Avant-Garde Poetry Contest 2

Congrats. YesNo!

Thanks, Pendragon.

I wonder how to promote this competition. Maybe chanting helps: "avant-garde, avant-garde, avant-garde".

CHICAGOLAND
BY ELLIOT CUFF

I - LOLLAPALOOZA
Standing under the Bean waiting for her to come
and find me; she sits on my shoulders in front of
the stage; her voice scorched with a burning desire.
Wandering above the mist she raises her hands
to the starry night sky; a billion stars shine through
a trail that fades across the crowd into what
was once an urban apotheosis; I am
now forever lost in the barrenness of this
city; I can't help but watch this little boy
cry while riding the train on my way home; I don't
even feel bad; cream of wheat and bible study.
I wonder if that guy's a serial killer.
My home's not ****ty, but the suburbs are; Maine's not
all that far away; she has even more beauty
in the moonlight; there is no going home tonight.
Adventure is afoot; there is no sight like the
city at night from Seer's tower; no sound like at
the Warehouse; and no feeling like the one I get
when I run down your Magnificent Mile while
tripping on Mollie; come on! and feel the Illinoise!

II – THE CITY OF DESTINY
A Paris street on a rainy day looking out
over the bay in Marseilles; a little girl
and her friends spend this Sunday afternoon at the
end of summer wandering this American
city marred with gothic beauty unlike any
other in the world; an old guitarist sits
in his red armchair playing the blues that built this city.
Looking out at the lake I can’t help but get lost
in the waves I found you in; while I met you in
London my mind will always be here; you really
piss me off sometimes, but I love you all the same.
I know you love another more, but you're all I
think about; you have a soulful fire burning
within and music playing endlessly in your
head; I worry that you won’t find your way home but
Maine's not that far away; I promise to show you
mountains and then we can go back to Skye; you live
in Chicago a thousand miles away and
a million years apart; some say that all noble
things are touched by melancholy; well they can suck it!

III - SOCK & FOX
Clueless rage laments my sullen eyes rolling down
the hill chasing after the backwards beast; we drove
to Milwaukee to cure us of the fog along
Wisconsin glaciers melting into the lake
called Michigan; surfing fresh water in July.
Dreaming of a long time ago when all I had
was balance and a skateboard; a fool's paradise
full of speaking tongues and drinking lemonade; she
works at Burger King spitting on onion rings and
praying to the wrong gods; this road we're on is full
of promises from a deathless king who doesn't
live; the simplest things in the Waste elude my
grasp; elegant late summer showers fall on our
heads and big shoulders; she's dying of bone cancer.
Bright white heaven hanging over the streets and the
sometimes green backwards river; at last there's a blue
sea greater than the problems blanked lucky undo.
I'm jealous of you; you have lost worry and have
nothing but road in front of you; an empty
asphalt canvas waiting for color to paint its way.

Thanks, HCabret! Now to get the other avant-garde poets to compete with this!

Swarming like children
around the irregular surface
of a stream, around lost
currents and through
windows full of
ugly shades,
glints of the next day
congeal into predawn.

This is the heritage
of the days we shake
ourselves into acknowledging
the murk and eclipse
of self’s other self
as the hundred
clocks cry morning

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.