Monday, December 22, 2014


Corgi spinning inside washing machine, a foxy
Spaniel hung from gallows w/ tea lights
Irish Setter hitting on her erogenous zones
Collie pushed into express mailbox

Pit Bull sits tangled in tree w/ leash & hushed kites
Afgahn afloat clutching pierced inner tube
Great Dane dithering around vinyl dollhouse
Boxer cleaning teeth changes mood, wooly

Pointer sniffing explosives in farmers’ market
Shih Tzu knocked out on putting green
Schnauzer w/ bobbing head in fish tank

Weinmaraner sprawled on ice slab, bored
Greyhound hurling on seesaw, feeling ok

Poodle wearing tight jeans in oyster bar.

Thursday, December 18, 2014


A stupid friend writes, assurance from dharma augments & extends our altercations to qualify absence :

if

working against deadline we accelerate these limits, ok

your mind has a point, & I see it

& were we mannerists, we’d describe every line I skip as just before the death of death, approaching Absence from This.

This so far reserves commentary. Info-taining visuals advance by themselves, lovely distractions, filming the steepest mountains slimed or recalling breathless riveting motions in our self interrogation commuting to work where we can share high fives & broker a plan! But then: The cross-hatching that allowed ancestors to exchange some traits for any others... has just about run out of steam, & has left us wondering, once more what there is about this plush solitude that makes us think we will ever get out, or even want to.

That turns a wall of calm over to science for good, greed, forgiveness & clumps of renaissance & their round robin prototypes that sell it to the visual cortex, motivated by small sums of justice; the sums of justice are small, crammed with moral emotions & pillow talk, luxuries that bind, ushering in more non urgencies of grueling yet quickened ambiance over entropy.

Wednesday, December 17, 2014


It was a sober intro

A branch could be a sentence generally. There’s urgency in ideas et cetera.

I live in a debt growing compound and how


Her face = sandstorm.

Big hick crazy quilts the sun building



Marshaled over branch property wings!

bubbles spot blue


A level over! Is the ‘new black’ of terraforming

not enough? — suggesting you send some?



I put my finger on: Not really, she said out

ahead of how I was supposed to know.



I’m addicted to ideas.

This was the first time.



Coda

Tuesday, December 16, 2014


The afterword to David Buuck’s Paranoia Agent describes these dozen pieces as transcriptions of English language dubs for a Japanese anime series, and in particular, transcriptions of coming attractions to animation we never see. Or these are afterwords to precedents that are also invisible. Buuck’s pieces are summary narratives superimposed on glimpses of things and events that are set or good to go but never happen, ethereal flashes of unkept promises as in this diagnostic embellishment:
The interpretation of the unfolding dream [...] precedes the dream itself, which is how the paranoiac method tends to thus inscribe the conditions for experiencing our coming attractions.
If paranoiac doesn’t do it, when you reach thus inscribe you know Buuck is holding up a three sided mirror, better to show off the utterly playful relevance of his project to the layering in poem production, reception, and (...aha) reaction. Each piece titled “Prophetic Vision,” again a seeming literal transcription from English dubbing. Each starts “To begin —” and each but the last concludes “And then —” It’s a neat, rule governed framing for the chaotic, “defeated wild boars,” a unicorn guided by doves, a “hoodwinked” beast that beckons a Holy Warrior accompanied by a zebra, and, most pleasant, impossible phrasing: “It’s a ocean of clusteramaridisis / Welcome, Master Detective / Here’s warm hospitality / And then —” Impossible origins, too: Buuck’s character Amarid, discoverer of magic crystals, is from a fantasy of American novelist David Coe's. I take Paranoia Agent as a figurative reflection made of available analogues, impressions, and creative immanence, a media quest and landscape that by my logic can also be classified as nature poetry. To find your own, turn to promised vision / video, as Buuck has, to wallow in nature’s conspicuous outreach, rabbits, horseflies, “dished meatballs,” the “sun’s cherry blossom,” and the occasional sage “somewhere between intuition and science.” Like any excellent quest Paranoia Agent establishes enormous opportunity for dark to neutral interpretations, movements inside the framework and forward and back in time to replicate anomalous dynamism and “the karma of the people...first cries of the newly born shoes of / gold...an illusion.”

