Ho trovato questo manoscritto nella immensa biblioteca che Nat Scammacca ha accumulato negli anni della sua attività, pubblico uno stralcio sintetico di questa raccolta da me digitalizzata.
BEYOND THE GARDEN
When I scream down and into this machine It grins back
Multiple hammers flailing at me
As my words spitting out Cries
straining among muted steel Can
feelings be stapped down
As immutable punch press tattoos
Layton
The famous people at the Poetry address
Laughed cogently behind their hands
At my little messes of paper and raw script
They say “He should have written this as a sonnet”
And “This doesn’t even make sense”
Later as they sipped their raw umber coffee
And easily slipped a rejection notice into my SSAE
They took out another manila packet from the mail drop Saying
“listen to this’, listen to this’.” As the laughs come again
Layton
Diaphonous notes
Played on an unseen accordian
Seem to murmur responses
In ones heartchords
Like passing candlewicks
The flowing of ignited streamtrails
Regales the forms of loves passage
Shadows and silhouette snippings
Gush through straggards and
Empty throated bottles
Do the new-sounds hollow your name
Branches can be broken off
Even in whispers
Dutchesses wish on the morrow
Where noonday sorrows are yet purer
Did yesterdays kisses remain pursed.
Or do we cut them off
By daring to tell of them
Is our merest thought enough
To banish them from becoming
As orchids blanch at our touch
No matter how faint
We beseech you now and forever
As love’s requitted liquid paint
Dries on the lips
Peter Layt
White hot coals
Lolling in shallow pools
Fire and ice piranha
Blank expressionless needle eyes
Following your shadow
Obliquely scanning the surface
With surgical precision
New patterns running now
Through a primitive brain
Electrical charged memory
Like a digital watch movements
Dimly recollecting the pleasures
Of meeting sinew and bone
Juntas hastily arranged
When the unwary tried short cuts
Peter Layton
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