Thanks, Lykren! Now this is a contest.
There are about nine days left! Deadline is October 8th.
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Thanks, Lykren! Now this is a contest.
There are about nine days left! Deadline is October 8th.
Only 2 days left!
ǝʇɐᴉʇoƃǝu oʇ ɯǝǝs ʇ,uɐɔ I
ʍou puɐ ǝɹǝɥ ǝɥʇ s,ʇᴉ ;ɥƃnouǝ llǝʍ
ʎʇᴉuɹǝʇǝ puɐʇsɹǝpun ᴉ
ɥʇᴉɐɟ ʎɯ ɥƃnoɹɥʇ ʇdǝɔxǝ ʎɟᴉʇuɐnb
ʇouuɐɔ ᴉ ssol ɟo ǝsuǝs ɐ - ǝɯ
pǝƃuɐɥɔ os ɥʇɐǝp sɐɥ ɹo ¿ǝɔuǝsqɐ ʎɯ
uᴉ pǝʇɐǝɹɔ ǝɯᴉʇ puɐ ǝɔɐds
ɟo ɯnnɔɐʌ ɐ ¿uoᴉʇɔuᴉʇsᴉp ǝɥʇ
sᴉ ʇɐɥʍ - lɐǝɹɹns ʇnq 'sɯǝǝs ʇᴉ
ʇɐɥʍ ʇou sᴉ llɐ ǝɯoɥ ǝɯoɔ ǝʌ,ᴉ ǝɔuᴉs
10/6/2014
Ta ! (short for tarradiddle),
tailor STATELY
Thank you, tailor STATELY! One more day left!
“I’m a member of the Party”, he said,
“I’m a proud member of the Party”,
he said, and then: “I am”, he said,
“am being the present tense of be”, he said,
“and I being a being,
in whatever manner beings
are interpreted—whether as spirit,
after the fashion of spiritualism;
or as matter and force,
after the fashion of materialism;
or as becoming and life,
or idea,
will,
substance,
subject,
or energeia;
or as the eternal recurrence of the same event—
every time, beings as beings
appear in the light of Being”,
he said,
“so I, the being, am
a proud member,” he said,
“of the Party”, he said,
“THE Party”, he said and rapped
on his desk with a white knuckle,
“the 'essence' of being there
lies in its existence”, he shouted,
and rapping on the desk again,
he yelled, “I am a proud
member of the
Party”.
We didn’t listen to what he added
afterwards,
about the Dasein being essentially temporal,
its temporal character derived
from the tripartite ontological structure:
existence, thrownness, and fallenness
by which Dasein’s being is described,
existence meaning that
Dasein is potentiality-for-being
(Seinkönnen);
it projects its being upon
various possibilities,
and that existence represents thus
the phenomenon of the future,
no, we didn’t listen
because we didn’t understand.
But we heard what he
did not say, which was that
he had lain with an Ische
as if he had the right to do so,
and that he had loved her
as if a sane man could,
but that he hated
kikes
and always had.
He was
member of the Party.
That we heard.
That we confirm.
Thank you, DieterM! This is going to be hard to judge. There is still one day left for entries!
The contest is over! Thank you for all the contributions.
HCabret: I liked the Chicago references and the last line about the asphalt canvas waiting for color. That was a good comment about melancholy at the end of the second part. Melancholy feels good when it is passing away. The "apotheosis" in the first part reminded me of another set of threads.
Lykren: This sounds like someone awakening from a morning dream. The phrase, "self's other self", has got me wondering. It seems to make sense, but I hadn't thought of the self having another self before.
tailor STATELY: The upside down text illustrates the sorrow and confusion. It reminds me of a another short poem you wrote about being upside down and whether we can see the frown. The last part about eternity and the here and now makes me wonder about their difference.
DieterM: The concern about being and being a member of the Party seemed nicely incongruous. I couldn't find "Ische" when I looked it up.
I don't know what an avant-garde poem is. You are all winners, but the winner who will have to set up the next contest is tailor STATELY! Congratulations!
Congrats, TaylorStately!
As for "Ische", it's a yiddish word for "woman". Apparently, it was/is used for a cheap (Jewish) woman as opposed to a cheap (non-Jewish) woman ("Schickse"). This was meant to be a poem about the perception of Heidegger as a philosopher, teacher and person – the hint is in the title (Heathen = "Heide", short form "Heid" in German; harrow = "Egge", a harrower would thus be "egger"). With quotations from some of Heidegger's works…
The name Heidegger did come to mind when I read the poem, but I haven't read anything by him and so I didn't know why. The title now makes sense as well. I enjoyed it.
I like the Yiddish borrowings in English. They make the language more expressive. That's my shpiel anyway.
