poetfranksamperi

Sanza Mezzo Book

2024-12-21T17:11:00.000-08:00

Sanza Mezzo

Published by Elizabeth Press, 1977

Soft Cover with a Dust Jacket

Infinitesimals

Published by Elizabeth Press, 1974

Hard Cover with Dust Jacket

email:

samperinyc@gmail.com

2024-09-02T13:23:00.000-07:00

After 33 years since his death, Frank Samperi's Archive is now placed at UC San Diego

at the famous Geisel Library on campus!

With the help of warm, loving people this came to pass and I am thrilled and honored that

my father will live on and others can see and view his work for a very long time!

see photos from my visit and also, my daughter, Gwendolyn will be attending UC San Diego

in the Fall!

What a legacy that her Grandfather will be there with her and she continues her studies and degree

The stars have aligned!

Papers of Frank Samperi, self-taught poet, writer, and translator associated with the themes of spirituality and transcendence. This collection documents the personal life and career of Frank Samperi from the 1940s until 1990, including poetry, prose, translations, drafts, hand-made bindings, and a selection of notebooks. The correspondence is a significant portion of this collection. Will Petersen and Cid Corman are prominent correspondents, writing about personal and professional topics, philosophy, and religion. Multiple numbered editions of works by Petersen, as well as Samperi's works published by Petersen, are included in this collection.

Supplemental materials created posthumously, as well as correspondence between his daughter Claudia Samperi-Warren and other poets dating through 2020, is also included in this collection.

Arranged in seven series: 1) BIOGRAPHICAL, 2) CORRESPONDENCE, 3) WRITINGS BY SAMPERI - POETRY, PROSE &T RANSLATIONS, 4) NOTEBOOKS AND JOURNALS, 5) WORKS BY OTHERS, 6) AUDIOCASSETTE RECORDINGS, and 7) BORN DIGITAL.

Special Collections and Archives

UC San Diego Library

The Paul Blackburn Audio Collection!

2017-11-18T08:40:00.002-08:00

To that end, I am pleased to announce the launch of our latest digital collection, the Paul Blackburn Audio Collection. These digitized recordings feature poetry readings, lectures, conversations, and correspondence recorded on reel-to-reel tape by Paul Blackburn from 1960 to 1971 in New York City.

Blackburn was a cornerstone of the New York Poetry scene: he organized and attended poetry readings at venues across the city, hosted his own radio program, “Contemporary Poetry,” on WBAI, and often recorded casual conversations about poetry with friends. Blackburn’s recordings include some of the first readings performed at St. Mark’s Poetry Project, correspondence with Julio Cortázar and readings by such poets as Allen Ginsberg and Robert Creeley.

The first release of this collection includes over 100 recordings featuring over 100 poets, now available for streaming atlib.ucsd.edu/blackburn. Subsequent releases will bring the total number of recordings to over 200 available for online streaming and about 70 descriptions of recordings that can be made available onsite at UC San Diego Library’s Special Collections & Archives. We anticipate having the entire digital collection complete by February 2018.

We would like to thank you for being a part of this project and giving the library permission to stream the readings online. The editor of Blackburn's posthumously published Collected Poems (1985), Edith Jarolim, has called this collection "the most comprehensive oral history of the New York poetry scene between the late 1950s and 1970." We are excited to be able to make this important collection available to a wider audience.

The collection is available at lib.ucsd.edu/blackburn. Additional information about the collection and its release is available at http://libraries.ucsd.edu/blogs/blog/paul-blackburn-audio-collection-now-online/ .

Thank you again for your contribution to the Paul Blackburn Audio Collection. This project would not have been possible without it!

Search for Frank Samperi poetry reading May, 1966 and listen - amazing to hear my father's voice and I was 2 years old when this took place - enjoy!

4th Entry of Lamentations by Frank Samperi

2017-08-07T18:06:00.001-07:00

5/14/64

The pine trees outside the window take on a different intensity of evening light because of the partition that is glass. Should I see a metaphor in the light that falls from the roofs? And the garden? In turmoil because of the objects that break light? This strain to get clear of that which makes us notice the shadows — and yet sensing that one's fulfillment of difference is in just this moment amidst the garden's shadows: this remains unclear as long as the material ideal persists pyramidally.

5/15/64

Went down somewhere to see a Shinto festival — what strikes at once the uninitiated is its Spring-like air — that is, its material foundation is patent. It was lovely to see this procession moving along a river.

All in all this was one of the loveliest days for us here — the mountains even looked clearer — and the green more alive because of the children delighting in it.

Although we were caught in the Kyoto rush hour, our day was in a way the better for it.