Monday, December 15, 2014


A few years ago poet and critic Peter Schjeldahl extolled Yale Art School dean Tony Smith’s directorship of the Venice Biennale, finding Smith the “most anti-academic of academics.” The pedagogic basis of such a claim, according to Schjeldahl, is that in his teaching Smith opposes “rationalist theoretical tendencies in criticism,” preferring to dwell on “the artist’s initiative and the viewer’s intuition.” Some see this as old beret by design. One friend complains that intuition and initiative are unmeasurable abstractions. Another sees the atheoretical posture a classic New York School standoff, a kind of defensive elitism to circumvent the vulgarity of a priori affects and process analysis. First, while I’ll turn to theory to perfect a technical argument, I confess strong advocacy for analyzing a composer’s “initiative” when by the term we mean to understand her idiosyncratic absorption of influences, including theoretical constructs, of course, along with distinctive features of her practice. Second, I especially appreciate Schjeldahl’s pointing out intuition as the key exchange element between artist and viewer, poet and listener / reader. Elusive as it is, intuition becomes the sine qua non for influential reading and reader response. In this regard, contrasts of plans and chance become quanta of exchange between writer and reader. According to classic reader response theory, expectations funded by a reader’s experiences contribute to an initial schema for intake. The plan is set in place. The composition, if poetry, changes everything if the reader is ready for chance. The text operates as a dimension for irreversible transport, influencing the future, giving chance agency position for change.

Friday, December 12, 2014


I have lost my nonfaith.

*

Now where are they?

Officials had had enough of fish. (It might be better being one big tetra instead of one little one.) Next day Ed took a job in the cafeteria. Growing up fish evolve. It’s a measure of the increasing clout of fish that this soundtrack strikes you like a fin. This is a soundtrack! aspects of which covered debts dropping glassy eyeballs in fake vomit.

The sky above the moon’s new phase is the longer shorter hue of an echelon’s ideology. Hmmm. Dividing vendettas wherever. Your feet never come back.

_______________________________




Thursday, December 11, 2014


A mood, and it follows, my mood will be influenced by scatterings of texts, most unreadable. More numerous and more frequent are atextual sources read only as prompts to become new text, new ontological components for thinking, composing, as well as subprocesses that are harder to isolate and observe as they flood into memory. Add ambient sounds and humidity as you walk along the surface, any pain, faculties for balance, direction, visual points, tastes and smells, motions and textures you touch or see or hear, sensual data some call them. Feelings are naturally unreadable sources. Both kinds. Feelings that are rooted from cardinal positions for about a century within the sonics of Yeats and cohorts, moods that stretch outward into the deepest suppositions of daydream, prize stars, parrots. Or wiry empirical feelings that comprise enmeshments within a readymade mood structure parallel for a while, now, to Pound’s poetics, male confusion multiplied by female homesickness, the Chilean flamingo, appliance hint: a lifeboat with a hot plate.

Wednesday, December 10, 2014


Life with Mr Grape is bad — and familiar — cheap shit in a paper sack.
Hostess Wheel Clacker, Bike Spinner & fake License Plate.

Admit you miss smoking. 
You miss the first drag.

He imagines you wearing his credentials.
Homonyms cleave. Language is tired.

Have you read, teens get ten percent of their daily 
calories from soda & smoking. That’s how 

They become bilingual.
Yuy.
The smoke takes you & him in its stride.

Your hair’s on the brink.
Your eyes fill with manpower.

Stop waving that grape drink.

Tuesday, December 09, 2014


Despairing of dead ended self regard, “the self-valuable word” embedded in instrumental discourse, Bob Perlman maps, among other things, Quintilian’s rhetoric, noting key components, meaning, clarity and tasteful adornment or decoration (“Words Detached from the Old Song and Dance”).


