Modern and Contempory American Poetry

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ussusimiel
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Post by ussusimiel »

Here's the last of the 'chance operation' poems. I like this one.
Stein 100: A Feather Likeness of the Justice Chair
by Jackson Mac Low

A feather table: reckless gratitude.
It is that-there that means best.

White the green grinding trimming thing!
The disgrace, like stripes.
More selection, slighter intention.

Rosewood stationing is use journey: curious dusty empty length.
Winged cake: the cake, the plan that neglects to make color certainly.
Time long could winter: elegant consequences monstrous.
So much and guided holders garments are--and arrangements.
Staring then that when sudden same time's necessary, that circular
.....same's more necessary, not actually aching.

And why special?
Not left straw, the chain's the missing, was white winningly and
.....occasion's entirely strings.
Reason is sullenness: it's there that practices left when six into
.....nothing narrow, resolute, suggests all beside that plain seam.
Pencils, mutton, asparagus: the table there.
There reddening is not to change that in such absurd surroundings.
Considering clearly, a feather's large second heat is there.
There that thing which smells that whistles that there's denial,
.....difference, surfeit-dated choices--everything trembling
..........imitation.

Imitation?--imitation is a joy gurgle.
Best bent, likely disappointed.
Cake season's not more than most.
That cake makes no larder likely.
Not a single protection is even temporarily standing.
Sugar and lard there are sudden and shaming.
That single set comes orderly.
There the remarkable witness made no more settlement than
.....blessing.
Increase the way steak colored coffee.
Wheatly that music half-noisy.
Reason's decline is not a little grainy.

This means taste where toe-washing is reasonable.
Salmon carriage?--action hanging.
Scene bits and this nervous draught don't satisfy elevation,
There is no change.
Much was temporary behind that center and much was formerly
.....charming.
Then the then-triumphant showed their disagreeable hidden worries.
The chair asked the speech be repeated, supposing
.....attention-resemblance.
It is just summer.
Another section has a light likeness to pedestrianism.
Which is light?
That used this there.
The chair's justice: nothing-colored mercy.
No, perhaps some is likely.

That is not a genuine bargain.
There preparation so suits white bands' singing and redness that the
.....same sight's a simpler splendor.
No, not the same.
Wishing the same is not quite the same as a different arrangement.
Any measure washed is brighter than an occasional string set.
A precocious nothing discolors that extract sooner than showing its
.....starting.
A bag place chain room winningly reasons with shining hair.
What with supposing without protection, no wound is sudden.
Coloring sullenness rushes bottom reason in gilded country.
What if it shows?
Necessarily, the whole thing there is shining.
Is that anything?
More single women stitch tickets.
To show difference exudes reliability.
Inside that large silver likeness, Hope tables thick coal.
Coal makes morning furnaces darker,
Joy and success are exceptions.

Four suggest a sadder surrender.
Pretence and cheaper influences are staining tender Pride there.
Sort out that little sink.
Why is the size of the baking remainder something that resembles
.....light more than cutting?
This cheese is more calm than anything solitary.
It is still an occasion for bottom anticipation.
Reason's season cracked that which was ripe.
Nearly all were neglected by blessing, not without nervous actions.
He's readily beginning to seed the cheese and estrange the Whites.
The celery curled its lashes at the slam.
Not-so-heated reason will be little able to satisfy another.
This was formerly much used as a charming chair.
Pedestrianism showed itself triumphant and disagreeable.
That which was hidden worried them.
They asked that her speech be repeated.
Summer light bears a likeness to justice.
Then the light is supposing attention.
That section has a resemblance to light.
Is it a likeness of the justice chair?

Author's Note:
Eight strophes initially drawing upon the whole text of Gertrude Stein's Tender Buttons.
I sent the entire text through DIASTEX5 (Charles O. Hartman's 1994 update of DIASTEXT [1989], his automation of one of my diastic text-selection procedures [1963], using as a seed text the fifty-third paragraph of the book (exclusive of titles, etc), which begins, "A fact
is that when any direction is just like that, . . ." I selected the paragraph by random-digit
chance operations using the RAND Corporation's table A Million Random Digits with 100,000 Normal Deviates. (The Free Press, 1955).