5/16/64

To complain of loneliness — part to complain from a standpoint of a desideration of admiration.

5/17/64

4.128 Die logischen Formen sind zahllos.

Darum gibt es in der Logik keine ausgezeichneten Zahlen und darum gibt es keinen philosophischen Monismus oder Dualismus, etc.

(Logical forms are without number. Hence there are no privileged numbers in logic, and hence there is no possibility of philosophical monism or dualism, etc.)

Wittgenstein —

5.556 Eine Hierarchie der Formen der Elementarsätze kann es nicht geben.

(There cannot be a hierarchy of the forms of elementary propositions.)

5.5561. . . Die Hierarchien sind, und műssen unabhängig von der Realität sein.

(. . . hierarchies are and must be independent of reality.)

Wittgenstein's Tractatus resolves itself in the throwing away of the "ladder" with the reverberating upshot of silence as its final transcendence (release). The conclusions (which is to say, therefore, the whole works) Eastern affinities make themselves manifest even in the "limited whole" and the stress of things that cannot be put into words which are presumably "functions" of the "mystical."

5/18/64

I don't feel as if I'm the one they wanted here — so much has been put down in order to deceive; therefore, my longing for a past time becomes increasingly intense — especially since the place proposed as a possible haven proves to be another mirage. But again as soon as I forget their importance or better realize the uselessness of their arguments, the sooner will I come to that clearing whose way leads a man toward a completion (fulfillment of a body of work. To imply that your work might be undertaken for the sake of imparting Hope to mankind is not altogether aside the point. . .

5/19/64

"Let us now ask: 'Can a human body have pain?' One is inclined to say: 'How can

the body have pain? The body in itself is something dead; a body isn't conscious!' And here again it is as though we looked into the nature of pain and saw that it lies in its nature that a material object can't have it. And it is as though we saw that what has pain must be an entity of a different nature from that of a material object; that, in fact, it must be of a mental nature. But to say that the ego is mental is like saying that the number 3 is of a mental or an immaterial nature, when we recognize that the numeral 3 isn't used as a sign for a physical object." The Blue Book

"The kernel of our proposition that that which has pains or sees or thinks is of a mental nature is only, that the word 'I' in 'I have pains' does not denote a particular body, for we can't substitute for 'I' a description of a body."

5/21/64

There's a notion in me that "men" is one of the cleverest of Statist's "first principles." Also a system that stresses depersonalization is forced to admit "a voice that is heard everywhere; an image that is seen nowhere."

It is better for now anyway — not to go too deep into this notion (although the implication is enough to satisfy my mind); that is, it would be better to let future days take care of the development that is detail.

Maybe the _____ concerning my failure to make poems here is due to this land's kind of propaganda — one must be alert; for the natural here is arranged (set-up) with a different intent (that is, the "exploitation of the will" is less potent); "ignorance is much like the logician's and the geometer's statements that contingencies, accidents are so only because of one's ignorance of the "conditions." If they would say respectively — In logic nothing is accidental, there are only necessary causes. So the subtle kind of "quiet" counsel here is: not to submit to depersonalization which leads to undifferentiated "me." To juxtapose "_________" and "the second coming" is to put stress on the "equilibriums" proposed by the Material Ideal (the State) and Christ!

5/22/64

The most cunning of logic's one "breathing forth" no means of demonstration: that is, it's "awakening" has a stress (indeed, subtle) reminiscent of the "differential windless."

Third entry of Lamentations

2017-05-29T14:29:00.000-07:00

5/4/64

No journey is being made, but from this position (chair facing window looking out on a garden of pines, maples, etc., brought into intimacy by the dirt road leading to the modern school) a sight of the shifting of light and shade.

I'll leave for school about 2 — should give me ample time — don't know what the job will do for me — in many ways a mistake to have come here — my only life is not taken into account by many — not that it should considering the world system: this form of generalization comes into prominence when you're cast in the role of a foreigner — that is, it is hard to see individuals.

I've been told that when the adjustment's over I'll feel better — this may be so, if place were the foundation of one's argument: the new fad: cartography.

Took out my poems a while ago — if only I would make those last 3 poems: but terrible to sense few (more likely none) care that is there's no one to publish them.

Since it's going to be hard here, maybe this drivel will be hope then for me — get me through the day. The crowds disquiet — another reason why I should continue to mark the ups and downs of my emotions: the song as said before is a kind of mirror.

5/5/64

If we could only get a more private place, then the desire to leave would lessen — they're more expensive, but it'd be worth it.

A drizzle seen etched among the pine branches — maybe it's more the gate as background that brings the rain into focus.

