In A Sea Of Indefinite Tonality 1998

In A Sea Of Indefinite Tonality*


When I write I choose the ‘I’

To work out questions.

By the by,

The process opens up to hope,

Enabling, ennobling,

Rising like a little bird,

A fledgling bird

With soft-down hops that grow in scope

And magnitude.  It improvises

Till the flight is executed,

Taken up above the rooftops –

Earthiness conjoined to sky,

Combined to ply

The answer out of

All the early wasted movement.


In A Sea Of Indefinite Tonality 4.8.1998

The Processes: Creative, Thinking, Meditative; Vaguely About Music;

Arlene Corwin


* Quote from Simon Rattle


One Gigantic Meditation 2012

One Gigantic Meditation


This writing thing

Is one gigantic meditation.

Sitting, standing, listening

To something – poof,



Its chain,

A verse,

A concentrated bouillon

And a poem.

I’m home. The proof

Is in the pudding.



One Gigantic Meditation 7.29.2012

The Processes: Creative, Thinking, Meditative II; To The Child Mystic II;

Arlene Corwin


No Idea Comes Out Of A Vacuum 1994

No Idea Comes Out Of A Vacuum


I used to think ideas were mine:

“I’ve thought of this, I’ve thought of that.”

I was a brat.

I trace the chain of all I know and nothing’s mine.

No chink belongs to, comes from me for free;

The idea tree, each root and branch,

Each leaf and bug

Reflects the pull and tug

That history has nicely wrapped –

The mystery of knowledge tapped.

It hasn’t come ‘for free’ I say,

And yet, I know it’s all been free:

A free for all and free for all.

Ideas were there before the fall.


One has to try,

Make dud mistakes in honesty,

For no idea comes out at all

Unless the child’s prepared to fall.


And nothing’s wrong with being boring

If it’s usable to some:

It’s the you that you’ve been storing

That leads someone toward some light:

Level is a funny fight.

Time, from which there is no womb

Creates idea.  Assume

That tracks of all you thought you think

Are linked to line divine.

It’s there.  I’ve felt its glow.

It’s part of what I feel I know –

And that sure comes from somewhere.


No Idea Comes Out Of A Vacuum 12.7.1994

The Processes: Creative, Thinking, Meditative; Nature In & Of Reality;

Arlene Corwin






What Sense Of Order? 2012

What Sense Of Order?


My sense of order is outside the ordinary.

Organized peculiarly, order craving effort,

(for it runs, hops skips)

Connections vague as cirrus but,

Like cirrus’ crystals,

Ice fixed in geometry,

Not cloud, not chaos, not free verse

Are ideas bursting:

Fragments freed

Then unified.

My sense of order is not cute.

Its root in gene, route evergreen,

Unseen, it is productive.

After all,

It has produced this poem,

Its meter,

All while organizing ornaments,

And paper.

Ordained by

An outer space, out of this orbit,

As orgasmic as organic.

Orchestrated mind organza at its sheerest,

I lie here amazed as you

At what disoriented mind can do.


What Sense Of Order? 4.2.2011

A Sense Of The Ridiculous; The Processes: Creative, Thinking, Meditative II;

Arlene Corwin





Searching For Connections 2012

Searching For Connections


If mind were free, ideas would flow.

When mind is open, ideas flower

Because vacuums must be filled

To flavor nothingness.

Nothing loves

A nothingness.


Overtones and undertones:


Vacuums; chasms, emptiness,

Spaces empty of all matter;

Voids and space and nothingness,

Leading us to craters, cavities and gulfs;

Rifts, splits, crevasses and fissures;

Then that awful concept void:

Bare, blank, dead, unoccupied,

Empty, null, invalid, useless,

Vacant, vain and worthless.



There’s void as free;

Freedom to move this way, that –

Which brings back creativity,

The dear propensity of nature

To abhor a vacuum

Out of which the all is born.


Searching For Connections 7.13.2012

Circling Round Reality; Nature Of & In Reality;

Arlene Corwin

I Feel Like A Stranger 2012

I Feel Like A Stranger


I feel like a stranger

Every time I have to say my name,

Or even write



That signature: Arlene,

Arlene Faith Nover,

Arlene Corwin,

Arlene Palmer,

Arlene Council.

Who? I’ve penciled

Each and every combination

In one

Phase or t’other.

What is in an appellation?

That’s the question.


Come to think,

I feel like

A stranger

Every time I see that mirror

And I’m in it.

Minaret or minuet,

Self-portrait or the spirit

Of the me I am.  Accoutrements!


Extra, yet so ordinary;

Change from year to week to day:

Too fiddly to approach,

Too tricky

To identify.


Do I dislike it, like it?

I feel nothing but surprise

And I suspect

That you all do



I Feel Like A Stranger 7.17.2012

Pure Nakedness; I Is Always You Is We:

Arlene Corwin



Intentions Noble 2012

Intentions Noble

(Adventures in Sweden through the heart of a Brooklynite)


Oh, my intentions were noble:

To pick the blueberries

Bursting like cherries

In forests nearby.

The plan to enhance and to nourish

Eyes cherished by vitamins: berries the promise.

Hours of handfuls and not one collected;

Mouthfuls not potfuls and not unrepentant.


If weather obliges –

The morrow is dry,

What hasn’t transpired in ages and ages –

Berries like cherries in forests nearby

Will not go unstockpiled

But undergo pie after pie after pie.


My Intentions Were Noble 8.5.2012

Circling Round Nature; Swedish Book;

Arlene Corwin


Aiming At More Freedom 2012

Aiming At More Freedom


Each time I play

I think I’m fine and firm.

It’s fun, I feel fulfilled.

I listen back. I wasn’t free.

How to play more musically?

(Or if you want to use the word)


To sense completion –

What a blessing that would be!

Or is the trip continuous?

A  boundless one?

An endless one?

A ceaseless one?

A changing and ongoing one,

Eternal and ethereal,

A source to dig from, build on.


Aiming At More Freedom 8.9.2012

Vaguely About Music II; the Processes: Creative Thinking, Meditative II;

Arlene Corwin




Constantly Flirting 2012

Constantly Flirting


How to keep the bloom in bloom?

He does it, pinching, touching with a charm

And lightness, warmth and humor.

Never indiscreet or gauche

He knows the secret.

Sensitive to ‘no’,  one never would

Say ‘no’ since he

Keeps flower in bloom, the flame aglow

You could say singlehandedly.

Though unexceptional, he’s got the grace

That covers his caresses with affection delicate.

It would be base to stub it out or starve it dry,

Withering and smothering the bloom and fire,

The constant flirting.


Constantly Flirting 8.11.2012

Circling Round Eros II; Love Relationships;

Arlene Corwin

Rhapsodizing Confusion 2012

Rhapsodizing Confusion


He sits there rhapsodizing,

Music going

On and on,

Theme scarcely clear.

What he needs in an arrangement,

Inner order,

Something to hang on to,

An internal girder, welder, builder,

Candor, some reminder to bind

A to b to c to d and finally to z:

An end and means to send it,

End it.


Is it rhapsody, improvisation?

His seems like bewilderment and misperception

Fueled by laidback lack of fire

Fused by movement going nowhere.

He thinks he was Socrates,

Calls it jazz.

We drown in his repose.

I think if I were in his clothes

I’d agonize, I’d make some noise.

No, he keeps on and on,

Just playing, rhapsodizing

In confusion.


Rhapsodizing Confusion 8.14.2012

Vaguely About Music II;

Arlene Corwin



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