A Civil(e) War (Live)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qvu7Os26YZU

A Civil(e) War

A civil(e) war rages on
On the home front still
So many haven’t changed their hearts
Not really
So many still believing
Thejigsthespiksthejapsthegooksthequeers
Have a home not here

A civil(e) war rages on
Along the highways still
The Prius versus the V10s
The Mach V versus the Mammoth Car
A 21^st-century energy crisis ignored
A road sign of excess

A civil(e) war rages on
In the department stores still
A “me first” mentality
Wasn’t this on sale?
Keep up with the Joneses
á la Cantor’s Power Set Theorem
Roll back to a time
When a ball, a book, a bike (or food) was enough

A civil(e) war rages on
In our homes still
Homework and home work
Versus intimacy and next of kin and cries
For encouragementnourishmentencirclement
Gimme a second!
Take a time out!
I need MySpace!
Sthtop mething around!

A civil(e) war rages on
Inside our heads still
A Freudian Armageddon
Where no one wins
Without losing
Our fucking minds
Trying to make sense
Of ourthoughtsourpainglacialthawuniversalrefrain

“Through mansions of glory in suicide machines”
“Time is flowing like a river”
“Could be the human race is run”
“It’s a death trap, it’s a suicide rap”
“And in the end . . .”
“Nothing matters and what if it did”
Because we’re not supposed to sweat the small stuff
Because it’s all small stuff
But it’s the little things that count

Notley's Play Book

The Notley discussion on the evening of the 13th was enjoyable and enlightening. Thanks for letting me be a part.

Again, I do not think I gave much thought to Notley's methods for conveying her feelings about the state of the union, the world, and the universe. Perhaps her method (her play book) is outdated, although as I mentioned, I believe the method can be effective to some extent. With this in mind, I wonder what would be a better way to communicate such ideals? Would a "Notley Blog" serve her as well as, if not better than, poetry published conventionally?

Another question that comes to mind: is Notley writing this poetry for the benefit of the reader or her own benefit? I can appreciate having a sense of frustration that only finds expression in a given form of art, whether that be poetry, music, painting, or sculpture. In such instances, I think this is for the benefit of the artist. Conceivably, Notley might write for her own benefit. Perhaps her current writings help her make sense of the chaos she perceives around her. If a reader or readers connect with her poetry, all the better. I think this is so for many artists. They write, sing, paint, or sculpt for their benefit.

Maybe Notley is attempting to do both.

-Dave

Master or Slave?

“I serve the poem”

she says.

Is she the poet

or the vessel

through which poetry speaks?

She finds poetry in life death

peace war

comics games

sex stars

snakes owls fireflies

. . . or does poetry find her?

Is poetry our existence,

or is poetry just because?

Notley may serve poetry,

but poetry serves her well.

Ready, Set, Die

Hell-bent, dead-set against peace

Set brawn before brain

Soldiers set upon Jihad, Al-Qaeda

Like dogs set off to hunt

A set of pawns sent off to die

Cross-bearing, camouflaged caravans set up camp

Almighty, Allah set to engage

Gods set in their ways

Set the world on fire

Stakes set ever higher

Nuclear arrows set opposing

Game, set (a), match

Poetry in MusicisuM ni yrteoP

Lee Ann Brown sang at a recent poetry reading on campus. Some of her poems are ballads, which lend themselves to singing rather than reading. She opened and closed her reading with her vocal interpretation of some of her poems, with one song during as well. After reflecting on the reading some time later, I found that I did not enjoy the poet's interpretation of the ballads as song, as much as I did the reading. I respect and admire Brown and am inspired by her work, but given the choice, I realize that I tend to enjoy readings more when the poet is reading. This is not a critique of her singing, yet the emotion I initially felt from reading her poetry was lost with the audio presentation.

Those people that know me well know that I love all types of music. I find that value may be found within all forms of musical expression. In much of the music I enjoy, I hear poetry. I find the lyrics of Jim Morrison, Justin Furstenfeld, Roger Waters, and Bruce Springsteen to be very poetic. Their words influence me as much as the poetry of Alice Notley, Samuel Beckett, or Walt Whitman.

