>

2007/03/26

then you ...

2


there's this woman chase a [k]night to cut his path
on/off/off/on recalcitrant as her bone
ossurary to plant death on his path

thinking all its her shining moon to wing
a fluid cloaking her river shining in his agog as if things were love
love were a thing to wreck its shareholder on his road

.

but forgiven forsworn's not
forsaken howsoever cowardice's not a commodity
she's sharing with her hate.


but what called hate was faith to his long not seen face
visaged by her finger eyes stalks to her roots
her belt to weigh him again and again his uprooted pain to her cause

.
So it seemed prose nor poetry was peace to the outside searcher
she sought hard and for belong to imagined diadem her idea
of peace's as the narcotic of inside neurology


3


this fate's her last choice freed by the death of her breath
s born babies by the walker in the church of her first eyes
but not her lover
her lover's hold's born no baby to his eyes

this care's her hands finger cut in stone
she hears the chapped thing
hears the chapped thing
the summer lent eyes the summer knowed cognizant eyes
her rest down arm along hair to his hand in summer
his sex his sex in hand in hand to her murmur whisper

take take take take
come all over over come over all over come over all come over







2007/03/24

Tzara land and anexactings


I was there. I saw it. I saw the grave of this great poet. Posted by Hello


Tristan Tzara M'Oncle a la finnegans walked of the wakeacross the seven firery stargets. If radio Fm aM is thee and Cd. is Bc andbefore CLifford and After Duffy shall the sea shining sea from ocean to ocean and that war is no the answer and the missal is not the missle shall silos undo their dance of death danger becomingthe ropes of Man Ray's Dancer

sweat night..s....

will it be your lovers
as it stands down the sun and
her body song ~ bawdy bad buttocks
roll in their stroll ~ her sweat peals to my mouth
lip of upper lip sweat in the levantine sun

oh the jiggle of the breast as it tops the day
naked heart jerk beat pounds across the desire machine
that's your heart French Canadian actress

Forgotten to write this sort of thing
across mouths and sand
now your night vase is a stand
over fortune and day


that's your heart French-Canadian waitress

idea s t[2]wo~

all poetry is a way of life, as well as a state of mind, right? don`t we agree?

This is interesting. It reminds me of anotherquote of Eluard's.
I don't know which poem it was from. But Sartre quotes in an
essay he wrote. "There is another world, and it is right here." To me this
was always a good example of poetic immanence. In poetry it seems the
transcendence/immanence dichotomy is also "acted out" in different
authors. Eliot is the poet driven to transcendence, yet his most famous
poem -- the Waste Land -- is the most down to earth (get it! down to
earth here in the mud and rack and ruin nobeyond etc above etc) piece of
fragmentation written by an early modern poet -- who was a sortof schizo
-- I mean here you have this man living with a woman who is going mad and
he is going mad -- he wrote part of the poem in an assylum in Lausanne
--- he writes this pome which is wildy Dada in some ways -- yet he the
man, the banker the budding about to be famous critic and most
influential critic of modern literature is the reactionary conservative
anglo-catholic -- He is the perfect sort of example of the line that runs
between or
the axis that gyrates between the schizophrenic-revolutionary pole and the
paranoid-reactionary pole of the unconscious. It's as if Eliot embodies
the conflict between preconscious and unconscious precisely. His poetry
cuts a"revolutionary" innovative path into and through cinematic
fragmentation etc etc. text collage,, yet his apprehension of these
matters is far distant -- he runs as far from his creation as any
reactionary would from such hot material.... how different from Artaud,
Tzara and ELuard.... the split in modern poetry is exact. One has the
poets of the left and the poets of the right.... and these categories mean
different things in different countries at different times to different
literary milieus... So Eliot's poetry is schizo-"left" yet his critical
machines are only "left" to the extent that they serve his political
vision of the meaning of literature which is the meaning of his
politics.... in contrast to Andre Breton who is the surrealist who is
always left yet in his interactions with fellow artists and poets is known
as the "Pope of Surrealism" and is completly stuck in power relations with
three generations of poets and painters from around the world....and whose
poetry also creates a "revolutionary" cathexis which is still being
absorbed... he was the poet who never allowed himself to use even an
accidental rhyme... it is all very fascinating and illustrates the
manylevels of conflict contradiction and differences each one of us
lives if we live these things and think about them....





an intrigued formation



..In 1933 the poet Paul Eluard described Bataille's writing (specifically a
... where Bataille says that 'man lives with his own death') as
"mystical vomit"..

