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2013/05/29

taking the brim


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   taking the brim / took the broom archives are now public whilst being edited etc
 
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2013/05/26

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Nantes                                                   

                                                           un café

                                                                                                


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pwoermdspwoermdspwoermdspwoermdspwoermdspwoermdspwoermds

pragmanticist
yugvler
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                                           I was completely ostracized 

 












Bertrand Russell - Face to Face Interview (BBC, 1959)
Bertrand Russell (1872 -- 1970)  a British philosopher, logician, mathematician, historian, and social critic










there was an 

  a  c  c i           d  e           n                  t




 
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2013/05/21

New medias creating new formats, no? yes of curse/as a lover/does/her assonyms!

 OrpHeeCdpoet ‏@orpheecdpoet

 

 

 

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2013/05/20

re------------------: last count ..

you wrote                      ConcErnIng: last count ..

 -------------------------------------now after I check'd my figures/ I found this

sOMeOne or Other  or robot?

which speculates on a much grander scale/o ver time and across languages ___! asks this question:
How many poems have been written in the world?
                

s   ' I found on the internet that 5.000.000 poems are published on the web each year worldwide (source: wikipedia); let's suppose they are only 0,1% of the poems written per year: it gives 5 bilions poems per year; if now we multiply this result for the number of years since writing began (7000, to be conservative) we obtain approximately 35 trillions of poems; but I believe the real numbers are far greater, in the order of 10^15, in other words nearly 5 thousand trillions in short scale... I'm waiting for better guesses :)'

-------------------------------------------- http://wiki.answers.com/Q/How_many_poems_have_been_written_in_the_world

   ----------------an dis
 http://chronicle.com/article/The-New-Math-of-Poetry/64249/

           an'

 http://www.bostonreview.net/BR37.3/marjorie_perloff_poetry_lyric_reinvention.php

which article 'licited

 a bevy o

Text... or snow?!Text... or snow?!Text... or snow?!Text... or snow?!Text... or snow?!Text... or snow?!Text... or snow?!Text... or snow?!Text... or snow?!Text... or snow?!Text... or snow?!Text... or snow?!Text... or snow?!Text... or snow?!Text... or snow?!Text... or snow?!Text... or snow?!Text... or snow?!Text... or snow?!Text... or snow?!Text... or snow?!

last count ..

last count there was nearly 500,000, 000 million poems of one sort or another ontheWeb

         in english
 dig that

__________________________ Poems in whatever form shape or
           plasma

             poems without judgement as to good bad or /and indifferent

 that's including verses, parts, wholes, stanzas, complete books, classics of english literatures world wide




Now that is Somethingggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggg


2013/05/19

Burgess , Anthony



Burgess was neither C, B or A as a novelist.

  I'd venture a better categorization: He was A and B and C, and in addition to that accolade as anovelist


there's  A for his reviews and books about Joyce and ahalf dozen other writers,  (Urgent Copy )


does it seize your hair  your body your night dogs letting go the right 
  becoming  a gorilla a sheer nightmare of painful realizations?


2013/05/18

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  ~Daughters Boticelli detail Sistine Chapel------------
















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why do people mow their lawns   ~ I Say let'em gorse, bush, brush, grow wild vineyard vane
   but then i don't own one  of these things

                                      but do you want to ?
 a gabled house

  leaning in toward the perspective of the sea

               with the notorious author living nearby

   crashing waves   on  the seaside

   hurricanes and other shit coming in from the west

to say

to say


say?

it stared as lawns
but you dont belong (rhyme )   (rhyme)

__________________________



  That    .....  bitch   (really ) had my balls
                         in a  blister




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 more later

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 are you charming naked  buttocks?