It is quieting to see from this window people under umbrellas walking up the road to a school — the trees to the sides dripping in the after rain — some birds flying about — and two pines as foreground.

I wish I had a desk to steady my hand — but to be here means to have something else.

5/6/64

The plurality of truth initiates our approach toward a definition of poetry — There is sunlight on the roofs — the birds sing — a hum ______ voice prevails. I'll probably go out for a walk this afternoon — maybe take in a temple (interesting to study the walls of these temples). In time considering the centralization of industrialism there will be a razing to the ground of religious walls (except those which are conducive toward wheedling the young toward a field of phenomenalism) — it is true, however, they will play dumb — say their holiness resides somewhere that is devoid of Use.

Here too the struggles — but it's interesting not as evident: for instance, looking out one is less aware of the crowds, even though the views in the garden more fugal than melodic: that is the society's structured so that its mass shall not be forgotten — therefore, the tragic ache for interaction is deceptive here, too. The temple's lanterns hidden beneath thick benches are signs to those who've wandered into a clearing that motion as a presupposition of matter shall not be resolved until the final release which is passive — the plurality of lanterns are graphic standpoints.

As before, I shall let the outside work itself in me — this may be the best way for me to learn — length of time is also a factor.

5/7/64

Another fine day — it's unfortunate that I have to go to teach — would rather have stayed at home; but tomorrow is a free day — so!

5/9/64

Still not settled — too early to jot down words concerning the compatibility between modern (?) Buddhist Japan and modern (?) Protestant Capitalism — let's (for the time being) state that the final transcendence which is in the direction of "noises" has some relation to faith without good works.

5/10/64

A very quiet day — even cool — which makes for relaxed temperament. It doesn't seem as if I'll have many friends here — this is the most disappointing factor — however, there's no reason to blame the illusion: we wouldn't be here if there wasn't at least a modicum of discontent in me.

I expect that next week will be hell: that is, busy. If only I could have a situation conducive toward study, then maybe some work could be done — but this is wishful thinking — the trick is in making deferential toward your height — since I can't master the business of this trick I must be content to work under a veil of inferiority.

5/12/64

There's not much reason for continuing this day-to-day walk, for now — I've come to such a certainty that all the future's a blind alley for me — I was drawn here under false pretenses.

It's clear today, but a little cool.

As I've said before, if I could only finish my book, then maybe release from tension would be the consequence.

I don't think Japan will be too helpful — that is, how can it be, when their scholars, with a nostalgic look toward ancient times, turn their energies in the direction of modern protestant thought!?

5/13/64

The solutions become less and less clear — no way out, except by continuing to let each day take care of itself — as if I could do otherwise!

Don't feel like writing — is it right for me to fill up this page — especially when there's nothing today? Since all our arguments for nothingness are in words, how can we ever justify it as a first principle?

So far our biggest problem is the getting of an apartment — one suitable enough for 3 — such a desire does not praise the West.

No ascent possible at the time all forces are grouped under the malevolent heading of let no man go this way (which is Charity) for the rays of light are still impeded by the Wall that is societal.

Second entry of LAMENTATIONS BY Frank Samperi

2017-05-16T13:08:00.001-07:00

4/14/64

Tomorrow will be omitted from the calendar — we'll catch it on our way back. Even on this ship there's a stressing of the gradational — we are therefore compelled to attempt a direct look toward an unblemished horizon in order to offset such an anomaly. We certainly will have to dig in when we hit Kyoto — there isn't too much in reserve for us to draw from — the adjustments, etc., will all depend upon the amount of money I can make . . . we must have saved at least $3,000 by the end of our 3 years' stay, or it will have been all for nothing (it goes without saying that to experience meetings, etc. within a new land never go for nothing) — with that much we may be able to withstand the shocks the West is capable of giving (of course, the trade I learn in Japan will be my ticket survival).

This is the first day that Dolores has felt well enough to do some ironing — no nausea to keep her in bed. I have done no reading since the 11th — Don't think I should attempt it. I look instead. The whole horizon looks peaceful, even the one's standpoint is from a deck chair open to every nuisance that this ship gives to the ear — I don't think I'll write a poem during the voyage: all that's here reflects all that I'd not have in a song: but then again, it's impossible to predict the welling up of a song.

4/16/64

Last night we stood on deck to watch the stars — and the ship's riggings' shadows in the foam spreading out toward total darkness. Today is without a doubt the best day we've had at sea.

The workmen are busy cleaning up the ship — I guess for the entry into Japan, etc. I was saddened to see them so high up — at the mercy of the sea's maw. How much could they be getting that it would cause them to be heedless of the risk — are they outcasts? Sole-supporters? Seekers in strange ports?