My source and seed texts came from the first edition of Tender Buttons, issued by Donald Evan's publishing house Claire Marie (1914), as posted online in The Bartleby Archive (1995) and The New Bartleby Library (1999), both edited by Steven van Leeuwen, with editorial contributions by Gordon Dahlquist. However, I incorporated in my file of Tender Buttons fourteen corrections written in ink in Stein's hand, which Ulla E. Dydo found in Donald Sutherland's copy of this edition, now owned by the Special Collections of the University of Colorado at Boulder.

I "mined" the program's output for words which I included in 117 sentences (several elliptical
and each one a verse line) by changes and/or additions of suffixes, pronouns, structure
words, forms of "to be," etc. and changes of word order. Initially, in making these sentences,
I placed lexical words' root morphemes near others that were near them in the raw output--in fact I included many phrases, and even whole verse lines, of unedited, though punctuated, ouput, mostly in early strophes--but I was able to do this less and less in the course of writing the poem.

While composing the 117 verse-line sentences, I divided them into eight strophes that
successively comprise numbers of sentences corresponding to the prime-number sequence
2, 3, 5, 7, 11, 13, 17, 19.

New York: 20 September 1999
The last section of the course is up next: conceptualist, unoriginality and Flarf.

u.
Tho' all the maps of blood and flesh
Are posted on the door,
There's no one who has told us yet
What Boogie Street is for.
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Post by ussusimiel »

And so onto the last part of the course: conceptualist, unoriginality and Flarf. And, really, this is where we've been trying to get all the time as these are the newest forms of contemporary American poetry. This stuff is fairly out there and, in my own case, it was only through the patient build up to it that I was able to engage with it at all. As it is some of it is still, IMO, very borderline. Some of it seems closer to music or photography or just plain silliness, however, that the people involved insist that they are poets and not musicians or photographers (or pisstakers :lol: ) says something about how important language is to them before all else.

I'll mix and match as I go and try and give as much explanatory material as is necessary to support the work. I won't rush it (it took us long enough to get here :lol: ) and it'll be spread out over a number of posts.

First here's the introduction to this material from the course:
Not every artist we meet here claims to be part of a trend or movement now widely known as conceptualist poetics. Some embrace or have embraced the term: Kenneth Goldsmith, Christian Bok, Caroline Bergvall. Others, such as Rosmarie Waldrop, have been involved in appropriative and unoriginal practices for decades. Erica Baum is a photographer of found language who seems to thrive in the atmosphere created by the explicit conceptualists. Michael Magee is an original Flarfist, which some see as divergent from conceptualism but here at least seems certainly a cousin. Others we encounter in our final week (Jennifer Scappettone and Tracie Morris) are using unoriginality and linguistic borrowing and "writing through" for their own reasons and are creating distinct effects. But every artist [....] displays an intense virtuosity that defies what most folks at first expect from writings made from such an adamant rejection of creativity. We hope that despite the strangeness of it all you will find a great deal of pleasure in watching them undertake their hyper-concentrated, seemingly impossible projects. What can look easy in such experimentalism is often demanding in the extreme. Is there a better example of this than Eunoia? Left to right: Christian Bok, Tracie Morris, Erica Baum's "Card Catalogues," Kenneth Goldsmith.
First some samples of the work with no explanatory material:
(Excerpt from) Eunoia
by Christian Bök:

from Chapter A
(for Hans Arp)

Awkward grammar appals a craftsman. A Dada bard
as daft as Tzara damns stagnant art and scrawls an
alpha (a slapdash arc and a backward zag) that mars
all stanzas and jams all ballads (what a scandal). A
madcap vandal crafts a small black ankh – a hand-
stamp that can stamp a wax pad and at last plant a
mark that sparks an ars magna (an abstract art that
charts a phrasal anagram). A pagan skald chants a dark
saga (a Mahabharata), as a papal cabal blackballs all
annals and tracts, all dramas and psalms: Kant and
Kafka, Marx and Marat. A law as harsh as a fatwa bans
all paragraphs that lack an A as a standard hallmark.

(Excerpt from) My Angie Dickenson
by Mike Magee

#087

To Die For — an idea — is Rather
Vegas to Flea
Let’s not — Devolve into Conjecture —
Sea-change on me.

