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4 de Agosto 2005
"The cocksuckers,
Walt Whitman, were counting on you."-Federico Garcia Lorca, from Ode to Walt Whitman trans. Jack Spicer
RJ and I get a little bored when His Kacey and Martin leave us to our own devices. I was teaching him about the surrealist poets and their two person poems. They break apart right in half--Poets taking over the scientific method.
Here is an example from the surrealists:
If newspapers were printed on silver foil then, shit.-Pierre Unik, Louis Aragon trans. Marcel Jean
And these are our results:
If a mouse combs past a crying child then I would pay snakes to bite someone like you.
If my mom really does have MS... then puberty hopes for a new virgin to abhor.
I don't mean to state the obvious, but I can't help thinking that RJ really wanted an answer.
It is a wild moment when you see what someone is worried about. The elipses is his. We could talk plenty about what worries us but the poem unwrapped it--the part I wrote was just so, well, mean. It is something that surprises me everytime, probably because I expect it; the way poems crack us in half like rocks.
and then there is always the option of looking back instead of forward.
"Nostalgia locates desire in the past where it suffers no active conflict and can be yearned toward pleasantly. History is the antidote to this."-R. Hass 20th Century Pleasures (Its about The Quaker Graveyard in Nantucket.)
or you can just think about, um, God:
"...poets forced to step outside the human process and claim the vision of some imperturbable godhead in which the long violence of human history looks small."-RH
I lean toward omnipresent rather than imperturbable, but not on account of meaning, just because it is the word I am used to. Imperturbable works, especially when (I have to paraphrase this time on account of faulty note taking) you don't think you can have an orgasm and be Christlike at the same time.
Either way I still have to make myself eat enough food every day- haven't figured that one out yet.
| By crymytinyflood | 11:33 AM