In a way I can't wait until we hit land — the smell of earth, the blossoms, the objects that break the fall of light — the sea maybe is the ultimate image of the mirror, but the land leads us more to the notion of the differential — "Thy kingdom come . . ." is in just such a recovery. I have been drawn toward Japan for a purpose — at least that's the way I should look at it — I'm bound to come out of it with a more sure sense. The West is dying; the East is dying: nevertheless, in such a dying we see a quieting of the epical desire where direction points toward an effluence of song: that's the historical in balance, one is true to his proper objects of love. We cannot fail to reflect difference.

4/17/64

If the good weather keeps up we should dock at Yokosuka Mon. the 20th, at 2 pm or so; Tues. at 9 am or so should find us at Yokohama — but this is all speculation. Got rid of all my old keys — they're somewhere at the bottom of the sea.

The workmen are now working aft — funny to see the officers sunbathing while the hard-looking workers slave: there are, however, no signs of discontent. One could go on endlessly treating the subject: the sea, the ship with its daily task — a juxtaposition always savage when stripped of its calm integuments.

There's a possibility we can clear customs at Yokosuka — if so, maybe an earlier train will be hurrying us toward Kyoto — good, too, the landscape will be seen under light rather than as so many undulations in moonlight.

Not many people give you proper information — some have said U.S. food is cheaper in Japan, others say it's dearer — we've at all times stressed that we'll not be staying at a Western-style hotel — almost everybody speaks of Japanese cleanliness. None of them seem to approve of the Japanese for themselves, but only in that they have assimilated Western ways — in other words, they're OK because they're like us — again, this kind of falsehood does not seem to breed unrest: the officers sunbathe, the workers stir about the passengers lounge — the ship cleaves unrelentlessly, the gulls bring up the rear, and the horizon proves to be a moveable limit.

Purity involves that concept wherein there is no shadow.

Tried to spot the porpoises — was told to keep watch at 4:30 pm — no sign of them. Earlier we did see two ships (someone said they must be passenger ships) — the excitement was to presage an aftermath of quietness (that is, we all went our separate ways).

Besides that persistent hum of the ship the only other sound is the clearing of water: 5 pm, and the fore pointing toward a section of sea ablaze with light.

It turns out the ships we saw this afternoon were not passenger ships, but tenders.

4/18/64

What appeared to be a number of ships was in reality only one — looking through binoculars settled that standpoint.

After yesterday's calm the winds seem brisk — this'll probably be the only noise to edge our ears: the workers are off this afternoon.

A looking out toward the sea: no reaction, but emptiness — I don't wait to write of my despair — there's no use of this complaint against the colossal lie — we are snared, and there are even some louts who preach this rot as a good; it is therefore unholy, inhumane for any man to pursue an action that might cast him into the mould of a hot-shot.

I was wrong: the workmen continue to slave away yes! Even on a Sat. afternoon — I guess, when the ship docks and the cargo's on — loaded — they can tank themselves up for a period of time when abstemiousness is a saving grace.

All of these paragraphs should prove to me later on that I've sat down many times during a day to write. It will be interesting to see when the volume is finished what my stay in Japan has reaped — will I be on my way toward a complete security in the trade society has forced me to acquire?

4/19/64

We were told we might see some fishing boats out for tuna, but the way it looks today (mist, possible rain, etc.), we'll have to wait until tomorrow (we'll be sure to see them then): from the information we've gathered they'll be all around us.

Sad to say, but we may enter Japan on a rainy day — it isn't supposed to be the rainy season, however, no other way to look at it: we must adjust to what's before us. Some have said we'll be in time for the cherry blossoms, others have said it's past — no matter, the mind's alive enough to wait for another time.

Today's gloom has got everybody down — even the crew seemed to move about as if sadness were a noxious mist.

4/20/64

Our first sighting of a fleet of fishing boats, islands, flying fish — unfortunately, the day is so misty that things are subjected to it; maybe the afternoon will be clearer.

There will probably be little time for writing tomorrow — the ship docks at Yokohama at about 9 a.m. Yokosuka looks sad — maybe because the day was misty; but I think the U.S. air is the cause. We'll be going off ship tonight to see what the town looks like — no more until I'm settled!

5/3/64

Never have I felt so woeful — but as always the fault's in me, not in others. The coldness, the naturalness of the East is an argument not worth its weight in gold as foundation — that is even here one's position is for the sake of putting down another's stent.

Too early for me to say anything of importance re the structural of the land — which is to say I'm more broken within to notice what's outside: the objects, however, pay no attention to forms of derangement.