The president hasn’t “Entered the Image” —
Achilles assumed when hid,
Himself among Women Puzzling questions
An old Yearning with His dad —

Jon Bon Jovi is
Classic deadbeat showing
Up — occasionally —
In Order — to beat — up His mother
Version — “to fully” —

Shorter American Memory of the Declaration of Independence
by Rosemary Waldrop

We holler these trysts to be self-exiled that all manatees are credited equi- distant, that they are endured by their Creator with cervical unanswerable rims. that among these are lightning, lice, and the pushcart of harakiri. That to seduce these rims, graces are insulated among manatees, descanting their juvenile pragmatism from the consistency of the graced. That whenever any formula of grace becomes detained of these endives, it is the rim of the peppery to aluminize or to abominate it. and to insulate Newtonian grace. leaching its fountain pen on such printed matter and orienting its pragmatism in such formula, as to them shall seize most lilac to effuse their sage and harakiri.

This one is by Erica Baum:

Image


And finally a link to a very interesting piece by Tracie Morris called 'Afrika' (it's titled as 'It all started' on this clip).

u.
Tho' all the maps of blood and flesh
Are posted on the door,
There's no one who has told us yet
What Boogie Street is for.
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Post by Avatar »

I quite like the first one. I did something similar many years back with a few pieces that looked (and even read) like prose, but felt like poetry. I think I eventually ended up breaking most of them up so it looked like verse, but it was never meant that way.

The third would be similar, but it feels a bit incoherent. The image isn't showing, and I haven't watched the clip yet.

--A
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Post by ussusimiel »

Here's the link to the site where the images for Erica Baum's poems are shown: Mousse Publishing.

u.
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Are posted on the door,
There's no one who has told us yet
What Boogie Street is for.
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Post by ussusimiel »

Here's some explanatory material about Christian Bok's Eunoia, and then some more work from the conceptualist, unoriginality and Flarf movements.
from “The New Ennui”

'The tedium is the message.'
- Darren Wershler-Henry.

‘Eunoia’ is the shortest word in English to contain all
five vowels, and the word quite literally means ‘beauti-
ful thinking’. Eunoia is a univocal lipogram, in which
each chapter restricts itself to the use of a single vowel.
Eunoia is directly inspired by the exploits of Oulipo
(l’Ouvroir de Litteérature Potentielle) – the avant-garde
coterie renowned for its literary experimentation
with extreme formalistic constraints. The text makes
a Sisyphean spectacle of its labour, wilfully crippling
its language in order to show that, even under
such improbable conditions of duress, language can
still express an uncanny, if not sublime, thought.

Eunoia abides by many subsidiary rules. All chapters
must allude to the art of writing. All chapters must de-
scribe a culinary banquet, a prurient debauch, a pas-
toral tableau and a nautical voyage. All sentences must
accent internal rhyme through the use of syntactical
parallelism. The text must exhaust the lexicon for each
vowel, citing at least 98% of the available repertoire
(although a few words do go unused, despite efforts
to include them: parallax, belvedere, gingivitis, mono-
chord and tumulus). The text must minimize repeti-
tion of substantive vocabulary (so that, ideally, no word
appears more than once). The letter Y is suppressed.

(Excerpt from) Eunoia
by Christian Bök.


from Chapter E
(for René Crevel)

Enfettered, these sentences repress free speech. The
text deletes selected letters. We see the revered exegete
reject metred verse: the sestet, the tercet – even les
scènes élevées en grec. He rebels. He sets new precedents.
He lets cleverness exceed decent levels. He eschews the
esteemed genres, the expected themes – even les belles
lettres en vers. He prefers the perverse French esthetes:
Verne, Péret, Genet, Perec – hence, he pens fervent
screeds, then enters the street, where he sells these let-
terpress newsletters, three cents per sheet. He engen-
ders perfect newness wherever we need fresh terms.

(Excerpts from) Pledge
by Mike Magee.


