On Pollen Memory: Author's Note

Pollen Memory was written primarily during the summer of 1992. I wished to locate a form which would approach, and continue itself. It looked something like a square, but behaved more like a spinning wheel. This was my first book-length endeavor. I worked in part from notebooks. Lines were pulled from pages, poems coaxed from lines—until a process emerged. The small weight of the breath line, followed by the body, or the demi-weight of the poem. The work seemed to generate itself. Returning to a passage I was met, as if expected.   

 

From Journals During the Time of Composition   

Let me not argue with form now. Occurrences restrain themselves meaningfully so. 

. . .

a b a b a b a b a b

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Remember always, these words, my allies.

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Inclusivity.

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Things cannot always go as planned, but must they always go?

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Would it or would it not be good if a person could actually read all there is to read in one lifetime? What would be remembered?

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A voice which came before, which came after, one cannot remember. 

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The job of the writer; we are guests here (on earth) and must meet the other inhabitants.

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What are my thoughts during sleep?

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There is no natural light in the city.

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Pulling up anchorage from blue vasts of chemical. I too hung on a word tree.

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Why make an image still if you do not allow the observer to move its dimensions at will?

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Clock or promise; calculation or meditation?

Light poured out into a meadow, much subletting.

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Which music will provide the proper setting?

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Unwrapping the forest, a mirror. Uncovering the lens, a jewel.

 

—Laynie Browne

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Katy Bohinc