We have visited some spots of interest but they mean little to me — I was not made for such an uncertain life; I will try to learn — come away with something. I hope my view is not too slanted because of despair.

One Year Diary: LAMENTATIONS by Frank Samperi 1964

2017-05-09T16:11:00.002-07:00

ONE YEAR DIARY: LAMENTATIONS

Frank Samperi

4/6/64

A sea voyage. We're supposed to get underway at 9 p.m.; it is now 4:30 p.m. Standing at a porthole looking out on tractors, etc., this class 3 cargo liner's teleology, I am moved to turn my direction toward a troop ship (?) that dominates the sight: the water's present movement is quiet, which sort of eases even the objects most conducive toward rendering the will tortuous.

The time for getting underway has now been extended to 10. Dolores is resting: we shall go out on deck — in our coats, of course — to see the shore slowly pulling away from the ship —.

Not good to make any comments re the quality of objects confronting us — the high seas should be one site vast enough to take to stress all responses. The simplicity one must at all times cultivate, so that every action humanely moved is in the blood because of a tender predisposition. Even this writing can evince a similar structure — for instance, sitting in the lounge, a picture window holding in its defining lines a number of freight trains next the sea against mist coming from the mountains as background for the freight trains, one is led to pay least attention to the words around him, for the vision tends to hold, whereas the noise is a source of unrest: to whom? To what? No answer for what is at bottom a line of vision — I do have some fears that the voyage's purpose may end in despair, but they are probably due to the same quality of unrest that is consequent upon noise. What has caused me to use noise as a choice metaphor, no doubt about it: the ship is at all times humming (below breathing?) — the life is in the breath!

The ship passed out under the Golden Gate Bridge — we could hardly say our feeling was one of awe: it was too dark! The sea comes to my imagination in the form of a ceaseless churning of tar — and the land falling off its sides is the piteous mask of the apparential.

4/7/64

These mysterious forces that move a ship — "who" are they? Why the depths? They reside far below, and we are excluded from the essences; we are only granted a nominal participation: their servant is our only way to them (the shakiness of my penmanship is, of course, due to the pendulum movement of the ship).

It may take another day before our stomachs can go with the cadence of the sea — nothing to be ashamed of, for in order to be the sea one must go through a transformation whose whole period is a state of becoming. We haven't, therefore, gathered ourselves up enough for a walk on deck. From a porthole I can see a clearing of water; the sunlight is tempered.

There's a treatment on this ship that edges in upon the sensibilities — that is, an intensity of decorum is proportionate to one's rank. Although one sees all these lines of vista, he can't help bringing to task his own outward expressions (which are mere gestures more to hide than reveal) by a stress that only solitude can call forth. That kindness, care, etc., can only be extended to those who meet the right quantity . . . thus the stress — and the solitude that resolves it.

4/8/64

Is there a tragic intent in the sight of gulls in the wake of a ship? The horizon is awesome, for the argument is least evident. I still remain quiet to myself, which is to say, few objects are moving enough — that is, arrogance is not this sentence's gesture, but so much is rigged up to demoralize that one cannot hope to relieve the droop in the eyelids. To end this paragraph let it be noted that I shall not make mention of our fellow passengers, except this: their number is abstract.

Back from supper — again decorum was the order of the evening — not that there's anything wrong with good manners (I'm neurotic when it comes to that), but, all should be graced to the same degree (at least under the sky). But I shouldn't talk about

the ways of the ship — nor let myself be angered by things that I thought I had left behind, although I understand not even the sea can so eradicate the blemish all around us (the walls?). What I must do is keep my vision clear for the day when I can no longer hold back the flow of words directed toward a just account of the differential society (the gaze toward it is its Comedy's purpose). This trip to Japan should give me a necessary union whose fruition points toward the way that is recovery.

4/9/64

Thought today would see us in good condition, but the sea is unusually unsettling — and to top it all, a smell of food clings to our stateroom. Except for a few minutes on deck this morning, we've been indoors — in bed, to be exact. There's a quietness on ship that makes one assert that seamen are of a more contrary lot in nature than land dwellers, but this could be misleading; that is, an empty head is sometimes quiet. Hope to God tomorrow will be a smooth day — for Dolores' sake, of course — she's so seasick from the ship's disquieting tilt.

One could start a day's writing out of sheer boredom — not get at anything, but the notion or better emotion was due to a malaise of sorts. We are doomed to some routine which we find at all times unsuitable for human consideration, but because of our station we are forced to submit — yes even to the most stupid predicaments: our manners are a mask hiding a collective distaste — in the privacy of our rooms we usually drop the pose and put all persons and things to the criticism, which leaves no trait without an underscoring: this is how we case ourselves and explain away the whole world.

