is a tiny wandering imaginary dinosaur which migrated from AOL in October of 2008.

Thinking Lizard

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Rhodingeedaddee is my node blog. See my other blogs and recent posts.


[6-16-2009 Update Insert: Most of what is in this space is now moot. I found out what I was doing wrong and have reinstated Archives and Labels searches. They do work. However, in certain cases you may prefer Labels to Archives. Example: 1976 Today begins in November of 2006 and concludes in December of 2006, but there are other related posts in other months. Note: Labels only shows 20 posts at a time. There are 21 hubs, making 21 (which is for 1976 Today) an older hub.] ********************************* to my online poems and song lyrics using Archives. Use hubs for finding archival locations but do not link through them. Originally an AOL Journal, where the archive system was nothing like the system here, this blog was migrated from there to here in October of 2008. Today (Memorial/Veteran's Day, May 25, 2009) I discovered a glitch when trying to use a Blogger archive. Now, it may be template-related, but I am unable to return to S M or to the dashboard once I am in the Archives. Therefore, I've decided on this approach: a month-by-month post guide. The sw you see in the codes here stood for Salchert's Weblog when I began it in November of 2006. It later became Sprintedon Hollow. AOL provided what were called entry numbers, but they weren't consistent, and they didn't begin at the first cardinal number. That is why the numbers after "sw" came to be part of a post's code. ************** Here then is the month-by-month post guide: *2006* November: 00001 through 00046 - December: 00047 through 00056 -- *2007* January: 00057 through 00137 - February: 00138 through 00241 - March: 00242 through 00295 - April: 00296 through 00356 - May: 00357 through 00437 - June: 00438 through 00527 - July: 00528 though 00550 - August: 00551 through 00610 - September: 00611 through 00625 - October: 00626 through 00657 - November: 00658 through 00729 - December: 00730 through 00762 -- *2008* January: 00763 through 00791 - February: 00792 through 00826 - March: 00827 through 00849 - April: 00850 through 00872 - May: 00873 through 00907 - June: 00908 through 00931 - July: 00932 through 00955 - August: 00956 through 00993 - September 00994 through 01005 - October: 01006 through 01007 - November: 01008 through 01011 - December: 01012 through 01014 -- *2009* January: 01015 through 01021 - February: 01022 through 01028 - March: 01029 through 01033 - April: 01034 through 01036 - May: 01037 through 01044 - ******************************************************* 1976 Today: 2006/11 and 2006/12 -- Rooted Sky 2007: 2007/01/00063rsc -- Postures 2007: 2007/01/sw00137pc -- Sets: 2007/02/sw00215sgc -- Venturings: 2007/03/00216vc -- The Undulant Trees: 2007/03/00266utc -- This Day's Poem: 2007/03/00267tdpc -- Autobio: 2007/04/sw00316ac -- Fond du Lac: 2007/04/00339fdl -- Justan Tamarind: 2007/05/sw00366jtc -- Prayers in December: 2007/05/sw00393pindc -- June 2007: 2007/06/sw00440junec -- Seminary: 2007/07/sw00533semc -- Scatterings: 2008/08/00958sc ** Song Lyrics: 2008/02/sw00797slc ********** 2009-06-02: Have set S M to show 200 posts per page. Unfortunately, you will need to scroll to nearly the bottom of a page to get to the next older/newer page.


Sunday, September 30, 2007


PM 12:02 - Completed my lastest post at Rho-- at AM 10:50 this morning. Found it to be someways hilarious. However, it does show my willingness to take risks, and my creative nature. - Today is another fairly clear, high-cloud day. - Have added 3 sites to my Other Journals section in the Sidebar. - ------------------------- Tony Baker "on Basil Bunting" Brian A. J. Salchert

Saturday, September 29, 2007


Before AM 8 the furnace heat. On the high wire 1 silent blue jay. Strands of medium to flimsy clouds far above. - Had problems this morning with this system while ZA was scanning. It is AM 10:11. Had to fix T tags spaces in the last 2 posts. Will be changing when ZA scan runs. - Spent most of this day posting over at Rhodingeedaddee. Had to leave it in draft form as I need to list the sources yet. It is PM 10:10. - Brian A. J. Salchert

