antique
Saturday, June 04, 2005
hey! my ancient name is on THIS page!!! makes it seem like I was a real writer, once. or that I could've been a career, all in my instance. well, if my steps are trepidatious now, you should've seen me then. thru the years, shaking off influence, taking a stab at, circling around. I could tell you the whole grey story, the main theme being persistance--a good Protestant value, and probably the only one I'll keep--until rattle and shake I broke on thru to the other side. how it feels, at any rate. I'm not really regretful of this particular trip down the road.
my bike back and tuned up to the key of glee (I can't do that myself, always make things worse), so I went out early, before 7:30 (had to walk the dog 1st of course, we have an understanding). and tho bringing the camera impedes, I wanted to go where I had not photo'd. a bit of National Park dedicated to the Battle Road fo 1775. for the past 20 or more years, homes and businesses have been bought up by the Park Service, so that this historic area can be returned to how it looked in seventy five (hardly a man is now alive who remembers that famous day). so a lot of what was once private land has been opened up to the public. it's a good place to run, bike, ski or walk, farmlands and trees and marshes. the wet places have boardwalks so that you don't get your feets wet. I came thru one time when the purple loosestrife and goldenrod were in bloom, and the colour just about knocked me down. why I'm a painter: I like colour. there's a house along the way that's being restored. it was an inn back in the day, where the good folk of Lincoln rabble roused, and where they gathered when the churchbells rang on April 19th, to kick some British butt. I've listened to the rap of the guides twice. the 1st time the fellow was fairly ordinary and laconic. the 2nd was much more keenly tuned politically, directing his commentary specifically but reasonably against the current regime. his discourse was well-based historically, so there was jimjam to his words. I get excited about this stuff, that sense of the US scrambling with its own intelligence, plus the calming influence of 'simple' farm life, as they have some farm activity going here, including livestock. and just as I came to this place, I noted that my tire was flat. of course I had nothing to take care of it with, nor a cell phone. so I walked the 3-4 miles back home. not a big deal. past the 2nd largest airport in Massachusetts. past the birthplace of Thoreau (not the exact house, I guess, but the site where he was raised), past yard sales galore. I canna find where the leaked is but have since gotten a new tube and furthermore seemingly got the tube in okay. ready for more travail on the road and off it. a few good pictures along the way. note: I don't think I can bring myself to start uploading to Flickr or such. it would cause a flood. I like the pictures within the context of this blog, which I hope isn't a "dramatic-monologue-in-advance", as Tim Peterson suggests blogs are.
Friday, June 03, 2005
just found this Ganick link via one of Jukka's blogs. Faux Press produced a cd of this text. the work is 'typical' Ganick: expansive, strange, obsessive, thougtful, and fascinating.
a longish dabble at Three Spot. I twiddled with bits from the Egyptian Book of the Dead, alternating with 'real' writing. I may add to it. I offer experiments on my blog, including experimental opinions. this is process for me. I know there's a general askance of look at me, but tho that exists of course, I natheless am serious about the results of my curiosity. I don't need to defend myself, either I'm interesting or I aint, but I do invoke a self-consideration in what this blog does.
close
I loved my father and the town and every. But the telling was conclusive, which isn't very spell. I loved my father to the point and then was only saying. but saying is a goal, sometimes, and could be love. Or at least an idea, and I will be true. True is a measure, however false. I loved my father as the weakness grew. The weakness knew me, so I was refreshed. I loved my father in pieces until I could only haul the factory light to the point of saying. I say this now and said it then in one long light. I loved my father with a left and right, those directions I was born with. I loved and left, like my father did. He died and cost a climate or a telling phrase. Who knows, in the need of saying? I loved my mother in the toss and fall. Who wouldn't, we have our range. I loved the mom and dad, and have to look away. Don't you, or will you ever? We could talk that. the cellos combine, a plump and foreboding lovely wrench. I last with father, mother, drawing to a close. I draw, you see, and the pictures please only in the minute. The minute is mine or yours or when I say I have a time. Father, closed or open, the resistance spends a dynasty.
Thursday, June 02, 2005
hi, God hates you!!!
I honestly don't know where to put the gonzo collective represented in the link below. it's easy enough to figuratively squash them like bugs--that's how we all argue--but how to comprise them as fact? we squash bugs by 1st implementing a barrier, that the bug's oddity and somehow grossness deserves to be made rid of. the root-gnawing grubs that infest yards and gardens look creepy, but they are just living within their terms. so too, alas, are these Kansan God Hates Yous. which is not to say that one should accept their view, and certainly not their tactics (lay off the kids, you assholes!). but there is something to get here, even if I've yet to get it. surely people in Nazi-blooming Germany were aware of a crazed aspect to the political surge. or poor Pound, whose usura was one thing, but the bend in the road took him to insubstantial conclusion. shit. as much as I abhor these gay bashers in prospect, I am more distressed by their language. and their usage. based on a mission, on a demoted logic, on the dismay of assault. Beth talked a long time with the police about this imminent infection. Beth's the politically brave one here, by the way. the police said, don't show up for this protest. I may acquiesce to that. the God Hates You have their organized plan to protest during the time when students arrive at the school. involving the youngsters. this isn't when to add flame to tinder, for such fires are based in histrionics, and who will get burned? cripes, they are even protesting at an elementary school. lay off the kids! on sunday, the group will set up their mission at a number of churches in Lexington, Cradle of Suburbness. not just kids, then, so I think I can meetly meet this thing. and all I want to do is see people as people, witness the action. I want to say that this group is oblivious in the divine humble making up of place for now. learning to bear the beams of love, not the easy couch. God Hates You, Inc spoils in the littlest words they find. which is what we should set our eyes on. forceful, intelligent eyes.
