WATER POURS FROM THE LION'S MOUTH
GRITTY AND METALLIC
DROP BY DROP
IT SPILLS, BLOOD-TINGED WINE---
WHAT YOU CALL FALLING,
I CALL SEEKING THE EARTH.
I WANT TO BE DRAWN INTO THE DARKNESS
AND DISSOLVE
IN THIS QUIET TOMB
MAYBE COME TOGETHER AGAIN
SOMEWHERE ELSE
AS SOMEONE DIFFERENT.
11.27.2010
Matrimony
OUR WORK,
TO GLEAN AND HUSK,
TAKING PAINS TO GATHER
WHAT THE REAPERS LEFT BEHIND--
HOW MUCH GRAIN TO SALVAGE?
WILL IT KEEP?
IN SLEEP WE CLEAVE AND SIGH,
EACH CLIMBING INTO THE SHELTER
OF THE OTHER...
IT IS NOT ENOUGH.
NOT ENOUGH TO ENCLOSE US
AS WE ARE-- VULNERABLE, EXPOSED.
PLAGUED BY SUN THAT SEARS OUR SKIN,
RAIN THAT PELTS OUR BACKS,
EVEN THE ANGRY WINDS
CONSPIRE AGAINST US...
TORN UNTIL LOVING, LIKE BREATHING,
BECOMES THE ENEMY THAT AGES US.
STILL, LOVE SWEEPS HER CONTENTED SIGHS
ACROSS THE LANDSCAPE.
STILL, WE SEEK OUR QUIET RESPITE
IN THE SHADE OF A STACK OF HAY,
CLOSE TO THE DELICATE SHEAVES
EARLIER BOUND
BY AN UNSEEN HAND.
TO GLEAN AND HUSK,
TAKING PAINS TO GATHER
WHAT THE REAPERS LEFT BEHIND--
HOW MUCH GRAIN TO SALVAGE?
WILL IT KEEP?
IN SLEEP WE CLEAVE AND SIGH,
EACH CLIMBING INTO THE SHELTER
OF THE OTHER...
IT IS NOT ENOUGH.
NOT ENOUGH TO ENCLOSE US
AS WE ARE-- VULNERABLE, EXPOSED.
PLAGUED BY SUN THAT SEARS OUR SKIN,
RAIN THAT PELTS OUR BACKS,
EVEN THE ANGRY WINDS
CONSPIRE AGAINST US...
TORN UNTIL LOVING, LIKE BREATHING,
BECOMES THE ENEMY THAT AGES US.
STILL, LOVE SWEEPS HER CONTENTED SIGHS
ACROSS THE LANDSCAPE.
STILL, WE SEEK OUR QUIET RESPITE
IN THE SHADE OF A STACK OF HAY,
CLOSE TO THE DELICATE SHEAVES
EARLIER BOUND
BY AN UNSEEN HAND.
Translations
WORKING ON SOMETHING FOR THE NEXT QARRTSILUNI SUBMISSIONS, BASICALLY RIGHT NOW I'M JUST HOPING TO GET IT DONE. THE THEME IS "TRANSLATIONS" SO I DECIDED TO TAKE IT LITERALLY AND FOCUS ON THE ETYMOLOGY OF THE WORD "TRANSLATION" WHICH APPARENTLY DERIVED FROM EARLIER MEANINGS OF "TO TRANSPORT OR FERRY ACROSS" (PRETTY COOL I THOUGHT).
SO FROM THERE I JUMPED TO DECIDING TO USE THE ELEVATOR AS THE MODE OF TRANSPORT, AND VARIOUS FIGURES IN THE WORLD OF PHILOSOPHY AND LITERARY THEORY AS SUBJECTS WE (THE READERS) MEET ON THE ELEVATOR, GIVEN THEIR INTIMATE INVOLVEMENTS WITH IDEAS "LOST IN TRANSLATION" SO TO SPEAK, THE MEANING AND PURPOSE OF THE TEXT, THE AUTHOR, ETC. I'M STARTING WITH DERRIDA AND HOPEFULLY WILL GET A FEW MORE FINISHED BEFORE THE DEADLINE.
BUT I DO HAVE A FEW MORE BESIDES THIS THAT I'VE BEEN FINISHING ON THE SIDE.
ALSO YES, I'M STILL KIND OF OBSESSING ON THE WHOLE MUMMY THING. I HAVE ONE DONE ON CLEOPATRA AND ONE I'M WORKING ON ONE OF AN INCORRUPTIBLE SAINT (NO ONE IN PARTICULAR). NOW I'M JUST KIND OF DECIDING IF I WANT THE POEMS TO STAND ALONE OR GROUP THEM TOGETHER SOMEHOW AS SORT OF A MUMMY DUET.
OOOOH....WAIT A MINUTE...I COULD DO A "CONTRAPUNTAL" MUMMY POEM. OH, THAT WOULD BE AWESOME. YES, I THINK I WILL DO THAT. STAY TUNED.
SO FROM THERE I JUMPED TO DECIDING TO USE THE ELEVATOR AS THE MODE OF TRANSPORT, AND VARIOUS FIGURES IN THE WORLD OF PHILOSOPHY AND LITERARY THEORY AS SUBJECTS WE (THE READERS) MEET ON THE ELEVATOR, GIVEN THEIR INTIMATE INVOLVEMENTS WITH IDEAS "LOST IN TRANSLATION" SO TO SPEAK, THE MEANING AND PURPOSE OF THE TEXT, THE AUTHOR, ETC. I'M STARTING WITH DERRIDA AND HOPEFULLY WILL GET A FEW MORE FINISHED BEFORE THE DEADLINE.
BUT I DO HAVE A FEW MORE BESIDES THIS THAT I'VE BEEN FINISHING ON THE SIDE.
ALSO YES, I'M STILL KIND OF OBSESSING ON THE WHOLE MUMMY THING. I HAVE ONE DONE ON CLEOPATRA AND ONE I'M WORKING ON ONE OF AN INCORRUPTIBLE SAINT (NO ONE IN PARTICULAR). NOW I'M JUST KIND OF DECIDING IF I WANT THE POEMS TO STAND ALONE OR GROUP THEM TOGETHER SOMEHOW AS SORT OF A MUMMY DUET.
OOOOH....WAIT A MINUTE...I COULD DO A "CONTRAPUNTAL" MUMMY POEM. OH, THAT WOULD BE AWESOME. YES, I THINK I WILL DO THAT. STAY TUNED.
10.12.2010
Learning Something New
SO THE SUMMER HAS ENDED AND I ONLY REALLY GOT HALFWAY THROUGH MY HAIKU PROJECT. BUT THAT'S OKAY, I GUESS 15 OUT OF 30 IS BETTER THAN NONE AT ALL. IN THE MEANTIME I CAME ACROSS THIS WHICH IS AN EXAMPLE OF A CONTRAPUNTAL POEM. SOMETHING I NEVER KNEW EXISTED UNTIL TODAY AND YET NOW THAT I'M READING IT, NOT ONLY IS THIS A FANTASTIC POEM BUT IT SEEMS SO OBVIOUS THAT THIS IS A POETRY FORM THAT DEMANDS A PLACE IN OUR WORLD, IN OUR THOUGHTS. IT'S NOT EXACTLY THE SAME THING AS THE MUSICAL MEANING OF CONTRAPUNTAL, BUT RATHER A "POINT" AND "COUNTERPOINT" WHERE ONE POEM MAKES A POINT AND THE SECOND, A CONTRASTING POINT. WHERE THE REAL BEAUTY IS IN THE TWO TAKEN TOGETHER. IT ALMOST MAKES ME WANT TO TRY MY HAND AT THIS TYPE OF THING, NOW THAT I KNOW THAT IT EXISTS.
AND REALLY, DOESN'T ALL ART TRY TO DO THE SAME THING? THE INGENUITY IN ART IS NOT SO MUCH ABOUT "FINDING A NICHE IN A MARKET" AS IT IS ABOUT DRAWING OUT A LOST MEMORY THAT ALREADY EXISTS. I THINK--WHETHER IT BE WRITING OR MUSIC OR PAINTING OR DANCE--THAT WE RESPOND WELL TO NEW ART FORMS PRECISELY BECAUSE THEY ARE NOT NEW AT ALL, BUT RATHER REMEMBERED. AND WE ARE AT HOME MOST OF ALL IN OUR MEMORIES.