DouCe AgoNie

doctor of the poor




Duration: 16:09Taken: 21 February 2007Location: Meudon, France
Entretien avec Louis Pauwels donné en 1961 (l'année de sa mort).


So many writers: Doctors or studied medicine or something parallel...

2007/03/21

'.... this over the brain

our better reasons and days will hurry our selves along. rather shakespearian phrase...

2007/03/19

hart CrAnE's TyPewriter

_____________________________________________________________________
USS H-5 (Submarine # 148)

Crewman using a Corona typewriter while sitting on the bar of an "SC Tube" type hydrophone. Taken at San Pedro, California, circa 1919.
Photographed by J. Edwin Hogg, Los Angeles, California.
Note the submarine's fairwater in the immediate background.

U.S. Naval Historical Center Photograph.


"A rip-tooth of the sky's acetylene."


Thus Hart Crane in "To Brooklyn Bridge" describes the noon light biting into Wall Street. As a poet, Crane sought "surrender to the sensations of urban life." Out of such sensations, he said, he hoped to forge "a mystical synthesis of America," for which (he told his perplexed patron, Otto Kahn) "one might take the Sistine Chapel as an analogy."
He knew his Whitman "like a book," Robert Lowell has written ....
Flung Typewriters.
Crane in love affairs with sailors. He threw typewriters out of windows. "I saw all the trees below his window festooned with the typewriter ribbon," a friend remembers. Still, Unterecker cautions, "if Crane tossed out of windows everything that his acquaintances have him tossing, most of America, half of Europe, and all of Mexico would still be littered with far-flung typewriters."
Friday, Jul. 18, 1969

Bridge and Towers

VOYAGER: A LIFE OF HART CRANE by John Unterecker. 787 pages



Drunk, he was often described as ''a hurricane,'' variously clownish, maudlin, abusive and paranoid.
When his first book, ''White Buildings,'' was published in 1927, Yvor Winters called Crane one of ''the five or six greatest poets writing in English.'' That year alcoholism finally took hold. In a sodden rage Crane threw the typewriter on which he was writing ''The Bridge'' out his window. He struggled painfully to finish the book-length poem during years when his drunken brawls got him jailed in Paris and New York. When ''The Bridge'' finally was published in 1930, the consensus was that Crane had produced a major work, one critic calling it ''the most remarkable attempt at an orchestrated modern American poem since Eliot's 'Waste Land.' '' But H. P. Lovecraft, horrified by Crane's appearance, wrote: ''At the very crest of fame he is on the verge of psychological, physical and financial disintegration.''




Even among the carefree New York literary set at the dawn of the Jazz Age, Crane was something of a handful. His writing methodology included wild bouts of drinking and carousing aimed at wrenching the words out of himself and onto the page. He would stomp about his flat, the Victrola cranked up loud, playing the same jazz record over and over, in search of "divine madness." More than once, he heaved his typewriter out the window in exasperation. Bursting from his apartment, he would reel down the city streets, drunkenly shouting into the night: "I am Baudelaire! I am Marlowe! I am Whitman!" Crossing the great bridge by foot, he would cruise the South St. saloons, stuffing nickels into jukeboxes and casting about for a sailor for a one-night stand.




crane


"Also included are two essays that illustrate Delany's unique chrestomathic technique, the grouping of textual fragments whose associative interrelationships a reader must actively trace to read them as a resonant argument. Whether writing about Wagner or Hart Crane, Foucault or Robert Mapplethorpe, Delany combines a fierce and often piercing vision with a powerful honesty that beckons us to share in the perspective of these Longer Views."


