Sad news this week of the passing of Ted Enslin.
"Up in his loft he showed us where he wrote at a little desk by the window. The loft was crammed with old steamer trunks. We asked what they contained and he told us they were all filled with manuscripts, most of them unpublished. Given how much he has published in his life, which is a lot to say the least, it was astonishing to see physical evidence of at least an equal quantity of writing lying dormant in his home."
The twist of the voice
as if it would
twine the whole way
around these long bones
an ivy which might
flower and
from the seed within --
protected by humus of the mind
from inner storms --
a twist quick and light
I know I know