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some one else says a scroll is past tense /i mean time past past  going pas t tense /eyes

   all the ones (that ) believe 'oral' poetry is the thing   wrong  rong r'ong ! hahah its so funny... the perfectly   evident fact is that
                               the aural is legit/ as combined with the rest

_____________________ Anyhow, no matter 90 percent  of what's written is read by the person with their eyes especially in the internet.



untitled and

the untitled poem ..  i was tempted to write pome, but i think that, at least in my mind, i see that jj book every time i do and it doesn't look real it looks real when he does it, i mean, he did it, right ,it's almost a 100 years ago Anyhow he did it, and maybe cummings and a few others, bisset?

 but anyhow, i cant it odd it dont look real pomes versus poems  I mean its not much its a displace ment of O and E and the absence of E



_______________ eat /   be alive

 do laundry/


                            _________________


  her face was as beautiful and strange as  a picasso and a modigliania molded
together

she saw sideways

her hands were sensual her lips fluttered full


 they were not  /they were something you can't find a word for

   oh butterflies they were butterflies they (seem'd) to flutter
   right off her 
  


________________



you won't hold with giving a shit
  giving  afuck
  this day or night as its witches its pulse

telling this one and that one what's good and not
we know enemies  come from friends

 and the imperial ones
   the non trusters
  keep your distance

at its well worked thought
   this is   oil pouring rain  on fire

      --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Jethroe's --------------------------

2013/05/11

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you won't hold with giving a shit
  giving  afuck
  this day or night as its witches its pulse

telling this one and that one what's good and not
we know enemies  come from friends

 and the imperial ones
   the non trusters
  keep your distance

at its well worked thought
   this is   oil pouring rain  on fire

     

2013/05/10

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~sHAKasCene

Oh my god!” John Berryman complained in October 1952, “Shakespeare. That multiform & encyclopedic bastard.”


Never feel that way after reading Shakespeare, but always feel larger and that I understand more, just as when I read Pound I become  a better writer.   after reading finnegans wake,  i go
  read french, say Rimbaud, I under stand more. writers of that caliber teach us to
better writers and readers/
   
                        better in the sense that we're less sick with our illseeing illhearing illusions.

| Compare Joyce in his whole life Ulysses                                   ~__________________ (who creates anxiety is critics or other 'paranoid' readers) (theres none till you met them ) (or the 'bad' poets' (meaning the sick ones giving orders) giving orders (ordures shit) giving order-words


-----------------------  in the meantime I've gone to back to working on the big long poem  ~ the one I was speaking to Patrick about today. he called from Victoria this was just after I returned from Ireland


I never put it online as they say   ~

        offline to the online that's terse as a bucket
            in  a munchful of rain
                 that's lunch with
   someone else's elbow
              below  ~


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2013/05/02

 _________________ha v t  '






________________n one is getting old _________________________________________________________________








will the night speak long arms hold their way
(and) the sudden reoccurrence but the rest is forgotten gone foregone
these little moment
the park
mist lights
air to wine

and the care speaks suddenly a recurrent
word and the red leaves is that it? does it hurry night
happening let's stop and see what happens (that makes six)
budding leaves would marry others

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2013/05/01

.

narrow



tomorrow commodity and wealth

                   prosperity Porcupine Prospero's hovering his mist
  keep fist the rough tune /found on the awl/ members this greek column in
           orney hours past rising blue




today money and commodity and hep to the length of these breeze you call your smile


.

 ah honor as its witch to please the pleasant smile  ~


  assured by the spring's well 



.
.

 flaw morsel




====================================== flayed Marsyas

========================= there are no 'flaws' in this  poem, but rather  flows which break ;examples abound ~the Apostrophe opening, the declaiming archaisms   the weirder beat of 'contemporary ' jagged juxtaposed rhythms against   the squiring and hush of the rhymes. and do they represent anything? no t so, they are the something the ones that move his machine,  hope,  dream, his fancy. The 'flaws' are break/flows/ /schizz/lines. as his vocabulary, or diction if you want, strives to a other level than the apparent one, the rhetoric of the poem.

yr able to hear before what you could only read and reading doesnt permit the
bagayer the stammer/stut/tutututer of what's happening
  in Crane's lingo train
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'Lorsque la langue est si tendue qu’elle se met à bégayer, ou à murmurer, balbutier…, tout le langage atteint à la limite qui en dessine le dehors et se confronte au silence. Quand la langue est ainsi tendue, le langage subit une pression qui le rend au silence. Le style – 'la langue étrangère dans la langue'

i hear the poetry of the Bridge in this statement
So that is part of what you're discussing



He gets right out and under from 
the signifier danger

(think of the image of the bridge itself going the other way Not Under But Over Water of the Flow that's the River _ he carries with him, with its infinite (receptacle) of objects, detritus, an so on) (i am breath to catch it as it pauses (my own thought and his)  'Damp tonnage and alluvial march of days-
Nights turbid, vascular with silted shale
                                                And roots surrendered down of moraine clays;
                                                    The Mississippi drinks the farthest dale.'