Friday, September 28, 2007


Another clear morning. At 8:07 the thermostat temp had descended to nearly 70. At 8:26 the furnace came on. It is now 9:10 and is still warmer in here than it needs to be. - In 1959 I entered Marquette University, and became a Schroeder Hall resident. One day I took a walk toward downtown along the north side of Wisconsin Avenue. When I came to a bookstore I went in to browse. A large reddish-brown hardbound stopped me. Near its jacket's top in bold black print was D A N T E. Beneath this name was an upright oval containing a sideview of the poet's head. I glanced through the book, attending especially to the photos of engravings accompanying the text. I read some passages. On the jacket's front flap the original price had been crossed through and a sale price listed. I bought the book. It is presently sitting to the left of me on my dictionary. I brought it into my bedroom about a week ago, but I did not start reading it until late last night. So far I've read the first five cantos. The chosen 69 engravings are by Gustave DorĂ© and the blank verse translation by Lawrence Grant White. The book was published and copyrighted by Pantheon Books Inc., New York in 1948. How much of this book I read during my year at Marquette/ I can't say. I thought I'd used it for the paper I wrote--which I also still have--for an Enlgish course I took in 1960, but when I went through that paper today I saw I had used Laurence Binyon's 1947 translation: The Portable Dante. I may have gotten that book from the university's library. I'm not absolutely sure what the proper title of the book I have is, but my best guess is: Dante Alighieri The Divine Comedy The Inferno, Purgatorio, and Paradiso. - My paper: "The Fourfold Chariot": has a 9-line Prologue stanza I wrote. This stanza has a rhyme scheme: aababcbcc: the same rhyme scheme I used when five years later in the upstairs apartment in the Brumwell's house in Solon, Iowa, I began writing Onefor (Justan Tamarind). It staggered me as I read it and began to think it might be, a fact I proved moments ago via a "Justan Tamarind" search from Googleland. It still does not prove I invented it, but I did first use it in 1960. Here it is: I rode the fourfold chariot through lands Of liquid fire and ice where hope on sands Did die, where endless sorrows strolled; Where blackness killed the dancing golden strands Of beatific light. While thunder rolled In bowls of coldest dew; the lively steeds Increased their speed past Purga's prayerful fold, My spirit skipped across the rolling meads And stood in awe where paradise proceeds. I'm shameless. I know. And that I was only nineteen then is no excuse, which is not to say I've improved since. I may have devolved. My paper is dated May 2, 1960. That same semester a poem of four lines and two sonnets I had written were accepted by the Marquette Journal, but a far superior poem to any of mine, a longer and less encumbered poem, was also accepted. I have not yet been able to track down that poem's author, but I have kept the Journals mine were in, and so have kept his. Sharing it would be a pleasure, dark as it in someways is, but I have no right to. Its title is: "Pride's Offering to the Gods": you will just have to imagine the rest. Conjunctions of that nature always make me think, make me wonder, make me want to say: I"ll bet there are more great poems written by unknowns than there are by knowns. - Speaking of mysterious conjunctions, I am in the midst of one right now as the result of a "beyond language poetry" search. It is an essay by a poet new to me: Richard Jackson, an essay published in the Cortland Review. He focuses on the sounds of words, and how poets can get carried away by sounds, and how sounds carry meanings beyond those meanings words normally have; so that while a poet needs to maintain a kind of control, the words with which a poem is made depend on those sounds inherent in them for the sake of that poem's vitality. One example Jackson points to is/ canto 5 of Dante's Inferno. How is it this kind of ! occurs? In my life they do so over and over and over and over and over. Free will? Yes, but--. I am providing a link below and then returning to read the second part. It is PM 10:55, and amidst needs, I have finished attending Jackson's essay. The first poem he explores in index2.html is "The Writer" by Richard Wilbur, a poem I recently read. In reflecting on his concluding remarks, I at this moment realize how all poets (no matter their differences) are united: as users of language in ways which expose the cultural prisons attempting to enclose and silence us / as users of words in ways which seek to express the inexpressible / as explorers and preservers of freedom/ however we are able to do so. If the forces of deception prevail, all will die; for all such forces are bearers of death. Upon the reigns of imagination and empathy inside each human/ so much depends. ------------------------- Richard Jackson on Language-Driven Poetry Brian A. J. Salchert