PS- I AM STILL WORKING ON OTHER STUFF, INCLUDING "ACHINGLY HOT MOMBASA", A POEM TITLED "MATRIMONY", ANOTHER TITLED "MYSTIC" OR "SAINT" (I HAVEN'T DECIDED WHICH YET). ALSO IN PREPARATION FOR THE HOLIDAYS I WANTED TO DO A SERIES OF POEMS TITLED AFTER FLAVORS OF CHOCOLATE TRUFFLES AND ALSO AN ODE TO RED WINE, BUT FOR THE LATTER I WAS REALLY HOPING TO GET INSPIRATION FROM THIS ARTICLE BY VICTOR HAZAN THAT I READ A GAZILLION YEARS AGO, AND OF COURSE I CAN'T FIND IT ANYWHERE. BUT BASICALLY THIS MAN IS THE REASON I DON'T DRINK WHITE WINE. AT ANY RATE HERE'S A RANDOM NEW ONE:
BRIDGE
AND ON THOSE DARK DAYS
YOU CAN LOOK BACK,
REFLECT ON WHAT YOU'LL MISS ABOUT THE SUMMER-
LONG NIGHTS WHEN BODIES WERE GUITARS
SIX STRINGS TWELVE STRINGS STRUMMING, SOUNDS
THAT ECHO THROUGH THE CHAMBERS
WINGS THAT TRAVEL TO YOUR SOUL
BEATS THAT KILL THE HOLLOW ACHE
MUSIC THAT CHOKES THESE INSTRUMENTS
AND DROWNS THEM IN THE TRUTH OF WHAT THEY ARE
OR CANNOT BE.
AND REALLY, DOESN'T ALL ART TRY TO DO THE SAME THING? THE INGENUITY IN ART IS NOT SO MUCH ABOUT "FINDING A NICHE IN A MARKET" AS IT IS ABOUT DRAWING OUT A LOST MEMORY THAT ALREADY EXISTS. I THINK--WHETHER IT BE WRITING OR MUSIC OR PAINTING OR DANCE--THAT WE RESPOND WELL TO NEW ART FORMS PRECISELY BECAUSE THEY ARE NOT NEW AT ALL, BUT RATHER REMEMBERED. AND WE ARE AT HOME MOST OF ALL IN OUR MEMORIES.
PS- I AM STILL WORKING ON OTHER STUFF, INCLUDING "ACHINGLY HOT MOMBASA", A POEM TITLED "MATRIMONY", ANOTHER TITLED "MYSTIC" OR "SAINT" (I HAVEN'T DECIDED WHICH YET). ALSO IN PREPARATION FOR THE HOLIDAYS I WANTED TO DO A SERIES OF POEMS TITLED AFTER FLAVORS OF CHOCOLATE TRUFFLES AND ALSO AN ODE TO RED WINE, BUT FOR THE LATTER I WAS REALLY HOPING TO GET INSPIRATION FROM THIS ARTICLE BY VICTOR HAZAN THAT I READ A GAZILLION YEARS AGO, AND OF COURSE I CAN'T FIND IT ANYWHERE. BUT BASICALLY THIS MAN IS THE REASON I DON'T DRINK WHITE WINE. AT ANY RATE HERE'S A RANDOM NEW ONE:
BRIDGE
AND ON THOSE DARK DAYS
YOU CAN LOOK BACK,
REFLECT ON WHAT YOU'LL MISS ABOUT THE SUMMER-
LONG NIGHTS WHEN BODIES WERE GUITARS
SIX STRINGS TWELVE STRINGS STRUMMING, SOUNDS
THAT ECHO THROUGH THE CHAMBERS
WINGS THAT TRAVEL TO YOUR SOUL
BEATS THAT KILL THE HOLLOW ACHE
MUSIC THAT CHOKES THESE INSTRUMENTS
AND DROWNS THEM IN THE TRUTH OF WHAT THEY ARE
OR CANNOT BE.
8.19.2010
Second Installment
I'M BEGINNING TO THINK PERHAPS THE GOAL OF THIRTY HAIKU WAS A TAD AMBITIOUS. AND WHEN (IF) IT'S ALL DONE THEY WILL DEFINITELY NEED TO BE REORDERED. IN ADDITION, RE: THE PREVIOUS POEM, BOOTS, IT SEEMS TO ME THAT RATHER THAN MY PUTTING ON A FAKE SOUTHERN ACCENT (THE BEST THAT TEN YEARS OF VOCAL TRAINING AND DICTION COULD GET ME), I'D MUCH RATHER HEAR IT READ BY, SAY, ANNA PAQUIN, WHO HAS A FAR SUPERIOR FAKE SOUTHERN ACCENT, AND ALSO A MUCH GAPPIER GAP TOOTH. IN FACT, THE GAP BETWEEN MY OWN FRONT TEETH HAS ALL BUT CLOSED UP SINCE CHILDHOOD. AND NOW, SADLY, I HAVE BECOME LIKE EVERYONE ELSE. BUT I DIGRESS...
IX. HUMAN NATURE
FLEETING LIGHT STRIKES THEM,
ROOTING IN THE GROUND AGAIN--
SUBJECT AND OBJECT.
X. PERFUMERY
BLOOD RED HEARTS THAT BREAK
SPILL THEIR SCENT UNEVENLY,
SLIGHTING PATIENT HANDS.
XI. SKETCHING
PROUDLY DRAWN PETALS--
IS THAT THE WAY YOU WANT HER,
CAPTURED IN SATIN?
XII. DOMESTICATED
SLOW MELT... SIMMERING--
HOT HOUSE ORCHIDS TAKE THE HEAT,
SCENT THEIR SACRIFICE.
THIS WAS, ACTUALLY, HALF INSPIRED BY A PHOTO IN A BOOK MY SISTER LENT ME CALLED "MID CENTURY MODERN DESIGN"...ANYWAY THE PHOTO WAS OF A LOVELY SMILING LADY IN AN APRON SURROUNDED BY AN ARCHITECTURALLY SWEDISH KITCHEN FILLED WITH PUMPKIN-ORANGE "CUTTING EDGE" 1950'S APPLIANCES. AND SHE WAS HOISTING A GARGANTUAN BLACK TEA KETTLE.
OH, AND THE OTHER HALF OF THE INSPIRATION CAME FROM MY NIECE'S "ROSE PETAL COTTAGE" WHICH, IF YOU'VE NEVER SEEN IT, IS A PLAY HOUSE WITH JUST ENOUGH ROOM FOR AN OVEN, WASHING MACHINE, IRONING BOARD, AND BABY CHANGING TABLE. NO RECLINER. GEESH, IT MUST GET HOT IN THERE!
XIII. PARK AND RIDE
TRICKLE DOWN LILY
FACE THE ASPHALT, STEMS TIED DOWN
BURN WITH YOUR BREATHING.
XIV. ESCAPE ARTIST
DELIBERATE MUSE,
REVEAL YOUR COMPLEXITY
CLIMBING GARDEN WALLS
XV. MORNING AFTER
DAWN AWAKENS DROUGHT.
NAIVE STRANGERS, STRUGGLING,
TILL THE TIRED PLOT.
SOMETHING OCCURS TO ME AS I CONTINUE THIS, OF WHAT I WANT THE THEME OF THE WHOLE PROJECT TO BE ABOUT. I FEEL IT'S CHANGING FROM WHAT IT WAS WHEN I STARTED OUT. ORIGINALLY, THE CONCEPT OF "GUERRILLA GARDENING" AS I UNDERSTOOD IT IS MAN'S STRUGGLE TO KIND OF HARNESS NATURE'S BOUNTY--SOIL, PLANTS, FLOWERS, FRUITS AND VEGETABLES--AND SQUEEZE IT INTO THESE LITTLE URBAN POCKETS WHEREVER WE CAN FIND THEM. SO THE POETRY WAS GOING TO BE FROM THE POINT OF VIEW OF NATURE--ITS STRUGGLE TO CO-EXIST WITH US IN A WORLD WHERE WE'RE CONSTANTLY TEMPERING AND ORDERING THE WILDERNESS. BUT THEN AS I'M WRITING I'M REALIZING THAT WHAT THIS WHOLE SERIES IS REALLY ENDING UP TO BE IS A RECOGNITION OF...I DON'T KNOW, HUMANITY'S OWN WILDERNESS SO TO SPEAK. OUR STRUGGLE FOR CIVILITY IN THE MIDST OF THE WILDNESS OF OUR RELATIONSHIPS TO ONE ANOTHER AND OURSELVES.
THUS OUR INFATUATION WITH THE NATURAL WORLD THAT DOESN'T LET US FORGET WHERE WE COME FROM. LIKE IN POLLAN'S BOOK WHERE HE SAYS SOMETHING TO EFFECT OF "IT IS NOT WE WHO HAVE CONQUERED THE GARDEN, BUT RATHER THE GARDEN THAT HAS CONQUERED US." I'M NOTICING THAT'S WHAT'S HAPPENING HERE, AS I SEE THE EVIDENCE IN THE VERBIAGE... "STRIKE, ROOT, BREAK, SPILL, SLIGHT, CAPTURE, TIE, BURN, STRUGGLE, CLIMB..." THE LIST GOES ON. NOT EXACTLY FLOWER SHOW MATERIAL.
IX. HUMAN NATURE
FLEETING LIGHT STRIKES THEM,
ROOTING IN THE GROUND AGAIN--
SUBJECT AND OBJECT.
X. PERFUMERY
BLOOD RED HEARTS THAT BREAK
SPILL THEIR SCENT UNEVENLY,
SLIGHTING PATIENT HANDS.
