings.