"Metaphorism"
I like Frank O'Hara's description of his movement, Personism, because he lets on really early that it's his personal take on things. I have thought a lot about what the main driving force is for me when I write poetry, and I have to say it's metaphor. Every thing I write is about something concrete. I just couch it in metaphor. While I like the Language poets use of language for its own sake--the whole idea of sculpting words and white space into an experience in its own right is exciting to me--I can't completely divorce the language from my meanings. I use metaphor so I can write about my meaning, and the meaning is hidden in metaphor. This is handy--you can say anything you want to this way! But seriously, for me that's what makes a poem immediate - if I feel passionately about what I'm talking about it seems to give the poem a vitality and makes it interesting. I have focus and find the comic timing easily that way.
Saturday, June 6, 2009
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
My Poetics-Chapter One
Fame and fortune versus enjoying what you do
I keep thinking about what we talked about in class today. I want to tie two parts of the conversation together:
1) That poets get together to read, read each other's stuff, and write for each other because they love it and do want to be heard, hear others, and publish, and
2) my comment about how it might be if people didn't go for publication, money, recognition, etc.
The two seem like opposites, but ARE they?
I didn't mean that we should cease all shared poetry-don't publish, don't read aloud, hell, don't even print yer stuff at home-of course we want that, but that the focus starts out with what you get out of the actual writing, and then you're moved to put it out in the world. I think most poets do that, and that's what draws me to poetry.
So, although poetry isn't all that popular in the mainstream, I think it just might represent the most-dare I say it?-natural way for people to engage in life. Not that they all should be poets, but that they should choose something they love even if it's not lucrative.
I was wondering how it would be if our culture's attitude towards fame and fortune were less cut-throat. So, instead of people clawing for their fifteen minutes, no matter how they do it - reality tv, having eight babies and saying you're going to have more, singing badly on television, etc- how would it be if people did what they loved first, and worried about the fame later. It 's not a new question but I think it's really relevant these days.
I realize that I've just used two examples that are the opposite ends of the capitalistic spectrum (poetry and the octomom?), but really, a lot of folks are running toward the get-the-money-or-die end, and although I also don't think poetry will change that, I'm wondering if maybe the changes Greta pointed out could one day include a cultural shift towards more people engaged in what they want to do first. Call me a cock-eyed optimist...
I keep thinking about what we talked about in class today. I want to tie two parts of the conversation together:
1) That poets get together to read, read each other's stuff, and write for each other because they love it and do want to be heard, hear others, and publish, and
2) my comment about how it might be if people didn't go for publication, money, recognition, etc.
The two seem like opposites, but ARE they?
I didn't mean that we should cease all shared poetry-don't publish, don't read aloud, hell, don't even print yer stuff at home-of course we want that, but that the focus starts out with what you get out of the actual writing, and then you're moved to put it out in the world. I think most poets do that, and that's what draws me to poetry.
So, although poetry isn't all that popular in the mainstream, I think it just might represent the most-dare I say it?-natural way for people to engage in life. Not that they all should be poets, but that they should choose something they love even if it's not lucrative.
I was wondering how it would be if our culture's attitude towards fame and fortune were less cut-throat. So, instead of people clawing for their fifteen minutes, no matter how they do it - reality tv, having eight babies and saying you're going to have more, singing badly on television, etc- how would it be if people did what they loved first, and worried about the fame later. It 's not a new question but I think it's really relevant these days.
I realize that I've just used two examples that are the opposite ends of the capitalistic spectrum (poetry and the octomom?), but really, a lot of folks are running toward the get-the-money-or-die end, and although I also don't think poetry will change that, I'm wondering if maybe the changes Greta pointed out could one day include a cultural shift towards more people engaged in what they want to do first. Call me a cock-eyed optimist...
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
Where I'm From
People, surprised
didn't know it would turn out this way.
It's amazing how they make do.
I'm one of them.
Work can be gotten by word of mouth.
The food services. Clearing out an attic.
And aimlessness.
But they're game.
You don't even see them.
Their only weakness
is a shocking lack of whitened teeth.
didn't know it would turn out this way.
It's amazing how they make do.
I'm one of them.
Work can be gotten by word of mouth.
The food services. Clearing out an attic.
And aimlessness.
But they're game.
You don't even see them.
Their only weakness
is a shocking lack of whitened teeth.
Shut Up
It’s a rude question, but I"ll tell you.
Finish with your arguments.
I’m alright with the situation.
I’m the opposite of it.
If you only knew.
Your jaw would drop, I’ve worked so hard.
I should be President by now.
I should have won the Nobel Peace Prize.
I’ve worked so hard and so well,
and
your jaw would drop
and
if you only knew.
Finish with your arguments.
I’m alright with the situation.
I’m the opposite of it.
If you only knew.
Your jaw would drop, I’ve worked so hard.
I should be President by now.
I should have won the Nobel Peace Prize.
I’ve worked so hard and so well,
and
your jaw would drop
and
if you only knew.
Tie Me UP I and II
Tie Me UP I
Motivational Speaker Woman, while flying through the sky, says:
“Money does not confer motion.
Not having money does not restrict everything.
You mind does not stop working if you’re down to nothing.
Doing the things that money is needed for are not the only things you can do.
Yes, there are limits, but you don’t have to stay in your room.
And when you have money it is possible to leave behind the shiny new things you have bought.
Shiny new things do not confer motion.”
Tie Me UP II
Motivational Speaker Woman, while flying through the sky, says:
“Money does not confer motion.