XI. SKETCHING
PROUDLY DRAWN PETALS--
IS THAT THE WAY YOU WANT HER,
CAPTURED IN SATIN?
XII. DOMESTICATED
SLOW MELT... SIMMERING--
HOT HOUSE ORCHIDS TAKE THE HEAT,
SCENT THEIR SACRIFICE.
THIS WAS, ACTUALLY, HALF INSPIRED BY A PHOTO IN A BOOK MY SISTER LENT ME CALLED "MID CENTURY MODERN DESIGN"...ANYWAY THE PHOTO WAS OF A LOVELY SMILING LADY IN AN APRON SURROUNDED BY AN ARCHITECTURALLY SWEDISH KITCHEN FILLED WITH PUMPKIN-ORANGE "CUTTING EDGE" 1950'S APPLIANCES. AND SHE WAS HOISTING A GARGANTUAN BLACK TEA KETTLE.
OH, AND THE OTHER HALF OF THE INSPIRATION CAME FROM MY NIECE'S "ROSE PETAL COTTAGE" WHICH, IF YOU'VE NEVER SEEN IT, IS A PLAY HOUSE WITH JUST ENOUGH ROOM FOR AN OVEN, WASHING MACHINE, IRONING BOARD, AND BABY CHANGING TABLE. NO RECLINER. GEESH, IT MUST GET HOT IN THERE!
XIII. PARK AND RIDE
TRICKLE DOWN LILY
FACE THE ASPHALT, STEMS TIED DOWN
BURN WITH YOUR BREATHING.
XIV. ESCAPE ARTIST
DELIBERATE MUSE,
REVEAL YOUR COMPLEXITY
CLIMBING GARDEN WALLS
XV. MORNING AFTER
DAWN AWAKENS DROUGHT.
NAIVE STRANGERS, STRUGGLING,
TILL THE TIRED PLOT.
SOMETHING OCCURS TO ME AS I CONTINUE THIS, OF WHAT I WANT THE THEME OF THE WHOLE PROJECT TO BE ABOUT. I FEEL IT'S CHANGING FROM WHAT IT WAS WHEN I STARTED OUT. ORIGINALLY, THE CONCEPT OF "GUERRILLA GARDENING" AS I UNDERSTOOD IT IS MAN'S STRUGGLE TO KIND OF HARNESS NATURE'S BOUNTY--SOIL, PLANTS, FLOWERS, FRUITS AND VEGETABLES--AND SQUEEZE IT INTO THESE LITTLE URBAN POCKETS WHEREVER WE CAN FIND THEM. SO THE POETRY WAS GOING TO BE FROM THE POINT OF VIEW OF NATURE--ITS STRUGGLE TO CO-EXIST WITH US IN A WORLD WHERE WE'RE CONSTANTLY TEMPERING AND ORDERING THE WILDERNESS. BUT THEN AS I'M WRITING I'M REALIZING THAT WHAT THIS WHOLE SERIES IS REALLY ENDING UP TO BE IS A RECOGNITION OF...I DON'T KNOW, HUMANITY'S OWN WILDERNESS SO TO SPEAK. OUR STRUGGLE FOR CIVILITY IN THE MIDST OF THE WILDNESS OF OUR RELATIONSHIPS TO ONE ANOTHER AND OURSELVES.
THUS OUR INFATUATION WITH THE NATURAL WORLD THAT DOESN'T LET US FORGET WHERE WE COME FROM. LIKE IN POLLAN'S BOOK WHERE HE SAYS SOMETHING TO EFFECT OF "IT IS NOT WE WHO HAVE CONQUERED THE GARDEN, BUT RATHER THE GARDEN THAT HAS CONQUERED US." I'M NOTICING THAT'S WHAT'S HAPPENING HERE, AS I SEE THE EVIDENCE IN THE VERBIAGE... "STRIKE, ROOT, BREAK, SPILL, SLIGHT, CAPTURE, TIE, BURN, STRUGGLE, CLIMB..." THE LIST GOES ON. NOT EXACTLY FLOWER SHOW MATERIAL.
8.10.2010
These Boots
THESE BOOTS
SOON YOU'LL REMIND ME
TO PAY MY RESPECTS
TO THE GHOSTS OF ROADS,
WHO WALKED THIS PATH BEFORE ME...
SKIN OF THE SOUL
IN THE BEAST OF THE MAN WHO LOVED ME.
HOW I MISS HIS DIRT
AND KEROSENE SOAKED FACE--
HOW WHATEVER TOUCHED HIM
WAS PART OF HIM
LIKE VICES HE WAS BORN WITH,
NOT SOME BAD LUCK PICKED UP ALONG THE WAY.
EVEN WHEN WE FUCKED
YOU LIKED TO WATCH,
YOU LAID IT DOWN.
NOW QUICK AS I LIT IT
(HIS LAST CIGARETTE)
WATCH ME STOMP IT
GRIND IT TO THE GROUND.
SOMEWHAT-THOUGH VERY LOOSELY-INSPIRED BY THE KILLER INSIDE ME, WHICH ALTHOUGH NOT EVERYONE'S CUP OF TEA CERTAINLY GAVE ME A NEW APPRECIATION OF CASEY AFFLECK'S TALENT. I FEEL THAT THE ABOVE WOULD PROBABLY BE DONE BETTER JUSTICE WITH A GOOD READ-ALOUD, SLOWLY AND WITH A SOUTHERN ACCENT. IT'S MORE OF A MONOLOGUE THAN A POEM WHICH MAKES ME THAT MUCH MORE SAD THAT I'M NO LONGER PERFORMING.
ANYWAY YEAH, THIS SOUTHERN CHICK HAS KILLED HER LOVER AND HER BOOTS ARE THE ONLY WITNESS.
SOON YOU'LL REMIND ME
TO PAY MY RESPECTS
TO THE GHOSTS OF ROADS,
WHO WALKED THIS PATH BEFORE ME...
SKIN OF THE SOUL
IN THE BEAST OF THE MAN WHO LOVED ME.
HOW I MISS HIS DIRT
AND KEROSENE SOAKED FACE--
HOW WHATEVER TOUCHED HIM
WAS PART OF HIM
LIKE VICES HE WAS BORN WITH,
NOT SOME BAD LUCK PICKED UP ALONG THE WAY.
EVEN WHEN WE FUCKED
YOU LIKED TO WATCH,
YOU LAID IT DOWN.
NOW QUICK AS I LIT IT
(HIS LAST CIGARETTE)
WATCH ME STOMP IT
GRIND IT TO THE GROUND.
SOMEWHAT-THOUGH VERY LOOSELY-INSPIRED BY THE KILLER INSIDE ME, WHICH ALTHOUGH NOT EVERYONE'S CUP OF TEA CERTAINLY GAVE ME A NEW APPRECIATION OF CASEY AFFLECK'S TALENT. I FEEL THAT THE ABOVE WOULD PROBABLY BE DONE BETTER JUSTICE WITH A GOOD READ-ALOUD, SLOWLY AND WITH A SOUTHERN ACCENT. IT'S MORE OF A MONOLOGUE THAN A POEM WHICH MAKES ME THAT MUCH MORE SAD THAT I'M NO LONGER PERFORMING.
ANYWAY YEAH, THIS SOUTHERN CHICK HAS KILLED HER LOVER AND HER BOOTS ARE THE ONLY WITNESS.
Guerrilla Gardening, Part 1 of 3
IN TERMS OF "HAIKU 101" MATERIAL IT'S TURNING OUT THAT I DIDN'T REALLY FOLLOW AS STRICT A FORM AS I SET OUT IN THE SENSE THAT THESE POEMS WON'T HAVE THE ELEMENTS OF TRADITIONAL HAIKU. THOSE BEING A "KIREJI" OR CUTTING WORD THAT IS SUPPOSED TO COME AT THE END OF THE SECOND OF THREE LINES, OR IN MOST CASES AN OBVIOUS "KIGO" (SEASONAL CONTEXT CLUE). I DO LIKE THE IDEA OF THE CUTTING WORD AS GIVING MOMENTUM OR A TURN OR PIVOT TO EACH PIECE, BUT THE MUSICIAN IN ME WANTS TO PLAY AROUND WITH IT A LITTLE. LIKE IN THE FIRST POEM HERE, I'M THINKING THE BREAK DOESN'T NECESSARILY HAVE TO COME IN THE SECOND LINE. I MEAN I'M THINKING, FOR SOMETHING LONGER LIKE A SONNET FORM IT WOULD MAKE SENSE FOR THE TWIST TO OCCUR IN THE ENDING COUPLET, BUT FOR SHORTER FORMS LIKE THE HAIKU WHERE IT SEEMS LIKE ONLY ONE OR TWO THOUGHTS ARE EXPRESSED PER POEM, IF THE BREAK COMES WHERE YOU'RE NOT EXPECTING IT THEN IT JUST TAKES ON A SYNCOPATIC SORT OF QUALITY. AS IN SYNCOPATION. IS SYNCOPATIC A WORD OR DID I JUST MAKE THAT UP? BASICALLY IN MUSIC IT JUST MEANS THE STRONG BEAT NOT FALLING WHERE YOU WOULD EXPECT GIVEN THE METER. SCARILY, I SWEAR TO YOU THAT I AM 100% SOBER RIGHT NOW, WHICH I MUST BE BECAUSE IT'S THE MIDDLE OF THE DAY AND JUST PRIOR TO THIS I WAS DOING REAL JOB-RELATED WORK, WHICH I WOULD STILL BE DOING IF THE SITE I HAD TO REGISTER ON WERE RUNNING SMOOTHLY AND ACTUALLY REGISTERING ME. BUT SINCE IT ISN'T---LUCKY YOU!-- I GET TO VISIT HERE AND POST ALL OF MY SOMEWHAT DISTURBING THOUGHTS, ALONG WITH (HOPEFULLY) SOME POEMS.
I'M JUST REALIZING THAT I WILL HAVE TO REARRANGE EVERYTHING IF I'M PLANNING ON GOING WITH THE ORIGINAL IDEA OF BREAKING THINGS DOWN INTO EARLY/LATE SPRING SECTIONS, OR BY TYPE (FLOWER, VEGETABLE, FRUIT) OR BY LOCATION. ARGH. ANYWAY HERE ARE THE "FIRST EIGHT" WHICH WILL PROBABLY NOT STAY THE FIRST EIGHT, TO GIVE YOU A TASTE OF THINGS.
I. EDEN
FIG LEAVES FALL AWAY--
BRANCHING OUT FROM HOLLOW SKULLS,
ROOTS OF FRACTURED LIMBS.
II. AWAKENING
DAMP VINES ENCROACHING
FORCE THE HARDENED EARTH TO WAKE,
BREATHE HER FIRST WARM BREATH.
III. UNREQUITED
CLOUD THAT BRINGS THE RAIN
SOAK THE GRASS A VIBRANT GREEN--
YOUNG, CARELESS LOVER.
AH. ALREADY I'M HAVING PROBLEMS WITH THIS ONE. AN ISSUE WITH NARRATIVE AS WELL AS SUBJECT-VERB AGREEMENT THAT'S MAKING ME FEEL LIKE I SHOULD JUST SCRAP IT BECAUSE WORK ON SOMETHING THIS SMALL IS NOT SUPPOSED TO BE SO DIFFICULT. AT ANY RATE WHAT I HAVEN'T BEEN ABLE TO DECIDE IS, IS THE SPEAKER TALKING ABOUT A RANDOM CLOUD IN WHICH CASE IT SHOULD READ "CLOUD SOAKS" AS IN THE CLOUD SOAKS? OR WHAT I WAS REALLY GOING FOR IS TO CONVEY THAT THE NARRATOR IS TALKING TO THE CLOUD IN WHICH CASE THE NARRATOR WOULD BE SAYING "CLOUD, SOAK" AS A COMMAND AS IN CLOUD, YOU SOAK. I DON'T WANT TO SAY CLOUD SOAKS PLURAL, BECAUSE THAT JUST ADDS ANOTHER S TO THE WHOLE THING WHICH I DON'T THINK SOUNDS RIGHT. THE WHOLE DILEMMA COULD BE AVOIDED IF I JUST SAY CLOUDS SOAK AND MAKE THE SUBJECT PLURAL, BUT I DON'T WANT TO DO THAT BECAUSE THE WHOLE POINT IS TO FOCUS ON THE ONE CLOUD, AND ITS LIBERAL DISTRIBUTION OF THE RAIN, AND ITS UNREQUITED LOVE FOR THE LANDSCAPE. THE EFFECT OF WHICH IS, OF COURSE, LOST IF WE'RE TALKING ABOUT MANY CLOUDS AND MANY PATCHES OF GRASS IN WHICH CASE WHO THE HELL CARES? BAH. AS AN ASIDE, SO GLAD ENGLISH IS MY FIRST LANGUAGE, BECAUSE IT MUST BE A REAL BITCH TO LEARN. NOTHING MAKES ANY DAMN SENSE!
IV. RUNAWAYS
ANCHORED TO THE EARTH
CHANNELS DEEPEN, SPREADING OUT,
PLOTTING THEIR ESCAPE.
V.
SMALLEST OF ORCHARDS
GIVE BIRTH TO FRAGRANT FLOWERS
FORESHADOWING FRUIT.
VI. UPPER EAST SIDE
EVERYWHERE GREEN--
WEIGHING ALL THE NEW BUDS DOWN,
ROUGH JEWELS AND SPIDERS.
VII. FRUIT STAND
BRICK PEACH, ROCK APPLES--
STREETLIT CEMENT FRESHLY POURED
CHOKES THE PEARS ROTTEN.
VIII. UP ON THE ROOF
EDIBLE GARDEN--
STRAWBERRIES RIPEN AND BURST
BETWEEN SKYSCRAPERS.
I'M JUST REALIZING THAT I WILL HAVE TO REARRANGE EVERYTHING IF I'M PLANNING ON GOING WITH THE ORIGINAL IDEA OF BREAKING THINGS DOWN INTO EARLY/LATE SPRING SECTIONS, OR BY TYPE (FLOWER, VEGETABLE, FRUIT) OR BY LOCATION. ARGH. ANYWAY HERE ARE THE "FIRST EIGHT" WHICH WILL PROBABLY NOT STAY THE FIRST EIGHT, TO GIVE YOU A TASTE OF THINGS.
I. EDEN
FIG LEAVES FALL AWAY--
BRANCHING OUT FROM HOLLOW SKULLS,
ROOTS OF FRACTURED LIMBS.
II. AWAKENING
DAMP VINES ENCROACHING
FORCE THE HARDENED EARTH TO WAKE,
BREATHE HER FIRST WARM BREATH.
III. UNREQUITED
CLOUD THAT BRINGS THE RAIN
SOAK THE GRASS A VIBRANT GREEN--
YOUNG, CARELESS LOVER.
AH. ALREADY I'M HAVING PROBLEMS WITH THIS ONE. AN ISSUE WITH NARRATIVE AS WELL AS SUBJECT-VERB AGREEMENT THAT'S MAKING ME FEEL LIKE I SHOULD JUST SCRAP IT BECAUSE WORK ON SOMETHING THIS SMALL IS NOT SUPPOSED TO BE SO DIFFICULT. AT ANY RATE WHAT I HAVEN'T BEEN ABLE TO DECIDE IS, IS THE SPEAKER TALKING ABOUT A RANDOM CLOUD IN WHICH CASE IT SHOULD READ "CLOUD SOAKS" AS IN THE CLOUD SOAKS? OR WHAT I WAS REALLY GOING FOR IS TO CONVEY THAT THE NARRATOR IS TALKING TO THE CLOUD IN WHICH CASE THE NARRATOR WOULD BE SAYING "CLOUD, SOAK" AS A COMMAND AS IN CLOUD, YOU SOAK. I DON'T WANT TO SAY CLOUD SOAKS PLURAL, BECAUSE THAT JUST ADDS ANOTHER S TO THE WHOLE THING WHICH I DON'T THINK SOUNDS RIGHT. THE WHOLE DILEMMA COULD BE AVOIDED IF I JUST SAY CLOUDS SOAK AND MAKE THE SUBJECT PLURAL, BUT I DON'T WANT TO DO THAT BECAUSE THE WHOLE POINT IS TO FOCUS ON THE ONE CLOUD, AND ITS LIBERAL DISTRIBUTION OF THE RAIN, AND ITS UNREQUITED LOVE FOR THE LANDSCAPE. THE EFFECT OF WHICH IS, OF COURSE, LOST IF WE'RE TALKING ABOUT MANY CLOUDS AND MANY PATCHES OF GRASS IN WHICH CASE WHO THE HELL CARES? BAH. AS AN ASIDE, SO GLAD ENGLISH IS MY FIRST LANGUAGE, BECAUSE IT MUST BE A REAL BITCH TO LEARN. NOTHING MAKES ANY DAMN SENSE!
IV. RUNAWAYS
ANCHORED TO THE EARTH
CHANNELS DEEPEN, SPREADING OUT,
PLOTTING THEIR ESCAPE.
V.
SMALLEST OF ORCHARDS
GIVE BIRTH TO FRAGRANT FLOWERS
FORESHADOWING FRUIT.
VI. UPPER EAST SIDE
EVERYWHERE GREEN--
WEIGHING ALL THE NEW BUDS DOWN,
ROUGH JEWELS AND SPIDERS.
VII. FRUIT STAND
BRICK PEACH, ROCK APPLES--
STREETLIT CEMENT FRESHLY POURED
CHOKES THE PEARS ROTTEN.
VIII. UP ON THE ROOF
EDIBLE GARDEN--
STRAWBERRIES RIPEN AND BURST
BETWEEN SKYSCRAPERS.