Thursday, September 27, 2007

Just before noon today I finished reading Albert Gelpi's essay "The Genealogy of Postmodernism: Contemporary American Poetry" which is at but was originally published in The Southern Review Summer 1990 pp. 517-541. For one seeking a brief, incisive overview of Romanticism, Modernism, Postmodernism, and Neoromanticism, this is an essay to read. Near this essay's conclusion, the author of it takes a stance. Your opinion of that stance lies outside the value of the essay. I have been convinced by it, however, to learn more about Fanny Howe. - Today the sky is clear, the air a bit breezier and/ cooler. My heater is set at 70, and has heated this place to 75 several times, the last at around 3pm. - Yesterday evening I went to Ted Berrigan's EPC page. I've been there before, but--anyway, when I read section 3 of his "Sunday Morning" I fell into a laughing jag so hard I had to stand up. That wigged-out guy comes straight at his reader. Part of what made his depiction there so humorous to me had to with the connection I made between it and an old Catholic incense ceremony I often witnessed during my elementary school years. For some reason I was never quite able to identify, I didn't like the smell of incense. - Douglas Messerli also has a page at EPC, and late this afternoon I read two of his essays there, the second of which Albert Gelpi mentioned. The first one reveals how Messerli's life was saved by the ROTC. It reminded me of my boy scout camping days and the night I happened to be near the main cabin while a not so pleasant act was being forced upon resident there/ and I asked to be let in, but was told they could not allow that. Messerli's 1987 thoughts on "Language" poetries is the other. - "The Poetics of Stillness" an interview with Fanny Howe by Patricia Vigderman Brian A. J. Salchert

Wednesday, September 26, 2007


Sprintedon Tracker (st) This is replacing As It Happens. Wodan speaks, but not here yet. He is riding in from the west/southwest. The day is overcast. The full moon hides. The dgd means dumpster ghost day. Recent events have been a bit odd. Due to an Archambeau post about copyright and intellectual property and poetic sensibility, and to a lengthy Jacket interview: Jerome Rothenberg responding to questions from Nina Zivancevic, it was about midnight before I raised myself into bed, and shortly thereafter the resident in the apartment above came home. I awoke a little after 2 AM, and as I was hungry, I ate a cup of blueberry yogurt. I awoke again at what I thought was 4:41 but when I got back to bed my cellphone clock said 6:58. I was certain (?) I had not had a seizure. The medication I have been taking for nearly three years has kept me seizure-free. I doubt I was abducted since even aliens chortle when they hear my name. I guess I just read the time wrong. At AM 9:20, Wodan spoke once; and since I had other things to do, I shut this virtual-access system down. It is now AM 10:31. The wan sunlight is no longer wan, but the layer of clouds persists. There is a football-like green patch over Joplin headed this way. [ Note: Robert Archambeau's post is dated: tuesday, september 25, 2007 and its title is: Intellectual Property and the Invention of the Poet ] - Three nights ago, not wanting to read from any of the books at hand, I went to my meager library and pulled out Sylvia Plath's Ariel. I had last read it years ago. "Lady Lazarus" and "Daddy" remain my favorites. I found myself afterwards internally imitating her often curt sentences and insistent rhythms and hard-biting rhymes. - The English language is messed up. Therefore, I've recently been tooling with the problems inherent in the she-he-they sector. I have fixed those problems (annoyances), but my fix is not likely to appeal to many, if to any. A she-he fix I support has existed for a number of years. I do not know who first used it. It is: s/he. Two reasons I like this are rooted in biology. Another reason is its compactness. - If I counted correctly, there are 18 poems in my Autobio group. I'm not sure what to do about them, but I'm against adding more. What's there could be considered a small e-chap. So a links page to them may be the best solution. ------------------------- Death of a Student, Chapter 2 by Wick Sloane I first became aware of above when I visited Silliman's Blog today. I do not want to say what Sloane wrote, but everyone should read it. - Brian A. J. Salchert

Tuesday, September 25, 2007


The Undulant Trees Capitalism's Sweet Prize Once we'd eaten the whole world, once we'd souled fat and ugly, the world rankled in our gullets so hard we threw it back up so hard we died from it, face down in our garbage. ------------------------------ esthetics Brian A. J. Salchert


Venturings respect deformed My Country, Whither Thee? You said she laughed at him. You said she did not care. You said she yearned to kill. - You said he laughed at her. You said he did not care. You said he yearned to kill. - You said they laughed at them. You said they did not care. You said they yearned to kill. You said they killed for wealth. You said they killed for fame. You said they killed for power. You said they killed just to kill. - How dare you say she loved. How dare you say he loved. How dare you say they loved. -------------------------------- "Wind from all Compass Points" Brian A. J. Salchert