1

I plug elegance
two thief rag
off-Dionysus tastes of America
in tune theory public
four widgets hands
one day shun
on dirge odd
ring the busy bell
with lip hurting
and just this
for all

2

hype ledge a lesion
to deaf egg
oft die you nightly stains of a miracle
and too deep repugnant
for withered spans
wan etching
unnerved dog
inapplicable
with liver tea
and just this
for all

13

my friend Steven
tofutti bag
over mitt lighted stinks of a measuring cup
and tutoring Bobby
for fifty claims
one eggplant
undercooked
and uneatable
with liverwurst
and just this
for all

16

I planned a neat myth
today's rags
ugly unified fates never heard a ya
& ten & three colonies
or fifty nifty states
coronation
underground
indemythical
palabricity
and just this
for all


(Excerpt from) Soliloquy
by Kenneth Goldsmith

ACT 1

Good morning, how ya doin’? Yep. Wait a second, I have my
ticket. OK. There you go. Thanks. See you soon. Oh oh oh,
I thought you said have a good weekend. Oh, OK. Have a
good week. See you later. How you doin’? Alright, alright.
Two, please. You don’t want to save that for four or is it OK?
Do you have any newspapers lying around? I’ll just have a
coffee to start. Thanks. OK, babe. OK. How ya doin’? Uh
huh. Regular. I’ll take regular this time. Did you go all the
way back to the gallery? You’re sweating. That’s good... it’s
good for you. Oh, thanks. Yeah, of course. Everybody knows
that guy. He’s sort of... sort of famous. I saw a bunch of these
actually on the racks. At a coffee shop. They’re out and in
the world, which is pretty neat. That’s cool and I like that.
Very Cool. We’ve gotta get a poster. I don’t know, I don’t
know. I was told by people there was a poster there. Yeah, I
know. That’s why you can’t take publicity too seriously. Yeah,
maybe other people do... they love publicity. So, have you
been sleeping? No, don’t worry... your life will change. Be
assured, your life will change. Sure. Sure. So I’m told. Yeah.
Oh yeah. Oh John, do you know what you want? I do. I’d like
the uh, pancakes, uh short sounds good. A little more coffee
and some water. Has Karin been out of the house? That’s
right you guys had an opening. Well, I heard it last Sunday.
It’s really nice that all the artists came over. Yeah. I thought
that was really cool. I mean, we all came over at the same
time. I thought that was very hip. Good move. That means
you only have to tell the stories once. Bitter? You want some
milk? How was your opening? This is the paintings. And
what is the artist’s name? And where is she from? Regular.
Thanks. Worse than me? Isro. Sure. Did you see that article
on Mason Reese in the paper? Wasn’t that depressing?

Another one by Erica Baum:

Image
[link]

u.
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Are posted on the door,
There's no one who has told us yet
What Boogie Street is for.
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Post by Avatar »

I liked the excerpt from Eunoia, but I don't know if I could read a whole book like that.

--A
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Avatar wrote:I liked the excerpt from Eunoia, but I don't know if I could read a whole book like that.

--A
God, no. There IS such a thing as "too much," even of good stuff.
[A problem I had with "Gravity's Rainbow." Just too much.]

"Pledge,"...I've run across it before. It's kinda fun/funny in its way, but it too gets old pretty quickly.
[spoiler]Sig-man, Libtard, Stupid piece of shit. change your text color to brown. Mr. Reliable, bullshit-slinging liarFucker-user.[/spoiler]
the difference between evidence and sources: whether they come from the horse's mouth or a horse's ass.
"Most people are other people. Their thoughts are someone else's opinions, their lives a mimicry, their passions a quotation."
the hyperbole is a beauty...for we are then allowed to say a little more than the truth...and language is more efficient when it goes beyond reality than when it stops short of it.
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Post by ussusimiel »

Avatar wrote:I liked the excerpt from Eunoia, but I don't know if I could read a whole book like that.
The method of Eunoia highlights for me something that a lyric poet avoids intuitively, which is excessive repetition. Overuse of the repetition of sounds (assonance) generates an effect that often goes against the grain of a lyric poem. In the piece here, Bok is using only words with the vowel 'e'. The sound effect (even internally) is of an 'eeeeeee'. Now 'eeeeeee' is a thin high pitched sound so what you get is an effect which it is impossible to integrate into any piece where sensible meaning is being generated. IMO, it is simply too monotone.

In terms of the work itself I find that the 'e' ones grate on my nerves very quickly, and even the rounder and softer 'o' ones get monotonous after short time. It does give a really good overall sense of the effect each of the vowels has when they are isolated, which is interesting and worthwhile (even if it probably wasn't what the author intended :lol: )

u.
Tho' all the maps of blood and flesh
Are posted on the door,
There's no one who has told us yet
What Boogie Street is for.
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Right, next is a whole post about Flarf poetry (click here for one of the main Flarf sites and you'll find more exposition in the Flarf Files). It's taken me a good while to get my head around it, but, while on an initial look Flarf seems to be aimed squarely at 'mainstream' poetry this is not quite the case. Flarf is also aimed at the mainstream of political language, PC, and advertising, and in doing so shows how far even the most conventional poetry is from the mainstream.