Project Haiku
NOPE, NOT DEAD YET. SLOWLY BUT SURELY PLUGGING AWAY AT THINGS. I WISH I COULD POST MORE OFTEN INSTEAD OF JUST SPORADICALLY DUMPING STUFF ONTO THIS SITE, BUT IT IS WHAT IT IS. SOME OF MY THOUGHTS:
1) SHOULD I KEEP THIS ORDER OR REARRANGE THEM ONCE THE WHOLE PROJECT IS COMPLETE?
2) IS IT KIND OF CHEATING TO TITLE THEM? I MEAN, ISN'T THE WHOLE POINT OF A HAIKU TO COMMUNICATE SOME SORT OF PROFOUND MESSAGE IN A VERY SHORT, STRICT FORM? SO IF A TITLE IS NECESSARY TO FURTHER INFORM THE POEM, THEN HAVE I REALLY DONE MY JOB WITH THE POEM ITSELF? THEREFORE ISN'T IT KIND OF CHEATING? AND IF NOT, CAN I TITLE SOME BUT NOT OTHERS? ON THE OTHER HAND, I KIND OF LIKE TITLES, ESPECIALLY CREATIVE ONES. NOTHING BURNS ME UP MORE THAN WHEN AN ARTIST CREATES A REALLY FANTASTIC WORK AND THEN TITLES IT SOMETHING LIKE RED #74 OR WOMAN IN CHAIR IF IT'S A WOMAN IN A CHAIR. OR, WORST OF ALL, UNTITLED....I MEAN....COME ON. THIS DOESN'T JUST BOTHER ME WITH PAINTINGS AND POEMS BUT WITH LIPSTICK TOO. I MEAN, I DON'T REALLY HAVE $20 TO FRIVOLOUSLY DROP ON LIPSTICK. BUT IF I WERE LOOKING FOR THAT PERFECT RED, I'D BE MUCH MORE LIKELY TO SPEND THE CASH ON SOMETHING CALLED INFERNAL OR COVERT AFFAIRS OR SOMETHING LIKE THAT AS OPPOSED TO DROPPING CASH ON A TUBE OF PAINT LABELED RED #74. IN FACT I'M PRETTY SURE THERE ARE WHOLE JOBS THAT JUST INVOLVE THE NAMING OF PRODUCTS. I WONDER HOW ONE LANDS ONE OF THOSE, HYPOTHETICALLY SPEAKING?
3) AM I REALLY GOING TO FINISH ALL OF THIS BY THE END OF AUGUST? IT'S NOT LOOKING GOOD FROM WHERE I STAND. PART OF THE ISSUE IS THAT, TRUTHFULLY, I DO SOME OF MY BEST WORK WHILE DRUNK OR AT LEAST SLIGHTLY BUZZED, AND SADLY THERE IS NO ROOM FOR ALCOHOL IN THIS MONTH'S BUDGET. THIS IS ONE OF THE MANY REASONS I LOVE BEING "ARTISTIC"... WHAT MOST PEOPLE CALL "BUZZED" WE CAN REFER TO AS "INSPIRATION FROM OUR HEAVENLY MUSE" OR WHAT HAVE YOU. JUST AS LONG AS WE DON'T DRINK WHILE TEXTING AND DRIVING. OR WAIT...ACTUALLY I THINK IT'S "DON'T DRINK AND DRIVE" AND "DON'T TEXT AND DRIVE" BUT AS FOR DRINKING AND TEXTING WITHOUT THE DRIVING PART, THAT'S PROBABLY OKAY. UNLESS YOU'RE ONE OF THOSE NASTY DRUNKS IN WHICH CASE YOU MIGHT JUST WANT TO PUT YOUR PHONE AWAY ALTOGETHER.
1) SHOULD I KEEP THIS ORDER OR REARRANGE THEM ONCE THE WHOLE PROJECT IS COMPLETE?
2) IS IT KIND OF CHEATING TO TITLE THEM? I MEAN, ISN'T THE WHOLE POINT OF A HAIKU TO COMMUNICATE SOME SORT OF PROFOUND MESSAGE IN A VERY SHORT, STRICT FORM? SO IF A TITLE IS NECESSARY TO FURTHER INFORM THE POEM, THEN HAVE I REALLY DONE MY JOB WITH THE POEM ITSELF? THEREFORE ISN'T IT KIND OF CHEATING? AND IF NOT, CAN I TITLE SOME BUT NOT OTHERS? ON THE OTHER HAND, I KIND OF LIKE TITLES, ESPECIALLY CREATIVE ONES. NOTHING BURNS ME UP MORE THAN WHEN AN ARTIST CREATES A REALLY FANTASTIC WORK AND THEN TITLES IT SOMETHING LIKE RED #74 OR WOMAN IN CHAIR IF IT'S A WOMAN IN A CHAIR. OR, WORST OF ALL, UNTITLED....I MEAN....COME ON. THIS DOESN'T JUST BOTHER ME WITH PAINTINGS AND POEMS BUT WITH LIPSTICK TOO. I MEAN, I DON'T REALLY HAVE $20 TO FRIVOLOUSLY DROP ON LIPSTICK. BUT IF I WERE LOOKING FOR THAT PERFECT RED, I'D BE MUCH MORE LIKELY TO SPEND THE CASH ON SOMETHING CALLED INFERNAL OR COVERT AFFAIRS OR SOMETHING LIKE THAT AS OPPOSED TO DROPPING CASH ON A TUBE OF PAINT LABELED RED #74. IN FACT I'M PRETTY SURE THERE ARE WHOLE JOBS THAT JUST INVOLVE THE NAMING OF PRODUCTS. I WONDER HOW ONE LANDS ONE OF THOSE, HYPOTHETICALLY SPEAKING?
3) AM I REALLY GOING TO FINISH ALL OF THIS BY THE END OF AUGUST? IT'S NOT LOOKING GOOD FROM WHERE I STAND. PART OF THE ISSUE IS THAT, TRUTHFULLY, I DO SOME OF MY BEST WORK WHILE DRUNK OR AT LEAST SLIGHTLY BUZZED, AND SADLY THERE IS NO ROOM FOR ALCOHOL IN THIS MONTH'S BUDGET. THIS IS ONE OF THE MANY REASONS I LOVE BEING "ARTISTIC"... WHAT MOST PEOPLE CALL "BUZZED" WE CAN REFER TO AS "INSPIRATION FROM OUR HEAVENLY MUSE" OR WHAT HAVE YOU. JUST AS LONG AS WE DON'T DRINK WHILE TEXTING AND DRIVING. OR WAIT...ACTUALLY I THINK IT'S "DON'T DRINK AND DRIVE" AND "DON'T TEXT AND DRIVE" BUT AS FOR DRINKING AND TEXTING WITHOUT THE DRIVING PART, THAT'S PROBABLY OKAY. UNLESS YOU'RE ONE OF THOSE NASTY DRUNKS IN WHICH CASE YOU MIGHT JUST WANT TO PUT YOUR PHONE AWAY ALTOGETHER.
5.01.2010
Preview
HOPEFULLY I'M BEGINNING TO COME OUT OF HIBERNATION FINALLY (OR REALLY WHAT WAS MORE OF A "WRITER'S COMA" OF SOME SORT)... TO THAT END I WANTED TO GIVE A PREVIEW OF WHAT'S COMING UP...
WELL I'VE FINALLY FLESHED OUT THE DETAILS OF HOW I WANT MY HAIKU SERIES TO GO. I'M SETTING A GOAL OF HAVING IT FINISHED BY THE END OF THE SUMMER, AND IT'S GOING TO BE THIRTY HAIKU SET IN SPRING. I HAVEN'T BACKED DOWN ON THE WHOLE "URBAN HAIKU" CONCEPT. TO THAT END, THE TITLE OF THE WHOLE SERIES WILL BE "GUERILLA GARDENING"...WHAT A GREAT PHRASE, I LOVE IT! IT'S URBAN, CURRENT, USEFUL, ALLITERATIVE AND PRACTICALLY SELF-EXPLANATORY. I ALSO KNOW EACH POEM IS GOING TO BE IDENTICAL TO THE OTHERS IN FORM, I WANT TO MAKE THIS A VERY STRICT EXERCISE AND MAKE IT AS HARD AS POSSIBLE ON MYSELF, BECAUSE I'M JUST THAT SADISTIC. BUT ALSO BECAUSE IT WOULD SORT OF FOLLOW ALONG AN URBAN GARDEN THEME ANYWAY, WOULDN'T IT? I HAVE A FEW IDEAS BEYOND THAT BUT PROBABLY WON'T GET MORE SPECIFIC UNTIL IT'S ALL DONE AND POSTED HERE. SOME THINGS I HAVEN'T DECIDED ON YET ARE:
1) WHETHER I'M GOING TO USE OUTSIDE SOURCE VISUALS AS INSPIRATION (PROBABLY, EVEN IF NOT CONSCIOUSLY. IN THIS DAY AND AGE WHO CAN HELP IT?)
