Oh thats a question. Bob Dylan, Dylan Thomas, Delmore Schwartz all merged for me with Sylvia Plath, and William Burroughs. I stole ideas about switches off of Nick Cave. And try balance them off of Emily Dickinson’s, and the incursion of nonsense verse. I get invaded by nonsense verse and so I am perforced to deal with its schisms and tricks, its there where I let Joyce in to poe lease maneuvers. Verse structures, learned how to keep and loosen up w.r.t traditional “airs’ that curiously lace through it, from Shane MacGowan. Beckett and Shakespeare taught me how to twirl around a verb. I dont separate lyric from narrative, but conjoin them, I think.
I have to work very hard to get myself to lighten up the language. Its almost impossible. So I slip into nonsense searching for a way around, try to find/do these things called switches instead. Where the negative is doubled out... Bukowski does that. To create energy. Emily does it to, but she's not post modern, and doesnt live "at the end of the world." Whatever that means. Religion occurs inside the language, inside the development of English anguage, after Milton, translation of bible... Its a huge beauty part of its coming into being. And also a shimmering absence...
hiding behind dictionary. I dont feel like I am hiding behind it. As much as I neglect to include surface references. Language is escaping from it, no longer belongs to it, has freed itself to flows of endless reflection, examining what itself is, admittedly drawn off semi traditional symbolic roils, that got caught up in reflecting with aspects of what used to be called th divine, but as a loss of presence in present tense, as negative space, I am reading a book that says Yeats calls such excursions -- Presences. And I do too, in a way. I consider them legitimate objects of the mind. I dont entirely sidestep structure, I think, as much as meddle with it, foray for wiggle room, chase rhetoric around and around..
One thing I enjoy about reading your stuff is how I have to look for structure between and across the words across the whole poem. I feel like I can go in different directions as I choose, not hiding behind or running into King Structure. Academic language is so dull in that regard--it’s the very opposite experience. Really, it demands so little of us beyond organization and coherence. I get how important that can be. You permit me to play around inside and find my own way. In most compositions, even much poetry, structure is the boss.... I didn’t think you’d like Bukowski. I met him at a poet’s party after he read his poetry in Stevenson Hall on campus in 1976. What a trip. He was on a whirlwind tour across college campuses and having a great time antagonizing the cornhuskers and their professors. There was supposed to be zero alcohol in the auditorium so he used a thermos. Have you read any of his novels?
I have read most of his books for sure. Novels and poetry. Not all but most. I loved his Roominghouse Madrigals first read it. He isnt afraid of getting into it, with anybody. I have read his letters too mostly to editors at publications. They are wilder even than is writing, which he -- well, in a way subdues, from going Lowry. Highly recommend. I got out of the library. Let me track down the title. His letters shoot after "ostensible breezes" as he piles through ideas about other authors and poetic charges and relatively what I call "high dungeon." And filled with robust beautiful arrogant "spreads," they pilfer and spread, fuse and bluster, treat language as a spring, with wondrous determination and a kind of mocking self preservation.
He is not afraid to tussle for sure. You’ve read more of Bukowski than I have. Ham on Rye and Post Office are riveting, partly because Henry Chinaski is so full of life. Women is really interesting in part because I know a little about what happened beyond the fourth wall--not a lot, but enough to find some respite from the dirty parts. He got into it with so many because he understood what dehumanizing a poet does to the spirit--I like his cats in his novels and his poems. He could see things us mortals can’t. This helps me better understand your poetry.
Prisoners of language, hiding behind the dictionary, sidestepping the jaws of structure, strip searched by the apostrophe--god is a reflexive prounoun...
You’ve commented before about religion as a circle circumferencing made of spaces between words where readers are pushed and pulled, washed in it--at least that’s what I’m thinking right now. Fire purifies as it terrorizes, decimates detritus to prepare for rebirth. The search for beauty in community, the temptation of rhyme. I think I’m coming closer to understanding.
I do both, give god piece of mind, but also not hiding behind dictionary, so much as running into it. language bubbles and burns... there are some references in wittgenstein and beckett about -- are we prisoners of language, as well as the makers of it.