Thursday, September 20, 2007


The Undulant Trees In Form at Ion Talk, talk, talk talk talk. That's all you ever do is talk talk talk. Divert, divert, divert, divert. All you ever do is Gert Gert Gert. I offer you/ a glass of wine. You toss at me a stein of Stein. Yippity yuppity ruppity rup. If it rattles it must be a cup in a cup. Maybe you'd maybe. Maybe you wouldnt. Maybe you'd only if you could could could. A sign is a sign is a sign is a sign. A ticket's a ticket a ticket a ticket. If I had a rosary, I'd beat you with beads, whatever the piece a gameboard needs. Now don't get me wrong, and don't get me right. Halve a good day. Halve a good night. [ A M2 579 2007 ] ----------------------------------- Laurence Sterne Brian A. J. Salchert

Wednesday, September 19, 2007


Autobio All About Me #2 In front of me is a third-person self-bio I am reluctant to use. In its stead/ I suggest you do "Brian Salchert" searches. I am not famous, which is good. Actually, I have a sense that I am considered despicable by certain humans. There is no doubt I was both nourished and malnourished by Roman Catholicism during my youth. There is no doubt that at sundry times I have lacked integrity and/or have been hurtfully proud. Nonetheless, I am rooted in forgiveness and gratitude. Religions, to me, are only as good as their most humane tenets. Though I sometimes see the necessity of it, I more and more detest war. If you--if only from time-to-time--read what I place in my Saulkurt's log, you will see manifested more than enough of who I am. Know though/ I am highly eclectic & ever creative; that my physical Earth-alive state, while capable of being daringly energetic, is minimally sound. I'm a minor polymath headed toward becoming a major polymath, not that I will venture forth. I'm a wee hermit whose bedroom is his cave. Later, maybe, Brian A J Salchert. June 2007 photo ----------------------------------- Geoffrey Chaucer Brian A. J. Salchert

Tuesday, September 18, 2007


Postures 2007: #23 Side One Aunt Martha Your eldest and most brilliant son born with one of his legs comically crooked behind his head squeezing from his forming brain the holy gift of abstract thought did not silence your solo hymning in the High Mass choir at St. Mary's or desiccate your quiet will. So, terminal some years after your husband's death and the beginnings of your second son's computer and familial success, drugged by cancer from the daily tusslings with those movie-bent notions of your eldest, your smiling when my brother told you it would be Christmas in two days and your dying in the 2nd hour of Christmas Day seemed right. I venture angels choired near as your spirit sang through midnight Mass. - - - - - 09-18-07: About a week ago I came upon this poem in one of many manila folders containing writings of mine. As I had forgotten about it, its existence surprised me; and (for whatever reason) I didn't date it. My guess is I wrote in 1989. - - - - - - Brian A. J. Salchert

Saturday, September 15, 2007


Autobio How does someone choose 5 poems to send somewhere, especially this someone, who has written so variously, if not voluminously? I would prefer to share the variety, but fear doing such would be too risky. Picking out 5 reflective or 5 imagistic or 5 directed-away-from-me or 5 humorous or 5 cause-engaged ones would be okay, maybe. And what about length? And why am I even thinking about sending anything anywhere? I know which poem of mine has been to date the most liked, not that that's worth an owl's hoot. Besides, "a rose is a rose is a rose" and I am not the teeter nor the totter nor the fulcrum. What the withering columbine! Here are 5 e-whips, but first this note: Rooted Sky was originally published in 1972. 1976 was originally published in 1980. Postures was originally published in 1980. Prayers in December was originally written in 1974 and 1975. See 2007/01/08/sw00093rs for "Snow" from Rooted Sky 2007 See 2007/08/13/sw00565usabys for "February: Year-day 47" from 1976: in 2006 See 2007/02/07/sw00150p for "Modernity Having a Poet by the Collar" from Postures 2007 See 2007/02/19/sw00219s for "In a Favored Place" from Tillie: set 1 of Sets See 2007/06/18/sw00494june for "Rant" from June 2007 § Because I chose the above 5 does not mean I have chosen the 5 I think are my best. Only readers of what I've written will be the final arbiters. It may be that nothing of what I have written is worthy of attention and praise. So here are whips to 5 others: See 2007/01/07/sw00067rs for "Starting Over" from Rooted Sky 2007 See 2007/08/30/sw00593usabys for "September: Year-day 246" from 1976: in 2006 See 2007/02/04/sw00164p for "Tonight" from Postures 2007 See 2007/02/25/sw00236s for "1-14-77 teal" from Birthday Ribbons: set 2 of Sets See 2007/06/10/sw00647june for "Raison d'etre" from June 2007 § 5 more: See 2007/01/08/sw00077rs for "The Mind Has Seasons Out of Time" from Rooted Sky 2007 See 2007/08/18/sw00585usabys for "May: Year-day 131" from 1976: in 2006 See 2007/05/16/sw00409pind for "December 16: for Emily Dickinson" from Prayers in December See 2007/04/10/sw00306a for "To Those I Am One With" from Autobio See 2007/06/06/sw00455june for "Therefore," from June 2007 ----------------------------------- at Jared Carter's site/ go to site map archives interviews (read at least interview by George Fish) ~ Brian A. J. Salchert