2) WILL IT BE THIRTY RANDOMLY ORDERED HAIKU OR IF NOT, HOW WILL IT BE BROKEN DOWN? THREE SETS OF TEN (I.E. EARLY SPRING, LATE SPRING ETC.?)...MAYBE FIVE SETS OF SIX? IN WHICH CASE BY WHAT CLASSIFICATIONS WILL THEY BE GROUPED? I COULD GO BY LOCATION AND DO SOMETHING LIKE "STREET, SEWER, ROOFTOP, ETC." OR GROUP IT BY OBJECT, "ROOTS, FLOWER, RAIN, INSECT ETC."
ASIDE FROM THE HAIKU PROJECT I'M ALMOST FINISHED SOME OTHER RANDOM STUFF SO I WOULD SAY TO LOOK FOR IT HERE SOON:
1) BASIC NEEDS
2) ACHINGLY HOT MOMBASA
3) AMANGIRI (WHICH IS SANSKRIT FOR "PEACEFUL MOUNTAIN" ALTHOUGH IT'S NOT A PARTICULARLY PEACEFUL POEM BUT IF YOU KNOW ME I PROBABLY DIDN'T HAVE TO TELL YOU THAT!)
4) I DECIDED TO SAVE THE "HUSK, GLEAN, SLEEP, CLEAVE (SIGH)" FOR LATE SUMMER BECAUSE I JUST FEEL LIKE THAT'S WHEN HUSKING, GLEANING, SLEEPING, CLEAVING AND SIGHING ARE ALL SUPPOSED TO GO DOWN ;) SO THAT ONE'S GOING TO WAIT UNTIL AUGUST.
5) ALSO, WARNING TO ANYONE WHO IS OBSESSED WITH LEARNING LIKE I AM-- DON'T LISTEN TO ANY OF THE ASTRONOMICAL PHYSICS LECTURES ON WWW.ACADEMICEARTH.ORG, BECAUSE THEY ARE SO GOOD IT WILL JUST MAKE YOU WANT TO DO A WHOLE SERIES OF POEMS ON TOPICS RELATED TO ASTRONOMICAL PHYSICS. AND YOU MAY END UP WITH SOMETHING LIKE MY UPCOMING...
--QUANTUM ENTANGLEMENTS
--ABOMINABLE MYSTERIES
--GOING ROGUE
6) OH, PLUS I'M ON AN ARTICLE DIET (AS IN THE PART OF SPEECH, AS IN TRYING TO USE THEM AS LITTLE AS POSSIBLE)...AS WELL AS CONTINUING MY SELF-IMPOSED BAN ON USAGE OF THE WORD "SWIFT" AND ITS VARIANTS.
WELL I'VE FINALLY FLESHED OUT THE DETAILS OF HOW I WANT MY HAIKU SERIES TO GO. I'M SETTING A GOAL OF HAVING IT FINISHED BY THE END OF THE SUMMER, AND IT'S GOING TO BE THIRTY HAIKU SET IN SPRING. I HAVEN'T BACKED DOWN ON THE WHOLE "URBAN HAIKU" CONCEPT. TO THAT END, THE TITLE OF THE WHOLE SERIES WILL BE "GUERILLA GARDENING"...WHAT A GREAT PHRASE, I LOVE IT! IT'S URBAN, CURRENT, USEFUL, ALLITERATIVE AND PRACTICALLY SELF-EXPLANATORY. I ALSO KNOW EACH POEM IS GOING TO BE IDENTICAL TO THE OTHERS IN FORM, I WANT TO MAKE THIS A VERY STRICT EXERCISE AND MAKE IT AS HARD AS POSSIBLE ON MYSELF, BECAUSE I'M JUST THAT SADISTIC. BUT ALSO BECAUSE IT WOULD SORT OF FOLLOW ALONG AN URBAN GARDEN THEME ANYWAY, WOULDN'T IT? I HAVE A FEW IDEAS BEYOND THAT BUT PROBABLY WON'T GET MORE SPECIFIC UNTIL IT'S ALL DONE AND POSTED HERE. SOME THINGS I HAVEN'T DECIDED ON YET ARE:
1) WHETHER I'M GOING TO USE OUTSIDE SOURCE VISUALS AS INSPIRATION (PROBABLY, EVEN IF NOT CONSCIOUSLY. IN THIS DAY AND AGE WHO CAN HELP IT?)
2) WILL IT BE THIRTY RANDOMLY ORDERED HAIKU OR IF NOT, HOW WILL IT BE BROKEN DOWN? THREE SETS OF TEN (I.E. EARLY SPRING, LATE SPRING ETC.?)...MAYBE FIVE SETS OF SIX? IN WHICH CASE BY WHAT CLASSIFICATIONS WILL THEY BE GROUPED? I COULD GO BY LOCATION AND DO SOMETHING LIKE "STREET, SEWER, ROOFTOP, ETC." OR GROUP IT BY OBJECT, "ROOTS, FLOWER, RAIN, INSECT ETC."
ASIDE FROM THE HAIKU PROJECT I'M ALMOST FINISHED SOME OTHER RANDOM STUFF SO I WOULD SAY TO LOOK FOR IT HERE SOON:
1) BASIC NEEDS
2) ACHINGLY HOT MOMBASA
3) AMANGIRI (WHICH IS SANSKRIT FOR "PEACEFUL MOUNTAIN" ALTHOUGH IT'S NOT A PARTICULARLY PEACEFUL POEM BUT IF YOU KNOW ME I PROBABLY DIDN'T HAVE TO TELL YOU THAT!)
4) I DECIDED TO SAVE THE "HUSK, GLEAN, SLEEP, CLEAVE (SIGH)" FOR LATE SUMMER BECAUSE I JUST FEEL LIKE THAT'S WHEN HUSKING, GLEANING, SLEEPING, CLEAVING AND SIGHING ARE ALL SUPPOSED TO GO DOWN ;) SO THAT ONE'S GOING TO WAIT UNTIL AUGUST.
5) ALSO, WARNING TO ANYONE WHO IS OBSESSED WITH LEARNING LIKE I AM-- DON'T LISTEN TO ANY OF THE ASTRONOMICAL PHYSICS LECTURES ON WWW.ACADEMICEARTH.ORG, BECAUSE THEY ARE SO GOOD IT WILL JUST MAKE YOU WANT TO DO A WHOLE SERIES OF POEMS ON TOPICS RELATED TO ASTRONOMICAL PHYSICS. AND YOU MAY END UP WITH SOMETHING LIKE MY UPCOMING...
--QUANTUM ENTANGLEMENTS
--ABOMINABLE MYSTERIES
--GOING ROGUE
6) OH, PLUS I'M ON AN ARTICLE DIET (AS IN THE PART OF SPEECH, AS IN TRYING TO USE THEM AS LITTLE AS POSSIBLE)...AS WELL AS CONTINUING MY SELF-IMPOSED BAN ON USAGE OF THE WORD "SWIFT" AND ITS VARIANTS.
Gallery
YOU KNOW THE EXPRESSION "THOSE WHO CAN'T DO, TEACH"??? HOW ABOUT "THOSE WHO CAN'T DRAW, PHOTOGRAPH." THIS IS HOW MY NEW CREATIVE OUTLET IN PHOTOGRAPHY HAS MANIFESTED ITSELF. I'M TRYING TO GET USED TO THE IDEA THAT I DON'T HAVE TO BE GOOD AT SOMETHING IN ORDER TO TRY IT, OR EVEN TO ENJOY IT. ANYWAY, HERE ARE THE FIRST FEW. I'M HOPING MY PICTURES WILL INSPIRE MY WRITING, AND VISA-VERSA.
#1 "PAINT IT BLACK"
I WAS KIND OF TRYING TO EVOKE THE SAME "DARKNESS AS LIGHT" CONCEPT AS MY ALL TIME FAVORITE MATISSE PAINTING "ANEMONES ON A BLACK MIRROR" OR SOMETHING TO THAT EFFECT. ANYWAY HOPEFULLY THE NEARLY BLACK WATER (IT'S ACTUALLY WINE) IS PICKED UP AGAIN THE DARK CENTERS OF THE FLOWERS.
#2 "GUARDIAN"
#3 "CATCH-22"
#1 "PAINT IT BLACK"
I WAS KIND OF TRYING TO EVOKE THE SAME "DARKNESS AS LIGHT" CONCEPT AS MY ALL TIME FAVORITE MATISSE PAINTING "ANEMONES ON A BLACK MIRROR" OR SOMETHING TO THAT EFFECT. ANYWAY HOPEFULLY THE NEARLY BLACK WATER (IT'S ACTUALLY WINE) IS PICKED UP AGAIN THE DARK CENTERS OF THE FLOWERS.
#2 "GUARDIAN"
#3 "CATCH-22"
4.28.2010
The Gray Lady
THE GRAY LADY
TO LOVE YOU, SMELL YOUR SCENT AGAIN,
TO FEEL THE WEIGHT OF YOU IN MY ARMS,
BURY MY FACE IN THE FOLDS OF YOUR DRESS-
THE LOVERS SINCE HAVE SLEPT NOTHING LIKE YOU,
THEY LEAVE ME COLD AND RESTLESS.
REMEMBER WHEN WE LIVED FOR OUR MOMENTS TOGETHER?