i mean eve/n his strange archaisms  the thees and thous
    are sung not read or even heard
 but are the busted gaps , vacuoles in his language

    as he struggles up and against the collective alcoholism  of his milieu (his own an theirs),  his isolation.
             his homosexuality            (everyone needs to 'know' what he is doing he must explain,
                   justify, pay rent, get loot to write)  (the bridge as a project is considered weird
expectations are high in a letter he compares himself to Virgil_O folly of comparison_ the analogy
is false it's a ruse necessary to cover up the terrible reality at hand :Explanation and
its horrid partner Necessity)

 his rhymes are strange too tending to a conventional appEaRance 
  but are in fact, they are parented by the desolation and terrible doubling they carry
  the rhymes are hurts to Ear which speak to the heart 

as for instance when he crosses with the hobos and others

  in  the River  section

    following the train riders 
                                                Yet they touch something like a key perhaps.
                                                  From pole to pole across the hills, the states
                                                __They know a body under the wide rain;
                                                Youngsters with like fjords, old reprobates
                                                 With racetrack jargon, __dotting immensity
                                                  They lurk across her, knowing her yonder breast'


what's happening  there? It's as if Crane yodels the nostalgic longing and pain of others in their quest into American landscape a time of hunger and desperados,, the great belly of the continent speeding across the rails of their minds   ___'And past the circuit of the lamp's thin flame'___it works    naturally its' beautiful even as in other sections the verbs escape into a sort of passive junction of breath against syntax

Under the Ozarks, domed by Iron Mountain,
the old gods of the rain lie wrapped in pools
Where eyeless fish curvet  a sunken fountain
And re-descend from querulous crows.'


His engines huff

but he don't remain with the malaise,
                  he moves on



                      ' And Pullman breakfasters glide glistening steel
                        From tunnel into field__iron strides the dew     
                        Straddles the hill, a dance of wheel on wheel.'





I'll come back to this more/. I love writing about Crane, drifting with his wood and have been , and have could and the left and right of song,  switching from city and town and back again river, subway and rush of traffic scramble of voices    and 


                                                                        iv

                                                           Cape Hatteras


which starts with quote from Whitman

   
                                                                                   The seas all crossed,
                                                      weathered the capes, the voyage done
                                                                                                           (Walt Whitman)


then starting with the astonishing image

                                         


      '    Imponderable the dinosaur
                                    sinks slow,
                                        the mammoth saurian
                                               ghoul, the eastern 
                                                                 Cape ...


Combustion at the astral core__the dorsal change
Of energy ___convulsive shift of sand  ...'

  The image of the dinosaur is more terrifying and imponderable itself .    He 's chopping hes way through the memory of the earth and the passage of chronos / Crane's splitting the page and the thought in two. What's so weird about that if you think it's what's actually happening. Does that make he's an imitator? Not at all it does mean he was a man  who absorbed his time and walked with the history of America and the world rattling in his bones.    Thus there is a speaking self there that runs under the self of Crane the person the man one can know from his biographers  the one who had relations with living and real people of his time. This other Crane is proceeds and narrates from a different place, the place of the oracle of the poet himself, or even itself; he is the one who descends    ________he is the descender  downshifting into the remembrance of earth itself and Man?

                                        'Man  hears himself an engine in a cloud!

                   '"__Recorders ages hence"_ah, syllables of faith!
                   Walt , tell me, Walt Whitman, if infinity
                   Be still the same as when you walked the beach
                    Near Paumnanok__'




        


  Crane jumped to his death by drowning at sea.   He kills necessity in that action  . He beats out the cruel fates of necessity and explanation and becomes the song that's sung ,the very crash of the ocean  itself


'I wanted you, nameless Woman of the South'
                                                                             the sea    ~.


  It's how we read the man not how he wrote himself that teaches us about him and his work .  Take his work and make it richer by bringing it or finding the level of possibilities it was written at take it to its maximum worth not its negative declension.


We don't know what Crane 's voice sounds like nor how he 'd have read but surely were he alive now he'd be having fun with it  on the one hand, a nd pushing it further against its necessities .



....