I am starting to hit my stride with the new ms. It's called Godzeenie. Thanks to the help of a nice Polish girl (and fellow artist) I discovered some interesting things about the word:
Godzeenie is a play on the Polish ‘godzina’ which means hour. So the poems are titled according to the time when composition began. Time is also a thematic concern.
Godzeenie is also a play on the sister word of 'godzina' called 'godzenie.' 'godzenie' means to make an agreement ( (ex. Trudne jest godzenie pracy z zabawa - It’s difficult to reconcile work and play). It's about coming to terms, making peace. 'godzenie' also shares roots with ‘godziwosc’, justice/fairness and ‘godnosc,’ dignity.
I first conceived of Godzeenie on my way to Ireland from Korea. I felt each hour on the long journey from Korea and some Polish word popped into my head. Suddenly, the god of the hours was talking to me in the airplane. Now, I find myself addressing Godzeenie at all hours of the day and night.
Here is a wee sample (although the formating is a little off):
12:20
(For Zofia)
“The Bright tongue of the two / languages / dance in the one light”
(Robert Duncan)
in my passages, in my other
lives, shuffling cards, talking
to myself, I could draw
blood with stolen
ladies & shinning
rings, safety round
the moon & blood & snot
& seeds, wrong about
harmony, wrong, u know,
constantly, I would summon
divine
gossip, unskin
the hawk with its un-
relenting eyes, it is
never simple, these
passages, these pro-
miscious wanders with
gravel in my teeth & the old
west wind tugging
my elbows, can’t won’t
have her, my windows
shot to hell, the smell
of abyss under my
muffled pillow, Ireland
and God are fish-
bones jabbing
my throat, Godzeenie
is the super-
market and the
ancient rain, and the hour
09:00
a one-bit bonder
mostly manipulating &
making collages
reading snippets
of Ulster memories
sailing to Central Europe from
Asia with nasty surprises
& rumaging
for a corpse
Dublin Airport 14:20
Two weeks with idle hands and I am waiting for a plane to Krakow. Ate a monkey smoothie for eight Euro. Two weeks of Ulster Fries and Buckfast and I’m with sore bum. Godzeenie, I am taking our discussion for depression, letterbombs for wooing, liquids over solids in my body slop. Godzeenie, you are my plump mistress in chilled silk. I’ve grown tired of my scholarly ways. Fairy tales comet the sky and my teeth are buried in the backyard. Glass animals are on the fireplace and my fat is in the fruit bowl.
24:00
Just like that – Godzeenie – the man’s prick drips music. Unconscious with Cosmetto the Cunt – involved – naked – leading to this HISTORICAL MOMENT. I’m singing – now – on an international flight to – FLATLAND LEAFLAND YUNKLAND. And once again banal development in my Post-Avant. I’m chalked in cliches. It’s our common denominator. Divided and multiplied. Godzeenie, you are clearly audible, misunderstood and UR great apple sags MY vine.