4/11/64

There doesn't seem to be much of a letup in the swelling of these waves — yesterday was so bad that we had to put all loose things into the drawers. Found out that if I read for any great length of time a feeling of nausea wells up, of course. I've weathered the storm, but Dolores has had it bad. Today's the first day she's feeling well.

Not much to relate to when at sea — one's always on the watch for a whale, but all that one sees is the changing aspects of the weather: these changes seem to be the sea's actors; therefore, although the sea's more abstract, it does not follow that it is more cruel — we are viciously compelled by both.

I'd like to start a new book, but somehow feel regret will take hold of me by the middle of it — for that's the feeling I'm having with Lord Jim — I'm sure this isn't due to the writer's art: it's obviously the sea's fault and maybe tomorrow the prose will work better under my eyes.

Strange to be at sea and think of gardens — as I've said I'd love to live by the sea not on it. This voyage would not be a total loss if I could just make a poem, and therefore be only 2 away from the end.

4/12/64

A day of rain! Gulls floating in the wake — a silence all around us.

Don't feel I said myself with exceptional precision yesterday, but this can't be a cause for worry (although the mere writing of it gives it the lie), it shall be as if the memory were deranged.

It wouldn't be too successful for me to desire to fall away into darkness; we've decided this trip is the best thing that has happened to me: therefore, a healthy outlook as they say is the point of view to cultivate. I should in some way qualify the above by the wish that erases all.

4/13/64

The trip's half over and thank God — this nausea is like the wake. Not much to do on the ship — and to boot, you have to listen to the infernal noise of the workmen (elves?): poor souls they have it pretty bad. Again an image of a hill fading toward the sea keeps cropping up: its background is one of light instead of another's darkness. Haven't been on deck yet — the sun's out, so maybe in an hour or so we'll take a turn-around.

Happy Holidays to all

2016-12-20T08:43:00.000-08:00

As we close out 2016 may all our dreams, hopes and wishes come true

Looking forward to a blessed 2017 year

Let's all love more and be more caring toward one another

Spiritual

man

lives

eternal

DAY

Frank Samperi

2015-09-22T19:38:00.001-07:00

TRILOGY BY FRANK SAMPERI

If you haven't bought a copy of the Trilogy yet order your copy at
Skysill Press http://skysillpress.blogspot.com/ and you can now have your copy of these beautiful poems by Frank Samperi.

Thank you to Sam Ward at Skysill Press for making this book possible.

Some Summer vacation memories at the Cape

2015-07-20T20:17:00.000-07:00

Some photos from the 70's at the Cape.
Every summer our family would rent a car and drive to the Cape Cod. Rent a cabin and stay for a whole month. Spent time a Nauset Beach, the dunes and nights in Hyannis.

My dad loved to go there and he wrote every summer at the cabin.

The weather now is so hot that it reminds me of those times.

Belated Birthday wish to my father, Frank Samperi

2015-05-22T11:38:00.000-07:00

Happy Birthday daddy - May 19th - he would have been 82 years old.
I miss you very much.

More books will be published soon. We are going to be working this coming summer on a new project.

Stay tuned.

All my love,
Claudia

Can you find Frank?

2015-02-22T11:29:00.000-08:00

I love this photo!

John Perlman's Facebook page A Post on Frank Samperi

2015-01-15T22:19:00.003-08:00

A nice post from John Perlman on his Facebook page:

https://www.facebook.com/groups/688364797898741/725722567496297/?notif_t=group_activity

READ Frank Samperi and be inspired

2014-11-08T14:06:00.000-08:00

As fall is here I feel such a longing to see my beloved father, Frank Samperi.
He is truly missed.

I turned 50 this year and it feels like yesterday when I was only 25 years old when he left.

Thank you all for your continued support via this blog and keeping his work and spirit alive.

I hope around the world his work is being read quietly or out loud.

Loving daughter,
Claudia

Robert Kelly Remembering Frank Samperi

2014-08-13T18:39:00.000-07:00

From Robert Kelly

He sits at his kitchen table

past three in the morning

thinking about Dante.

On the avenue an ambulance,

a bus, a shout in Polish.

Soon it will be the hour

when the garbage trucks

churn through the streets.

He thinks about a flower

then, a yellow

not exactly a rose

as we know them,

something wide and welcoming

and gold, something

far better than sleep.

