Wednesday, July 29, 2015

I Liked This Poem

I liked this poem by Sophie Seita.

(Imagine I am talking to a tree.)

This poet also writes macaronic poetry.

I've always been a fan of that and find it so seductive when it's done well (for example, Theresa Hak Kyung Cha).

Raymond Roussel Rises from the Grave

I was doing an image search for "Bjork tattoos," curious if it would bring up Bjork's tats or tats of Bjork, this after doing a search for "url tattoos," "web address tattoos" and suchlike, and then I found this by accident.

It's a Bjork-Mork conflation. Apparentlies.

I Think

I think the funniest title for a poetry anthology would be The Clean Livin' Poem.

Why Are There So Few Non-Poet Readers of Poetry? (Here's a Guess.)

One guess, and this is a guess like a hot-air balloon in 1783, for the reason as to why there are so few readers of poetry who are not poets themselves is that poems might be things which are designed to make you feel like writing poetry. If more people wrote poems that had an effect like the bolting of human beings to chairs, fixing readers in place like butterflies in a collection of  butterfly deadness, then there might be more readers of poetry who were not themselves poets. Quel cauchemar!  Who wants to bolt anyone to a chair? So I think, paradoxically, poetry is successful for its lack of readership. If you can't dance, you don't go to a barn dance (unless you are very brave or voyeuristic). Even if the barn dance wants you, wants your body. I think poetry is like this, this queer way. It only gives butterflies to the other butterflies. Tant pis. Tant mieux.

Poor lonely poetry, you are so inbred.

I Feel Happy

I am soaked in tragedy like baba au rhum like virtually everyone on earth, but I feel happy tonight. Anyway.

Everyone suffering seems optimistic tonight. That's good.

I feel like watching Napoleon Dynamite in three different languages tonight.

Pleasant Blue Cognitive Twerk: Jackson Mac Low's Postcard Poems

These 125 Postcard Poems have been pleasantly coloring this early evening for me.

I can't help it though. I'm going to go ahead and say it: I feel the word "Ewoks" is missing from these cards. And it should be there.

I do applaud the bravery of the "Cream cheese" postcard.

My mind keeps fuzzing them out into visual images.

Sometimes I like poetry like this which is all about zoning out, lining out cognitive mainframes.

Other times I want to put it in a shoebox and kick it under my bed.

If you had told me those were written by Gail Sher, I would have believed you.

If you had told me they were the work of Robert Grenier, I would have believed you for some of them.

I confess I have "a thing" for postcard poems.

Let's bring them back. Let's revive this virtually dead form (art gallery show postcards and overdue notices don't really count). Postcard redivivus!

I have a bunch of Joe Brainard postcards that I love. A few of them are poems. Some have text on them but are still more drawings than poems.

But hmmm....which poets wrote postcard poems? So many of the New York School poets did: Berrigan, Notley I think. Who else?

I wonder if anyone has done an anthology like that, a collection of poems which were originally postcard poems?

I would actually like to do an anthology of text from very old postcards written by non-famous and forgotten people. Because I love how mysterious so many of those messages are. Often, these are collapsed narratives, shorthand notes about events only the insiders would "get." I like that compression. I have so many weird messages like that on old postcards in my collection. Some of them spawn movies in my head. I would probably just title the anthology Mysterious Postcards.


If I cannot feel inspired, there must be nothing outside of me.