_____________________________________

2007/03/13

on jeff nuttall

This about Jeff Nuttall from John May's blog the Generalist: dated

Monday, August 08, 2005

Jeff Nutall: Bomb Culture and Beyond









Jeff Nutall at the Chelsea Arts Club on 4th November 1985.
Photo by Ed Barber (Copyright Reserved)
First publication
The following extract from my interview was included in the book ( as follows) with a slightly different audio version on the record:
JM: What were the circumstances that led you to write ‘Bomb Culture’?
JN: I’d had a couple of preliminary stabs at it and then I went on holiday to Wales and suddenly it all fell into place: the three strains – the pop strain, the protest strain and the art strain – and the merging of them in some kind of movement that felt that everyone of these three strains had something to offer in the state of emergency - which was the failure of CND. It became clear in the early 1960s, that massive crowds and massive civil disobedience were ineffectual and nobody in Parliament was bothered about them one iota.
Several people came up with the idea of cultural warfare, of seeding pacifist and subversive elements in the popular culture. The popular culture having been almost purely a commercial enterprise previously (if you can say purely commercial), art not being concerned with being popular at all, and protest eschewing art as though art were self-indulgent and were not sufficiently puritan, not sufficiently ethically motivated. Just for a while they merged and that was what Bomb Culture was all about, and I happened to be around while it was merging. I wrote it in 1967, which was the year of mounting protest against the Vietnam War, and 1968 was the student upheaval. In Paris, as everybody knew at the time – though people have kind of forgotten – they did open prisons and burn the stock exchange and it really did look as though this was it, this was spontaneous revolution.
I was very much concerned about the Bomb, and about sowing this element of dissent into the popular culture, that would ultimately lead to inevitable disarmament and probably the dissolution of nations, and the setting up of a common human consciousness. We all believed it then you know! It looked as though it was bloody near inevitable, because the change in thinking and the change in culture between ‘65 and ’67 was amazing.
Hunter S. Thompson talks very eloquently about how it all seemed completely inevitable, the victory was there, it was just a question of letting it happen. So my writing Bomb Culture was a signing off from it really, a kind of retraction to going back to writing poetry which was concerned with poetry and concerned with the interpretation of a highly personal vision, and making art which owed nothing to anybody and didn’t have to contain any kind of message at all.
JM: You talk in Bomb Culture about the gap that’s opened up between the generations in the atomic age.
JN: The gap is between those people who have experienced a notion of the world as a continuum and those people who have not had that experience. I don’t want to be patronising or come on like an uncle, but I think I can remember up until 1945 believing that one way or another there might be some awful things that would happen, but the world would continue. That whatever went wrong, in the fullness of time, it would eventually come right. You can’t remember that. You might wish to remember it. You might be able to imagine it. But I can remember when everybody believed it. I think this has done something quite disastrous to social ethics.
JM: Is the Bomb shaping artistic consciousness all over the world?
JN: What one wants from a Bomb-conscious artist is an antithesis to the Bomb. One wants opposition to the Bomb, and one can’t have opposition to the Bomb which in itself has its roots in the existence of the Bomb. What one actually wants from one’s artists is gestures and statements and experiences that are going to perpetually put before humanity, before the public, before society, a way of thinking, which is not part of the internal, competitive, war-power system.…..You have to overcome the difficulty of loving your state, your condition. Anybody can look at a sunset and say goo goo goo, how nice, or cuddle a baby, or fall in love with a pretty girl or a pretty boy. That’s the easy bit. The difficult bit is somehow loving a state which includes the obscene and the vicious and the dreadful and the painful and loving that. Really loving it, not tolerating it or blessing it or forgiving it or putting up with it or grinning and bearing it, but really loving it as being an integral and unavoidable part of the kind of creature your are and the state of existence you inhabit.That’s where I stand at the moment. Far too much, somewhere hovering behind the existence of the Bomb, is the notion that…it’s not worth saving. It’s so disgusting, it’s so foul, so corrupt, it’s so old and so boring and its so diseased that you might as well…
JM: Just wipe it clean ?
JN: Yes. What you’ve got to really do is create some kind of cultural movement which would be against that. How it’s to happen now I really don’t know. I don’t feel despairing because I think that – I’m 52 now – I really didn’t expect to see the age of 30.
More infotmation on Jeff Nutall:

2007/03/11

then you will see you will

1.




then you will see you will


its night the dark groove hesitates its head ranging round the sofa of your arms the bare nights we waited as breath was taken its raying call hurting over the ozone harmonica to our sun lost in its prying eyes 'i've' borne this baby for you our wedding carpeted over the widow's weeds sulphur's air caught in the transom wheat


you've come back to these utter thing of bearing it there alone your candle upheld a grace to the sky my azure eyes as if remembering didn't do any good it bore its baby there taking back what was night's a __ paused in the air as its fire stopped to greet morning and spring your spring this word you called on as this trip to Paris makes clear walking the shadow wood of its turning roads I've seen this there through your eyes your body's naked back called to its effort



would a dizzy spell enlighten us these ones from your lion loins were fathered to
greet me these there these street this avenue of its hefted up spokesperson in the air
the wheat has bare corners where we lay open to the wheat
we bore the children there staying in the glass pane to sky its loud chord as your lips
whistle to me returning over decade and decade you named it s call to me asking could you see it ? could you ? then its heart to pulse and wreathe

your finger tickling the air called on me the me called I met you
over river Avernus is that one a tree named lake by its dark mist
a black patch a silk I imagined your sex a word your sex to say your sex


carrying its river there
hosted by the riddle there of your lip against the collar bone of my open shoulder my open shoulder wound

Spring will come spring 'll come its crawling to its hesitating meadow
a burial there another day for fox and ganders to land
its landing which counts when you arrive here this doorstop
swung back to forth opening a weed for you yet yet letters have

2007/03/10

no longer

no longer Yeshua its the polyvocal
strain of yer playing gets me
your body's desert wind
her arms over Sinai




hurries the din
of alone
to berry its burial


Such wanton spare parting over
a piece of plastic curlicued thing
wordless empty chunk of teeth hanging
your dubiety against solemn oaths
and oaten pat commentary my glove


sprinkled in the heart of your name
a tabor jingling by lineament
bodies happy fed see the smoke
its rises mount the ferrying top of mountains
hidden absconded or otherwise


a mere mouse of a thing not mousse
treachery or mimetics that happens your rage
steeling against the sky a steely mirror

2007/03/09

Each













In each heart a stable centre
that is broken

_______


2007/03/08

We Feel Fine / Montage




folllOwing a link herE there. what montage anD sure EnUFf a Mockery of Piety!

O Lord

les FesSes de la PoesIe

les FesSes de la PoesIe
les FesSes de la PoesIeles FesSes de la PoesIeles FesSes de la PoesIeles FesSes de la PoesIe

2007/03/06

no Ands Ifsno Ands IfsI


no Ands Ifs
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oR BuTts_ You Dig?
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Dig?
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u Dig?
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---------------------

Butt giff found at
greenfuzz

lovers in lyoNs



Serge gainsborough__ a character and a half
if there've ever been any!

---------------------------------------


O Lovers in hallways and streets on tele-
phone & rose
road & code as a speaking dummy seek
the ventriloquist king?

shall they see?
before dusk cries long?

a spark is that? what?

how then to its purchased siftings?

2007/03/05

its

this was made & posted last febuary . now found 'gen reposting . as its simi
liar to the one sent over to brim hier soir. its sense is not unlike
the other "go abroad"__ hahaha, not broad , or bored, or
broadband browed broad? broad her home.
anyhow, here it be. i think it work better as prose in poem or poemenprose? how genre play game of ducky.
____________________________________________

its become the craving for what is said about
that s led to that
no we wont ok we take silence for a bill private
no its not the point. what? i say still here.
not spread out blankets or gathered sheets
of foolscap risk the take of
sheets empty on the air electronic aural
the blister of termagent or yacking voices
of siren woof who hear
so much her own face to seize its authority
of you am
what power of something not dedication
to trust its smooth
arse not the site of dice

So when they saw the pearl behind her she was woof
to her guff its shaken faery a columbine to her bight
was Voice a matter over its gather the gird shaded
twined about its arm her lurking thing to jive its art.