Not having money does not blah blah.
You mind does not blah blah blah if you’re down to nothing.
Doing the things that money is needed for are not blobbity blah blah.
Yes, there are limits, but you don’t have to stay in your room.
And when you have money it is possible to
blah blah,
blah blah,
blah blah,
blah blah.
Shiny new things do not confer motion.”
Blah Blah Blah.
Motivational Speaker Woman, while flying through the sky, says:
“Money does not confer motion.
Not having money does not restrict everything.
You mind does not stop working if you’re down to nothing.
Doing the things that money is needed for are not the only things you can do.
Yes, there are limits, but you don’t have to stay in your room.
And when you have money it is possible to leave behind the shiny new things you have bought.
Shiny new things do not confer motion.”
Tie Me UP II
Motivational Speaker Woman, while flying through the sky, says:
“Money does not confer motion.
Not having money does not blah blah.
You mind does not blah blah blah if you’re down to nothing.
Doing the things that money is needed for are not blobbity blah blah.
Yes, there are limits, but you don’t have to stay in your room.
And when you have money it is possible to
blah blah,
blah blah,
blah blah,
blah blah.
Shiny new things do not confer motion.”
Blah Blah Blah.
Reference Materials
Call:
You know, it's that "post-modern sort of we're-in-the-know,
everything is referencing everything" thing. And people are okay with that.
Response:
Oh, I know what you mean. it's like, there I was in the cafeteria and there, at eye level, was this little wooden Easter Island head, on a counter, and someone, someone had fashioned, out of a paper napkin, out of a school cafeteria, food services, in bulk, bleached white paper napkin, a tiny tie on it.
I mean, there were so many things there. Like, Easter Island. And the commercialization of Easter Island. And commercialization. And forests being cut down. And men in ties, which references the fifties and the sixties and the seventies and now and the eighties and mainly Father Knows Best, right? The tie, that's also all about the colonization of the brown man by the white man, that's what. And multi-culturalism. And art, because it was a sculpture, and finally, after all that, the whole damn thing was taking place inside of a cafeteria. A school cafeteria, with all that implies: bad food. Mass production. Mean cafeteria ladies. Bad food. Pepsi machines, which calls to mind coke, which calls to mind the history of coke, which started with cocaine in it, and then it got taken out, which calls to mind who did the taking out and why?
It all got called up, from one giant pomo data bank, one huge thumb drive sitting on a floor with people walking on it, flashing one icon after another: Easter Island Head. Money. Environmental Degradation. Food and Our Health. Stereotyped People. The Floor (which, by the way, was linoleum, which conjured up A New Life With Plastics). And there were also Cash Registers which practically screamed Trying To Live on a Minimum Wage Income. And Those Little Stiles that make you remember the New York subway. And it was all there, and it all swirled around and around until, once the sound of it had risen and risen and drowned out everything and everybody, and nobody could hear or see anything, the little Easter Island guy wearing the paper napkin tie just stood up and screamed:
"WILL EVERYBODY PLEASE SHUT UP?!"
You know, it's that "post-modern sort of we're-in-the-know,
everything is referencing everything" thing. And people are okay with that.
Response:
Oh, I know what you mean. it's like, there I was in the cafeteria and there, at eye level, was this little wooden Easter Island head, on a counter, and someone, someone had fashioned, out of a paper napkin, out of a school cafeteria, food services, in bulk, bleached white paper napkin, a tiny tie on it.
I mean, there were so many things there. Like, Easter Island. And the commercialization of Easter Island. And commercialization. And forests being cut down. And men in ties, which references the fifties and the sixties and the seventies and now and the eighties and mainly Father Knows Best, right? The tie, that's also all about the colonization of the brown man by the white man, that's what. And multi-culturalism. And art, because it was a sculpture, and finally, after all that, the whole damn thing was taking place inside of a cafeteria. A school cafeteria, with all that implies: bad food. Mass production. Mean cafeteria ladies. Bad food. Pepsi machines, which calls to mind coke, which calls to mind the history of coke, which started with cocaine in it, and then it got taken out, which calls to mind who did the taking out and why?
It all got called up, from one giant pomo data bank, one huge thumb drive sitting on a floor with people walking on it, flashing one icon after another: Easter Island Head. Money. Environmental Degradation. Food and Our Health. Stereotyped People. The Floor (which, by the way, was linoleum, which conjured up A New Life With Plastics). And there were also Cash Registers which practically screamed Trying To Live on a Minimum Wage Income. And Those Little Stiles that make you remember the New York subway. And it was all there, and it all swirled around and around until, once the sound of it had risen and risen and drowned out everything and everybody, and nobody could hear or see anything, the little Easter Island guy wearing the paper napkin tie just stood up and screamed:
"WILL EVERYBODY PLEASE SHUT UP?!"
Friday, May 8, 2009
Drying out
Dry day.
Dry thought.
Dry, completely dry.
Dry as hell.
Dry as middle age.
Dry as lizard skin.
Sahara sun dry,
middle of summer dry,
dry as caked squirrel.
No assurances.
No last minute deliveries.
No mighty riffs.
Nothing.
Where
is
the
promised
payment?
Dry thought.
Dry, completely dry.
Dry as hell.
Dry as middle age.
Dry as lizard skin.
Sahara sun dry,
middle of summer dry,
dry as caked squirrel.
No assurances.
No last minute deliveries.
No mighty riffs.
Nothing.
Where
is
the
promised
payment?
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