fabula poetics?

in this essay.

poem using needlessly complicated process

thru smut
you punk blanch
you bleaching punter
you have the sea
the coiled bus you then mast
the sham huntings of harp of flight
of bestemming yon lingam
the ear toneless
that strikes nervously thru
he’s your weak fiat
has sierras
bed hens
that the toe kennels keck
without the objectified
levitate
the estuary of her male handholds
the follow-up dog of hunting villains
& suture from outside
from cahoots from cunning
under oath it falls up
sows cold & ugly fingers
& without the leaves diapered
or crimpled
enfeebles that crummy arch
from her debugged moats
handholds thicken the entity
that then thread your undermine

*a note on process: i generally used the process discussed here (after the poem) with some minor changes. i collaged a little w/ my pre- & post-translated text when i felt word choice benefitted & i translated the original text through two cycles using french, dutch, & portugese, going back to english twice. i removed all linebreaks before translation then added line breaks to the final text as i saw fit. the poem i started with was something i wrote in highschool called saturday afternoon, the text of which is:

saturday afternoon

they sat on a park bench
cooled by a thin mist
she ran her hands through her hair
nervously stroking her wool coat
he stared at his feet
aimlessly kicking red-gold leaves
back and forth
he took her hand
and stared off at passing cars
her hand felt cold and clammy
her fingers thin and lifeless
like crumpled leaves.

the sprinkles
began to thicken into a drizzle
the sun invisible
behind a thick band of gray clouds

new favorite mp3's at PENNsound

christian bok's motorized razors

john cage's lecture on nothing as read by jerome rothenberg

also, for millicent, check out this 2002 word palindrome story

a dozen poems

Your breast looks nothing like that light fixture.

The leaves in the wind etc… Don’t pee backwards.

That robot has the spinning disease.

Hang your stapler from that tree as an example to the others.

Our toaster could take us to planet x.

Buy more things. It’s my job.

Diet soda is for liars.

I want to explode a stuffed squirrel.

Our clothing is made of strings.

I could eat 5000 cows, & not be sated.

We could dance on a gerbil.

Your bird is a slut.

Will's Poetry Assignment

Okay Will. Here's my damned assignment.


All’s left     in leaves-
aligned.    An alumnus     lull-like contract,
annulled on signing.  Contrasts
annealed by long-term repetition,
axioms both loaned    and stale.   We

made vast plans,
anxious strategies contingent on nothing
in pens, in piles, in variables, in
imitation of our own loaming;     gasps,
of curls, of camels,      a delicate
vanishing.

- S. Burgess

good readings

at Open Books

Sunday 3/26, 3:30 pm, Rae Armantrout
Thursday 4/13, 7:30 pm, Joshua Marie Wilkinson
Thurday 4/20, 7:30 pm, Joshua Clover

we should all go to some of these...

thoughts on fiction

here

And Then the Guy Said He Had Only One Left Arm

It was boar head
for dinner & mushy lickin' good.
That's why he slurred so bad in
his parking lot pamphlet gibberish.

"Give it to me like a one minute photo booth."

"This isn't no five finger discount."
"How cum," you said.

"The legs won't open properly."
"That's what the jack is for."

"I only have one left arm."

But it didn't matter & he waved
mechanically anyway.



*dedicated to all those who know my work best. just 'cause you wouldn't expect anything less.

i think this is kind of funny:

the ancient league

and also this:

strindberg and helium

pretty cool

so you ended up pretty cool.
upholding what bent me most
& a deadly habit. just mouth-
wash & annihilation you said.
promise me more holes & be-
moan our yellow grievance.
oppress w/ a few powerful fam-
ilies whose children flag docu-
ments to the oligarchy. while
love codes software simulators
before circling & recircling. fin-
ally overwhelmed w/ ciphers.
the pollination will love me
more than you ever did & even
after the encrypted landscapes
flower & you toss off love e-
mails to alaska, our forest of
asphalt, i will vacuum the hall-
way until our shed creeps lowly.

silliman likes narrative poetry!

Silliman explores the joy of narrative. A must read for S (his march 2nd post). Also, for the poet he discusses, read this.

Fifty-seven MFA students cry out, "I don't know what to like anymore!"

nucleus poem

what delight does
yr nucleus thrash
do yr laborers seize
slaughter & waste
as remedy for indo-
lence & zeal I mere-
ly speculate if you
identify suicide as
therapy for dullness
& absurdity what
sense does yr petri-
fied revelation furn-
ish to the traffic a-
round you the bud-
ding vegetation the
inching flowers the
fleeting birds the
diminishing grasses
the muttering poor
the sporadic droplets
laden with awkward
stillness yr bias fixes
with puzzling enig-
mas & proficiencies
no one will ever ident-
ify your beliefs be-
cause you advocate
tongues & philosophy