Or wrought fired pillow its moth.


Its wand was pushed to above its head
her roger to ok was something wriggling to its stead
Now bore the clime its blather to rend.




Or some and sucha billow raise
its part the bull rumle its
argue to a pent down rage

2007/03/04

go broadly

A poet never takes notes,” said Robert Frost. “You never take notes in a love affair.”

at Brim I did a slightly variant version of this.

the frost quote's from
this interestly Named
writing-it-down
which J'e found peering roun' fer stuffs, about wallace steveNs. wallace stevens was the infamous son of , tristan tzara, but didnt know it.


-----------------------------------
go broadly sally over sea

her to breath come its away over to see its then to saunter
over the caliper of psalm its hand held steerage then to harbour
of its richness fell-welt fail-well fellow whose
knickers bear down bear down port to cone of its
each angle of the back incurved to invoice
to play her skit Open to climb its back breaking straw
strong to pair it s tomb wraith guide


She to wear a columbine boat ride to jacket
her spur a shaking she to caper
cold mutton but braided to the boot
her to trot strum on her stewing straw
near its backbreaked meant she hover a can of peach
near to felt to her to feel
a buckled keel to her lyric keep
over to her she to boulder
he to wean its overing hour its stroke before cloud
not a mare in site a mere insight to this insist
her insouciant stare leg resting to the ghost thigh of lace
her to hug to lust its ongoing hour over the flutter
her to holding him hymn her sigh wing to this inside butter
banter to choose his god over her oddysseuus twice the time
her mother told. gold to jeep her keepsake a mere
like memory
adjusted her hat paused to the brim
her cheeked softcoined to its lapidairy
consent
unhooked by the this of thatings. come caper all ye gathers.

2007/03/03

tzara\ notes and

 and “I’ll never be more than a mere poetic bug, a fragment of poetry.” interesting quote from the guy who authored so many book s and
to continue for a guy GASTON MIRON NOT Tzaara


who wrote so many books garnering so many prise and such acclaim, Eh/
what are the poltiics of literary recognition? what is its economy?
who pay them? do you? do they pay you?
readers ought to Be Paid
As Analysands Ought to be Paid suggested Felix Guattari in an essay of his found in the Guattari reader
translated by Gary Genosko Canadian sociologist and student
of Guattari



--------------------------------------- Down here I am speaking of Tristan Tzara Above I was
alluding to Gason Miron.I read his poetry en Francais one night to
Caroline. She wept. I wanted to make love with her,
bt maybe more her sister Mary-Lou.

1940-44
: poursuivi par le régime de Vichy à Sanary et
par la gestapo à Aix-en-Provence, Tzara passe deux ans dans la clandestinité
à Souillac, où il collabore à des périodiques
issus de la Résistance.


Tristan Tzara, Le Surréalisme et l'après-guerre (Paris, 1948)



Le surréalisme et l'après-guerre

by Tristan Tzara

  • Language: French Type: Book
  • Publisher: Paris : Editions Nagel, [1966]
this is not the edition I've in my possession but it is the Same Text,the Very Same. Imagine th a.t.


=============

InterView

I__ How did you come on this wonderous books? you possess?

C_ in my travels I bought them compelled by a furor I didnt understand nor no need to , but a merely strong overUrged Need To ReadGrabEat Bookwords.

This become likewise a mouth to speak la PenSee to speak LaBouche comme Tzara avait dits.

2007/03/02

Poetic theory Of interconnectedNess works Johnny Ranger 1998-2003

`

DyNaMiC ConSTelLations

as web art and other meet over bush of the viewn & seen
one language is complicated over richness its diverse
is plenum . all start again

'cynicalism damage perception'
dont let it get you'


Instead in it pla ce
their BeauTiFul BoDies Shall AdOrE


.

2007/03/01

for today

500 Years of Female Portraits in Western A


Nigel Terry playing Caravaggio in Jarman's film about the 16th century master