Sunday, December 9, 2007
A Civil(e) War
On the home front still
So many haven’t changed their hearts
Not really
So many still believing
Thejigsthespiksthejapsthegooksthequeers
Have a home not here
Along the highways still
The Prius versus the V10s
The Mach V versus the Mammoth Car
A 21st-century energy crisis ignored
A road sign of excess
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
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!
Inside our heads still
A Freudian Armageddon
Where no one wins
Without losing
Our fucking minds
Trying to make sense
Of ourthoughtsourpainglacialthawuniversalrefrain
“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
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
Notley's Play Book
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 Perhaps her method (her play book) is outdated, although as I mentioned, I believe the method can be effective to some extent.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
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
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.
Monday, October 22, 2007
Ready, Set, Die
Set brawn before brain
A set of pawns sent off to die
Cross-bearing, camouflaged caravans set up camp
Almighty, Allah set to engage
Set the world on fire
Sunday, October 7, 2007
Poetry in MusicisuM ni yrteoP
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
Monday, September 24, 2007
Naturally
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