12 August 2014

remembering Frank Samperi

A lovely note from Robert Kelly on TRILOGION (Triolgy)

2014-07-07T19:58:00.000-07:00

dearest Claudia,

the book is here, is beautiful. Frank from the band between the Third Heaven and beyond is thanking you. Every poet in the world should be thanking you, the serenity and purity of a kind no one, alas, rivals. And of course I thank you, and especially that you let me put my two cents in homage.

fondly,
Robert

June 28th Anniversary of Frank Samperi's passing

2014-06-28T09:33:00.001-07:00

Frank Samperi would have been 81 today as we celebrate this great man who is still in everyone's thoughts and prayers.

As I continue to move forward bringing forth the un-published work to be published I am grateful for all the connections of other fellow poets from the past and from today.

From The Kingdom

separated from the world

no longer a part

of the vision

the body stirs to the image garden

where the solitary

flowers about him

looking up at the moon

leans against a tree

recalling the child

by the window

remote

not neighborhood

the snow

the play

the street wide or narrow

confused

more after state

In Loving Memory,

Daughter of Frank Samperi, Claudia Samperi

David Miller: Reassembling Still: Collected Poems

2014-04-22T18:10:00.000-07:00

David Miller, Reassembling Still: Collected Poems, Bristol: Shearsman Books, 2014. ISBN 978-1-84681-331-7. 316pp. £14.95.

David Miller was born in Melbourne (Australia) in 1950, and has lived in London since 1972. His more recent publications include The Waters of Marah (Shearsman Books, 2005), The Dorothy and Benno Stories (Reality Street Editions, 2005), In the Shop of Nothing: New and Selected Poems (Harbor Mountain Press, 2007) and Black, Grey and White: A Book of Visual Sonnets (Veer Books, 2011). He has compiledBritish Poetry Magazines 1914-2000: A History and Bibliography of ‘Little Magazines’ (with Richard Price, The British Library / Oak Knoll Press, 2006) and edited The Lariat and Other Writings by Jaime de Angulo (Counterpoint, 2009) and The Alchemist’s Mind: a book of narrative prose by poets (Reality Street, 2012). Spiritual Letters (Series 1-5) appeared from Chax Press in 2011, and a double CD recording of David Miller reading this same work came out from LARYNX in 2012. He is also a musician and a member of the Frog Peak Music collective.

Comprising work from the early 1970s onwards, Reassembling Still is by far the largest and most comprehensive collection of David Miller’s poetry, and includes all of his poetry that he wishes to keep, with the exceptions of the ongoing Spiritual Letters project and his visual poems.

In a statement published in Poetry Salzburg Review, Miller wrote: “I am not at all interested in the idea of taking something – some pre-existing ‘content’ – and presenting it in a persuasive and gratifying manner. I’m interested in working with what I don’t know, in the sense that the writing involves a process of discovery – hopefully also opening up a process of discovery for the reader. What I want is an exploratory poetry – a poetry that seeks to discover, explore and deal with the unfamiliar – with what would normally be hidden or invisible.”

Click here for purchase: www.shearsman.com/ws-shop/category/970-miller-david

2014-04-03T19:50:00.003-07:00

From Bob Arnold on the NEW Trilogy:

http://longhousepoetryandpublishers.blogspot.com/search/label/Frank%20Samperi%27s%20Trilogy

Robert Creeley on Jacket 2

2014-03-21T19:50:00.000-07:00

Editorial note: This interview took place on the second of two days of visits by the late Robert Creeley to the Kelly Writers House in 2000 as part of the Writers House Fellows program, which brings three writers to the University of Pennsylvania’s campus each spring for close interaction with students, faculty, and other literary aficionados. Creeley’s prolific poetic work has garnered praise from the likes of William Carlos Williams, Allen Ginsberg, and Edward Dorn, while his editorial expertise has graced such publications as The Black Mountain Review and Origin. His countries of residence (Spain, France, Guatemala, Finland, and others) were nearly as diverse as the array of fellowships and awards that he received in his lifetime. Video and audio recordings of Creeley’s visit can be found here. — Kenna O’Rourke

Uncollected Poems by John Perlman

2014-03-01T09:10:00.001-08:00

UNCOLLECTED POEMS

A SAMPLER VOLUME 1

JOHN PERLMAN

Grateful acknowledgment to the editors

of the publications in which some of these

poems first appeared :

Celebrations, Cutting Edge, First Intensity,

Lift, Longhouse, Noctiluca, paperwhite (a tel let minum),

Pound of Flesh Review, Shearsman. Tight, tel 28 let.

“In the Shawangunks” first appeared in

The Gertrude Stein Awards in Innovative

Poetry, an anthology.

Cover Photo on Giant Mountain

by Jan Perlman.

