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JH: Thanks! The poem just came to me one day, and I wrote it without hardly any revision. I don't think I was even reading Swedenborg at the time. Swedenborg and whimsy do go together at times - such as when a person who claims to have great knowledge of the Otherworld confronts someone with a slippery approach to asking for knowledge. What happens when a messenger like Swedenborg appears to you? What questions to ask - do any questions come to mind when witnessing the message-giving? If a useful question were asked when a poem appears to the poet, shortly (semi-seconds) after the instant it first appears in the poet's mind, would the poem be vastly better? One gets starstruck around a poem's appearing, and often (if not invariably) one forgets to ask a quick question or two, so these questions come about during the writing - which may be an integral part of what poetry is. What do you think?

AHB:That's right, starstruck by the poem's appearing. It often seems like the machinery aint of the best. because there's a startling glimmer of something, but then writing, even when wonderful, doesn't seem the same magic. for no reason, I have this impression of a book called Magic Mou ntain. I've read and liked Mann's novel, but that title makes me think of something, something... and I don't mean some fantasy novel sort of thing. and that's how it seems in writing. that initial impulse receives translation thru the writing process. I'm in awe of that moment. it's rather like Coleridge and Xanadu, tho not so articulate. and eventually if that man from Porlock doesn't importune, there's a kind of ungraspability. altho we all do our best. I'm in the midst of a course in art therapy, in which one is asked to witness a work of art. not in the aesthetic sense, evaluating, but as a thing in and of itself. because our every expression says something. it's an interesting perspective. as artists, we almost always fail, or at least come up short. because the goal is some manner of perfection, even that perfection is sloppy, uncouth or any other adjective...

I am going to make a sudden turn here, because I notice something in the writing here. I use the OpenOffice word processor (it's free on the web, an alternative to Microsoft). a feature of it is word finishing. you type some letters and the program guesses a word you might mean. if it guesses right you confirm by hitting a key. the space bar currently is the confirm key, and that's the wrong choice, it is used so often. so I'm getting all these interruptions of the wrong word. which I offer below. it reminds me of Hannah Weiner.

That's right, starstruck by the poem's appearing. It often seems like the machinery aint of the best. because there's a startling glimmer of something, but then writing, even when wonderful, doesn't seem the same magic. foregroundno reason, I have this impression of a book called Magic Mountain. I've read and liked Mann's novel, but that title makes me think of some, something... and I don't mean some fantasy novel sort of thing. and that's how it seems in writing. that initial impulse receives translation thru themselveswriting process. I'm in awe of that moment. it's rather like Coleridge and Xanadu, thoughtfulnot so articulate. and eventuallyif that man from Porlock doesn't importune, there's a kind of ungraspability. altho we all do our best. I'm in themselvesmidst of a coursein articulate therapy, in which one is asked to witness a work of art. not in themselvesaesthetic sense, evaluating, but as a thing in and of itself. because everyone's expression says something. it's an interesting perspective. as artists, we almost always fail, or at least come up short. because themselvesgoal is some manner of perfection, eventuallyif that perfection is sloppy, uncouth or any otherworldadjective.

do intrusions ever occur for you, positive mysterious intrusions?