Meaning and clarity are no problem for Rob Fitterman: “weeds we may not always / have emptied this meaning for / a top-growth peel-back of another.”


When it comes to weeding and adornment in poetry, which involve making sense of / sense in any alteration of literal expression (via figures and other prosodic devices), Fitterman is a master horticulturalist. With 1-800-Flowers, Fitterman smartly “updates” sources for Louis Zukofsky’s last completed poem, 80 Flowers, a construct that “takes to new extremes of density Zukofsky’s methods of composition by quotation, transliteration, and compression” (Mark Scroggins, Louis Zukofsky and the Poetry of Knowledge). Fitterman’s update is one that details as it examines extremes by establishing compositional process and, more specific, an inventory of strategies as its topics and metamorphosis; it seems less concentrated on first order phenomena than on the original text, absorbing it and commenting on more variations in sampled material, as well as imposing a sociohistorical import to “the montage of borrowed texts.” Fitterman is inferring a “complex” and “compassionate emotion” on the part of Zukofsky. Fitterman’s evidence turns at once general — citing Zukofsky’s “love of language his / consciousness of word combinations” — and then the evidence turns into a wildly particular conflation of fate, the personal and botanical, offering that Zukofsky compiles text and thus, like Walter Benjamin, “whims earth copulating with / itself ... bunkered ... [a] cloistered...monastery like refuge / every lawn gets winter kill / I’m an ex-chemical-fertilizer junkie go / Ask Fran... // Sometimes I feel like my / lawn is calling the shots.” 



Fitterman replenishes the grounds with inventory of similarly conflated devices, writing in two sections “About” and “Through” Zukofsky’s work. Fitterman frames Zukofsky’s as “constrictive verse” that indeed gets “driven” by inventory, while Fitterman’s own lyric comprises mixed inventories within a discourse hybrid, an essay in verse, substantiation of his exemplary reading, that is, his generatively engaging Zukofsky, as Ron Sillman observes (ronsillman.blogspot.com [7/11/05]). More splendid, Fitterman fulfills the half audible invitation within Zukofsky’s poetry and poetics, joining Zukofsky & Son Inc whose décor ethos is “precise information... thinking with the things as they exist” inside a recontextualized (if not continuous) present in which Fitterman fixes “new meanings of word against word” (Prepositions).



Fitterman’s update follows the formal constraints of 80 Flowers. Each page of 1-800-Flowers presents a single 8-line verse, each line limited to, yet overflowing with, 5 words, new meanings for Fitterman’s wider range of quotidian intersections, frequently represented with visual acuity: “Toll Free” shows “mechanicalism in / the high fog ... now you can turn off / the sprinkler free lions in / the mist.” Also in the section titled “Through,” the verse “1-800-End-Edit” declares “Rains grammar private floral varieties,” a ricochet of sorts from a poem in the earlier section “About” that asks how methodology “add[s] up meaning the sum of the montage.” 



Thinking through and about 1-800-Flowers I feel some of the pleasures afforded a privileged reader writer — Fitterman — who focuses on another’s — Zukofsky’s — vision, which on the page is usually unrequited, propositional. The surprise is Fitterman’s collaboration comes off as altogether foreseeable, both poetries feeding and spreading into one another like a lawn “calling the shots.”

Monday, December 08, 2014


In descending order of indefensibility... 



(a) Poetics is democracy.



Evasion in poetics, just as some prose, foregrounds style, motive, subjects for close attention. 



(b) Friendship is a job (like writing) and, more elevated, craft (signing). To illustrate, job is to craft as field praxis to theory that’s kicking a sign when it’s astronomically down. Don’t get me wrong I think free speech is nominal. I’m for it and against impingement unless it hurts a friend (that’s down). What’s it? There’s no workaround to the observer influencing the observed except later, much later.