turns out, according to the paper, that someone locally called in these goons. the sincerity of intimidation.
the local newspaper of this fair township headlines that a Kansas anti-gay group will descend here this weekend. the town's middle school has a display of flags to inspire a positive sense of diversity. I know that's a mushy liberal attempt at social concern, effete maybe, but not deleterious. mostly the flags are national, but a rainbow flag is also in the mix. these flags (or perhaps just that flag) caused a stir in town when 1st displayed. not having a child in the school system, I only caught the stir 2nd hand. the basic message I guess is that intolerance is not just for adults. some residents have expressed dismay at such acceptance but no bold actions have been taken. this Kansas group of schmuckasses somehow caught wind of these goings-on 2000 miles away and were inspired by God (it's a church group) to come terrorize the local children. no logical argument can be made in favour of such hatefulness, so they must resort to bullying. look how markedly religion differs from spirituality! I will go to this protest, camera in hand. perhaps I will see their humanity in mine. their political view, tho, is crazed. a famous picture from Boston's terrible busing protests come to mind. it shows a man wielding an American flagpole to impale another man.
another quiz, from Radical Druid via Jonathan Mayhew. there's a value in saying things aloud. also in hitting on questions I haven't thunk on much.
1. Do you write with the intent of submitting (and getting published)? Is that your primary objective in writing poetry (publishing to print media, or online journals, or other outlets [i.e., contests, prizes, etc.])?
mostly I do not write with publication in mind. I know I can 'publish' anything online, on my blog or website or to a listserv. I put publish in quotes as a nod towards those who don't think that is publication, screw them. my R/ckets & S/ntries blog was written expressly for publication. I wrote it on the blog, as the blog. I assumed an audience by doing so.
2. If submittal/publishing is not your primary objective, is there another outlet (regular public poetry readings, religious liturgy, slams, literary cameraderie/competition) for which you tend to write?
no.
3. Do you write poetry for other reasons (i.e., personal confessional, celebration of special events, academic requirement, etc.)? How much of what you write is for these "personal" uses, as opposed to ultimately for "audience" consumption?
this can get twisty. I don't write confessionally but the writing often comes out of emotional places, in a cathartic way. there are times when I need to write. I know people will want to puncture that balloon but it is true. I have been envious of Stephen Vincent for writing directly about his father's death, whereas I could not do so, not in poetry. I do not want to dictate the event, but there are times of honour and depth that are worthy of trying to write for. Shelley got hit by Keats' death and, not that they were great friends, wrote Adonais. which, of course, is mostly about Shelley.
4. In any case, what percentage of your "audience" is other poets, versus non-poets?
my poetry has been appreciated by non-poets, but it seems like few non-poets seek out poetry. assuming I know what a poet is.
5. As relates to audience, what is the level at which you seek to connect with them (i.e., artistic, intellectual, emotional, political, spiritual, etc.), once you have them identified? Does "connecting" to your audience even matter?
I'd be happy to connect on any level. but I haven't identified that audience. and I'd have to be a lot more clever to think I could produce a connection. seems like, an effort to connect would mean to produce recognizable forms, codes that the audience 'gets'. there can be value in that but poetry's full charge seems to come from an experience that feels unique. I use the word seem to indicate my dismay.
6. As you explore those different aspects of yourself through your poetry, does that change your audience, make it larger or smaller, alienate it, etc.?
writing poetry doesn't feel like a self-exploration. at any rate, I don't have much sense of the audience.
7. What percentage of the "audience" for your poetry would you consider your friends or even acquaintances, if any?
I guess most people who know my work know it thru its appearance on my blogs or on listservs, so there is that sort of acquaintanceship.
8. In terms of well-crafted, do you think that craft (that is, skill of the poet in whatever genre or form they have chosen) is typically the criteria used in determining what is or is not published in the above? Or is it more likely to be what is considered "good" poetry by academia and its associated publishing press?
not sure what 'in the above' means here, tho I like the phrase as stand alone. this question is confused. I guess all them criteria apply but I don't know the percentage.
9. What is more important to you as a poet, assuming that you can only pick at most two of the following: that you be widely read, widely known, widely admired, widely quoted, or well-paid?
well-paid certainly is a more firm conception than the others. all those widelys sound attractive, but half a sec of consideration produces so what. I suppose, tho, that enough of those widelys would lead to well-paid, best of all worlds. barely and widely.