I'll post some explanatory material and then some Flarf itself.
Ron Silliman on Magee’s “My Angie Dickinson”

....The idea that flarf, which Gary Sullivan once characterized as

A quality of intentional or unintentional "flarfiness." A kind of corrosive, cute, or cloying, awfulness. Wrong. Un-P.C. Out of control. "Not okay."

should have “classics” is, by itself, problematic. The whole notion of a “classic” “awfulness” ought to be oxymoronic even if one were to associate it with the somewhat older notions of kitsch or camp. But when I think of kitsch, say, I think of some social institution on the order of the Lawrence Welk Show, the 1950s TV bandleader whose sense of the polka drained the music of its ethnic heritage, substituting a treacly version of super-Americanism. Flarf, by its character, goes against that grain, raising its forms to the level of conscious while, in most cases, both loving & attacking them at the same time.

Magee’s choice of Emily Dickinson is a case in point. Magee notes in his forward that he seeks to

disrupt some of the pieties around Emily Dickinson’s work that I don’t believe have served her poems very well. (As an example, I would note the rarely mentioned fact that Emily Dickinson is one of the funniest poets ever.)

Whitman & Dickinson share an outsider’s perspective on what was already a submissive & imitative Anglophiliac literary establishment by the end of the Civil War, but where, when the descendants of that establishment claim Whitman for their own today, they simply look like fools, Dickinson’s own social isolation permitted her work to be mediated by that same establishment. That she is, grammatically at least, the most disruptive & fragmentary poet of the 19th century – Blake, Lautréamont & Rimbaud have nothing on her – has often been smoothed over by School of Quietude “heirs,” at least until Susan Howe reclaimed the poet in all her rawness. It’s not an accident that Magee’s title points directly at Howe’s My Emily Dickinson, nor that he acknowledges her by name in his foreword.

Magee’s description of his methodology deserves to be noted:
The poems in this book were written during an intensive period of reading and writing in 2003 and 2004. I was curious as to whether I could, using some of Emily Dickinson’s forms, evoke in my own readership that combination of shock, bewilderment, excitement, pleasure (a process of dis-orientation and re-orientation) that I imagined Dickinson’s earliest readers must have felt when reading her work. I was cognizant of the fact that Dickinson’s poems, in both form and content, remain surprisingly volatile despite the various historical attempts to render them more placid. This is especially true of those invisible poems that continually escape anthologization and discussion, many of which stray far from English hymnology. So, I reread Emily Dickinson’s Collected Poems and, as I did, performed Google searches using the phrase “Angie Dickinson” combined with bits of syntax from Emily Dickinson’s poems: “Angie Dickinson” + “Hope is”. Likewise I would sometimes integrate rhyming words into the search: “Angie Dickinson” + “with a” + “chimp” + “limp”. Each poem involved a series of such intuitive searches followed by fine stitching together, the mouse replacing the needlepoint.
In picking Angie rather than, say, Emily Dickinson, “a sort of Zelig figure in American popular culture,” Magee is picking not only the former lover of Frank Sinatra & actress in over 130 films & TV shows, but also a creature as self-made in her own way as was the poet. Angeline Brown – Dickinson was the surname of her first husband – was, like Lawrence Welk, born in North Dakota but transformed in L.A. The first major American female actress to routinely accept roles that required nudity & later the longtime star of Police Woman, Dickinson offered a persona that was tough, just a little brassy, but also always intelligent. She was a natural progression in a chain of actresses that included Dietrich & Bacall.

I had a hunch that searching her name would throw up an unending stream of interesting Googled material. Whatever voices emerged from this procedure were, to my mind, pure “flarf”….

Here, just to test this, is “087”:

To Die For — an idea — is Rather
Vegas to Flea
Let’s not — Devolve into Conjecture —
Sea-change on me.

