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Mirage

B. King

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"A fine book—important on painting"—Amiri Baraka
Basil King: Mirage: a poem in 22 sections

 

As a long poem, Basil King’s Mirage never flags—he creates an extremely diversified structure that draws from imagination, history, and his fascinating life. . . [He] recounts amazing stories contained in prose passages that break into the poetry like bedrock beneath a mountain stream. The title, Mirage, perhaps refers to the elusiveness of truth as time overwhelms our personal and public histories. Any reader with an interest in recent American literature and painting will be especially enamored with this work. —M. L. Weber, American Book Review

"I'm awed by the simplicity and strength [Basil King] does write like a painter, not simply with colors, but strong strokes here and refrains of blue there." —Lucia Berlin

“[Basil King] would have us believe that fact can be sufficient poetry – a claim that underlies much of our best poetry.... but King adds that if the fact is not already in the world it is the artist’s option (prerogative?) to place it there. .... It is the imagination, not merely a theory of the imagination, that is in charge here.” –John O’Connor, Talisman

“Mirage will leave the reader with a greater understanding and appreciation of the visual arts of our time.”—Jason R. Macey, Et Al

“A great pleasure and adventure to read, from Blitz to art to spirit.” –Ron Padgett

“Essential symmetry of experience which has gone against both the metronome and arrhythmia and beyond the ornamentation of inessentials in so much present writing. It helps to have had one’s hands covered with paint. Someone, after a long life, is standing at the door of some facet of wisdom.” –Nathaniel Tarn

“It is a remarkable work/weave...with the sure touch of one who knows what he is taking about.” –Ted Enslin

“Having meditated on pigment all his life seems to have given King an in on the use of words that transcends the vision of people who’ve spent all their time wrestling with words alone.” –Dora Fitzgerald

“There is something cumulative about the formal engagements, starting with the thin column ... and returning to this often through with an increasing tendency to work through repetitions. And then the different syntactical abutments at the end of the paragraph blocks....I think it is terrific.” –John Hall

On Warp Spasm: “How to describe Basil King's life's work? Poetry? Fiction? History? Autobiography? And what of the intersections with his fascinating drawings? 'Warp Spasm' continues this unprejudiced investigation -- a weave of signs in a field, ever flexing to accommodate observations drawn from many times, voices & lives variously lived. In an era of rabid imperialism & cultural banality, this is the work of a man whose appetite for the fabulous life of the arts remains ablaze.”—Michael Hrebeniak, editor Radical Poetics, U.K.

And more Basil King publications:

traverse – Winter, 2004 (140 East Concordia, Milwaukee, WI 53212) : cover drawing “Homage to Robert Duncan” and a long poem, “Looking for a Face in Akbar’s Court”.

Lungfull! Number 13, Spring, 2004 (316 23rd Street, Brooklyn, NY ll215): “Be Adam. Be Eve.” – excerpt from Learning to Draw (work in progress).

Basil King attended Black Mountain College as a teenager in the 1950s, and completed his apprenticeship as an abstract expressionist painter in San Francisco and New York. Since that time, his art has taken a different turn, reaching through abstraction back to surrealism and forward into a new approach to the figure. Although he did not begin to write regularly until 1986, an involvement with poetry has always been part of his life, first in doing art to accompany poems in books and magazines, later as a book artist, and now as a poet/painter. Some of his larger paintings can be seen on the Web at the Spuyten Duyvil, Light & Dust, and Avec sites. His books include Split Peas, Miniatures, Devotions, Identity, The Poet, and Warp Spasm (Spuyten Duyvil, 2001).


From Mirage

I've
cried
for
my
mother's
venue
I‘ve
done
too
much
alone
it
couldn't
be
helped
it’s
a
loss
it's
one
of
my
short
stories
it's
my
autobiography
that's
on
going
I was hitch-hiking and I saw three large diamonds. Three faces were producing a wall that blocked the road. I could not go through or around. I did not want to turn back. I remembered the diamonds were sisters, and later I painted them. I also painted a large egg. The egg contained Dante's Beatrice. She was fully clothed and full-grown. Her lips were moist; she had already said, "My name is Beatrice and I am loved." I saw this egg enlarge itself until it dwarfed me. I know it wasn't there. I know it was. Oh road-maker, my name, my name, my autobiography dogs my view. These obstacles, these highway obstacles, keep me connected. They say STOP - GO - PASS -. They are my guardians. They solicit my questions. I don't have much feeling for the land, never did. I always felt more comfortable in the city. Store bought vegetables. Store-bought clothes. But the road is a long line. I went to its air and I strode its floor. Road-maker, my totem is relieved. There is so little color left that we no longer have impressions. Where there is no language, there can be no law.