Thank you YesNo! And congrats to tailor STATELY!
Thank you one and all !
Like YesNo I struggle with what is avant-garde poetry and what isn't. Unusual, unexpected, experimental, and innovative is pretty much how I view avant-garde. The poetics box has grown so large I find it difficult not to revisit contemporary and historical memes - which makes innovation perhaps impossible for me. That leaves unusual, unexpected, and perhaps experimental (in modifying known poetics) in my quiver.
Hawkman, in the current Poetry Contest http://www.online-literature.com/for...-Contest/page7 , proposes a lyrical rewrite of a 60's protest song made relevant to our times... with extra credit for a few embellishments if I recall correctly; which leads one to another aspect of avant-garde poetry that I neglected to address above: poetry that "also promotes radical social reforms." (Wikipedia: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Avant-garde ). The varied art (sculpture/film/music/etc.) of Ai Weiwei of mainland China has recently come to my attention http://www.bing.com/news/search?q=Ai+Weiwei&FORM=HDRSC6 and, I believe, may be a good contemporary example.
I'd like to propose an avant-garde poem in any form, or freestyle, on an aspect of societal reform that you'd like to explore that hasn't already been dragged through the media ad nauseam. One of the criteria I will use to judge is how many google hits your niche garners... the fewer the better. And... please keep in mind Lit Net's rules regarding political commentary, and other expression, not condoned by our host.
Extra consideration for the unusual, unexpected, and experimental.
Ta ! (short for tarradiddle),
tailor STATELY
We were driving south on Clark Street having long past
Wrigley Field not having found a convenient place to park
nor having any reason to do so when Alice told me to turn
onto Fullerton and take Lake Shore Drive to Hyde Park so
I could get an apple croissant and coffee at the Medici and
I thought that was a good idea and wondered why she was
so thoughtful, but when I parked near 57th Street I noticed
she had a new protest button which read, “Imaginary People
Are Real 2,” and I tried to explain to her, again, that it didn’t
matter what she wore since no one could see her anyway
and she told me I was one of the major reasons why the
world was like it was and that button was for me to wear.
MILES OF EYES: THE BLINDING OF MAGGIE LLOYD in 1901
BY ELIOT CUFF
Before the sun, before the moons stood trees of
gold and silver lighting the world for all to see.
Outside the gates of Maggie's chambers a cat on
a kite is looking for trouble and playing in
dirt in the yard; I see golden combes of ambre
standing over the hills and far away looking
through my binoculars waiting on the river
to rise; they beat me about my face and left a
trail of blood on the door of the old jail.
I woke too see that i was blind, so beat your drums
lightly and take me to the graveyard; Maggie had
taken up the job of a steel worker and walked
outside of Chicago to see as far beyond
the stars as to fight the forms and light the functions.
I open the windows to catch the calm breeze
to see where this heavenly light will fall within
the blaze; I find New Penzance Island a lovely
place to be; a tame of doves comes over the seas
and the baffled king composes hallaluyeah.
A DAY IN THE LIFE OF THE ALMIGHTY PHILIP P STONE (INCOMPLETE)
Bridging time and trying not get arrested.
Nigger’s never guilty; almighty Philip Stone
knows this better than anyone else; married to
a white women; fearing what this means now that I
am going to jail for a crime I could not
commit; a parade of solid wooden soldiers
come to pass through the dark night; profiled as a
common thug with no worth; Hannah Horvath walks by
with not even a second thought to those who
run; Hannah Jane is pregnant with my only son.
Nathan Moore Stone, a Captain, savior come back to
save the world from its worst transgressions; I am
sitting in the street afraid of the night hoping
I won’t end up in a pool of blood; naked eyes
in the street hoping for bloodshed and spectacle.
Bangs of a southern man who has forgot his good
book; I am now one of those grateful dead who roam
the streets of Brooklyn; I am black and very cold.