1. Do you write with the intent of submitting (and getting published)? Is that your primary objective in writing poetry (publishing to print media, or online journals, or other outlets [i.e., contests, prizes, etc.])?
mostly I do not write with publication in mind. I know I can 'publish' anything online, on my blog or website or to a listserv. I put publish in quotes as a nod towards those who don't think that is publication, screw them. my R/ckets & S/ntries blog was written expressly for publication. I wrote it on the blog, as the blog. I assumed an audience by doing so.
2. If submittal/publishing is not your primary objective, is there another outlet (regular public poetry readings, religious liturgy, slams, literary cameraderie/competition) for which you tend to write?
no.
3. Do you write poetry for other reasons (i.e., personal confessional, celebration of special events, academic requirement, etc.)? How much of what you write is for these "personal" uses, as opposed to ultimately for "audience" consumption?
this can get twisty. I don't write confessionally but the writing often comes out of emotional places, in a cathartic way. there are times when I need to write. I know people will want to puncture that balloon but it is true. I have been envious of Stephen Vincent for writing directly about his father's death, whereas I could not do so, not in poetry. I do not want to dictate the event, but there are times of honour and depth that are worthy of trying to write for. Shelley got hit by Keats' death and, not that they were great friends, wrote Adonais. which, of course, is mostly about Shelley.
4. In any case, what percentage of your "audience" is other poets, versus non-poets?
my poetry has been appreciated by non-poets, but it seems like few non-poets seek out poetry. assuming I know what a poet is.
5. As relates to audience, what is the level at which you seek to connect with them (i.e., artistic, intellectual, emotional, political, spiritual, etc.), once you have them identified? Does "connecting" to your audience even matter?
I'd be happy to connect on any level. but I haven't identified that audience. and I'd have to be a lot more clever to think I could produce a connection. seems like, an effort to connect would mean to produce recognizable forms, codes that the audience 'gets'. there can be value in that but poetry's full charge seems to come from an experience that feels unique. I use the word seem to indicate my dismay.
6. As you explore those different aspects of yourself through your poetry, does that change your audience, make it larger or smaller, alienate it, etc.?
writing poetry doesn't feel like a self-exploration. at any rate, I don't have much sense of the audience.
7. What percentage of the "audience" for your poetry would you consider your friends or even acquaintances, if any?
I guess most people who know my work know it thru its appearance on my blogs or on listservs, so there is that sort of acquaintanceship.
8. In terms of well-crafted, do you think that craft (that is, skill of the poet in whatever genre or form they have chosen) is typically the criteria used in determining what is or is not published in the above? Or is it more likely to be what is considered "good" poetry by academia and its associated publishing press?
not sure what 'in the above' means here, tho I like the phrase as stand alone. this question is confused. I guess all them criteria apply but I don't know the percentage.
9. What is more important to you as a poet, assuming that you can only pick at most two of the following: that you be widely read, widely known, widely admired, widely quoted, or well-paid?
well-paid certainly is a more firm conception than the others. all those widelys sound attractive, but half a sec of consideration produces so what. I suppose, tho, that enough of those widelys would lead to well-paid, best of all worlds. barely and widely.
Wednesday, June 01, 2005
next week we'll be going to Nevada for the high school graduation of Beth's niece. 2 years ago, I made my 1st visit to the state, when we helped Beth's mother move east. this was my 1st exposure to a casino. wowzer! I didn't expect to enjoy casinos as much as I did. we were in Sparks, right next to Reno. we were too busy to spend stupid time at the casino but I got a taste. our 1st visit, we were wandering around, trying to get the vibes of the right machine. Beth suddenly said, where's my pocketbook? I quickly retraced our steps, to discover 3 security people surrounding the bag. would've been funto see the entire bomb scare scenario played out. I liked the flash and bustle, and even tho the excitement is grim it's still excitement. one time I was testing my skills against a stubborn machine. a guy sat next to me, taking a rest from the roulette wheel. he starts scoring on his machine, but that's not where his interest sits. he soon cashes out, so I take his machine. I start accumulating quarters. an older women with a walker stands over my shoulder, pleasantly cheering me on. waitress supplies me with 'free' beer. I knew from Beth's advice that that a dollar tip was decent, but in the excitement of the game and the beer, that tip became a handful of quarters for each Sierra Nevada. I was probably up 30-40 bucks when I quit but I threw a lot of that away. the elderly woman took my seat and proceeded to fill her bucket with winnings as well. I'll miss that machine. the other side of America consists of just mechanically feeding coins into the belly of the machine, and feeling hollow. no, and feelign hollowed out. during our visit we also went to Vegas to help Beth's brother move. we stayed at a casino there. that's a trip. I think rooms cost 35/night. I'd get up at 5:00 or so, wander thru the casino, which would be busy albeit with a more desperate crowd, and find a place to write. I'm sure the pleasure would wear off quickly. there's a tv ad for a Connecticut casino that features a lounge lizard singing about "the wonder of it all". which is just crass enough to be perfect. we're not going there to confront the beast this time but there'll be a little free for a quick survey.
Tuesday, May 31, 2005
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