A CHANCE MEETING AT A COFFEE HOUSE
WHEN I WASN'T EXPECTING YOU IN TOWN,
THE HOURS SPENT IN CONVERSATION
THE TRAIN RIDE HOME, WE SHARED A CAR...
NOT A LESBO POEM. ACTUALLY IT'S A REFLECTION ON THE SLOW, AGONIZING DEMISE OF PRINT MEDIA, "THE GRAY LADY" OF COURSE REFERRING TO THE NEW YORK TIMES. I DON'T CARE WHAT ANYONE SAYS, READING SOMETHING ON AN iPOD JUST ISN'T THE SAME.
TO LOVE YOU, SMELL YOUR SCENT AGAIN,
TO FEEL THE WEIGHT OF YOU IN MY ARMS,
BURY MY FACE IN THE FOLDS OF YOUR DRESS-
THE LOVERS SINCE HAVE SLEPT NOTHING LIKE YOU,
THEY LEAVE ME COLD AND RESTLESS.
REMEMBER WHEN WE LIVED FOR OUR MOMENTS TOGETHER?
A CHANCE MEETING AT A COFFEE HOUSE
WHEN I WASN'T EXPECTING YOU IN TOWN,
THE HOURS SPENT IN CONVERSATION
THE TRAIN RIDE HOME, WE SHARED A CAR...
YOU FELT I HAD ABANDONED YOU,
LEAVING, AS I HAD, WITH YOU ON THE PLATFORM
LOOKING BACK FOR JUST A MOMENT-
THE WIND SWEPT YOU AND YOUR SCARF AWAY,
AND THE DESPERATE, INKY DRIFT OF YOUR PERFUME.
A STUBBORN LIPSTICK STAIN ON MY COLLAR
THE ONLY TANGIBLE SIGN WE MET AND LOVED,
THAT YOU HAD TOUCHED ME.
NOT A LESBO POEM. ACTUALLY IT'S A REFLECTION ON THE SLOW, AGONIZING DEMISE OF PRINT MEDIA, "THE GRAY LADY" OF COURSE REFERRING TO THE NEW YORK TIMES. I DON'T CARE WHAT ANYONE SAYS, READING SOMETHING ON AN iPOD JUST ISN'T THE SAME.
Bones, Cont'd
IV.
FEMUR
THIS IS THE MOLD IN WHICH YOU CHOUSE
TO CAST AND SET MY YOUTH.
YOUR WEAPONS OF CHOICE
FOR SPEED, SEDUCTION,
DANCING.
I RETURN TO THEM NOW
SEEKING OLD HAUNTS,
MARROW RICH WITH LIFE
AND THICK WITH MEANING.
MY SON HAS QUITE THE SAME ENERGY--
SMALL, UNFINISHED VERSION OF HIS FATHER.
V.
SPINE
WHAT SPIRAL-SHELLED PERFECTION
HAS THE ARTIST THOUGHT UP TODAY?
ONE THAT BENDS WITH BLOWS,
CURLS IN PAIN,
UNFURLS WITH JOY...
ONE THAT STRETCHES STRAIGHT WITH DIGNITY,
THAT BEARS THE WEIGHT OF THE WORLD
AND DOES NOT BREAK.
FEMUR
THIS IS THE MOLD IN WHICH YOU CHOUSE
TO CAST AND SET MY YOUTH.
YOUR WEAPONS OF CHOICE
FOR SPEED, SEDUCTION,
DANCING.
I RETURN TO THEM NOW
SEEKING OLD HAUNTS,
MARROW RICH WITH LIFE
AND THICK WITH MEANING.
MY SON HAS QUITE THE SAME ENERGY--
SMALL, UNFINISHED VERSION OF HIS FATHER.
V.
SPINE
WHAT SPIRAL-SHELLED PERFECTION
HAS THE ARTIST THOUGHT UP TODAY?
ONE THAT BENDS WITH BLOWS,
CURLS IN PAIN,
UNFURLS WITH JOY...
ONE THAT STRETCHES STRAIGHT WITH DIGNITY,
THAT BEARS THE WEIGHT OF THE WORLD
AND DOES NOT BREAK.
1.23.2010
Eaves Dropping
THERE'S A QUIET HUM UNDER ROARING CROWDS
I'M DIVING STILL BENEATH IT,
PULLING YOUR VOICELESS PROTEST DOWN
LIKE THE GUTTERAL, CONSONANT-HALTED VOWEL
OF AN ANCIENT HINDU MANUSCRIPT
THAT SEEMS TO MEAN MORE
THAN THE INK ON THE SKIN IS SAYING.
BUT REALLY, WHO DOESN'T HAVE SECRETS?
REMEMBER WHEN WE USED TO FUCK,
HOW WE SUCKED THE LIGHT OUT OF EVERY ROOM
AND YOU COULDN'T FIT A RAZOR BLADE BETWEEN US?
(BACK THEN MY LIPS WERE PRETENDING TO BE SOMEONE ELSE).
LOOK, I'M NOT ABOUT TO STEAL
A BEATING HEART FROM ANOTHER MAN'S CHEST--
I'M JUST TRYING TO GET SOME PERSPECTIVE.
THIS WAS THE "OVERHEARD CONVERSATIONS" PROMPT FOR WHICH I MOSTLY USED JUST A COUPLE PHRASES AS SPRINGBOARDS TO GET THE POEM GOING. AND YES, THE TITLE IS MY LAME ATTEMPT TO BE CUTE. IT KIND OF FITS THOUGH, I WOULD SAY. IT'S A WOMAN DEFENDING HER ACTIONS TO AN OLD LOVER. I'D LIKE TO THINK "EAVES" COULD BE EYELIDS LIKE SHE'S CLOSING HER EYES, TURNING HER GAZE FROM THE UNNAMED SUBJECT, MOVING ON TO SOMETHING BETTER. OR AT LEAST DIFFERENT.
I'M DIVING STILL BENEATH IT,
PULLING YOUR VOICELESS PROTEST DOWN
LIKE THE GUTTERAL, CONSONANT-HALTED VOWEL
OF AN ANCIENT HINDU MANUSCRIPT
THAT SEEMS TO MEAN MORE
THAN THE INK ON THE SKIN IS SAYING.
BUT REALLY, WHO DOESN'T HAVE SECRETS?
REMEMBER WHEN WE USED TO FUCK,
HOW WE SUCKED THE LIGHT OUT OF EVERY ROOM
AND YOU COULDN'T FIT A RAZOR BLADE BETWEEN US?
(BACK THEN MY LIPS WERE PRETENDING TO BE SOMEONE ELSE).
LOOK, I'M NOT ABOUT TO STEAL
A BEATING HEART FROM ANOTHER MAN'S CHEST--
I'M JUST TRYING TO GET SOME PERSPECTIVE.
THIS WAS THE "OVERHEARD CONVERSATIONS" PROMPT FOR WHICH I MOSTLY USED JUST A COUPLE PHRASES AS SPRINGBOARDS TO GET THE POEM GOING. AND YES, THE TITLE IS MY LAME ATTEMPT TO BE CUTE. IT KIND OF FITS THOUGH, I WOULD SAY. IT'S A WOMAN DEFENDING HER ACTIONS TO AN OLD LOVER. I'D LIKE TO THINK "EAVES" COULD BE EYELIDS LIKE SHE'S CLOSING HER EYES, TURNING HER GAZE FROM THE UNNAMED SUBJECT, MOVING ON TO SOMETHING BETTER. OR AT LEAST DIFFERENT.
Courtesan
SALACIOUS TIGERS PROWL THE STREETS,
BUT THIS CAT WAITS IN WINDOWS,
DISTRACTED MESS OF LONG-LIMBED ARMS,
LEGS TO WRAP AROUND STRANGERS
LOVE'S TIRED GLANCES FALL ELSEWHERE, THROWN
HEARTS TRAIL BEHIND THEM
LIKE TAILS ON A COMET--
SWIFTLY THEY TRAVEL HOMEWARD.
THIS WAS A WORD PROMPT WHERE I DECIDED TO START WITH "SALACIOUS", ENDING WITH "HOMEWARD," ALSO BORROWING FROM THE OPENING LINES OF THE BOOK I WAS (AM?) WORKING ON, "SOME WOMEN WALK THE STREETS, BUT MY KIND WAIT IN WINDOWS" (SLIGHTLY MODIFIED ABOVE). I PROMISED MYSELF TO STEP IT UP AND BE MORE PROLIFIC WITH MY WRITING NOW THAT THE NEW YEAR HAS ARRIVED, AND ALSO NOT TO USE THE WORDS "SWIFT" OR "SWIFTLY" AGAIN IN A POEM. WE'LL SEE HOW THAT PANS OUT.
BUT THIS CAT WAITS IN WINDOWS,
DISTRACTED MESS OF LONG-LIMBED ARMS,
LEGS TO WRAP AROUND STRANGERS
LOVE'S TIRED GLANCES FALL ELSEWHERE, THROWN
HEARTS TRAIL BEHIND THEM
LIKE TAILS ON A COMET--
SWIFTLY THEY TRAVEL HOMEWARD.