The interstate bypassed the town decades ago
and carried away the department stores and
population except for those supporting the farming
community and so I figured I’d stop by Betsy’s
Kitchen for lunch and ordered coffee and then
selected a burger and the waitress was polite but
bent over too far for her worried but youthful thirty
or so years busy behind the counter and I noticed
a sign saying that this wasn’t Burger King so if I
wanted it my way I could shove it and she told
me unless I specified what I wanted on the burger
it would come plain and I told her to put everything
on it, whatever that was, figuring I’d do it her way
and Alice told me I shouldn’t have ordered the
coffee and after tasting it I realized she was right
but it was something I could get used to and it was
not like I was the only one in the cafe since it was
nearly half full of older clientele than were in the
picture of it in its busier days and so if these people
could eat the food so could I and as I read another
sign describing the descendants of Jack Schitt a
guy with his wife at a table informed me, “And now
you know Jack,” which made me smile because I
was surprised how they got all of his descendants
that I ever heard of into that small space including
Pisa, Fulla and Dip, whom I had forgotten and Alice
didn’t know why the waitress was so somber and
couldn’t walk straight and I said it’s because of the
interstate and she said that kid was born long after
the interstate went through and when the burger
arrived it tasted good even though it was done her
way and I suppose she was worried since she didn’t
know me and maybe thought that I would not realize
that they did not take credit or debit cards here even
though that sign was the first thing you saw on the
door but she didn’t say anything and I paid her and
left a generous tip which I figured would go either into
the tip box or the cash register depending on the
need for change and as I left she cleaned up my place
and perhaps she was glad I was leaving or perhaps
the tip was unexpected or perhaps she just got tired
of that interstate and we exchanged a smile.
^nice
Think I've eaten at that place.
Thank you. Those are my favorite places to eat.
A bit dated, but here we go:
Hcabret: My favorite lines:
Bridging time and trying not get arrested.
I am sitting in the street afraid of the night hoping
I won’t end up in a pool of blood; naked eyes
in the street hoping for bloodshed and spectacle.
I see golden combes of ambre
standing over the hills and far away looking
through my binoculars waiting on the river
to rise; they beat me about my face and left a
trail of blood on the door of the old jail.
YesNo: My favorite lines:
I noticed she had a new protest button which read, “Imaginary People
Are Real 2,” and I tried to explain to her, again, that it didn’t
matter what she wore since no one could see her anyway
and she told me I was one of the major reasons why the
world was like it was and that button was for me to wear.
and so if these people
could eat the food so could... “And now
you know Jack,” which made me smile because I
was surprised how they got all of his descendants
that I ever heard of into that small space
.
.
.
And the win goes to Hcabret. Congratulations !
Ta ! (short for tarradiddle),
tailor STATELY
bump ;)
Bump bump :)Quote:
Originally Posted by cacian
Bump bump bump :)
If Hcabret doesn't show up, maybe cacian or PeterL can lead the next round?
how about yourself YesNo or Peter do it.)
Technically, if the winner doesn't show then it goes to the runner-up which would be YesNo. Did anyone send a message to the winner?
i am not sure.Quote:
Originally Posted by Melanie
i do not think so.
l will start next one.
Subject: Anything avant-garde whatever that is.
Deadline: two weeks
I'm extending the deadline! Anyone want to try an avant-garde poem?
I am trying to come up with a definition of what is avant-garde. At the moment anything goes.
So what does it mean to be in the advance guard? And are poems there at all?Quote:
Originally Posted by YesNo
I don't know, but I suspect that what is avant-garde is determined by the consumers of the art, not the producers who can only offer something for sale or consumption, but cannot force consumption.
Therefore, what is avant-garde would be what is consumed by the wealthier group of consumers. I suppose these consumers could be called the "bourgeoisie", or the "rich" or the "stinking rich". The producers are the "workers" or members of the "masses".
Poems that are avant-garde, if this theory is correct, would be poems that could get published in the most prestigious publications, such as, Poetry, The New Yorker, etc.
Others may have different ideas about what avant-garde means. I would accept any poem for this thread.
Quote:
Originally Posted by YesNo
So we should regard this as practice, so we will be able to sell poetry to the New Yorker? That would be worthwhile, if they actually did buy. I better look at the New Yorker to see what they publish.
But you would accept lumpen proletariat poetry?
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Avant-gardeQuote:
Originally Posted by YesNo
I'd think it must be experimental, innovative, boundary-pushing. I'd say that it's antithetical to being consumed by the bourgeoisie. I have no idea what contemporary avant-garde poetry would be, though. Symbolists, imagists and other ists were avant-garde in their time of course.
Avant-Garde poetry is extinct now according to this article (good article though) and was replaced with "Language Poetry" but, sounds like the closest thing we have to Avant-Garde poetry or "Language Poetry" is Cacian's style!…and she's very much alive and well! The author of this article apparently didn't know about our Cacian! So, c'mon Cacian and enter this contest!
http://litrefsarticles.blogspot.com/...ge-poetry.html
@PeterL: Lumpen proletariat poetry, whatever that is, works for me. Yes, I think we should aim our practice in these threads so that we are able to sell to places like the New Yorker or Poetry, not that I have ever submitted to any of these places. With current technology, whatever we write here can be turned into at least a self-published ebook.
@North Star: There is a tension between the artist as the producer and the artist's client who consumes the work. I think that tension is what underlies the concept of avant-garde which is an attempt to emphasize the artist as superior in some way over the client (reader, purchaser), but I really don't know.