Oh thats a question. Bob Dylan, Dylan Thomas, Delmore Schwartz all merged for me with Sylvia Plath, and William Burroughs. I stole ideas about switches off of Nick Cave. And try balance them off of Emily Dickinson’s, and the incursion of nonsense verse. I get invaded by nonsense verse and so I am perforced to deal with its schisms and tricks, its there where I let Joyce in to poe lease maneuvers. Verse structures, learned how to keep and loosen up w.r.t traditional “airs’ that curiously lace through it, from Shane MacGowan. Beckett and Shakespeare taught me how to twirl around a verb. I dont separate lyric from narrative, but conjoin them, I think.
I have to work very hard to get myself to lighten up the language. Its almost impossible. So I slip into nonsense searching for a way around, try to find/do these things called switches instead. Where the negative is doubled out... Bukowski does that. To create energy. Emily does it to, but she's not post modern, and doesnt live "at the end of the world." Whatever that means. Religion occurs inside the language, inside the development of English anguage, after Milton, translation of bible... Its a huge beauty part of its coming into being. And also a shimmering absence...
hiding behind dictionary. I dont feel like I am hiding behind it. As much as I neglect to include surface references. Language is escaping from it, no longer belongs to it, has freed itself to flows of endless reflection, examining what itself is, admittedly drawn off semi traditional symbolic roils, that got caught up in reflecting with aspects of what used to be called th divine, but as a loss of presence in present tense, as negative space, I am reading a book that says Yeats calls such excursions -- Presences. And I do too, in a way. I consider them legitimate objects of the mind. I dont entirely sidestep structure, I think, as much as meddle with it, foray for wiggle room, chase rhetoric around and around..
One thing I enjoy about reading your stuff is how I have to look for structure between and across the words across the whole poem. I feel like I can go in different directions as I choose, not hiding behind or running into King Structure. Academic language is so dull in that regard--it’s the very opposite experience. Really, it demands so little of us beyond organization and coherence. I get how important that can be. You permit me to play around inside and find my own way. In most compositions, even much poetry, structure is the boss.... I didn’t think you’d like Bukowski. I met him at a poet’s party after he read his poetry in Stevenson Hall on campus in 1976. What a trip. He was on a whirlwind tour across college campuses and having a great time antagonizing the cornhuskers and their professors. There was supposed to be zero alcohol in the auditorium so he used a thermos. Have you read any of his novels?
I have read most of his books for sure. Novels and poetry. Not all but most. I loved his Roominghouse Madrigals first read it. He isnt afraid of getting into it, with anybody. I have read his letters too mostly to editors at publications. They are wilder even than is writing, which he -- well, in a way subdues, from going Lowry. Highly recommend. I got out of the library. Let me track down the title. His letters shoot after "ostensible breezes" as he piles through ideas about other authors and poetic charges and relatively what I call "high dungeon." And filled with robust beautiful arrogant "spreads," they pilfer and spread, fuse and bluster, treat language as a spring, with wondrous determination and a kind of mocking self preservation.
He is not afraid to tussle for sure. You’ve read more of Bukowski than I have. Ham on Rye and Post Office are riveting, partly because Henry Chinaski is so full of life. Women is really interesting in part because I know a little about what happened beyond the fourth wall--not a lot, but enough to find some respite from the dirty parts. He got into it with so many because he understood what dehumanizing a poet does to the spirit--I like his cats in his novels and his poems. He could see things us mortals can’t. This helps me better understand your poetry.
Who are your lyricists?
Prisoners of language, hiding behind the dictionary, sidestepping the jaws of structure, strip searched by the apostrophe--god is a reflexive prounoun...
You’ve commented before about religion as a circle circumferencing made of spaces between words where readers are pushed and pulled, washed in it--at least that’s what I’m thinking right now. Fire purifies as it terrorizes, decimates detritus to prepare for rebirth. The search for beauty in community, the temptation of rhyme. I think I’m coming closer to understanding.
I do both, give god piece of mind, but also not hiding behind dictionary, so much as running into it. language bubbles and burns... there are some references in wittgenstein and beckett about -- are we prisoners of language, as well as the makers of it.
Haha:) that’s funny!!
"What purifies also terrorizes" - that gets to the heart of the matter.
My moral duty, I surmise: to be terrorised as a hatter.
What does the poetry of the terrorised soul look like?
Well, if "rhyme is a crime of passion" (NB. Like, yes already! Alright!)
then it must be the terrorised soul mercenary, giving God a piece of her mind, and then hiding behind the dictionary.