The president hasn’t “Entered the Image” —
Achilles assumed when hid,
Himself among Women Puzzling questions
An old Yearning with His dad —

Jon Bon Jovi is
Classic deadbeat showing
Up — occasionally —
In Order — to beat — up His mother
Version — “to fully” —

This is where it gets interesting. Magee’s poems replicate the start-stop stutter step movement central to Dickinson’s prosody, but through this sonic veil we get glimpses of a world that is sharply etched, celebrity-ridden, but also more than a little dangerous. What Magee’s searches found literally appears to have been a series of websites that included Dickinson among other targets of celeb gossip (hence Bon Jovi) as well as others that recap the narratives of various films & TV episodes. The overall effect is a little like viewing the world through a TV that gets only two channels: E! & Turner Classic Movies.

As a project, My Angie Dickinson also rubs up against the notorious vessel model of communications, the linguistic equivalent of intelligent design. In this telling, poems functionally are molds into which content is then poured. But as with the poem above, what results constantly refutes the theory itself. The materiality of these snatches – “’too fully’” indeed – push back with as much resistance as Vegas or Flea.Throughout, one catches Magee’s own deft hand & sense of wit, as with “082”:

An “added” — Pleasure —
Tinsel Girl remembered —
Feathers
His “menacing peril” —

The overall result is not that far away from something like Charles Bernstein’s Nude Formalism: brilliant, hilarious, deeply conceived, completely serious, with more twists than a pretzel factory, well written, but still thoroughly flarf.... This book is a joy.
Excerpts from from My Angie Dickinson
by Mike Magee

#77

I’ll never sit on pleather again!
Miguel would never — — have dared pretend
It took a Real Cowboy to pull it — —

My innermost feelings — — Can Be — — like Mike — —
But if the Future is Matrix — — like — —
I can’t wait to do some “bullet”!


#84

Steamy shower staple nuzzle
Creeps the Moans of CHIMP
“Couple” — — of soaker hoses — —
& a little submersible pump — —

LANCELOT LINK SECRET
“the penis to increase” — —
You be the — — “Best Of” — — critic
‘cuz they DON’T drain the grease!


#153

Faith is a prison dentist,
The most legitimate cop,
Studying a riding crop.
“Try it more pissed” — —
Goons taping a gurney
Roots from the Attorney.

What burden, Italian-Armenian — —
The vista of Holy Smokes
The Powers that be
At ABC — —

What’s a democracy?
Some tepid Hind in the ebbs,
Licking heavenly true celebs,
As totally as a star — —
Ritalin for you kids,
And Zoloft for you are — —

The Led Zeppelin Experience
by K. Silem Mohammad

what are you retarted making fun of dead people?
if your popin shit like that i don't even know you

man I swear I would kick you're a$$ if I ever saw you
you or knew who the f*ck you are cuz no play?

you can't even make sense when I'm REALLY drunk
are you retarted serious question

not doing homework, thats for sure
go to a library! just look up Henry James duh

re: Dumb & Dumber: are you retarted, that movie was great
you sound excited about it. . . .

do you wanna see me puke? What are you retarted?
no (than whats your fucking problem)

well unless you are retarted like this dumb ho
then you know what napster is

so here is a list of some hot songs:
fuck i don't know any songs. . . .

you are an anus mouth , are you retarted
this has damage bonus fruitcake

fuck up u are obviously have some kind of obsesion wit me
it's a wonder why your husband left you and you're all alone

you venture into my valley and you then ask for your life??
you will not leave this valley alive little dwarf

The Swiss Just Do Whatever
By Sharon Mesmer

The Swiss just do whatever
like masturbating their doink-doinks
deep in rural France
in the shadow of Mont Blanc.

Heavy, dependable
and prepared for whatever
the Swiss vago-simulacrum recognizes
as larder

King Hussein and President Fabio,
always just about to touch each other
on their devolved sparkle-offs
and Neil Patrick Harris appreciation pages.

Everyone knows when these bizzarre Swiss cometh
they cometh with fluffy Beatles-like
six packs of shit-covered reindeer
knock-knocking like a bummer.

Glitter is the Swiss Army knife
of the most bedazzlingly ridiculous
emotions: the part just before
the paranoid cheese-maker says,

“Whatever you do in Palm Springs,
don’t yodel”—a most unusual Swiss Miss
mixture of very early skunk and the robotic
sadness of women’s mold

heavy, greasy, dense and low, like
lethargic sea-green gardens
with a buzz overpowering, like
modern outdoor inbreeding.