Room Press

22450 Sister Lane

Millsboro, DE 19966

men in flame

or the heat

from flame in

water boiling

or in words

incendiary

words their

faces masked

inarticulate

dispassion

of some

irresistible

revenge

the ones

whose souls

are promised

to a merciless

fathering dead

who summon

unborn sons &

daughters to

unceasing

passion

plays in

sightless

fury waves

of faces arms

for banners
streaming
seen from
rooftops
so world
disquieted
may watch
flame swallow
flame & on the
tables flesh
devours
flesh &
soupbroth
thins & dogs
go gaunt on
bones --- the
heartsick
put on coats
to walk alone
in woods
regretting
speech
framing
silent
prayers
concluding
as if whispered
in an ear we
beg forgiveness
for denying you
allow our loved ones
mute fidelity of love
seeing in their eyes
no heart for
war tho
fire
cover
us in
fear

If you wish a copy please contact John Perlman at roompress@aol.com

Go to Will Petersen Tribute Facebook page

2014-02-04T18:57:00.002-08:00

Posted by Cynthia Archer

Claudia Warren just emailed to say that Frank Samperi's "Trilogy" reprint has arrived and is available for purchase at Skysill Press. "Columbus December" is the WP stone print used for the cover.

2013-12-18T19:42:00.000-08:00

TRILOGY BY FRANK SAMPERI

Some notes

2013-10-29T20:05:00.000-07:00

Frank Samperi’s notes on poetry and poetics

8/29/69

Handwritten original from “Marginalia” included in Quadrifariam.

For Dolores

These poems may seem to be just occasions; (but) nevertheless there is a desire to place

Them more substantially: the spiritual world a light coming thru. (Gathering up or better)

Revealing the domestic worthy of the metaphor: the family aware of the fall of light,

Darkness no longer something to be eradicated.

9/24/69

-There should be no indenting – also, the lines should fall without spacing.

Anti-Hero

What is known the world over business makes men brutal.

Still feel that the deeping of The Triune depends upon my getting complete rest – no other

way to the spirit except thru a purity of disposition.

It is best that my work remain unknown – the age continues the work of the last 600 years:

Who’s the poet, then?

I’d like to write of friendship, but that’s more memorial than actual fact; nevertheless, the

Memory of it mollifies walks otherwise hapless. Not much time for walks these days – the job

tyrannical. It is not possible to teach the young poetry if their sense of (poetry) it is competitive.

They seek judgments that have nothing to do with the art, that is, a man gains nothing from being

Told that his work is stronger than another’s: but again, the age wants no part of a teaching that

Has God as end, the audience in no sense identifying with a work, release necessarily telic.

Here it comes clear: the teaching of poetry says just that we might be heirs of a view that impedes

No sense – second that the wholeness of a work is equally given up: from these the audience is

Fulfilled, the sense the wholeness unimpeded. What happens when the age is false (propagandistic)?

The artist must seek the truth doubly.

You waste away for want of companions – those who insist you only wait upon a verification that

is referable to themselves rather than the common that makes companions participants in the greater

life.

What comes upon one that makes him (you) feel that everything has reached its peak, and that

Anything more to do is over and above! There is separation, and the terrible sorrow of the day reflects

It, makes me inwardly dual.

Wait! Don’t work on the major poem until there is time – but suppose the time never comes? Wait! If…

Only those writers whose possibilities are granted can expect honor, those ignored can only know

isolation, the act of writing (more) akin to the (criminal action)non-professional, even tho sense of craft

better than those whose positions are granted. The ignored one must take upon himself every insult,

humiliation – the superiorly of his art makes him take it – compromise foreign to him.

The country art is suspect because it’s there for the sake of the tired peoples of the cities – after awhile

people can only take so much concrete – but we can’t be sentimental over this.

We are now into the days (now) when to expect words from another can cause collapse if the words

don’t come. Some poets stay amidst nature because they feel – I guess – that to stay in the city is to be

abstract: they – unknowingly, of course – falsify: in the country does not guaranty poetry; on the

contrary, it is possible to tip one’s hat (to pay lip service) to the natural sciences under such conditions,

that is, the poetic actively there is referable to the position here in the sense that it is there in order to

ease the city of its severity.

So many hours to job – so little now for reading. Was it not once almost 12 hours a day?

The Union of both Church & State has the same meaning as Church Total State Total: total eradication of

differences.

The new Christian the Spiritual man living the Eternal Life.

2013-08-08T18:03:00.000-07:00

My father's book Trilogy is now available to purchase through Skysill Press.

With special appreciations from Robert Kelly, Peter O'Leary, Elizabeth Robinson, Jamie Townsend

and John Martone.

I am truly grateful beyond words to Skysill Press for making this happen and to those who

continue to support Frank Samperi's work.

Order your copy today!