@Melanie: I agree with you about cacian's style. I hope she submits something. Your link made me think that if everything is avant-garde and the avant-garde casts aside the present then the avant-garde is what needs to be cast aside.
The avant-garde poetry movement, per se, was in the 50's and early 60's, but…if someone comes up with something new and innovative today then I would think avant-garde is alive. David Lehman's book, "The Last Avant-Garde" is a story of the "last authentic avant-garde movement that we've had in American Poetry". It focuses on the avant-garde poets, John Ashbery, Kenneth Koch, Frank O’Hara, and James Schuyler. They got their inspiration from Abstract Expressionist painters like Jackson Pollock and Willem de Kooning.
I extracted a few excerpts below from the Introduction that I thought would help us understand how the avant-garde poets approached their poetry. This Intro, in it's entirety, gives a much better understanding of Avant-Garde poetry…http://jacketmagazine.com/05/tlag-intro.html
"The [avant-garde] poets liked hoaxes and spoofs, parodies and strange juxtapositions, pseudotranslations and collages. On the ground that the rules of all verse forms are at base arbitrary, they created ad hoc forms (requiring, say, an anagram or the name of a river in every line) and unconventional self-assignments (“translate a poem from a language you do not understand; do not use a glossary or dictionary”). They adapted the Cubist collage and the Surrealist “exquisite corpse” (a one-line poem composed by a group of poets, each of whom contributes a word without knowing what the others have written <<<Hey, we could set up an avant-garde game in our own poetry-games-forum that does this!). Apollinaire’s café poems, “Les Fenêtres” and “Lundi rue Christine,” taught them that a poem could originate in snatches of overheard conversations. You could cull lines at random from books. Or you could scramble the lines in an already written poem to produce a disjunctive jolt. Many works would be improved if you simply deleted every second word. Poems didn’t have to make sense in a conventional way; they could discover their sense as they went along. The logic of a dream or a word game was as valid as that of empirical science as a means of arriving at poetic knowledge."
"They learned from Pollack and Kooning that "it was okay for a poem to chronicle the history of its own making — that the mind of the poet, rather than the world, could be the true subject of the poem — and that it was possible for a poem to be (or to perform) a statement without making a statement. From the painters, too, they understood that acceptance was not necessarily a blessing, nor rejection a curse. They were ironists, not ecelesiasts. They favored wit, humor, and the advanced irony of the blague (that is, the insolent jest or prank) in ways more suggestive of Jasper Johns and Robert Rauschenberg."
"Freely experimental and fiercely intellectual, the [avant-garde] poets were at the same time resolutely anti-academic and anti-establishment even as they began to win acceptance in establishment circles."
"all this activity was predicated on the idea that poetry could be reinvented from top to toe. Everything was up for grabs." "They understood, too, that a poem no less than a picture could be “a hoard of destructions,” in Picasso’s phrase. And so they favored avant-garde methods of composition that inverted the received order of things. The aim was the liberation of the imagination, and any and all means to this end were valid."
I'll try to find Ashbery's "Self Portrait in a Convex Mirror". The link you cited, Melanie, mentioned it won the Pulitzer, National Book Award and National Book Critics Circle Prize in 1976.
Since they were winning prizes, they must have had consumers. Otherwise, they would not be known today.
Here is a link to at least part of that text: http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/self-...convex-mirror/
This poem, "Self Portrait in a Convex Mirror" is far more sane and understandable than I was expecting for avant-garde poetry, although I know he's a heavy in the world of poetic avant-garde. I really like it. He's beautifully describing Parmigiano's painting first and then Francesco's portrait as more of a "soul" than just a face, and distorted in the convex glass. I like it but it just seems like free verse to me instead of avant-garde…unless free verse was new and experimental in the 50s and early sixties, then that would make it avant-garde I suppose. Also, the fact that the subject is more about what the reflection is saying about Francesco's soul rather than what the world thinks. In the 50's that may have been new.
Thanks for posting the link.
I haven't finished it, but for the most part it makes sense. I don't expect avant-garde poetry to enough sense for me to agree or disagree with what is being said. I plan to listen to the whole of it later today.
One feature of the avant-garde appears to be similar to what marketers might do: they criticize what is already available for the customer as a way of promoting their own product as better. They brush aside current poetry to make way for their own, however, their poetry is itself current.
maybe avant garde is whatever comes out of our mouth??
it is without thinking but more sync?
Cacian wins! :)
LOL well what else could be said ? :DQuote:
Originally Posted by Pompey Bum
I mean it would ungarded of me to say any different
unless there is something else
like
before one in on garde
one could be off garde ??