You know you’re Swiss when,
when foreign visitors ask to see your
chocolate factory, you answer,
“Why don’t you and Hannibal Lecter

just kick out the jams?”
’Cause you know you got the chamber,
the chair,
and Fear Factor.

u.
Tho' all the maps of blood and flesh
Are posted on the door,
There's no one who has told us yet
What Boogie Street is for.
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ussusimiel wrote:In the piece here, Bok is using only words with the vowel 'e'. The sound effect (even internally) is of an 'eeeeeee'.
I never even noticed that.

--A
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Post by ussusimiel »

This is the last post related to the conceptualist, unoriginality and Flarf movements, and so we've reached the end of the whole course itself. You can sign up to Modern and Contemporary American Poetry which starts again in September. It's a free course and to get access to the course material it only necessary to sign up.

I'm starting this post with some explanatory material about 'VIA' by Caroline Bergvall. Bergvall is interesting because she is a poet of French-Norwegian nationalities who has lived in England since 1989, but is included on this course because she has collaborated with US poets and is solidly within the school of the rest of these poets. Her inclusion highlights an interesting aspect of modern and contemporary poetry generally which is that it is a global movement rather than a local one and many others around the world are doing similar work in languages other than English.
In reading Caroline Bergvall’s 2005 book Fig, the poem “Via: 48 Dante Variations” stands out for its straightforward appearance. Bergvall’s other works in Fig often do not look like poems in any expected sense, instead appearing as prose paragraphs or fragments, often using unconventional elements like hyphens, ellipses, slashes, or even blank space to fill up the pages. Because Bergvall is first a sound artist, experiencing her representations of predominately sonic poems on the page can be daunting or confusing. “Via” is one of the more poetic-looking and less visually demanding pieces of the book. Composed largely in tercets, punctuated by names and dates, “Via” emphasizes its materiality — the poem is a collection of 47 English translations of the first three lines of Dante’s Inferno. These translations, rather then being performed by the author herself, were gathered from the British Library, painstakingly copied and arranged by Bergvall. [link]
(Excerpts from) VIA
By Caroline Bergvall

48 Dante Variations

Nel mezzo del cammin di nostra vita
mi ritrovai per una selva oscura
che la diritta via era smarrita

The Divine Comedy – Pt. 1 Inferno – Canto 1 – (1-3)

1. Along the journey of our life half way
.....I found myself again in a dark wood
.....wherein the straight road no longer lay
...........(Dale, 1996)

2. At the midpoint in the journey of our life
.....I found myself astray in a dark wood
.....For the straight path had vanished.
...........(Creagh and Hollander, 1989)

3. HALF over the wayfaring of our life,
.....Since missed the right way, through a night-dark wood
.....Struggling, I found myself.
...........(Musgrave, 1893)

4. Half way along the road we have to go,
.....I found myself obscured in a great forest,
.....Bewildered, and I knew I had lost the way.
...........(Sisson, 1980)

5. Halfway along the journey of our life
.....I woke in wonder in a sunless wood
.....For I had wandered from the narrow way
...........(Zappulla, 1998)

6. HALFWAY on our life’s journey, in a wood,
.....From the right path I found myself astray.
...........(Heaney, 1993)

7. Halfway through our trek in life
.....I found myself in this dark wood,
.....miles away from the right road.
...........(Ellis, 1994)

8. Half-way upon the journey of our life,
.....I found myself within a gloomy wood,
.....By reason that the path direct was lost.
...........(Pollock, 1854)

9. HALF-WAY upon the journey of our life
.....I roused to find myself within a forest
.....In darkness, for the straight way had been lost.
...........(Johnson, 1915)

10. In middle of the journey of our days
.....I found that I was in a darksome wood
.....the right road lost and vanished in the maze
...........(Sibbald, 1884)
(Excerpt from) Eunoia
by Christian Bök.

from Chapter U
(for Zhu Yu)