When I hear the songs of the musicians I have mentioned, I hear poetry. When I heard the songs of Lee Ann Brown, the poetry was lost. I honestly wonder why. Why is it easier for me to find poetry in song than song in poetry? Was emotion lost from the poetry of Brown when she sang it? Is the poetry of Morrison or Waters void of emotion until they sing it?

I truly believe that poetry and music are closely related, but I cannot provide an answer as to how or why they are so. After Brown's recent reading, I am motivated to prompt other's for their opinion, as I find this worthy of ongoing reflection and discussion.

Thoughts?

-Dave

Naturally

Weary body finds a bench
While my mind finds little rest
Listening watching probing

Wondering pondering why
Souls spinning ‘round like bees
Rarely settling always searching

Mind whirling questioning why
Like dogs the greater one
Tries fucking the smaller from behind

Sitting trying to listen about
Tired of watching
But can’t help noticing

Subterranean urban sprawl underfoot
Worker ants scrambling for scraps
Trembling at passing feet

Pebbles clatter wheels kathump
As sneakers scuff and skateboards glide
On bricks and stones and stuff

Hearing the leaf kiss the bricks
The wind whispering autumn
Head panning eyes gaze witnessing the trees

Can’t help noticing
Defective trees silly Ts
A girl with an umbrella in the sun

Statue in the park yard
Strangely looks like shrapnel
Equine statue nearby staring

Of all the sounds
I hear no birds no song
Am I listening?

Of all the sights
I see no eyes no faces
Am I looking?

Wondering pondering questioning why
Consistent inconsistencies
What is reality what is a lie

Weary mind finds little rest
My soul finds little peace
Naturally

Am I a Poet?

Am I?

During my first week in an American literature class, the professor asked the group of students if there were any poets in the class? I paused. I did not respond. I did not have an answer . . . My silence spoke for me, as far as the instructor was concerned, assuming that the answer was "no."

I am accustomed to people asking me if I write poetry, if I read poetry, or if I study poetry. I do not recall ever being asked if I am a poet. The instructor proceeded to read a poem that was assigned for the day, as the impetus for his question was to tap a student to read instead (should that student be a poet). Shortly after he began reading, I felt somewhat ashamed.

I was not attempting to avoid volunteering (as I love to read), and I was not attempting to avoid participating. As the instructor reached the half-way mark of the poem, I continued my internal debate, trying to answer the question: am I a poet? My shame was not necessarily indicative of having not answered the question truthfully or straightforwardly. My shame was attributed to my self-doubt.

Had the instructor asked me if I wrote poetry, read poetry, or studied poetry, my hand would have instinctively been raised. Yet if I do study, read, and write poetry, the answer to the question should be obvious, and by day's end my mind was clear. The answer will come much easier in the future (and with pride), should someone ask me if I am a poet.

I am.

-Dave

Remember

Sky of blackness and sorrow ( a dream of life)

Sky of love, sky of tears (a dream of life)

Sky of glory and sadness ( a dream of life)

Sky of mercy, sky of fear ( a dream of life)

Sky of memory and shadow ( a dream of life)

-Bruce Springsteen (2002)

Define Poetics

I don't know if I can . . . even now . . . when I have been immersed in this thing called poetry for over a year, I wonder if I know what my poetics are or poetics in general. The definition of poetics seems so elusive and yet something that should be so easy to grasp. Given my previous poetic missives, my personal poetics seemed obvious. Is that all there is to my poetry though?

Do I define my poetry, or does my poetry define me? When my current motives have run their course, when my demons have been sufficiently exercised, what becomes of my poetry . . . my poetics? I would like to think that poetry holds a deeper meaning for me.

I look forward to continuing my education and my poetry writing. Perhaps I will find the answers to my questions during this time before more questions pile up. Who knows? Maybe the answers will find me when I'm not looking.

Thanks for opening a door, Jodi . . .

Cheers all . . .

-Dave