Friday, September 14, 2007


tissue ghost 0004 photograph of a found object click to enlarge ===================================================== The original of this happened on the restroom floor off the den (small bedroom) of a mo-ho I used to own and was residing in. I had been doing some cleanup work. It was not enjoyable. I crumpled up the last of the tissue I was using, and threw it on the floor. I was so startled by the result, I decided to keep it. That was when I was in Gainesville, Florida. I took some pictures of it, none of which turned out as well as I had hoped. As can be seen, I found a way to slip a thin sheet of cardboard under it. I put it in a safe place. I brought it with me in 2006 when I moved to southwest Missouri. I plan to photograph it again. I have cared for it as though it were an angelic horribly disfigured child, its head wrapped in gauze bandages. One of my impressions of it is/ that it represents aspects of my spirit. ===================================================== Brian A. J. Salchert

Sunday, September 9, 2007


The Undulant Trees . . . . 11 lubrication intonation: 'tis the nation's aberration § . . . . 12 You've lost your mind. What mind? - You think I've lost my mind. - Oh boy. § Implant the lateral exigencies of graphical concurrences: belly wraps and toe tinklers: reductive, seductive, and yah yah yah! § Counter Fit 'Tis the age of rage/ and disengage. Stand up now, and rip the page. § Ouvreeahd estulairiuh ahbohvricahn ahreepideein insummacahn § What the? Now some hatchet's in my brain! I know I threw the hat away. Come on you guise, there's a dizzard at the doorknob. I can hear its fingerings. 1 2 3 4 1 2 3 4 6 7 8 § 8 from 1 "Maybe just a new kind of emptiness" Rotates & rotates/ on this blue-white pearl Fetid with brown from a bajs Who can't find his nuts/ because he's a squirrel. "To the attic, I say." "No! no! not there! He'll ruin the flavor, the quaff du jour." "Where then shall we put him?" "Oh, I don't care: Maybe a dumpster; a faraway tour." [ The first line was once a KSM Lime Tree subtitle. ] ------------------------------------ 2007-02-19 Picture This: On the Concept of Poetic Imagery Brian A. J. Salchert

Tuesday, September 4, 2007

Autobio Too many of the qualities of my personality, however wondrous otherwise, are sadly inadequate in the realm of the out-&-about. The trail behind me of wrong decisions is rutted and briared, and I cannot say the trail I am presently making is any different. Eenuff. § This ia a voice out of Springfield, Missouri: As the "a" in bat: Blaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa! § Plan Q: I am a highly visible hermit, but looking at me may require binoculars or a telescopic lens or special glasses. I am reading these days, besides all I read online daily, Clayton Eshleman's Companion Spider. I recommend it. - The noosphere web is constructing itself ex-po-nential-ly. The end of time seems near at hand. Concurrently, the end of humanity as a biological entity also seems near at hand. See this 1976 sonnet. - I knew I wanted to say something more, but I did not know what until I read the post I have linked to below. I have known a number of humans younger than I who due to an accident or illness died; yet I, who could have died numerous times, am still alive; and--however difficult--know I must strive moment through moment to be a human worthy of each successive moment given me. Seconds of silence: for the grace each needs. Seconds of: gratitude silence. ------------------------------------ Joshua Corey's "Letter to a Friend" Brian A. J. Salchert

Saturday, September 1, 2007


As It Happens 13 Had to turn on the heat this morning. 69 is a bit chilly for me. Welcome to September. § Finally finished posting 49 selected sonnets from my 1976: in 2006. Did the last six between 10 and 11 PM Aug31. Two of those were written in 1962. If you chance to read some, experience them however your aesthetic allows. Further information and links here. My aesthetic is chameleon-like, kaleidoscopic, cornucopian, uncertainty-driven. I am a hermit, a mystery munchkin, a ponderer. I'm a creature of contraries: emotionally edgy, yet rationally embedded with aspie characteristics. § I still have six months of first line and topic work to complete, and I am not in a get-it-done mood. § For the past week or so there's been a cicada or some such critter whining ee-ee-ee-ee-ee-ee-ee most of the night. It usually starts its concert around 9 PM. Luckily I'm able to sleep through it. ----------------------------------- History of Labor Day Brian A. J. Salchert