THIS WAS A WORD PROMPT WHERE I DECIDED TO START WITH "SALACIOUS", ENDING WITH "HOMEWARD," ALSO BORROWING FROM THE OPENING LINES OF THE BOOK I WAS (AM?) WORKING ON, "SOME WOMEN WALK THE STREETS, BUT MY KIND WAIT IN WINDOWS" (SLIGHTLY MODIFIED ABOVE). I PROMISED MYSELF TO STEP IT UP AND BE MORE PROLIFIC WITH MY WRITING NOW THAT THE NEW YEAR HAS ARRIVED, AND ALSO NOT TO USE THE WORDS "SWIFT" OR "SWIFTLY" AGAIN IN A POEM. WE'LL SEE HOW THAT PANS OUT.
Bones, in Three Pieces
I.
FONTANEL
MORE LIKE CRUDE, CUPPED PETALS
THAN THE HARD IVORY OF TUSKS
THESE FUSED PIECES ARE YOUNG
SOFT, MALLEABLE.
HOW SWIFTLY, ON ARRIVING, THEY GET TO WORK--
FIGHTING AGAINST GRAVITY,
THE FORCE OF THE EARTH,
THE CURSE OF OLD AGE,
THE INVISIBLE HANDS THAT CARVED THEM.
II.
COLLARBONE
AN ALPHA MALE LIES NEXT TO ME
BROAD-SHOULDERED BEAST
WHO, WITH HEAVY FINGERS,
HAMMERS EVERY DOUBT ON MY COLLARBONE.
EACH ONE LANDS WITH A THUD
ON THIS HOLLOW TRINKET
LIKE GARISH NOTES,
THEY ECHO THROUGH THE BODY
OF THIS UNTUNED INSTRUMENT
WRAPPED IN FLESH-COLORED TISSUE PAPER--
INEXPERIENCED HANDS
MAKING THE CHAMBERS SEEM
ALL THE MORE DELICATE.
III.
PELVIS
ON THE WALLS OF THESE HALLOWED CAVES IS CARVED
THE BIRTH OF A CIVILIZATION.
THIS IS THE GROUND WHERE GENERATIONS WEPT,
THE ROOM WHERE THEY ONCE HELD VIGILS BY CANDLELIGHT.
BUT THEY HAVE SINCE MOVED ON
LEAVING NO TRACE OF THEIR FOOTPRINTS,
ONLY CRUDE DRAWINGS.
THIS WAS A "BODY" PROMPT SO I CHOSE TO WORK WITH BONES, AND I MEANT TO DO FIVE DIFFERENT STAGES BUT SO FAR I'VE ONLY GOTTEN THROUGH THREE. SINCE THE REST AREN'T IMMINENT I THOUGHT I'D BETTER AT LEAST POST THESE. NEXT WILL BE "FEMUR" AND I THOUGHT I'D ROUND IT OUT WITH "SPINE" KIND OF OBVIOUSLY.
FONTANEL
MORE LIKE CRUDE, CUPPED PETALS
THAN THE HARD IVORY OF TUSKS
THESE FUSED PIECES ARE YOUNG
SOFT, MALLEABLE.
HOW SWIFTLY, ON ARRIVING, THEY GET TO WORK--
FIGHTING AGAINST GRAVITY,
THE FORCE OF THE EARTH,
THE CURSE OF OLD AGE,
THE INVISIBLE HANDS THAT CARVED THEM.
II.
COLLARBONE
AN ALPHA MALE LIES NEXT TO ME
BROAD-SHOULDERED BEAST
WHO, WITH HEAVY FINGERS,
HAMMERS EVERY DOUBT ON MY COLLARBONE.
EACH ONE LANDS WITH A THUD
ON THIS HOLLOW TRINKET
LIKE GARISH NOTES,
THEY ECHO THROUGH THE BODY
OF THIS UNTUNED INSTRUMENT
WRAPPED IN FLESH-COLORED TISSUE PAPER--
INEXPERIENCED HANDS
MAKING THE CHAMBERS SEEM
ALL THE MORE DELICATE.
III.
PELVIS
ON THE WALLS OF THESE HALLOWED CAVES IS CARVED
THE BIRTH OF A CIVILIZATION.
THIS IS THE GROUND WHERE GENERATIONS WEPT,
THE ROOM WHERE THEY ONCE HELD VIGILS BY CANDLELIGHT.
BUT THEY HAVE SINCE MOVED ON
LEAVING NO TRACE OF THEIR FOOTPRINTS,
ONLY CRUDE DRAWINGS.
THIS WAS A "BODY" PROMPT SO I CHOSE TO WORK WITH BONES, AND I MEANT TO DO FIVE DIFFERENT STAGES BUT SO FAR I'VE ONLY GOTTEN THROUGH THREE. SINCE THE REST AREN'T IMMINENT I THOUGHT I'D BETTER AT LEAST POST THESE. NEXT WILL BE "FEMUR" AND I THOUGHT I'D ROUND IT OUT WITH "SPINE" KIND OF OBVIOUSLY.
Method
SO I FORGOT TO ADD ANY NOTES TO THE PREVIOUS POEM, SO I'M DOING IT NOW. THIS WAS THE RESULT OF THE WORD POEM "P" PROMPT, ALTHOUGH I MAY REVISE IT AT A LATER DATE. ONE THING I'M DISCOVERING IS THAT SOME GENERIC WORD CATEGORIES LIKE ARTICLES, CONJUNCTIONS, PRONOUNS, ETC. CAN ROB POEMS OF THEIR UNIQUE POWERS AND THEY SORT OF BECOME LIKE DUST PARTICLES THAT HAVE TO BE SWEPT AWAY FROM THE OBJECT BEFORE ITS TRUE COLORS CAN BE SEEN. I'M NOT LIKING THIS POEM RIGHT NOW, BUT NOT SURE WHAT TO DO TO FIX IT OR IF IT CAN BE SALVAGED AT ALL.
1.22.2010
Night Market (Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia)
HUNGRY TONIGHT
FOR THE THRILL OF IMPENDING STORMS,
THE BLUE CANVAS DEEPENING TO PURPLE
THE PULSE OF PARTING HOOVES
ON THE FLOOR OF HEAVEN.
SPOT ME THROUGH THE PELTING RAIN,
THE ONE PANTING--
POUNCE INTO UNSUSPECTING CROWDS,
NO MORE THAN TINY RAINDROPS
THAT SCATTER QUICKLY AND RUN OFF
TO THEIR TIRED PONDS.
WATCH THEM, WITH THEIR PRESCIENT PATTERNS
CARVING PREDICTABLE IMPRESSIONS INTO THE MUD
THEY LONG TO BE AS WE ARE
SWIFT WINDS POUNDING OUR NAMES
INTO THE BODIES OF PATIENT LAKES,
WE MOVE LIKE PREDATORY ANIMALS
SWALLOWED UP BY ANGRY CLOUDS
AND THEIR PALPITATING HEARTBEATS
MEET ME UNDER THE PALE, SPENT SKY
PEERING OVER SCATTERED PLANKS OF WOOD
FROM BROKEN FRUIT STANDS.
NEAR THEM, PILES OF PERSIMMON RIPENING
AS I AM, OPEN-PALMED,
PRESSED TO THE GROUND--
IN THIS PLACE WHERE MY PARCHED LIPS WAIT FOR YOU
TO PARE THE SKIN OF MY ANCIENT SOUL,
TO SCOOP OUT THE SWEET, SECRET PUDDING.
FOR THE THRILL OF IMPENDING STORMS,
THE BLUE CANVAS DEEPENING TO PURPLE
THE PULSE OF PARTING HOOVES
ON THE FLOOR OF HEAVEN.
SPOT ME THROUGH THE PELTING RAIN,
THE ONE PANTING--
POUNCE INTO UNSUSPECTING CROWDS,
NO MORE THAN TINY RAINDROPS
THAT SCATTER QUICKLY AND RUN OFF
TO THEIR TIRED PONDS.
WATCH THEM, WITH THEIR PRESCIENT PATTERNS
CARVING PREDICTABLE IMPRESSIONS INTO THE MUD
THEY LONG TO BE AS WE ARE
SWIFT WINDS POUNDING OUR NAMES
INTO THE BODIES OF PATIENT LAKES,
WE MOVE LIKE PREDATORY ANIMALS
SWALLOWED UP BY ANGRY CLOUDS
AND THEIR PALPITATING HEARTBEATS
MEET ME UNDER THE PALE, SPENT SKY
PEERING OVER SCATTERED PLANKS OF WOOD
FROM BROKEN FRUIT STANDS.
NEAR THEM, PILES OF PERSIMMON RIPENING
AS I AM, OPEN-PALMED,
PRESSED TO THE GROUND--
IN THIS PLACE WHERE MY PARCHED LIPS WAIT FOR YOU
TO PARE THE SKIN OF MY ANCIENT SOUL,
TO SCOOP OUT THE SWEET, SECRET PUDDING.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
