Description:
War and Peace 3/The Future, edited by Judith Goldman & Leslie Scalapino,

Borrowing Tolstoy’s title and basing our manifestation of War and Peace on the conception that everything goes on in war and peace, the editors, Judith Goldman and Leslie Scalapino, have gathered forty poets on the theme of “The Future.” The future arises with (at the same time as) history and the present.
                Included in the forty are Lyn Hejinian, Fanny Howe, Lisa Jarnot, Bruce Andrews, Rodrigo Toscano, Anselm Hollo, Paolo Javier, Laynie Browne, Anne Waldman, Jen Hofer…

                Rob Halpern is seeing/making a relation of “the inner life” (discovering what that is) to occurrence. Past, present, and future: “the migrating cranes—whose lines of flight misalign what will have been with what’ll be no more… you can draw a cartoon head around the other’s unknown life and still not recognize the place where you live because home bears no resemblance to the bodies feeding you, no relation to the ones who work in the dark (cold fields, the vaults and cells)...”

The lines of each of Michael McClure’s poems from “Swirling Asphalt” are the action of being the same present (as all times at once) the instant of (most fragile) love:
                                                                      A FOREST OF HORSES
                                                                                is where I am
                                                                                           IN
                                                                                        YOUR
                                                                                          EYES
                                                                                  and you have
                                                                                       handed
                                                                                   me your love

In Susan Landers’ translucent Dante the past and the future are at the instant of our present occurrence:
                Squirrelly Cerberus spots us. Teeth poised in his mouths.

My leader lobs fist-fulls of muck down his throat to appease him.
                And so we pass, trampling the fallen beaten down by rain.
                Though empty, their bodies feel full and give under out stomp weight.
                One rises at the sight of us and calls me, “Young one,

                who stood before I fell, tell me my name.”
                But I cannot. All hells obscure the past.
                Disgust refashions history to suit its own purposes.
                “But I was your neighbor in your city of sun and trouble.”

                And I sense in him the vision that chaos affords so I ask him
                to tell me the future of my city of my state of conflict
                and this is what he tells me: “The perceived wrath of perceived
gods overwhelms the few capable of blinding crowds.”