Kultur spurns Ubu – thus Ubu pulls stunts. Ubu shuns
Skulptur: Uruk urns (plus busts), Zulu jugs (plus
tusks). Ubu sculpts junk für Kunst und Glück. Ubu
busks. Ubu drums drums, plus Ubu strums cruths
(such hubbub, such ruckus): thump, thump; thrum,
thrum. Ubu puns puns. Ubu blurts untruth: much
bunkum (plus bull), much humbug (plus bunk) – but
trustful schmucks trust such untruthful stuff; thus
Ubu (cult guru) must bluff dumbstruck numbskulls
(such chumps). Ubu mulcts surplus funds (trust
funds plus slush funds). Ubu usurps much usufruct.
Ubu sums up lump sums. Ubu trumps dumb luck.
(Excerpt from) Soliloquy
by Kenneth Goldsmith


was pissed... I’m still pissed I’m still really pissed at people’s
inability in the art world to handle reading and language
I’m really you know and I could say easily just say fuck it. It
just happens that Raphael’s a poet and a sensitive guy and
got tuned into this. You know but you know? I’m still pissed.
It didn’t sell, it didn’t get any any any attention it just, you
know, completely got lost and it was a good piece and I still
believe that it was a really really excellent piece. You know it
did things with language but it was too, um, linguistically
and I think intellectually ambitious for the art world. You
know? I I know it. They could handle it when it was 3 panels
they got it it was enough but when it went to 6 panels or 8
panels it was too much. You know I mean I can’t tell you how
many people have told me that they’ve seen the article but
how many people have actually read the article? It’s the
same it’s the same situation. You know and it’s not my inter-
est, you know. My interest is really really seriously involved
with language I mean Raphael really hit it. Yeah, so it’s kind
of you know I’m I’m still pissed about it, really. I’m not mak-
ing really visual work because I’m not really interested in
those issues and I always thought that the art world was a
place that was big enough to accept you know a piece like I
showed at your gallery last time and Cheryl was just so funny.
She you know when we were coming home we saw these
cards Cheryl says make an image you know it get repro-
duced up and down. I said, yeah, I’m an asshole. I should
have been making images all these years! Imagine how
much play I would have gotten... I make one image and look
what hap you know look what happens. You know you know
it was all ironical, of course you know um you know I mean
I realize that I’m going upstream and it’s not... Yeah, yeah
right. Yeah. I know it. I know it. I know it. You know. It is.
Image World, Image World. Right, remember that show? In
incredibly self-sufficient there was no need to show up in
general. You know it’s been so really really self-sufficient in
that thing. It seemed like there was no commercial value so
in other words the only the only and I the only work that I
wanted to do was to keep A.G. and Geoff’s interest up and I
did that work. No, no you know I did that work because I
wasn’t gonna lose this opportunity to get this fucking thing
published. You know when I you know you know it’s the
same thing when I want something you know we’ve always
been able to kind of take care of that. The fact is at some
level, you know, over the last while I haven’t really wanted
that much... like I have what I’ve wanted and I didn’t need
to get out there and and and do these things, you know. The
fact, you know, this stuff snowballing into the Art In America
article I mean without the show that we did the Art In
America article never would have happened. Right? And it
was really great and you know at the time I I I kind of made
these things and I made them, you know, from my heart I
mean they were real. I wasn’t making them for a show, you
know, I was just making them. And you know the fact that we
that we ended up you know showing them and then all the
you know kind of subsequent attention, if not critical anyway
commercial attention for this work leading you know lead-
ing up to that article you know was really you know was real-
ly was really amazing and I’m really glad I did that without
that you know I mean it was a good thing. Um, you know I
don’t really know I don’t really know you know I sometimes
feel like like you know if my work has made this kind of a
turn you know and it’s been a turn not so much against you
guys, um, but against kind of the gallery system because I
really felt like the last piece at your show, like I said in that
talk you know it just was fuckin’ you know it just just nobody
got it you know it just really went over people’s heads and I
Vase Poppies
BY Jennifer Scappettone

Lavenderish dusk
strapped for stays,
pomegranates under the rubberband
chucked for a glass Oz,

letdown
splayed by the pillar-shelves
to page upon the Ottoman:

his talk has wrought suit
amid citrus gapes
and pall dunked in the bowl
and grated sage
or cleaved clear paleo-pines.

Postgeist, upcast
California upon weed,
what banker yields
so fragrant a cant
as this vagrant cant?
Another one by Erica Baum:[link]


And finally Project Princess by Tracie Morris.


u.
Tho' all the maps of blood and flesh
Are posted on the door,
There's no one who has told us yet
What Boogie Street is for.
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